Sensory Ops: Sounds To Die By Part 18

"You should have tried harder to veer them down a different path." Though if he had, Ian wouldn't have met Kieralyn. Pain stabbed deep at the thought of her. Maybe that would have been best.

"The best I could do was keep tabs on the women and ensure they were not harmed. It's taken me this long to get high enough in the organization and find the proof I needed to bring down the head guy."

"And you couldn't tip your hand to him." Ian remembered his tactics training. He'd never agreed with some of the methods, but he knew what they were.

"More lives than those of the women taken were at risk."

"It's all for the greater good." His father hadn't traded sides. He hadn't betrayed his family or his country. Why was he still fighting the excitement that his dad had returned? That he was still apparently the same man he'd been when he left?

"Ian, I know that you understand why I made the choices I did." Mick stopped pacing and stood right in front of Ian. "Just as I understand why you got involved in the first place with something as seemingly small scale as a series of kidnappings."

His father hadn't changed. Like his heartbeat, he was steady and confident. "I only listened to a recording."

"I've talked to the FBI. To Agent Beckett." His dad laughed. "I can see how she got past Dante. And I can see-" his voice grew quiet, "-how listening to that recording and hearing my name would have hurt you."

Ian's eyes grew heavy with the buildup of unshed tears. There was the answer to why he was still fighting. "I couldn't tell Mom that I had confirmation that you were still alive. That you were possibly close by."

"That's been the hardest part of this a.s.signment. I've been in the area, but haven't been able to see any of you. To let you know I was all right." He stepped closer and rested his hand on Ian's shoulder. "I saw you the night you went to the club with Agent Beckett. You're good together."

He blinked and a tear slid down his cheek. How ironic was it that he would fall in love and his father would approve of a woman who may not want a relationship? He wanted to go to her. The desire burned in his gut, but she needed to make the next move. She needed to find out for herself what she wanted. Breathing slowly, he brought himself back under control.

"I'm glad you're back, Dad. And that the FBI didn't have to kill you or put you in a cage."

"It says a lot that they gave me the benefit of the doubt for your sake." He squeezed Ian's shoulder before dropping his hand. "And I'm glad you were all there. I hadn't been able to make contact with my team and hadn't figured out how I was going to stop the women from being shipped out."

"Then why did you knock Kieralyn out? Why not tell her what you were up to?"

"I considered it. In the end I decided she would be safer if she was out of the way." He shuffled his feet, a rare show of uncertainty. "That didn't work out as I'd planned."

"I'd say not." It hadn't been in anyone's plans for her to get trapped in a burning room. Neither had it been in Ian's to ever face another fire, and yet he'd run into another one if it meant saving Kieralyn.

After talking a little longer and promising to join the family for a welcome back dinner that weekend, Ian listened to his dad leave. Letting go of the hurt had been surprisingly easy once he'd faced his dad and recognized his hesitations as fear rather than hurt.

After two days, the misery d.o.g.g.i.ng him from Kieralyn's absence had a firmer hold on him than two years without his father had. Knowing he wouldn't be able to focus enough to work, he got Maximum from the small yard behind the lab and headed out through the lobby.

"What do you say we shut down early, Dante? Go knock back a few drinks?" Something had to occupy his thoughts.

Dante shifted in his seat and cleared his throat a couple of times. "Tonight's not good."

"What are you up to now?" Something was up. He wasn't in the mood for more surprises.

"It's my turn to host football night with the family."

Right. Every third televised game was at Dante's house. "Have a good time."

"You're always welcome."

"I know." Ian had gone once. Dante's family was nice, but they didn't know how to behave with a blind man in the house. He'd tried to joke that he wasn't the pope, and that they didn't have to worry about what they said. They hadn't been able to relax though, so he took pity on them and stayed away. "Thanks."

He slid his mental shields into place to protect himself from the onslaught of sounds and walked outside with Maximum at his side. The dog brushed against his leg, offering comfort. He smiled and rubbed Maximum's head. "You're the perfect companion. My best friend."

"Wouldn't it be nice to have one that could talk back, though?"

Ian froze. His heart plummeted. Afraid to discover he was imagining things, he slid his shields down and listened to sounds around him.

A heart powered by a bold and almost tangible emotion beat an erotic melody that now lived firmly inside him. Just as it had that first day in his lab, Kieralyn's spirit wrapped around him like an invisible coc.o.o.n.

She stood a few feet away near the bench where he so often ate lunch. She'd been waiting for him, and Dante had known it. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you mean it?" She walked closer until she was standing a foot in front of him. "What you wrote on the card?"

I'll be waiting when you're ready to trust me. I love you. His eyes watered up again. Tears clogged in his throat, making it tough to speak. "Every word."

Her heart slammed out a hard rhythm that matched his own. "Thank you."

Not what a man wanted to hear after confessing his love. "For the fire? Don't mention it."

"For..." Her voice cracked. She stepped closer and touched his hand. "For listening."

"It's my job." Why was she doing this to him? She wasn't blind. She had to see what he was going through.

"For standing by me. You showed me that I had everything I thought I wanted with my team." Her hand shook over his. "That they do respect me."

"They care for you. It's impossible not to." His voice rasped.

"Ian-"

"I have to go." He pulled his hand from hers, stepped to the side, and walked away. Tears ran down his face. He couldn't escape fast enough.

Her heart stuttered and she gulped. She couldn't be crying. She cared, but not enough that his walking away would make her cry.

"I trust you."

Her quiet admission was as effective as a la.s.so tightening around his neck. He jerked to a stop and lowered his head. He swiped the tears from his face. She hurried to him, but didn't come around to face him.

"Don't do this, Kieralyn."

"Ian."

"Don't play games with me. I'm not built for them."

"No games." She rested her shaking palm on his biceps. "No reservations. I love you."

Listening closely to her heartbeat and the levels of her voice, he turned and aimed his gaze, whatever it looked like, straight at her. He couldn't bring himself to touch her until he knew she meant what she said. "None?"

"Not a one." She stepped closer and brushed her thumbs beneath his eyes. Her palms rested on his cheeks. "I love the man that you are. The man that your blindness has made you."

He dropped Maximum's leash and framed Kieralyn's face. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Do you know what this means to me?"

"I think I do. When I was in that hospital bed, surrounded by my team, listening to them talk about me being one of them I realized that I'd been granted everything I thought I wanted. Then I looked at that bouquet. I remembered waking up for a minute in that burning kitchen. Hearing your voice." Her voice shook. Tears flowed down her face. "I thought I was imagining things because there was no way that you would face another fire. And how were you supposed to help me? To see where I was?"

"Kieralyn."

"I know now that it isn't your eyes that give you sight." She trembled beneath his hands. Her breath quivered. "It's your ability to like yourself, to accept what life has given you. It's your heart."

"You're not always pleasant or easy company, but you're my heart, Kieralyn." He pulled her to him and hugged her tight. "I don't know how, I sure as h.e.l.l didn't expect it, but you captivated me from the beginning. I was helpless to falling in love with you."

She sniffled against his chest. "We must look like morons. Standing here blubbering on the NSA lawn."

He laughed and pulled back enough to kiss her. The glide of her mouth against his resonated with the love she'd declared. She was making it all so easy. "Why do you want someone like me? It won't be easy."

"Someone like you?"

"Blind. Scarred."

"That doesn't matter to me. Because you're blind and scarred, you don't pretend to be someone you're not." She pulled back and ran her fingers along his face-tracing his scars. "These scars add to your charm. They're intriguing. They're a testimony to all that you've been through and they're evidence that you have rough edges. You're challenging and unpredictable. You aren't perfect, but you're s.e.xy as h.e.l.l in every way. It helps that I really like you."

He grinned and took her hands in his. "I really like you, too. Even if you are a pain in the a.s.s."

"Does this mean I can come home with you?"

He brushed his thumbs over the pulse points on her neck. "There will be conditions."

"Name them."

"You have to take my name and eventually be willing to give my mom at least one grandchild."

"I think I can do that." Her lips lifted into a smile beneath his palms. "I love you, Ian."

"I loved you first."

She laughed. "I see how it's gonna be."

"Never dull." He laughed and pulled her close. Life with Kieralyn would be a challenge. And he would make sure she never regretted her decision.

About the Author.

Nikki Duncan, jokingly known to some as Naughty Nikki, juggles her time between writing, multiple jobs, household duties, and family. Of all the things on her To Do List, Nikki neglects the household ch.o.r.es most frequently. Then again, who doesn't want to ignore laundry and dishes?

Before turning to writing, Nikki pa.s.sed her spare time with a hundred or so romance books a year. While the reading has tapered off a bit, her love of books and reading is stronger than ever. She now spends large chunks of time indulging in her love of creating stories that will hopefully offer people the peace that, regardless of whatever is wrong with their life, hope and faith in something better can always be found between the covers of a book.

To learn more about Nikki, please visit www.nikkiduncan.com. Send an email to Nikki at

A wounded cop. A frightened woman. A desperate race to save a child in danger...

The Midnight Effect 2009 Pamela Fryer In a single phone call, Lily Brent's entire life-past and future-becomes foggy with confusion and danger. Her estranged sister is dead, and the body is lacking one definitive mark: a surgery scar from the kidney Lily thought she'd donated to her sister long ago.

There's more than a mystery on her hands. There's a niece she never knew she had, and a madman on her trail who's h.e.l.l-bent on getting the child back.

When a beautiful woman crashes her car into his remote mountain gas station, followed closely by a man with a silencer-equipped pistol, three years of inactive duty fall away as Miles Goodwin springs into action. He saves Lily and her golden child, but nothing can save him from the painful reminder of the family he lost. Retreating to his emotional coma, however, isn't an option; they're far from safe.

There's something strange about a six-year-old girl who's never eaten a hamburger or heard of Tinkerbell-and who seems to be the source of psychic phenomena so powerful, someone's willing to kill to get her back.

Warning: Contains heart-pounding suspense, a charm-your-socks-off kid, and a compelling romance that may inspire you to combine your DNA with someone you love!

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Midnight Effect: Miles Goodwin tipped his chair back as he took a slug from his beer. Across the tree line the remainder of the day was a b.l.o.o.d.y smear on the horizon. The setting sun drifted away mockingly. Another day and you're still here because you don't have the courage to put your revolver in your mouth.

He smacked at a mosquito on his neck. The bugs were relentless at dusk, but this was Miles' favorite time of day. Swallowing darkness was moments away, when he wouldn't recognize each agonizing minute in the pa.s.sage of time. Night was limbo in the personal h.e.l.l his life had become.

It was a ch.o.r.e to drag himself out of bed every morning, painful to endure every endless minute. The mark of each sunset brought him one day closer to the end he longed for. Closer to the end he didn't have the courage to seek on his own. Suicide was a sin, and if there was a sweet hereafter, he wouldn't join Sara and Mich.e.l.le there if he took his own life.

The roar of an engine pulled his attention to the dark tunnel of Northern pine where the highway wound out of sight. The front legs of his chair fell onto the porch with a thunk. He rarely saw a customer at his little gas station after six. By now most of the tourists were already in town at the expensive restaurants, sipping their second martinis.

A cla.s.sic Mercedes two-seater raced around the bend and went into a drift on squealing tires.

The car fishtailed before regaining traction. Clouds of white smoke poured from the exhaust as though it had blown a head gasket. As it barreled down the highway at breakneck speed, chunks of rubber flapped at the right rear wheel. The car was out of control, but the driver wasn't trying to stop.

Sparks flew from the rim as the last shreds of the tire disintegrated. The car careened down the embankment on the side of the highway and launched itself off the incline, headed directly for his small station.

"Jesus!" Miles leapt to his feet and dove off the porch, narrowly missing the rusted edge of a twisted b.u.mper as he hit the ground. He scrambled to his feet and ran, still clutching his foaming beer bottle, as the car crashed into the pumps.

A dull whuff pressed on his eardrums as the pumps exploded. For the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat the dusky forest was as bright as high noon.

Miles. .h.i.t the emergency shut-off lever at the side of the garage and the tanks sealed off, but the car was already on fire. There were no sprinklers at the historic station's stand-alone island.

n.o.body could have lived through an explosion like that. At that horrific moment, he knew there was at least one dead body at Goodwin's Garage.

The irony hit him-there could have been two. What had made him run? He'd been longing for death for three years, aching for it more with each day that pa.s.sed. Yet at the first sign of danger he'd been on his feet, preserving his sorry a.s.s. It had been instinct as much as police training.

Dammit to h.e.l.l.

Momentum had taken the car past the worst of the flames. The windshield was a shattered milky spider web, but still held.

Conditioned by police training, he ran toward the car without thinking, more concerned for the driver than for himself.

Movement shifted behind the white-green kaleidoscope of safety gla.s.s. A hand pa.s.sed over the steering wheel, and Miles knew it was a woman in the car.

She's alive-there must be a G.o.d in Heaven.

The driver's door opened as flames burst across the hood. She staggered out and fell to her knees.

A second explosion rocked the quiet mountainside. Still running, Miles threw up his arm to block the intense heat.