Son of the Enemy Read Online Free PDF Page B

gently on her fingertips and ran his tongue over them. She groaned.
    “Hannah,” he said quietly, pressing her body against the sink cabinet, letting her feel his arousal. He grasped her wrist, placed her hand over his galloping heart and lowered his face slowly. She rose up on her toes, wanting this kiss, knowing it was a mistake and not caring.
    Suddenly he jerked his head up. He was staring over her shoulder at the kitchen window, frowning.
    “What?” she whispered.
    “Shhh.” His eyes scanned the tiny kitchen, and then he reached out and flipped off the overhead light. “Turn to the sink like you’re getting a glass of water, but don’t look out the window.”
    Oh, God . Someone was out there. Panic seized her by the throat, gripped her muscles, rooting her to the spot. But she forced herself to do what he asked, turning slowly to the sink, not daring to raise her gaze to the window, presumably so whoever was out there wouldn’t know he’d been spotted. John went into the living room and switched off lamps until the only light was the glow of embers in the dying fire. She hugged herself tight.
    Seconds later she heard a window in one of the rooms—her bedroom?—slide up. Had John climbed out, or had someone climbed in?
     
    John grabbed a Maglite and his SIG pistol from the tail bag of his bike and crept around the perimeter of the lawn, shining the light on the ground. He could find no sign of a person or large animal lurking in the darkness. The breeze sent a light drizzle clinging to his face and hair, as though he’d walked into an invisible web. Damp leaves flew about, sticking to his pant legs and covering up any footprints that might have been there.
    The beam settled on a bit of fur sticking out from under the porch steps. He squatted down to take a closer look and found three mutilated squirrels, their bellies slit so their entrails spilled out.
    “Damn it,” he murmured. One he could have dismissed—maybe. Three was a pattern.
    He ran the beam around the foundation but spotted nothing else sinister. Neither had he seen any unusual movement in the trees. But something had been out there. Or someone. He’d swear to it. And whoever or whatever it was could be a threat to Hannah.
    He returned the gun and flashlight to his bike and went back to the bedroom window. He could insist on spending the night to keep her safe. Offer to sleep on the couch. Right. If she let him stay, he would make love to her, and they both knew it. And it would be good between them. Real good.
    Maybe too good.
    I’ve never believed your father was guilty, John.
    That’s what he had to focus on—proving his father’s innocence, clearing his name, getting him out of prison. Yeah, he wanted to get into Hannah’s pants, but for once he had a reason to sleep with a woman he barely knew. It was kind of unsettling, really, the thought of putting the moves on Sharon’s daughter, knowing her lips probably tasted a whole lot like her mother’s had, and that his old man had gotten just as aroused as he had, feeling those full breasts pressed against his chest.
    Unsettling. Right .
    He ran a hand over his hair and pulled it away wet. He couldn’t remember ever being more desperate to make love to a woman than he had been ten minutes ago in her kitchen. What if Hannah’s resemblance to her mother was part of the attraction? Maybe this was some kind of delayed Oedipal competition. A Freudian might say he’d never had to compete with his father for his mother’s love, so now he was competing with him for his lover.
    But he didn’t want Hannah’s love, only her memories. And the best place to hitch a ride down memory lane was in bed, when her inhibitions were down and her emotions high.
     
    My God, what is he doing?
    Hannah raised her eyes to the kitchen window, certain that whoever was out there—if it was a person and not an animal—could no longer see inside. The night was overcast, and no ambient light filtered through