Reagan took in Deacon's shocked expression, his eyes wide, mouth slack.
"Reagan," he said, his voice packed with eleven years of love and devotion.
The sound shredded her heart.
"I know. I'm sorry," she whispered.
"That's enough!" said the man with a gun to her head—Gage Brooker's brother.
She'd gone to the house to follow up on her lead, wondering if maybe he would know something about the computer repair shop, hoping they could find a connection to the other missing men. Winston Brooker had greeted her with pent-up hostility and a shotgun.
"You should have found him by now!" he'd said, forcing her inside. He'd taken her weapons and phone, and thrown them on the coffee table littered with takeout boxes and cigarette butts. "You cops need to stop fucking around! Are you it? Are you the best they could do?"
Reagan had taken a deep breath and done her best to hold his wild gaze. "I've been working on this case non-stop. Yeah, the LAPD has told me to put this on the back burner, but I won't do that. You and I, we're on the same side."
Wrong answer. Winston fired a warning shot into the wall behind her. "Bullshit!"
Her ears rang and she couldn't keep the quiver out of her voice, but she managed to say, "We are! I want to find your brother and I won't stop until I do. But I need your help."
"Some cop you are!" Another smattering of buckshot ripped through the air.
Reagan tried not to take it personally. She had thought about mentioning her own missing brother, a man she hadn't seen since he'd left her on the hospital doorstep more than a decade before, but figured that would only backfire—literally. If she didn't know where her own brother was, how could she find Gage's?
She needed to press forward. By now someone would have heard the shots and called the police. She even suspected that someone had been walking on the sidewalk when he'd met her at the door, weapon in hand.
Back up would come, but she'd have to survive until then.
And by some twist of fate, it came in the form of Deacon and his team. Of course it had been them…
Winston snatched the phone from her hand and put it to his ear, holding the gun on her while she put up her hands and he peeked outside. He may have had a touch of the brain fever, but he wasn't completely stupid; he made sure Reagan blocked any possible shots coming from the outside.
"You in charge?" he asked Deacon.
She couldn't hear her husband's reply but could see his mouth moving. Through it all, his gaze never left hers.
Winston jabbed her in the back with the shotgun and she saw Deacon flinch.
"So you're not her boss?" His words were accusing and she could tell they were losing control over the situation. Winston wouldn't stay halfway rational for much longer.
Considering her options, Reagan reasoned that this had gone on for way too long anyway. Once she made sure Deacon was still focused on her, she touched her thumb to her opposite finger, wiggling her wedding ring. Deacon's dark eyes flitted to watch the movement. When he realized what she was doing, he angled his head slightly and gave her his trademark glare.
She was saying, I love you, and that was enough to warn him of her next move.
After taking a deep breath, Reagan closed her eyes. She opened them as she ducked and spun, thrusting her hand upward to hold the barrel of the shotgun. She barely heard Deacon yell for everyone to get down as Winston fired a wild round. Dry wall rained down from the ceiling as she attempted to twist the gun away from Winston. At the same time, she drove her other palm up and into his nose, breaking it on contact. Blood poured out as her phone clattered to the floor.
"You bitch!" he shouted.
They struggled over the gun but he swung it back around, the barrel making contact with her temple and cheekbone. She went down hard.
Luckily, her distraction had worked long enough to allow Deacon's team to close in and disarm Winston before he could shoot her.
Hondo pinned Winston as Luca secured the shotgun. The moment Deacon made sure of this, he hauled Reagan into his arms.
"God, baby…" he exhaled, his hard chest heaving against her own. He cradled her head in his hands and pulled back far enough to inspect her injuries. "What were you thinking?"
Reagan winced as his thumb gently brushed the tender skin below her eye. "I was thinking that I'd had enough."
Deacon looked into her eyes now and his brows drew together. "That was too close, Reagan."
"I know," she murmured. "But it comes with the territory."
He seemed to want to say something, but a medic had moved in, needing to check her head wound. Reluctantly, Deacon let her go.
Apparently, that was also a wrong answer.
The next evening, Reagan put on makeup to cover her bruises and, when she was done, admired her handiwork. It didn't really sit right that she was getting so good at it.
She'd curled her long dark hair into voluminous waves, and applied bright red matte lipstick. After putting on her favorite body lotion, she stepped into their closet and chose a skin-tight black dress that pushed up her breasts and showed off her tan legs. She glanced in the full-length mirror and smiled.
Two kids later and she still had it.
Reagan grabbed her clutch and slipped on a pair of red slingback pumps. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen, finding Deacon at the sink with a cup under the faucet.
Upon the signal of her approach—two heels on hardwood floor—he said, "My mom came and got the kids. They said the movie starts in a couple hours so they'll get dinner first. I'll pick them up after work tomorrow…"
Deacon trailed off when he finally turned around and caught sight of Reagan.
"Oh, Mrs. Kay, that should be illegal," he said, his twinkling eyes roaming over her curves. He clunked his glass on the counter, instantly forgotten. When he met her gaze, his smile was filled with promises. "You look amazing."
Reagan returned the smile and tipped up her chin to receive his kiss. Deacon's hands rested on her hips and moved to her backside, squeezing until she was pressed fully against him. He deepened the kiss by angling his jaw to one side, and she allowed herself to get lost in it.
After a few breathless moments, he said against her lips, "I don't think I can let you go out like that."
"Well you're gonna have to. I am way too excited about a night out." She brought her hands up to caress his rough cheeks and ran a thumb over his bottom lip. Deacon lightly caught it between his teeth, his tongue touching the pad. "But I promise you, later tonight, I'm all yours, Mr. Kay."
He let out a low growl and she felt the vibration all the way to her core. "You better believe it."
They arrived at O'Malley's exactly on time—something that didn't happen much since having kids. After walking in, Charlie greeted them from behind the bar. Even though a lot had changed for them in a decade, Charlie was a constant. The only noticeable change was that his beard had grown longer, rivaling Santa's best, and the forty pounds that had come off his frame after a bypass surgery.
"Date night?" Charlie asked, his brows raised but coming nowhere near his receded hairline.
"You know it," replied Reagan with a wide smile.
He gestured behind the long counter. "The usual?"
"Yes, please. Thanks, Charlie," she said, Deacon's hand on the small of her back, guiding her further inside.
They spotted Chris and Street sitting in the back at their booth, with Luca and Keri standing next to the table, presumably having just arrived as well.
"I'll get our drinks. Go on ahead," Deacon said, his eye softening on Reagan.
They snuck a quick kiss—it was Date Night, after all—and then she turned back to walk across the room toward their friends.
"Hey!" they all exclaimed in greeting. Reagan exchanged a hug with Luca and Keri, the latter saying, "Wow. Look at you."
Reagan laughed. "Lipstick and heels! Not the usual attire for a detective, I'm afraid."
Keri smiled. "You always look stunning."
"Thank you. As do you."
Someone tapped Reagan and she glanced over her shoulder. Deacon held out her glass of wine and took a sip of his bourbon on the rocks, a stray from his usual.
"It must be a special evening. You don't have a beer," she said. "I take it I'm driving us home?"
"Is that okay?" he asked, pausing before taking another drink.
"I don't mind at all." Her eyes held a glimmer of mischief.
Deacon leaned in and his soft breath warmed her ear. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Mrs. Kay?"
Reagan turned her head and allowed her lips to touch his ear, the same as he had. "Possibly. Maybe I want to have my way with you."
Deacon pulled back far enough to meet her eyes, his own flaring with heat. "You don't need me to be drunk for that to happen," he said, his voice thick with desire.
"Hey! Hope we haven't missed the fun!" Bonnie said from nearby. Tan held her hand and was talking to Hondo and Jessica, who must've gotten to the bar at the same time as them.
"We're just getting started!" Luca announced.
After about an hour of catching up, the song changed on the jukebox and it caught Reagan's attention, instantly transporting her to a decade before. Eric Clapton's husky voice had her glancing across the table at her past fling, and to her surprise, Street stared right back. He seemed to hesitate, and then a slow smile graced his handsome face.
You wanna? he mouthed.
Reagan shrugged and looked pointedly at Deacon. Street swallowed hard.
"Hey, man. Would you mind if I danced with Cass?"
Deacon appeared somewhat taken aback, but relaxed when he saw Reagan's waiting expression. "Uh, sure. Though, it goes without saying—you try anything and I'll break your kneecaps."
Chris laughed. "You'd have to get in line."
"Jeez, guys, give me a little more credit," he said, and kissed Chris's forehead before scooting out of the booth.
Reagan met him on the other side and they walked out onto the small dance floor, which held a few other swaying couples. She clasped hands with Street as he put his opposite hand on her waist, keeping his distance far more than he had on that memorable night so many years before.
"I hope this isn't too inappropriate," he said. "I couldn't help myself—for old time's sake."
"I wouldn't worry about it. We're far past who we used to be. You're practically my brother now. It'd just be weird."
Street chuckled. "Same." He cleared his throat. "Actually, speaking of brothers… How're you holding up since that incident yesterday?"
"Fine. I'm a little shook, but it's nothing I can't handle."
"I hate to pry—"
"You never have to worry about that."
He gave her a gentle smile. "I couldn't help but wonder about your own brother. You haven't mentioned him in years, not since Mexico."
"It's funny you say that. I actually thought about him yesterday, too."
"You spend so much time looking for all of these missing people. Have you ever looked for him?"
Reagan shook her head. "I don't want to find him. For his safety and my own. I have a family I have to think about—a new family."
Street frowned.
"I know that sounds harsh, but I think he and I had a mutual understanding. If I let him go, he'd never put me in danger again."
"I can't imagine how hard that must be for you."
Reagan squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, but I think you do."
Street's own mother had disappeared eight years ago when her antics began to put both of their lives in jeopardy.
"I guess you're right," he said, smiling sadly.
Meanwhile at the booth, a few of them had gotten up to dance or order more drinks. Deacon sat back and watched Reagan and Street together. He wasn't jealous—not really. That part of their lives was far behind them, and he trusted Street. Reagan, too.
Instead, he took a moment to appreciate the delicate column of her neck where it met the curve of her jaw. His eyes ran over her hips and muscular legs with complete reverence.
"Deke, you gotta keep those wandering eyes in check. What would your wife think?"
Deacon looked at Luca where he sat next to him, and smirked. "All I know is she's coming home with me and that dress is going to be the first thing to go."
Luca cracked a grin and lightly punched Deacon in the shoulder. "You dog."
Deacon matched the grin and continued to admire his wife from afar as Luca spoke.
"Has she recovered from yesterday?"
His expression fell slightly and he took a swig of beer—his second—before answering. "Perhaps a little too well."
Luca scowled. "What does that mean?"
"Between you and me? I think she's getting too used to the dangers of the job."
"It is her job, Deke…"
He shook his head. "She has a life outside of her job, and I think sometimes she forgets that."
Luca shifted in his seat. "That's a two-way street, man."
Deacon knew the other man was right but couldn't admit it out loud. "Something's gotta give. We can't keep tempting fate. Lila and Matthew deserve more than that."
"It sounds like you and Cassie need to talk about this."
Deacon sighed. "I know. I can't imagine it will be pretty, though. I'd like to save it for another time."
Luca's eyes danced with amusement. "I think that's a given. You need to enjoy tonight with your lady."
"As she dances with another man…" Deacon joked.
Long after the song had ended and Reagan was back by Deacon's side, he was more than ready to get her home. They both had to work the next day, but their evening wasn't over yet.
The couple wished everyone a good night and then drove home in silence, only one thing on their minds, but when they reached their driveway, neither of them exited the car. Instead, Deacon picked up Reagan's hand where it rested between them and pressed her palm to his lips. He gently kissed the tender skin and met her eyes across the quiet expanse of her SUV. Reagan saw the darkness in his own, inky black pools of lust—and maybe a touch of inebriation.
At the same time, they reached for each other. She was always in awe of Deacon's strength and this time was no different. He easily lifted her over the center console and into his arms. She straddled his lap and her dress rode up, the scratchy denim of his desire rubbing against the thinly veiled area between her legs. While one of his hands tilted her head so his lips could have better access to her neck, the other moved purposefully between them. His fingers hooked her underwear to one side, allowing them to explore her velvet heat that throbbed with wanting.
Reagan whimpered and Deacon kissed his way across her jaw, his teeth nipping before his mouth closed over her own, absorbing the sounds that escaped. She reached for the button and zipper on his jeans and fumbled it open. Reaching into his boxer briefs, she released his erection and stroked it between her hands. He released a grunt and pulled back far enough to make eye contact.
"I've wanted this all night, Reagan. I've wanted you. This dress… those legs…" He made a pained expression. "You're gorgeous."
Suddenly, he touched her hot center once more and his gaze flashed when she drew in a breath.
"And so damn wet for me…"
What's gotten into you? she wanted to ask. Deacon rarely did dirty talk. He was usually all about the lovemaking—not that she minded something different once in a while—but this seemed unlike him.
She didn't have time to give it another thought as he kept her underwear pushed to one side and brought her hips down around him. She cried out, the only other sounds now their heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. He tipped his forehead against hers and thrust into her again.
"It feels so good to be inside you," he murmured, and then placed another scorching kiss on her parted lips.
"And it feels so good to have you inside me," she said, trying to match his level of passion.
Deacon's fingertips pressed into her backside and she wondered if she'd have bruises the next day. It didn't bother her, though; she could feel her pleasure building, leading her to the incredible pinnacle that teetered between living and dying.
"David…" Her breath hitched as she took him in as far as she could and held him there while he reached his own release. Warm spread out from her center, racing to the ends of her body, as if her bloodstream had been set ablaze.
When they both came down from their high, Reagan became aware of the fact that her chest was exposed, having been bared at some point during their wild romp. Deacon's unkempt hair and absence of a tie—not to mention half the buttons on his shirt—clued her in to the fact that she'd lost control almost as much as him.
Neither of them spoke a word as they straightened their clothing, gathered their things, and finally headed inside.