Dominate (Deliver 8)

That was true. She pushed him onto every unwed lady she encountered.

Somehow, she’d fallen into monogamy while making sure he didn’t. She needed to see those women slipping out of his house in the mornings, so that each one could add another mile of emotional distance between her and her charming neighbor.

“I told you no expectations.” She squirmed in his arms. “I suck at this.”

“Yeah, you do.” He set her on her feet. “Only because you want to suck at it.” He grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. Then he fisted the straps, yanked her close, and stole a kiss from her lips. “Get out of here before I carry you into the bedroom and delay your trip.”

“Thank you.” She stepped back, gave him a small smile, and headed to the truck.

“Rylee.”

“Yeah?” She glanced back.

“I’m going to be pissed if anything happens to you.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

But no promises.

She hoped to stop Tommy from killing her, but there were no guarantees he wouldn’t hurt her before she convinced him to see reason. She didn’t know what he looked, sounded, or smelled like. Didn’t know anything about him in the physical sense. She wouldn’t even be able to pick him out in a crowd.

But she knew his psychological and criminal profile like the back of her hand.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.

She imagined that summed up his current state of mind. By reading what he’d written to the girl he loved, she’d stained his words. He would regret revealing so much of himself and view the letters as weapons turned against him, his secrets and insecurities wrongfully exposed.

Hell has no fury like a man deceived.

She anticipated his wrath, feared it, but she wouldn’t run. She had a month off of work.

A month in the desert with a livid, deadly criminal.

She would survive this, or she wouldn’t. But she owed it to both of them to see it through.

CHAPTER 2

The charred structure protruded from the dry, crusty earth. Rylee’s chest tightened as she shaded her eyes, squinting at the rubble around her, trying to make out what was left of the Milton house.

Caroline Milton.

Tommy’s girl.

Two exterior walls jutted in misshapen pieces, weathered by years of dust storms. A fire had devoured the rest. Arson. The conflagration had burned so hotly it had melted the stone foundation.

A shiver ran up her spine. With zero cover and nothing but buttes, craters, and searing sand in every direction, it felt as though she were standing amid ancient ruins on an alien moon.

This barren part of the Chihuahuan Desert promised hardship to anyone living here, which was why Caroline’s house had sat empty for years after the family died.

Until Tommy bought it and burnt it to the ground.

His own childhood home stood two miles away. A grueling distance for two kids to trek to see each other. The next closest neighbor was thirty minutes by car, so maybe that two-mile hike was a blessing.

The unforgiving sun beat down on her neck, burning her fair skin as she pushed sand over the bag she’d buried in the remains of Caroline’s house. The duffel contained her ID, credit card, phone, and license plates from her truck—everything she carried that could identify her. The phone was the hardest to relinquish, but without cell service, it was useless.

Sweat trickled between her breasts, her body temperature rising to unbearable levels. She released her ponytail and shook out her hair, using the length to cover her shoulders and arms. She wouldn’t last an hour out here without turning into a blistered tomato.

The heat chased her back into the cab of the air-conditioned truck. She leaned toward the vent, absorbing the cold air as her mind drifted to the next task.

Was Tommy already at his house, waiting for her? What if he hadn’t made it out of the cartel’s headquarters? She’d only given him a week’s notice.

He had the resources to learn who she was and everything about her. The man on his team, Cole, had some sort of military background that enabled him to erase their identities from existence. With time, that guy would’ve found her. But probably not within the week she’d given. And not while Tommy was undercover and unable to make contact with him.

Tommy’s emails never disclosed last names. Not his, Caroline’s, or any of his friends’. Rylee only discovered his identity, and that of the Milton family, by piecing together the clues he’d provided, such as the descriptions of his rural home, the details of Caroline’s car accident, and the fire he’d set to her family’s property.

After she determined where he grew up, she’d driven by a couple of times to check out the place. But not recently, and she’d never dared to step out of her truck and peek inside for fear of being discovered.