Sixteen
Baran was trying to remember if anyone had ever said the words to him before. He finally decided they hadn’t, which might explain why such a simple sentence held such dizzying power for him now.
As a child, he’d been raised in the Warrior’s Creche by paid caretakers who stayed only a few years before leaving. They had too many children to oversee to get emotionally involved with any of them. His relationships with the other cadets had been no warmer; the Creche was an environment where competition was as ruthlessly encouraged as discipline and achievement. Open affection was nowhere in the curriculum.
Baran’s emotional horizons had expanded when he’d joined the team. With only five members, his unit had bonded with the kind of desperate intensity combat can foster. Then he and Liisa had become sex partners, and he’d fallen for her as only a sixteen-year-old can. Yet he’d never told her he loved her. Somehow it wasn’t the kind of thing one warrior told another.
The closest he’d been able to come to admitting his feelings was giving her the necklace. In turn, Liisa had presented him with a locket embedded with her trid, then added one of him to her own. For both of them, it had been a silent declaration of love. It was the best they could manage.
After she’d died—after they’d all died—Baran had been left feeling that a hole had been scooped out of his chest. He had sex with women when his Warlord body demanded it, but he never slept with the same woman twice. In the end, he’d become a skilled fucker, but he was coming to realize he’d never been a lover.
Until Jane. Who’d just said she loved him.
Even in the midst of a shattering orgasm, it had felt as though that gasped, “I love you!” had lodged in his soul. He’d almost felt the words expand inside his chest.
Who’d have thought such a simple phrase could hold such majestic power?
He should say something. He knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. Opening his mouth, Baran started to say “I love you” back to her, only to realize he couldn’t. The phrase felt too naked, too vulnerable.
Besides, he wasn’t sure it was true. Surely it would be worse to say such a thing in error than to fail to say it when it was expected.
And he would be leaving soon. There was a promise implied in “I love you” that he wouldn’t be able to keep.
So instead he stood there, breathing hard as he cradled her slim, soft body against him. Like the words she’d given him, she seemed so fragile, so precious.
And she was in so much danger.
Well, that, at least, he could do something about. He had no intention of letting Druas take this woman away from him. He’d kill the bastard first.
The thought held an odd, serene certainty, as if there was no longer any possibility of failure.
Resting his chin on the top of her head, Baran closed his eyes. And for the first time in his life, let himself just feel. Feel the silken brush of her hair, the soft, sweat-slick skin under his hands, the full breasts pressed into his chest.
For the first time in decades, another human being cared if he lived or died as other than a military asset. The euphoria of that thought was stronger even than the sense of invulnerability riaat always gave him.
She stirred against him. It came to Baran suddenly that he reeked of smoke and soot, and she was still tied to the light fixture. Somehow that embarrassed him, as if he’d rewarded a precious gift with boorishness.
“Let me get you down from there,” he said softly, and lifted her so she could pull her linked arms from around the light. When he put her on her feet again, her legs trembled visibly. The sight sent a curious male satisfaction through him.
Never mind that his own muscles were jumping just as hard.
Odd. Normally in the aftermath of a long session in riatt, he wanted only to collapse in a quivering heap. Now he felt energized.
Carefully Baran unwrapped the cable from Jane’s bound wrists, rubbing his thumb over the indentations it had left in her delicate skin. “I’m sorry about that,” he said.
She shrugged.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” Her tone was brusque.
He frowned and silently ordered his computer to do a sensor scan. He’d taken her hard; he knew she’d been ready for him, but had he hurt her anyway?
No, according to the comp’s readings, she was probably a little sore, but that was all. Baran relaxed. Everything was fine.
Caught up on a wave of buoyant pleasure, he bent, swept her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs.
Jane stiffened in his grip. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower,” he said, smiling down at her.
“I don’t…I’m not—not really up to making love again right now,” Jane said. “I’m a little sore.”
“I know.” His smile broadened. He suspected the tenderness he felt showed in his eyes, but for once, he didn’t try to hide it. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to attack you again. I just thought you’d feel better after a bath.”
And it would give him a chance to pamper her, he decided.
It was the least he could do.
Fifteen minutes later they were soaking in her big garden tub together. After examining her collection of bath oils and bubble baths, Baran had picked one and dumped so much into the water that they were now surrounded in a cloud of foam.
Unlike every other man of Jane’s acquaintance, he evidently felt no qualms about smelling like Passion Peach.
Now he sat slowly rubbing a cake of soap over and around each one of her fingers as she lay back against his powerful chest. She’d expected another flaming seduction; instead he gave her such tenderness, she felt her heart swell in her chest.
Too bad all that pretty warmth didn’t mean anything.
It was obvious he’d taken her at her word when she’d blurted that she loved him. Any other man would have assumed she’d gotten carried away in the throes of orgasm, particularly given that they’d only known one another three days. Baran evidently believed she’d meant exactly what she’d said.
Worse yet, Jane suspected he was right. Oh, this was just not good. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”
Having rinsed off her hand, he’d begun slowly rubbing his soapy palms over her breasts, cupping and squeezing with a breathtaking tenderness. “What, bathe?” He smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t we get a little smelly after a while?”
“No. I mean, make love.” She swallowed and corrected herself. “Have sex. We shouldn’t have sex again.”
He went still. “Why not?”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Funny,” he said, his tone going so chill that despite the warmth of the water, she shivered. “You seemed to think it was a very good idea when you were screaming that you loved me.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jane started to pull out of his arms and sit up. For a moment his hold tightened until she thought he wasn’t going to let her go. Then he slowly released her. She stood, water sluicing around her naked body, and stepped out of the tub.
“We’re getting too involved with each other,” she said, reaching for one of the towels she’d hung over the rack. “You’re going to be leaving after this is over, and—”
“Did you mean it?”
Jane turned to look at him. He lay in the bath surrounded by a cloud of bubbles. Yet somehow, he’d never looked more masculine as the delicate white foam provided an intense contrast to his big, tanned body.
“Mean what?” she asked carefully, though of course she knew.
“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”
“No.”
His nostrils flared and anger flashed in his eyes. “You shouldn’t lie to a man with sensor implants. It’s a waste of time.”
“Baran, it’s only been three days.” She wrapped the towel around her body, using the process of tucking it in as an excuse to look away from him. “Nobody falls in love in three days. What I’m feeling—I don’t even know if it’s real. And you haven’t—” She broke off.
“What?”
Jane swallowed. “You haven’t said you loved me.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tile.
“And why should you?” she added hastily. “It’s only been three—”
“Nobody has ever said they loved me.” He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke. “Ever.”
That stopped her. She fought to regroup. “Liisa…”
“…Never said the words. Our culture doesn’t exactly encourage romantic attachments. Especially not in the middle of a war. It’s bad luck. If the woman you love is in danger, you’re going to be thinking about her instead of the mission and the safety of the unit as a whole.” He smiled, but the expression held no humor. “In fact, my lieutenant lectured me on that topic more than once.”
“Oh.” She blinked rapidly. “Your mother and father…”
“Mother,” he corrected. “A Femmat genetic designer who constructed my DNA and grew me in a uterine vat with ten other fetuses. I’ve never even met the woman. Well, once. She came to my graduation from the Creche when I was twelve, but somebody had to point her out to me. I got to shake her hand.”
Jane winced. She realized that despite his cool tone, his bland expression, she had somehow managed to find the one spot of vulnerability he had. “Baran,” she said softly, miserably, “you’re going to leave.”
“Yes.” He looked at her steadily. “I can’t stay. The chance of a paradox—”
“I know. But every time we touch, what I feel gets stronger.”
A silence spun between them, so intense the faint foaming pop of the bubbles sounded loud. “So you’re saying if we don’t have sex again, you’ll be able to stop loving me.”
“No, it’s not going to be that damn simple.” Looking into those rich brown eyes, Jane realized she had to be honest. Somehow he needed it, and she needed to say the words to him. “I’ve had lovers before, been in love before, but this is different. You’re different. I don’t know if it’s because you’re…what you are, but this is so damn intense. It scares the hell out of me.”
“It scares me, too.”
She blinked at the revelation, then fumbled to go on. “I’ve been telling myself this relationship is just the equivalent of a shipboard fling—that we’ve bonded so fast and so intensely because of the danger we’re in.”
“I’ve been in danger before,” Baran told her. “I’ve protected women before. It was never like this.”
“So…” She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and asked, “You do feel it. Are you in love with me?”
He rose from the bath in a sudden rush of restless power. Water sluiced down his hard contours, trails of bubbles sliding along ridges and hollows. She had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling she’d remember the sight of Baran rising from his bath when she was a very old, very lonely woman.
“I feel…something,” he said as she mechanically handed him the towel she’d hung on the rack for him. “It’s different than it was with Liisa. It feels deeper, a little less…giddy.”
Jane couldn’t help it. She grinned. “Giddy?” Somehow that wasn’t a word she associated with Baran.
He shrugged. “I was a teenage boy.” Flipping the towel over his head, he began to dry his damp mane. She watched the muscles and tendons shift in his round, hard biceps. “My computer says there are biochemical changes in my brain, but I don’t have a baseline to compare….”
“Damn, Baran, you are a romantic.”
He lowered his towel. She could tell from the bewilderment on his face that he had no idea what she meant.
She took pity on him. “In my time, nobody consults a computer to discover if they’re in love.”
“In your time, nobody has computers implanted in their brains.” He gave his head another brisk rub with the towel and sighed. “Something unusual is happening to me. I’m just not sure what it is.”
Jane felt a little bubble of pleasure expand in her heart. He did love her, whether he realized it or not. Then she squared her shoulders and pushed the delight away. “Which is why I think we should back off. The separation is going to be bad enough as it is. Knowing I’ll never see you again…”
He turned and threw the towel across the room with a sudden, violent flip of his wrist. “That’s why I think we need to seize every moment we have together.” Moving toward her, he took her shoulders in his hands. “Jane, in my profession, I’ve learned life can be snuffed out in an instant. It’s stupid to waste it.”
She gazed up into the pure, strong lines of his face. “Dammit, I know that. I’m a reporter—I’ve seen it. One minute you’re going to the store to buy a loaf of bread, the next minute a train caves in the side of your Toyota, or some asshole shoots you from his car just for the hell of it. But you have to live as though that’s not going to happen, or you’ll drive yourself nuts.” She sighed. “And frankly, I’m going to be in some serious fucking pain when you leave. I don’t want it to be worse.”
“And I think you’ll end up regretting the chances you lost,” Baran said, lifting his square chin at her. “I don’t intend to allow that.”
“So you’ll…what?” Her heart began to pound.
He smiled slowly, darkly. “Seduce you every chance I get.”
Jane swallowed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
For the next three days Druas made himself scarce. Once again, Jane found herself carrying around her scanner and cell phone, waiting for the next call that would mean somebody was dying.
Meanwhile, the tension grew thick enough to cut. Tom Reynolds carried through on his promise to install taps on her phones. Jane signed the paperwork giving her permission, inwardly reluctant, but knowing she couldn’t afford to raise his suspicions.
But when so many days passed without a call from Druas, she soon realized they’d been raised anyway. The detective started dropping by the paper and questioning Baran, Jane, and her employees, grilling them over and over on the same details until he managed to get on everybody’s nerves.
“Look,” she finally exploded after he’d asked to speak to her privately in her office for the fourth time. Baran had allowed it only because Freika was curled up under her desk. “It’s not Baran. He didn’t do it. I’ve told you repeatedly, I was with him when the killings occurred, and he did not do them. Do you think I’m lying? Hell, the entire paper staff saw us leave after we got the tip on the fire. Do you think they’re lying?”
Reynolds glanced up from his notebook, his gaze cool and accessing. “Maybe he didn’t do that one.”
“Dru…” Jane barely caught herself before she said the killer’s name. “…The murderer called us. He told us it was happening. We did everything we could do to stop it. Hell, Baran charged into a burning building to save that girl. As she’ll tell you when she regains consciousness.” The victim was in an induced coma while her body healed from the burns she suffered.
“If she regains consciousness.” Tom scrawled something in his notebook. “She may die.”
Jane dragged her hands through her hair in frustration. “Why would I lie, Tom? Just tell me that. You’ve known me since I was twelve years old. Do you really think I’d protect the kind of monster who’d do these crimes?”
Suddenly the bland cop facade cracked. Tom sat forward in his chair to glare at her. “Dammit, Jane, I don’t want to believe that, but I know you’re hiding something. I can smell it, I can see it in your eyes. And there’s a hell of a lot about this situation that stinks. I don’t like the way Arvid never wants to leave you alone. I don’t like the timing—he appeared the day after the first woman died. I don’t like the fact that he keeps playing hero, but the people he ‘saves’ always die anyway. I don’t like the fact that nobody, not even your best friend, has ever heard you mention this guy, and yet now he’s grafted to your ass. It all stinks, Jane, and you know it!”
“He didn’t kill those people, Tom!”
“Yeah? Well, who has he killed?”
She froze. Under the desk, Freika lifted his head from his paws.
Grim satisfaction gleamed in Tom’s eyes, and he sat back in his chair. “Yeah, you know something.”
“He’s a photographer, Tom. He’s just a photographer.”
“Bullshit. I’ve met a lot of photographers in my line of work, and none of them moved the way he does, had the look in their eyes he’s got—when he deigns to take those fucking sunglasses off so I can see his eyes. He smells like former military to me. Some kind of really nasty former military.”
“He’s not the killer.”
Tom leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Jane, is he threatening you? Is he forcing you to cover for him? I can provide protection….”
She laughed shortly. “No, he’s not threatening me, and I’m not covering for him. I’m telling the truth. He’s not the one who’s doing these things.”
“Well, somebody sure as hell is.”
Her temper snapped. “Yeah, somebody is, Tom. Why don’t you get out of my fucking office and go look for that somebody?”
Reynolds flipped his notebook shut and rose from his chair. His eyes locked on her. “You’ve got all my numbers, Jane. When you get tired of letting women die, give me a call.”
He stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Jane slumped back in her chair, covering her face with both hands. “Damn. Damn damn damn.”
“Well,” Freika said from beneath the desk, “that did not go well.”
She sighed. “You’ve got a gift for understatement, furball.”
When Jane wasn’t listening to the scanner, trying to get out a newspaper, or fencing with irate police detectives, Baran was teaching her just how thin her willpower was.
His promise to seduce her had not been an idle threat.
She might have been able to resist him if he’d approached her with his usual pose of erotic dominance, but he didn’t make it that easy for her. There was a tenderness now in every touch, every kiss, every whisper. Where before he’d overwhelmed her with sheer, bluntforce sensuality, now he seemed to be saying with each brush of his fingers what he couldn’t put into words: that he loved her.
And God help her, she found it impossible to say no.
Even knowing what it would eventually cost her.
The way he knew her scared her sometimes, such as the night she finally yielded to the urging of common sense and went back into the attic after her father’s gun.
Baran had simply walked into the room, moved two boxes out of the way, opened a third and reached inside. He’d turned around and handed her the gun. “Sensors” was all he said.
Yet he didn’t ask her what it was about that stack of cardboard that terrified her so. She had the feeling that somehow he knew.
Later that same night Jane lay sprawled across the width of the bed, limp and helpless, staring blindly up at a ceiling washed in gold light. Baran had collected every candle in the house and lit them one by one before arranging them around the bedroom and turning out the lights. He’d even turned on her CD player and set it to spill something soft and jazzy into the room. The singer’s voice crooned past the snap and crackle of the police scanner as Baran’s hair slid like silk over her thighs.
He was feasting on her sex, his tongue swirling lazily. One big hand teased and pinched her nipple, as two fingers of the other stroked slowly in and out of her core. He seemed to savor each creamy lick for its own sake, rather than just engaging in foreplay to get her hot enough for his pleasure.
Not that she needed any more foreplay. She’d already come twice. She knew he’d bring her with his mouth again in a moment.
And she didn’t want that. She wanted him. In her. “Baran,” she moaned. “Please. I…AH!…need you.”
“You have me.”
Somehow she managed to force her lax neck muscles to lift her head so she could look down at him. He watched her over the plane of her body, his dark eyes burning in the soft darkness.
But instead of the male triumph she’d seen before, there was a hint of something lost and desperate in his gaze, as if he was storing away the taste of her, the sight of her, the feel of her. Saving those sensations in some mental memory bank for the day she was gone. “Now,” he whispered, “you have me.”
He rose to all fours. Muscle flowed through his shoulders and arms as he crawled up her body like a great cat, the head of his erect shaft brushing her skin. She found herself unable to look away from his intent stare. He settled over her, his body surrounding hers in strength and heat, a blanket of hot muscle. His gaze never left hers as he lifted just enough to aim himself.
Then he sank inside, a long, slow thrust, and she caught her breath.
Baran lowered his head, his long hair curtaining her face. He reached up an absent hand to sweep it aside. Then he found her mouth with his and kissed her as he began a slow, teasing thrusting. His lips felt hot and soft and slick.
Jane kissed him back as the pleasure rose in a warm wave, swamping them lazily. Arching against him, she came with a moan even as he groaned and poured himself into her.
It was only later, as she lay curled in the cove of his body staring blindly at the dancing flame of one of the candles, that she felt a tear slide down her face. “Baran, when you leave, it’s going to be…”
The hair-roughened arm around her waist tightened. “Yeah. I know.” He pulled her closer.
The scanner crackled.
She woke from a light doze to the feeling of his tongue swirling over her nipple. Whimpering helplessly, she threaded her fingers through his silken hair and lost herself in him.
“Tayanita One-Eight,” the scanner blared. “Reported stabbing, one-oh-two Bajor Lane.”
Jane jerked up her head. “Shit. Baran…”
He lifted his head. “I hear it.”
“Caller describes a white male, over six foot, long hair, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Code five with a knife.”
“May not be him,” Jane said as he rolled off her and grabbed his pants off the floor.
“Female victim suffered a laceration to the throat.”
“It’s him,” Baran said, jerked the slacks up his long legs. “He’s using his imagizer to change his appearance again.”
Jane shot out of the bed and started pulling on the clothes he’d stripped away. “Why didn’t he call us this time?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t like it. He’s broken the pattern.” He sat down to pull on his shoes. “Freika!”
“I hear you, boss.” The wolf trotted into the room from the hallway, where he’d been curled outside the door.
“Where the hell is Bajor Lane?” Jane jerked on her boots. “I’ve never even heard of it.”
“TE gave me a map,” he said, frowning. She looked up to see his eyes slide out of focus. “It’s at the other end of the county, eighteen-point-two miles from here. Looks like a heavily wooded area.”
“Hell, it’s going to take us twenty minutes to get there.” She jumped up, grabbed the scanner and headed for the stairs, Baran and Freika at her heels. “I wonder why the hell he didn’t call us this time….”
They were halfway there when she remembered the gun, tucked away in her nightstand drawer. Jane cursed; they didn’t have time to go back for it.
Just as well. She didn’t want anything to do with the fucking thing anyway.
It was a harrowing trip in the dark. Jane strongly suspected that without Baran’s flawless directions, she’d never have found the place.
Bajor Lane was a gravel road that snaked through thick woods. Trees loomed on either side, ghostly in the SUV’s headlights as she drove. Something about the whole scene made the hair rise on the back of her neck. That feeling was intensified by the knowledge that Druas was probably somewhere out there, watching. What the hell was he up to now?