The Warrior. Dinah McCall
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stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, gazing back out across the water. As he wrestled with his conscience, he could hear the waves hitting the rocks that jutted out from the beach into the black, bottomless depths. Decency was winning out over revenge, and it wasn’t making him happy.
“I might know someone,” he finally said.
“In D.C.?” Alicia asked.
He nodded.
“And you trust him?”
John turned. “As much as I trust anyone.”
Alicia frowned. There was a tone in John’s voice that she didn’t recognize. It felt like sarcasm, but that didn’t make sense. Still, she wasn’t in any position to be picky.
“Then I thank you,” she said. “But it needs to be soon. If Dad believes I’ll give him up, he’ll run. He has the whole world in which to hide, and if he does, you know what that makes me? A sitting duck, that’s what.”
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow. But for now, you need to get some sleep.”
Alicia nodded, then lifted her chin. With a quiet grace, she took off the sweater he’d put around her shoulders, handed it to him with a slight nod, then turned around and walked back through his bedroom, then across the hall to her own.
John’s fingers curled into a fist as he clutched the sweater. It was still warm from her body. Muttering a soft, unintelligible curse, he followed her inside, locking the doors behind him. By the time he’d set the security alarms, the light was out in her room. He paused in the hallway by her door, then turned and entered his own suite.
It was time to rest, and to hope that tonight would be a night without dreams. But after the excitement of the day and the fresh hope that his quest would soon be over, it was too much to ask.
She looked up from the cooking fire, smiling at his approach. Her smile widened when she saw the haunch of deer meat he carried on his shoulder.
“I have made your favorite,” White Fawn said.
Night Walker inhaled appreciatively as he laid the deer haunch aside and squatted down beside his woman to peer into the cooking pot. The ground maize had been cooked to a thick porridge consistency, and flavored with strips of pemmican and fresh berries.
Night Walker dipped the stirring stick into the pot, then tasted it.
“More berries,” he said.
White Fawn laughed out loud. “You always say that,” she said as she thrust her hand into a basket beside the fire and scattered another handful of small black berries into the pot.
When Night Walker cupped the back of her head, she leaned into his touch.
“I would lie with you,” he said softly.
An ache spread through White Fawn’s belly as she saw the look in Night Walker’s eyes.
“And I with you,” she answered.
Night Walker set the pot beside the fire and threw a blanket over the meat to keep off the flies, then followed his woman into their hut. He pulled the flap over the doorway, shutting them in and the rest of the village out.
With one pull, the skins he wore tied around his waist fell at his feet.
White Fawn was already naked. Without taking her eyes from his face, she lay down on the furs that were their bed and waited for him to join her.
When he did, he made no pretense as to his intentions.
He lay beside her, then rose up on one elbow and slid his hand between her thighs, gently nudging her legs apart.
White Fawn’s heart was already beating fast, anticipating the pleasure that was to come.
In one swoop, he was inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, burying him deep. When he began to move, she met him thrust for thrust, and for a while, time stood still.
The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the passion-induced sweat from White Fawn’s body. Her tight, wet heat pulled at Night Walker with every thrust. She was everything beautiful to him, his own personal aphrodisiac. He would never get enough—could never get enough—of the woman who held his heart.
Slowly, slowly, the rhythm of their lovemaking became less steady, more frantic, harder and harder, until it burst within. White Fawn held him as he spilled his seed into her so-far-fruitless womb, then wept quiet, happy tears as he collapsed on top of her with a soft, satisfied moan.
John jerked, then sat up abruptly, searching the shadowed corners of his room for the woman he’d been making love to. His shoulders slumped as he wiped a shaky hand across his face and crawled out of bed.
He didn’t think about his guest as he walked naked through the house, quietly disarmed the security system and strode outside. The cool air felt good against his heated skin as he made his way down the backside of the bluff to the water below.
The steady ebb and flow of the ocean pulled at his senses like a drug as he walked into the surf. The water was cold—so cold—but he didn’t care. He needed the shock of it to wash away the dream—which was, if he’d ever stopped to analyze himself, ironic. While remembering their love and what he’d lost was often too painful, it was the memory of what had happened to her that kept him focused and sane.
When he was knee-deep in the ocean, he dove headfirst into the next wave and began to swim, fighting the current because it was the only enemy at hand. He swam until his muscles burned and his legs felt like jelly. Only then did he stop. Treading water, he turned to look toward shore. From this distance, his house was barely the size of a child’s building block, but the anger was gone. All that was left was a bone-deep weariness.
Without thinking, he began the long journey back, one stroke at a time.
Dawn was imminent on the horizon as he came out of the surf, his head down, his shoulders slumped. His steps dragged as he began the climb up the bluff.
Alicia woke up suddenly, her heart thumping, her eyes wide with fright. For a second she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. Then her gaze centered on a dream catcher hanging on the wall opposite her bed, and a face slid into her mind.
John Nightwalker.
She rubbed her face with her hands, then swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching slowly as she made her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came out just as the digital readout on the clock flicked over to ten minutes after six. The bed looked inviting, but there were too many unknowns in her life for her to be able to go back to sleep.
She needed to get to the authorities as soon as possible. The quicker she put a stop to her father’s dealings with terrorists, the sooner she would be safe. Once everyone knew, it would serve no purpose to keep her quiet. Nothing else would stop him. She’d grown up seeing his ruthlessness firsthand. Her mother had been the one who’d taught her what it meant to love. Her father’s lessons in life consisted of disappointments and lies. But her mother had been dead for years now, and Alicia was a woman long grown and strong. And she swore that determination—the one trait she’d inherited from her father—was going to prove to be the one that took him down.
Her suitcase was open on the floor. She thought about getting dressed, but it was nearing daybreak, and the idea of watching the sun come up on the horizon to signal the beginning of a new day was too enticing to miss. She noticed that the alarm system had been turned off, so she felt no concern as she hurried downstairs, then out the French doors to the terrace beyond. She walked to the edge, then out onto the grass and headed to the edge of the bluff.
A sea breeze instantly caught the hem of her nightgown and threaded it between her legs as she braced herself against the railing. The view was everything she’d expected and more. Already the line between dark and dawn was fading fast. In the east, there was an aura of pink and orange playing at visibility. Just another minute or two, and the