Dead by Midnight

  Dead by Midnight

  An I-Team Christmas

  Pamela Clare

  Leap Day Productions

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  Other titles by Pamela Clare

  About the Author

  DEAD BY MIDNIGHT

  An I-Team Christmas

  Published by Pamela Clare, 2015

  Credits for cover images

  Man with Pistol: Period Images

  Background: Nattapong Sirilappanich/Depositphotos.com

  Cover design by Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

  Copyright © 2015 by Pamela Clare

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials by violating the author’s rights. No one should be expected to work for free. If you support the arts, do not participate in illegal file-sharing.

  ISBN-10: 099037713X

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9903771-3-9

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to the victims of terrorism around the world and the courageous men and women who fight it.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Michelle White, Jackie Turner, Shell Ryan, Kim Eckenrode, and Pat Egan Fordyce for their typo wrangling and feedback as I worked on this novel.

  A big hug and thanks to Andrea Ferrer for her help with Colombian Spanish.

  Thanks to Christopher Wu for saying crazy shit that makes me laugh and for his feedback on certain law-enforcement elements of the story. Thanks to Benjamin Collins for his pilot’s expertise. The two of you are like sons to me. Once, you were little kids. Now you help me with my books. How cool is that?

  Special thanks to my dear son Benjamin Alexander for his unflagging support, firearms expertise, and his help getting this book out on time. What would I do without you?

  I would also like to thank the wonderful and brilliant Kaylea Cross for allowing the hot alphas from her Hostage Rescue Team series to come play with my I-Team guys for a while. It was so much fun working with you.

  Last but not least, thank you to the thousands of readers around the world who have made the I-Team series such a success over the past decade. Your love for these characters has inspired me, brought out the best in me as a writer, and made sharing their stories such an adventure. This book is for you.

  1

  Chapter One

  Downtown Denver

  December 19

  14:10

  Gabe Rossiter lay back on the gold damask coverlet and watched Kat unzip his fly, lifting his ass off the bed as she yanked down his trousers and boxer briefs, his cock already hard. “In a hurry?”

  He sure as hell was.

  “It’s been two weeks.” She pressed her hands to his chest for balance and straddled him, her party dress, hose, and panties tossed onto a nearby chair beside his prosthetic leg.

  “Two weeks and two days.” He’d been tempted to carve the days into their bathroom wall like a prisoner, a record of their involuntary celibacy as the parents of two—soon to be three—small children.

  He had to hand it to himself. This had been a good idea. Drop the kids off with Kat’s Uncle Allen and his wife. Surprise Kat with a room at the Palace Hotel. Get some nookie before the newspaper’s annual bore-fest of a holiday party. Spend a night—an entire night—alone with his wife before the new baby came.

  His fingers found the clasp of her bra, releasing the lacy fabric to expose her lush breasts, their nipples dark from pregnancy. He took their weight in his hands, teased their velvety tips with his thumbs, gratified by the tremor that ran through her.

  She pressed her breasts deeper into his hands, closed her eyes, her nipples drawing tight. He let himself play, enjoying it every bit as much as she did. Her breathing turned to whimpers, then to soft moans, making him harder.

  He reached down with one hand to tease her clit.

  “Yes.” Her head fell back, her long, dark hair tickling his thighs, the curve of her rounded belly adding to her femininity, making her even sexier in his eyes.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  But she was too lost in sensation to hear him.

  Good.

  Her hips began to move, little involuntary jerks that told him she was fast moving toward orgasm, her breath unraveling in sweet little moans. Then her head came up, and she looked down at him through dilated pupils. “I want you inside me. Now.”

  Yes, this had been a very good idea.

  Gabe grasped his cock and held it as she raised herself up and then lowered herself onto him, taking all of him into her tight, wet heat.

  Oh, yeah.

  Pleasure jolted through him, and his eyes drifted shut.

  He jerked them open again, not wanting to miss a moment of this.

  “Gabe.” She whispered his name, her eyes closing as she began to move, her hips rocking against him.

  He fought the urge to thrust, willed himself to hold still, letting her take what she needed from him.

  God, he loved her—loved her, cherished her, needed her. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he loved her more than he had when he’d married her almost four years ago. She’d saved him from himself, forgiven him when he hadn’t deserved it. She’d given him children. She’d brought joy back into his life.

  She was life.

  Her breath came in pants now as she ground herself against him, her eyes squeezed shut, her nails digging into his chest, her thighs drawing tight against his hips. She came with a cry, her back arching, her inner muscles clenching around him. He found himself moaning, too, so aroused he thought his balls might burst.

  He stayed with her, giving her time to savor the pleasure, the spasms inside her slowly subsiding, her breathing gradually returning to normal. He watched her as the tension drained from her body, leaving her almost limp.

  She opened her eyes and gave him a smile that made his pulse skip.

  “Welcome back, beautiful.” He reached up, brushed the hair from her cheek.

  She laughed, slid her palms over his chest. “I needed that.”

  He grinned, gave a little thrust with his hips, his cock aching and still buried inside her. “There’s more where that came from.”

  “Mmm. I hope so.” She raised herself off him, his cock falling free, its length glistening with her wetness.

  Gabe watched as she turned and got onto her hands and knees, giving him a rear view that sent lust shearing through his belly. He rose onto his knees, moved up behind her, stroked her. And then he just had to taste.

  * * *

  Kat gasped, shocked by the hot swipe of Gabe’s tongue. Oh, but he knew just how to love her. He teased her with flicks of his tongue, caught her inner lips with his mouth, sucked on her clitoris, one sweet sensation colliding with the next. “Oh, yes.”r />
  He moaned, the sound vibrating through her. “You taste so good.”

  He kept up his assault until she was fully aroused and aching, erotic pleasure shivering through her. Then he shifted into position behind her, and she spread her legs wider, eager to feel him inside her again.

  He entered her with a single, smooth thrust, groaning her name. “Kat.”

  They fit together so perfectly, two halves that made a perfect whole. His cock filled her, stretched her, stroked every inch of her all the way to the mouth of her womb, his hands caressing the skin of her back, her buttocks, her hips. He bent over her, reached between her legs to tease her clit, his lips pressing hot kisses to her shoulders, his hips thrusting faster as the urgency between them began to build.

  She gave herself over to his loving, nothing in her world but him, his body conjuring magic from hers, bliss already building toward another orgasm, leaving her mindless. It felt so good … so good … stroke after slick stroke … stretching her, filling her … feeding that sweet ache.

  And then she was there, suspended somewhere between heaven and earth, hovering on the radiant edge of another climax. Her breath caught … and she came again in a wave of perfect bliss, the pleasure blinding.

  She cried out, an almost incoherent rush of words in her native Navajo welling up from inside her, ending with the most important words of all. “Ayor anosh'ni!”

  I love you.

  Yes, she loved him—this man, her lover, her half-side. She might have loved him since before she’d been born, the two of them made for each other.

  “Kat.” He whispered her name, keeping his rhythm steady, making her pleasure last, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses on her back.

  He always put her pleasure first, but now it was time for him to claim his own. His hands moved to grasp her hips, and he let himself go, his thrusts coming faster and harder until he was driving into her. His fingers dug into her hips, his breathing ragged, his restraint shattered.

  He came with a groan, finishing with a few powerful strokes, spilling himself inside her. For a moment, they stayed like that, bodies still joined, hearts still pounding, the mingled scents of salt and musk filling her head.

  Then Gabe drew her back with him, spooning her in his arms, their heads resting on thick pillows. He felt so solid behind her, his body firm and strong. And for a time they lay together in the stillness, savoring the moment, his fingertips tracing lines over her skin, their heartbeats slowing.

  “What time does that damned party start?” His voice was deep, husky.

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, saw that it was almost five. “Seven.”

  “What if we make a fashionably late entrance?”

  She turned in his arms to face him, tucking one of her legs between his thighs. “We can’t be late. Matt is bringing Holly as his plus-one.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t help but smile.

  Gabe chuckled. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  “That still gives us almost two hours.”

  “Two hours.” He brushed his lips over hers, smiled. “I bet we can find some way to keep busy till then.”

  * * *

  18:30

  Marc Hunter picked a black tie out of the closet then turned to face Sophie. He wished they were going on a date instead of heading to this stupid holiday party, because—damn—she looked good enough to eat. A cocktail gown of black beaded silk clung to her curves, her strawberry blond hair done up in a twist. But, no, they were going to waste the entire evening—and all that sexy—on the newspaper.

  “Every year I swear we won’t go to this damned party again next year, but every year we go. We don’t need the money.”

  The newspaper’s publisher traditionally passed out holiday bonuses at the party—the paper’s way of blackmailing staff into attending. Anyone who didn’t show up at the party had to wait until their first paycheck in January to get their bonus. Most people depended on that check to buy Christmas gifts for their loved ones. But Marc earned a decent salary as captain of the Denver Police Department’s SWAT team. They weren’t living from paycheck to paycheck.

  Sophie smiled up at him, took the tie from his hands, went to work with it. “Matt is bringing Holly as his guest, and I can’t wait to see Tom’s face.”

  Marc must not have heard right. “Matt is bringing Holly?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Does Nick know?”

  Nick Andris was Holly’s husband of almost a year. A former CIA paramilitary officer, he’d take poor Matt Harker apart if he thought the man was hot on his wife.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Of course he knows. He’s busy tonight—some important meeting. He thought the idea of Holly crashing the party was funny.”

  “What’s to stop Tom from throwing her out?”

  “It’s the holiday party. You know—peace on Earth, good will to people, God bless us every one.” She adjusted the knot she’d made, drew it tight. “Besides, he wouldn’t want to cause a scene and embarrass the new publisher.”

  Marc wasn’t convinced. “Since when does Tom care about making a scene?”

  “Ever since the publisher told him the I-Team was too expensive and might get cut from the budget.”

  Marc caught his wife’s hands. “What? When did this happen?”

  The I-Team—or Investigative Team—was made up of the best reporters on the paper’s staff. They did the sort of old-fashioned digging that turned up the big stories, the kind that brought down the assholes and changed state laws. It was Sophie’s work as an I-Team reporter that had freed Marc from spending the rest of his life in a prison cell.

  She ran her hand down his tie, smoothed it into place. “Tom told us about it in Monday’s I-Team meeting.”

  Marc slid his fingers through hers. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It’s almost Christmas. I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, it doesn’t make sense to get upset about something that might not happen.”

  He drew her into his arms. “Hey, I’m your husband, remember? Don’t keep things like that from me. It’s my job to carry half the burden.”

  He knew it wasn’t the loss of income that worried her, but the prospect of losing a job she loved. God knew she had to love the work to put up with her dick of a boss.

  Marc had never cared for the way Tom Trent treated his staff.

  Sophie kissed his cheek. “I don’t want to think about it. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

  Marc grabbed his loaded SIG P239 and slipped it into its custom leather pocket holster, then shoved both into his trouser pocket with his badge. “Is Rossiter coming?”

  Sophie crossed the room, picked up the sparkly black handbag she’d bought to go with her gown. “Yes, of course.”

  Well, that was something. He and Rossiter, who’d once worked in law enforcement as a park ranger, could shoot the shit, catch up on the latest, and commiserate. There was safety in numbers.

  “And, Marc, guess what else will be coming to the party.”

  Marc looked up in time to see Sophie lift her gown. Beneath the silk and glitter, she was wearing black stockings, black lace garters—and nothing else. Her delicious ass was bare, along with all those sweet little female bits between her thighs.

  Holy hell.

  Marc’s pulse skipped, blood surging to his groin.

  She settled the black lace of her gown into place, her lips curving in a sexy smile. “Are you coming?”

  Oh, he wouldn’t miss this for the world.

  * * *

  18:55

  Reece Sheridan turned the corner into the Palace Hotel’s massive parking garage and drew their Lexus RX to a stop, leaving the keys in the ignition for the valet. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for his wife, the cold biting through his tux.

  Kara stepped out, looking gorgeous in a long gown of midnight blue velvet, a matching velvet wrap around her shoulders, her d
ark hair pulled back to hang down her back. “Are you sure I’m dressed up enough?”

  “You look perfect.” He kissed her cheek.

  She wasn’t comfortable with this kind of black-tie affair. Then again, neither was he. It certainly wasn’t why he’d run for office. But Governor Thyfault’s wife was in the hospital recovering from an appendectomy, so it was Reece’s job as lieutenant governor to attend the annual British Consulate General’s Christmas party.

  A young man in a hotel uniform approached, handed Reece a ticket.

  Reece tipped him with a ten. “Happy holidays.”

  “Thanks.” The kid smiled, then slipped into the car and drove away.

  Reece tucked his arm through Kara’s and hurried with her toward the front entrance, its brass-trimmed doors flanked by uniformed doormen.

  “When you introduce me to him, I call him ‘Your Excellency,’ but after that I can just say ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Ambassador’?”

  “You can use either interchangeably. You also call him Ambassador DeLacy.”

  “What about the Secretary of State?”

  “Madam Secretary will do—or Secretary Holmes.” He gave her arm a little tug. “Would you relax? You’ll probably spend most of the evening bored to tears.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about that. You could never let me down.”

  He hated to think she was nervous. His career demanded much more sacrifice from her than hers required of him. She’d attended endless parties, helped him write speeches, stood by him during election campaigns. She’d spent too many nights putting the kids to bed by herself because he was working late. She’d endured the risks associated with having a husband in public office. Through it all, she had never once complained.