Reckless Surrender Page 8

  “If you forgive me for saying so, Sheriff, there wasn’t much of an investigation by your department.”

  Stevens gave him a rueful smile. “You don’t get to be sheriff of this area for going on twenty years by interfering with the Puller Academy’s business, son.”

  “Still, I’m sure you have your opinions.”

  Stevens gave Michael an assessing look, then took another swallow of bourbon. “You’re not their typical superintendent. Usually I’m sitting across from an old salt admiral who just wants a soft assignment to ride out till retirement.”

  “The military will always be needed, but in order to stay relevant to truly fulfill its purpose to society, it needs to accept new ideas and be open to new perspectives. That starts, I believe, with the officers and how they are educated before taking on their first post. I realized early in my military career that my education at Puller was one of the most impactful as far as shaping me as a leader. After my last tour, I decided it was the best possible way for me to do my part.”

  The sheriff nodded his head. After a long, thoughtful pause, he said, “We were first on the scene. The murders happened just off campus so the academy wasn’t involved at that point. I’m sure you’ve seen the official report.”

  Michael nodded his head. “Stripped and strangled. No sign of sexual assault. Liver missing. Carving of a satanic symbol. I know once the academy got involved, the police were pulled out. I will tell you there was an extensive investigation done, at least when it came to a possible midshipman’s involvement. There were two suspected students initially, but it proved to be nothing. I’ll be frank with you, that is all my report contains on the subject. That and instructions to increase security around campus.”

  The sheriff shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He poured himself another finger of bourbon before continuing. “There was something not right about that whole scene. You know, besides the gruesome Satan shit.”

  “In what way?”

  “In the autopsy, it mentioned post-mortem scratches on their backs. Seems to me that meant they were dragged onto the rock. Because the women were naked, everyone assumed it was a man who’d done it. These were two slight women. Seems to me a man wouldn’t have to drag them onto the rock. Just place ‘em there.”

  But a woman would, thought Michael, recalling Phoebe’s notes on Mrs. Ludtz being a possible suspect. This was a small town. Michael wasn’t sure if the sheriff knew or would be loyal to Mrs. Ludtz, and he didn’t want to ruin the woman’s reputation with a false accusation, especially with something as serious as murder.

  “Were there any female suspects?” he asked instead.

  The sheriff shook his head. “Nah. Never got that far. Navy swept in and took over. Claimed it was close enough to the academy that they wanted jurisdiction. Like I said, no point in getting in a pissing match over it, especially when I don’t have the staff or resources to investigate two murders.”

  Sounded about right, no one wanted a scandal. It was better to blame a faceless drifter and play the odds that it was an isolated incident.

  Michael rose and extended his hand. “Thank you, Sheriff. You’ve been helpful.”

  Shaking his hand, the sheriff added, “I can’t see how the academy or the Navy would appreciate you poking around in this, son. You’re going to make some people awful angry.”

  “Well, at least these angry people won’t be trying to kill me with a homemade pipe bomb or Soviet-era gun, so I consider it an improvement over my last assignment.”

  He left the sheriff’s office with another target in mind. It was past time he confronted his little lying princess.

  Michael turned up the collar of his wool overcoat and grabbed the rim of his cover as he walked away from his car. The wind off the bay had picked up. Looking to the sky, he saw fierce black rainclouds gathering. It was going to be one hell of a storm. Holding the flaps of his collar closed, he made his way back to the main building. The dark chaos of the weather matched his mood.

  All he cared about was finding Phoebe and getting some fucking answers. That was when he saw his quarry.

  She was headed toward the school library.

  Chapter 10

  Leaving the main floor of the library behind, Phoebe headed to the back corner and climbed the two flights up the small brass spiral staircase to the upper level loft. With the books on math, science and military history on the lower levels, this part of the library containing books on local history, poetry and art did not see as much traffic. Since it was also the dinner hour, the majority of the midshipmen would be in the mess hall. Phoebe tossed her shoulder bag onto the worn window seat of the large bay window which overlooked Buzzards Bay and created a cozy nook between the stacks and began her search. She was hoping to find a few volumes on the Wampanoag and their shaman beliefs. Phoebe wanted to know if there was more than one way to kill a wendigo, perhaps by strangling.

  Phoebe was so absorbed in her search, she didn’t hear his approach.

  “Taking a sudden interest in local lore, babygirl?”

  She turned with a start. Michael filled the tiny space between the book stacks. His wide shoulders practically touching each shelf. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his blue uniform. So authoritative. So…male. The recurring unwanted thought brought a familiar tingling reaction.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Phoebe placed the book she was reviewing back on the shelf as nonchalantly as possible. Although there was nothing suspicious about reading a local history book, she had this instinctive feeling that Michael would find it so.

  He took a step toward her.

  In a panic, Phoebe turned her back on him. Facing the stacks, she nervously fingered the bindings of the books as she tried to calm her erratic breathing. The air was filled with the scent of his cologne and old leather from the books. She felt rather than heard him take another step closer. His hand appeared slightly above her head to the left as he gripped the hard wooden edge of the bookshelf. It seemed large and masculine with just the faintest crisscross pattern of white scars across the knuckles. A souvenir from past fights. Fights he’d probably won.

  With the alcove to her right and his large form blocking her exit to the left, she was trapped. Caged between his body and the bookshelf.

  There was the brush of his hand along the pleats of her skirt. She was wearing a purple pleated skirt with her knee-high black boots and a gray V-neck sweater. As she felt the soft fabric brush the back of her thigh, she became painfully aware of the fact she wasn’t wearing any stockings. His hand brushed the skirt again. This time the tips of his warm fingers played with the hem, skimming her thigh.

  “You’re lying,” he said gruffly just over her shoulder as the knuckles of his right hand brushed the curve of her ass. “Bad girls who lie get their asses spanked.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Still, she needed to brazen this out. He couldn’t possibly have found out she was a journalist…could he?

  “No, I’m not. I’m here in the local history stacks,” she anxiously whispered as she tried to shift away from his taunting touch.

  Phoebe could feel a tremor rock his body right before he grabbed her shoulder and twisted her around, slamming her back against the books. Placing his right hand on the shelf by her head, he had her well and truly cornered. Even in the dimmed lighting between the stacks she could see the bright light of anger in his eyes. He wasn’t just resting his hands on the shelves, he was gripping them. His whole body radiated rage.

  “You’re lying to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I—”

  “No. Don’t you fucking dare deny it. I know about the blood on your door. The warning. How could you not come to me?”

  “I—”

  “I don’t know why you are investigating these murders, but I can tell you this. It stops right here…right fucking now.”

  “You can’t order me to stop!” she fired back.

  “The hell I can’t. I am
your commander and you will not defy me in this.”

  “You’re not my commander and nothing you say is going to stop me from finding out the truth about what happened.”

  His head reared back as he sucked in a long breath through his nose. The heat of his anger was palpable. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock as it pressed against her stomach. It was a threat, a promise.

  “Not your commander?”

  She could feel the rumble in his chest as he practically growled the words.

  Phoebe hesitantly shook her head no. Her stomach clenched as she tightened her inner thighs, mashing them together. God help her but this clash of wills turned her on. There was a sick thrill in courting danger, and there was no mistaking that defying Michael was courting danger.

  “You’re right. I’m not your commander. I’m your man and it’s about time you recognize my authority and accept my protection.”

  Before she could protest, his head swooped down, attacking her mouth, claiming her for his own. He tasted like whiskey and coffee. Warm hands ran up the sides of her thighs to grip her ass. Phoebe’s eyes sprang open when she felt the tips of his fingers tease the seam between her bottom cheeks before they slid between her clenched thighs to caress her through the thin fabric of her panties.

  “You’re already wet. For me,” he said against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip while two fingers played with the seam of her panties before dipping underneath to feel the soft lips of her pussy.

  “Oh God,” moaned Phoebe as she clutched at his shoulders. The harsh feel of the damp wool of his overcoat strangely snapped her out of a heated seductive haze. “Wait! Stop! You can’t! Someone will see.”

  “I don’t give a damn, princess.”

  Easily lifting her against his strong frame, Michael stepped to the side and sat on the bay window bench, forcing her to straddle his hips. The soft lining of his thick overcoat cushioned her knees and Phoebe couldn’t focus. It was as if she were floating under a sea of warm water.

  Michael’s hands dipped into the V-neck of her sweater and ruthlessly forced it down, exposing the soft curves of her breasts. Keeping his intense gaze trained on her, he slowly lowered his head. She watched as the tip of his tongue flicked her pert nipple. Her head fell back, a moan escaping her lips as her eyes squeezed shut.

  “Look at me, baby,” he ordered.

  She obeyed.

  Once again riveted by his gaze, she was transfixed as his tongue swirled around her nipple. Teasing her.

  Phoebe rocked her hips, rubbing herself on his cock through the heavy fabric of his uniform pants, feeling a thrill of victory when he moaned in response.

  His arms wrapped around her middle and yanked her closer as his mouth descended on her breast, sucking the nipple in deep, allowing his teeth to skim her flesh as he laved her with his tongue.

  Phoebe’s fingers gripped his hair as she pulled him closer. The metal buttons and medal ribbons on his uniform coat scratched her delicate flesh. The slight twinges of pain and the cold, harsh feel of metal against her warm skin only spurred her on.

  “Goddammit, woman. I need to fuck you,” he ground out as he wedged his hand between their entwined bodies. Lifting her skirt up in front, he fisted the sheer fabric of her thong and pulled, snapping the tiny piece of material in two.

  Over their harsh breathing she could hear him unbuckle his belt. Tilting her hips upward, she rubbed herself against the back of his hand as he lowered his zipper, freeing his thick shaft.

  “Lift up on your knees.”

  Phoebe hesitated. As with the last time, she felt a pang of fear over the idea of taking his large cock into her body, knowing it would give equal measures of pleasure and pain.

  “Lift up on your knees,” he repeated, his voice harsh with lust. “If I have to ask again, I will flip you over and fuck you from behind.”

  “I don’t—” breathed Phoebe, overwhelmed by his arrogant possession of her body.

  The wide head of his cock pushed against her tight entrance. There was a sting of pain as he forced it in, but then he paused.

  “Just say yes.” His demanding tone let Phoebe know he would give no quarter in the matter. “I want to hear you say it.”

  Phoebe tried to sink her hips down, to push her own body onto his shaft but his large hands on her hips prevented her.

  “No. Say it, baby.” His eyes glowed a dark, cobalt blue under lowered brows. His heavy, even breathing mingled with her own.

  Running both her hands along the harsh planes of his jaw, feeling the scratch from his five o’clock shadow against her palms, Phoebe captured his gaze.

  “Yes, Michael.”

  With a guttural groan, Michael pushed down on her hips, impaling her small body on his cock. Her cry of painful pleasure was swallowed by his kiss. He started to move. Driving his hips upward, he thrust inside of her. Phoebe’s body was thrown against his chest from the force of his thrusts. Reaching past his shoulders, she laid her palms flat against the cold windowpanes.

  The threatening black clouds had finally broken into a fierce storm. Heavy raindrops splattered against the glass as the wind outside raged and howled.

  The tumult outside matched the one inside the library.

  Grabbing her hip with one hand and covering her mouth with the other, he began to pound into her small body. His hips lifted off the bench with every thrust as she rode his cock.

  “Come for me, baby,” he rasped along the column of her neck as he sunk his teeth into her skin.

  The windows behind him had begun to cloud over with condensation from the heat of their bodies. She could hear the hum and bustle of people on the floors below them. Yet nothing else mattered but the strong feel of his arms wrapped around her middle and the pulsing thrust of his cock between her legs. Feeling her body tighten as the pressure built, Phoebe leaned back, trusting in his grasp. Her upper body felt suspended in mid-air. Tightening her knees against his hips, his cock went in even deeper. Opening her mouth on a silent scream, her eyes screwed shut as she threw her head back, relishing in the waves of dizzying pleasure which crashed over her.

  She was only dimly aware of his muted groan as he came deep within her tight passage. His large hand splayed over the soft skin of her stomach as they both waited for the final tremors, the pulsing pleasure, to ebb.

  Phoebe felt shy and anxious as they descended the small brass spiral staircase. Michael insisted on carrying her stack of books. Searching the faces of the few midshipmen hanging about the lower level as well as the older man who was checking out her books, Phoebe was relieved to see no censure. Tucked away in the quiet upper loft, no one seemed to have suspected what she and the commander had been about.

  Exiting the library, the frigid blast of air tinged with stinging raindrops cooled her heated cheeks.

  “I…well…um…I guess I’ll be going now,” she said awkwardly as she tried to shove the books on local Indian tribes into her shoulder bag.

  His only response was a low chuckle. “Where is your coat?”

  “I don’t have one with me. It’s fine. It’s only a short walk to my building.”

  Ignoring her protests, he shook off his wool overcoat and placed it over her shoulders. She was instantly enveloped in the warmth of his scent. Then taking her shoulder bag from her, he placed an arm around her lower back and guided them past the archway onto the rain-slicked path back to her building.

  Neither said a word as she pulled open the heavy metal door to her building. She shrugged out of his coat and started to say thank you, hoping to leave him at the entrance.

  Michael grabbed her hand and led the way down the hall.

  Once at her door, Phoebe tried again to hand him his coat and get him to leave. She needed time to process what had just happened.

  The passion. His anger. His accusation. The spanking kink fantasy.

  It was all swirling about her head.

  After another awkward attempt, Michael grabbed her by the chin and forced her gaz
e to his. “I’m not leaving, princess.”

  With a sigh, Phoebe rummaged through her shoulder bag till she found her room key. As she pushed it into the lock, she realized the door was already open. Pushing it wide, she flicked on the light and let out an exclamation. Before she could utter a word, Michael’s arm swept in front of her, immediately placing her body protectively behind his own.

  “Step back. Stay in the hall,” Michael ordered as he took a step into her room. He maneuvered quickly around the confined space. Checking the closet, bathroom and under the bed.

  Phoebe took a tentative step into her room.

  Her trashed room.

  The bed covers were ripped to shreds and the mattress tossed. Clothes were scattered about the room. The desk and chair were on their sides. On the wall over her bed, in blood, was the symbol of the wendigo, a large circle with several crisscrossing lines and the overlapping drawing of a skeletal face in the center.

  She watched in shocked silence as Michael pulled her suitcase from the closet and began picking up her strewn clothes and tossing them in.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You’re not staying here. Grab your things from the bathroom. You’re coming with me.”

  Rubbing her face, trying to quell the rising fear in her chest, Phoebe struggled to stay calm and focused. “It’s fine. I can pack my own things. I’ll grab a room at the motel in town.”

  Circling around the bed, Michael stormed toward her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he said, “Do you honestly think I’m going to allow you to stay in a motel?”

  “This is not about what you will or will not allow! You can’t just order me about! You don’t own me!” she raged. It wasn’t really anger at him or even his high-handed protectiveness. She was frightened and lashing out. This was supposed to be just some quick story she did to please the owner of the paper. Now her life was being threatened by some crazy person who probably thought they were possessed by the fucking Mad Monk’s ghost! What the fuck!