Takedown (1 Night Stand Series) Read online

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  Takedown

  Copyright © 2011 by Stacey Kennedy

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-077-7

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  http://www.decadentpublishing.com

  Takedown

  Stacey Kennedy

  A 1 Night Stand Story

  ~DEDICATION~

  Big thanks to my editor, Valerie Mann, who has taught me so much about grammar in such a short time.

  Also, I have to send some love to Katrina Whittaker and Taryn Kincaid who won the contest to name my boys in this story.

  You ladies gave these men life!

  Chapter One

  Wyatt stretched in the leather seat of his rented truck. A week of chasing Katrina Whittaker had brought nothing but dead ends. His team of U.S. Marshals were strategically positioned at different hotspots in Turks and Caicos, yet the search resulted in them running in circles. She’d proven to be smart and didn’t stay in one place long.

  A murder in Houston, Texas resulted in a warrant for her arrest, and it was Wyatt’s job as Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal to bring Katrina home. Unfortunately, he couldn’t locate her. She had family in Turks and Caicos, and Wyatt’s team got word she’d fled the day her warrant had been issued. Wyatt still tried to understand how she’d made it to the Caribbean island without her passport or the ability to board an airplane, but he’d been in this game long enough to know anything was possible.

  Releasing a long deep sigh, Wyatt ran his hand over his tired face. Katrina had gotten under his skin and he couldn’t wait to slap handcuffs on her. Day and night, they’d set up surveillance and staked out possible leads. The damn woman wasn’t anywhere to be found. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Ten o’clock. Where had the day gone? He’d sat in this seat for well over twelve hours. His ass hurt, his legs tingled with pins and needles, and he needed sleep. More than ready for this to be over, he grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder and held the button on the side to initiate a radio single. “Wyatt to Taryn.”

  “Whatcha got, Chief?” Taryn Kincaid, his right hand woman, responded. Always ready and eager for the hunt ahead, he’d promoted her to Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal not long ago because of her exemplary work.

  “Jackshit,” he grumbled. “You?”

  ”Nothing here either, Sir.”

  Wyatt scanned the area, the luxurious condominiums located on the beachfront known to be Katrina’s grandmother’s house. Nothing stirred, except a cat or two crossing the street on a hunt for dinner.

  His team, Taryn plus the four other deputies she resided over, had slept in their trucks only about ten hours the whole week and he felt the weight of it. He pushed hard in the beginning of the investigation to put heat on Katrina, leaving her nowhere to hide. The idea flopped. His team needed rest, as did he. “Go back to the hotel, check in, and we’ll gather back up at seven hundred hours and start again.”

  “Ten four.”

  The hum of the radio cut off to silence. Starting the engine, Wyatt shot a final look toward the condominium, nothing to indicate Katrina had been there. He put the truck in drive and drove off, spying lush greenery around him.

  Turks and Caicos was a quiet island and Wyatt expected as much. Most along the stunning beachfront properties were tourists looking for some peace. He wouldn’t mind some time off himself. He loved his job, lived for the hunt, but a vacation sounded all too good. Long hours with little fun and he longed for more excitement than his present non-existent love life. So much in fact, he enlisted the services of 1NightStand, a match-making service out of Las Vegas, a few months back. He hoped Madame Eve would find a woman to fulfill his dreams since he’d yet to find one the traditional way.

  Turning onto Grace Bay, Wyatt entered the main district of the island. Only a few minutes down the road, Castillo Hotels and Resorts appeared and he sighed in relief. The resort, like nothing he’d ever seen before with its Greek architecture, white textured walls and large pillars out the front. Spotlights beamed up from the ground to bask the building in a warm glow. Palm trees decorated the landscape, among many other tropical plants Wyatt couldn’t identify.

  At the main entrance, he stopped and put the truck in park as the valet attendant approached. Stepping out, Wyatt handed the keys to the attendant and in turn took a numbered ticket. “Let me grab my stuff before you head off.” Turning on his heel, he strode toward the cab of the truck and grabbed his duffel bag.

  He placed it on the ground to reach into his pocket, took out some cash and handed it to the attendant, who smiled in thanks before jumping into the driver’s seat. As the truck pulled away, Wyatt made his way toward the resort, marveling at the structure. When he entered, the size of the building left him in awe. High ceilings, marble floors—owner Jackson Castillo hadn’t held back when he built the resort. Once at the counter, Wyatt dropped his duffel bag and reached back to grab his wallet from his pocket to show his identification.

  “Welcome to the Castillo Resort,” the greeter said, happy as a clam. Her big brown eyes twinkled. Wyatt understood why she’d been chosen for the job. Her kind face made him feel welcome.

  He read her name tag, Susanne, before glancing back up to her face. “Wyatt Tanning, checking in.”

  Susanne examined his ID for a moment before she glanced away and typed on her computer. “Ah, Mr. Castillo has given you the presidential suite for your stay.”

  Nice of him, but not needed. “That isn’t necessary, any room will suffice.”

  “No, no,” Susanne retorted. “Mr. Castillo’s orders, I’m not given the liberty to disobey them.” She handed him a key card. “We hope you have a wonderful stay here, Mr. Tanning. If you need anything at all, just pick up your phone and it will direct you to the front desk.”

  Wyatt took the card, placed it in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket. “As long as I have a bed, I’ll be happy.” He said it more to himself than to Susanne, and she didn’t bother with his remark, instead moving on to the couple who approached the desk.

  Newlyweds. The assumption not hard to come by, the pair couldn’t keep their hands off each other, plus the gleaming new rings on their fingers were a dead giveaway. Wyatt wondered what such intense love would feel like, never having it, he had nothing to compare it to. He sighed away his pity and considered going up to his room to crash, but decided to get a drink first to wash away the frustrations of the hunt that went nowhere.

  Picking up his duffle bag, he noticed neon lights flashing, Bar, across the way. He salivated at the thought of an ice cold beer and he strode into the bar without haste, pleased to find it not overly busy. An Ultimate Fighting Championship blared on the big screens placed around the room and m
ost of the customers focused on that.

  Perfect.

  At the main bar, he pulled up a stool and sat. The bartender stood, fixing a drink for a woman at the other end and paid him no attention. Wyatt’s focus though stayed trained on the bartender. Muscles layered muscles to create a sculpted physique leading him to believe the man worked out. Wyatt watched the bartender’s forearm clench while he mixed the drink, and the sight of his toned body, tightened Wyatt’s groin.

  Wyatt might have a fondness for women, but it also extended to men, though that was one indulgence he never allowed himself. U.S. Marshal’s did not get sexually involved with men. However, his hard cock reminded him his wish to ignore the draw to the same sex wasn’t always possible.

  The bartender looked up then gave a nod he’d be along shortly and Wyatt groaned. The man’s face consisted of hard angles, sculpted features, buzzed, dirty blond hair with blue eyes exuding strength—it all appealed to him.

  Ignoring his initial attraction, Wyatt focused on the wooden bar and took a deep breath to regain his sense of mind. His cock might want one thing, but his brain held strength over his body. He’d pushed away his cravings for years, become an expert at it. Resurrecting the wall of protection, he hid all emotion and demanded his cock behave.

  ***

  The drink spilled over the rim of the glass as the ice clinked against the sides. Rye wiped the cloth against the bar to clean up the mess from the rum and Coke he’d prepared. He looked out to the bar, the hotel quite busy, considering the night was still early. The UFC fight gave energy to the room where shouts of encouragement rang out in loud outbursts. Two of the top fighters were in the third five-minute round with only two minutes remaining and if Rye had a chance to have a go at them, he’d jump on the opportunity.

  The ring had been his home for the past decade of his thirty-four years. He excelled, won some championships, but not enough to get him in the ring with the likes of the pros. Not that he minded. His contentment lay in the life he led, he traveled to fight when he could, but moved to Turks and Caicos for the relaxing atmosphere. He settled into a fine life there a year back and did not intend to leave anytime soon.

  After he cleaned up the remaining mess, he tossed the towel aside and approached the waiting customer. A U.S. Marshal. The badge on his hat declared so much and the words written in white block letters on the back of his navy tee-shirt confirmed it to be true.

  Rye grinned. A law man sent his arousal into full alarm. The tough persona, the harsh personality, exactly the type of man Rye enjoyed bedding. His women he liked sweet, with a bit of sass in their personality. Men he wanted ragged and rough around the edges. More fun to play with. To some, he’d be considered a bisexual, one who enjoyed both a woman’s pussy and a man’s tight ass. He hated the label and left it at he enjoyed sex. All types.

  He drew closer to the man and his muscles tightened as he wiped his hands on his jeans. The Marshal, represented precisely what he’d been looking for in a lover. So much so, he’d enlisted the services of Madame Eve to help him find it. The men he’d been involved with were either too soft, too giving, or couldn’t stand up to his personality. He craved a man to go head to head with, equal in strength and demeanor, a fantasy he’d hungered for for years and never fulfilled.

  As the thought rose, annoyance burned his blood. Madame Eve had yet to live up to her obligation. Months had passed and she hadn’t found him what he sought. Pushing his irritation away, he stopped in front of the Marshal. “What’s your pleasure?”

  The Marshal raised his gaze and Rye bit back a groan. The man’s occupation made him appealing, the hard exterior of his features captivated Rye. Russet hair peeked out beneath his baseball cap, curling up at the ends. His eyes rich as chocolate, and the chiseled manner of his jaw line and lips made Rye’s cock heavy.

  “Cold beer,” Wyatt responded.

  Rye cleared his throat before turning away to grab the beer from the fridge below the bar. He grabbed the bottle opener from his pocket, flicked it open and handed it him, brushing against his hand with his own. The man tensed before he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long draw on it.

  Was that a flicker of interest Rye witnessed at their touch? Intrigue held too much in his body not to find out. First, he’d play it cool. The Marshal might stir erotic thoughts, but Rye had enough sense to tell he looked exhausted. “Rough night?”

  Wyatt lowered the beer from his mouth and wiped away the remaining liquid on his lips. “A rough week.”

  Rye noted the gravelly tone to his voice, due to tiredness or a given attribute, he couldn’t be sure. Didn’t much matter, he enjoyed it nonetheless. “That bad of a vacation is it?”

  “No vacation.” Wyatt shook his head, spinning the beer bottle in his hand. “On a case.”

  Interesting.

  Rye’s curiosity peaked, needing to become better acquainted with the Marshal, he offered his hand. “Rye Daniels.”

  “Wyatt Tanning.” He wiped his hand on his shirt before he shook Rye’s.

  Again, a flash of interest appeared on the Marshal’s face at the contact. Rye had enough experience to know straight-men, but he doubted the man before him only enjoyed the likes of women. Remaining blasé, he continued with the small talk. “I take it you haven’t found whoever you’re looking for.”

  “Nah.” Wyatt took another long sip of his beer. His lips made a suction sound as he lowered the beer back down and Rye stifled the moan threatening to escape his lips. “Not even close.”

  Rye leaned against the counter, brought his gaze back to Wyatt’s, and took notice of something when he did. The Marshal’s gaze drifted to his forearm, which Rye could feel had flexed with the move. His eyes widened slightly and his breath drew in deep, before he clamped up.

  To be sure he saw it right, Rye shifted positions repeating the move and Wyatt’s eyes burned again, however, ceased an instant later.

  A challenge.

  Rye’s adrenaline kicked up and his cock stiffened. To explore more, he reached down and shifted his erection in his pants and Wyatt tensed. His gaze snapped away and he drank his beer with his eyes focused on the bar ahead. It appeared the Marshal took notice of Rye as well, yet wasn’t so inclined to indulge in such attractions.

  Too bad for him, Rye lived to push limits. An opportunity had fallen into his lap. A dream come true, really. Not only did it provide the exact type of man Rye longed for, but Wyatt had dared him not to try, even if he hadn’t meant to. Bored with the meaningless conversation, Rye tested Wyatt. “Got any plans for tonight?”

  Wyatt’s beer came down on the bar with a heavy thud. His eyes wide with surprise, but he hid it well a quick second later. “Early start tomorrow, my plans are to hit the sack and in the mornin’ catch a killer.”

  The answer didn’t surprise Rye. If anything, it pleased him. Increasing the challenge only built the burn in his groin. “The Marshal gets no fun then?”

  Wyatt cleared his throat, before he finished off his beer and stood. Reaching back into his pocket, he took out his wallet, grabbed a ten dollar bill and threw it on the bar. “Appreciate the beer, a good night to you.”

  Rye nodded in response and watched Wyatt leave, focusing on his tight ass filling his jeans. Wicked images played on his mind. That is, until he got interrupted.

  “I’m here,” Saul gasped, breathless.

  “About damn time,” Rye exclaimed, glancing toward one of the other bartenders at the hotel. “You’re an hour late.” Not that he minded. If he’d left when his shift ended, he would’ve missed the Marshal.

  “Sorry, got stuck on a call with an old friend.” Saul looked away when a customer approached the bar. “Go on, I’ve got it handled now.”

  Rye pulled twenty bucks from his pocket, placed it in the cash register and helped himself to a six pack of beer from the fridge. Good thing Susanne at the front desk adored him because he needed to know one thing—Wyatt’s room number.

  Chapter Two

  A
t room two-twelve, Wyatt slid the keycard into the door and after the beep, yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. His full cock hadn’t stopped reminding him he’d found the bartender sexy as sin. Yet, the voice in his mind told him U.S. Marshals didn’t indulge in such activities.

  He’d fight these feelings just as he’d fought them for the length of his thirty-five years. He never thought of himself as a homosexual man since women held as much appeal to him. In truth, he hoped to find himself married to a woman who would bear his child at some point. Nevertheless, he couldn’t ignore the lust he carried for men, the want to be buried balls deep in a tight ass or have a man sucking him off.

  Again though, he reminded himself, U.S. Marshals shouldn’t want such fantasies met. He’d spent years battling against his desires, knowing it was more important for him to find a wife and marry as society called for. However, his body always disagreed with him.

  He tossed the keycard down on the dresser and admired the space before him. His team stayed at the Castillo Resorts and Hotels alongside him. Jackson Castillo, owner of the resorts, gave them no trouble while on a case. If anything, had offered them many bonuses most hotels didn’t give. The department paid next to nothing for the rooms here, which pleased him. The last thing he needed was the Director of the U.S. Marshals Service coming down on him for high travel costs.

  Really though, he wasn’t used to such luxury. The suite Jackson arranged for him looked more like an apartment than a hotel room. Two plush couches surrounded a fireplace with a big screen television above. To the right, the bedroom had a four-poster king size bed and rich bedding. To the left, a fully stocked kitchen, larger than the one Wyatt had back at his home in Houston.

  Plopping onto one of the couches, he pulled off his cowboy boot. As he slipped the other off his foot, a loud knock came at the door. He wasn’t expecting any visitors and he doubted his team would contact him by a simple knock. They knew they needed to call ahead before they interrupted him off duty.