Deadline (Sandra Brown)

what? They’re either dead or fighting off queers in a goddamn prison.”
    “Daddy, I—”
    “The day you think you’re smarter than me—”
    “I don’t think that.”
    “Is the day somebody will take you down.” His left hand had been maimed, but his right hand worked just fine, and he emphasized those last words by poking Jeremy in the chest with his index finger. Carl held him in a hard stare for several moments more, giving the message time to sink in, then removed his hand and turned away. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”
    They fixed thick sandwiches of deli meats and cheeses. The freezer wasn’t that great, so the ice cream was soft, but it tasted good. Over cups of coffee they continued their discussion.
    Carl said, “Look, son, I get cranky sometimes. I know you’re eager to get your boys back. Hell, I can’t wait until we’re all together, either.”
    “They’re gonna love British Columbia. I remember those days we spent there as the best time of my life.”
    During one summer vacation, Carl had agreed to meet the Wessons—after so many years, even he had come to think of Randy and Patricia by that name—near Vancouver. They’d rented a cabin on a lake and had spent their days fishing, lazing about, and having cookouts on the shore.
    They were scheduled to stay for two weeks. He and Flora left after six days. She’d cried when he’d made her leave, but he’d become anxious and paranoid. Even the patrolling park rangers made him nervous. It was never a good idea to stay in one place for too long.
    As an afterthought, Jeremy added now, “That was the summer before my senior year. It’s the last time I remember feeling like a kid.”
    “You had to grow up soon after that.”
    Jeremy sipped his coffee and lapsed into a brooding silence that reminded Carl of Flora. He left the table and began to pace again.
    Watching him, Jeremy asked, “Does your hip hurt?”
    “No.”
    “Then what’s with the face?”
    “I still think that something is off.”
    “Off?”
    “Like I don’t have the full picture. I’m missing a critical piece and it’s nagging me.”
    “What could it be?”
    Carl scowled. “Hell if I know. I’m thinking.”

Chapter 19
    I t certainly wasn’t the worst sight that had ever greeted her first thing in the morning. Dawson, his back to her, was bent low over the countertop, watching freshly brewed coffee as it dripped into the carafe.
    “Can’t brew fast enough?”
    He straightened and turned around to face her as she entered the kitchen. “Not nearly fast enough, and this is the second pot.”
    “How long have you been up?”
    “A few hours.”
    “ Hours? Did you get any sleep?”
    “A few minutes.”
    “The sofa is too short for you. You should have taken the bed when I offered.” She had also offered him Stef’s room, which he’d declined.
    “I wouldn’t run you out of your bed. Besides, it wasn’t the sofa keeping me awake.”
    “Nightmares?”
    His gaze moved over her, causing fillips of sensation everywhere it lingered. “General restlessness.”
    “Me too.”
    He arched his eyebrow with interest.
    Quickly, she went to the cabinet and opened it to get a coffee mug for herself, but her movements were arrested when he crowded in behind her, trapping her between him and the counter.
    Pushing her hair aside, he nuzzled her neck behind her ear. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”
    Her head tipped toward her shoulder as his mouth applied damp pressure to the side of her neck. “Deserve what?”
    “Two mornings of you showing up, fresh out of bed, looking all rosy and warm, like you’ve either been well fucked or are about to be, and making me crazy wanting to be the man who’s given you that look.”
    She offered up no resistance when he turned her and drew her to him. Being held flush against his torso made her weak with longing to be skin-to-skin. One of them, maybe she, made a throaty sound of both hunger and appeasement when their mouths came together in a blatantly carnal kiss. Several times they changed the angle of their heads, but they didn’t break contact until he withdrew so his lips could nibble at hers.
    Those sweet pecks tingled and delighted and excited, especially when paired with the prickle of his scruff. His hands moved over her back, their possessiveness tempered by the syllables of longing whispered against her lips.
    Bending his head lower, he pushed aside the strap of her tank top to give him access to her