If I’m appreciating the quiet now, I can only imagine Daisy’s relief.
“I thought you and Gabe were doing better,” I say, chewing. “At least, you haven’t called me to complain in a while.”
“We were. He’s been a lot more hands-on with Charlie, and certainly seems interested again in the bedroom.” I wince, and she shrugs, dropping her face into her hands. “You asked.”
“Not for details.”
She peeks at me through her fingers, groaning. “I don’t know, Linc. He’s working these crazy long hours, him and Oliver trying to solve this serial killer case before the Portland detectives do, like it’s some kind of race. The extra money from overtime is nice, but I miss having a husband.”
A ball of unease lodges in my throat, and I toss the protein bar wrapper into the garbage can, folding my arms over my chest. “Gabe’s working with Klepsky? Does the captain know?”
“I doubt it. You know that man’s oblivious when it comes to his team’s faults.” She shakes her head, flattening her palms against the counter. “Otherwise, Pops might still be alive, and you might not have ever lost little Morgan Jensen in the first place.”
Sadness twists in my gut, tangling with my insides until I can’t distinguish one from the other. Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I exhale, trying to expel the negativity and replace it with the warmth I felt just moments ago.
But, like everything else in this life, the goodness is fleeting. Dust slipping through my fingertips, unattainable no matter how hard I try.
A mirage, constantly waiting to be overtaken by something bigger. Bolder.
Something bad.
The sinister feeling takes root in my chest, black clouds darkening blue skies, and I leave my sister in the kitchen while I shower and shave, wishing there was a more concrete way to ward off the shit that drives me crazy.
When I walk back into my bedroom, the universe provides me with an answer to my request.
Morgan’s sitting in the middle of my mattress with her legs crisscrossed, hands gripping her knees tight. She looks nervous, spooked almost, and the thought that something’s bothering her scratches at the depths of my soul.
I don’t know if it’s the case, or her interview with Paul, or something else entirely, but I fucking hate the uncertainty bleeding from her pores.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I ease the door shut, smirking when her eyes pop open and a small gasp falls from her lips.
“If you wanted to see me naked, killer, all you had to do was ask.”
She rolls her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Is that all I have to do?”
Her eyes drop, roving over the exposed skin of my chest, and I wonder if she’s trying to memorize my tattoos. Ink them on her brain the way they’re engraved into my skin.
The way her presence is imprinted on mine.
I inch closer to the bed, my heart skipping emphatically inside my chest.
“Please wouldn’t hurt your chances,” I rasp, arousal coiling like thread in my stomach, heating my blood as it tightens.
Morgan licks her lips, tilting her chin up. There’s a brief flash of something I can’t quite place as she stares up at me, but then she’s shifting forward and blinking it away before I have a chance to read into it.
Shuffling on her knees to the edge of the bed, she reaches a hand out, hooking a finger in the edge of the towel.
My fingers flex on the knot holding it together. “Morgan…” I start, aware that Daisy is probably still in the house.
Shaking her head, she tugs, pulling me closer until her breasts are perfectly in line with my dick, stiffening by the second.
Goddamnit, she’s a vision on her knees before me.
Exactly the way I imagined, those icy eyes feigning innocence as she works harder to disrobe me. Her free hand joins, all four fingers curling around mine to pry me off the terrycloth, but I don’t let go yet.
“You know what I want to hear,” I say, desire making it damned difficult to speak as it expands, wrapping around my neck in a punishing grip.
She nods, blowing out a breath. “Please, Lincoln.”
My name on her lips, like a whispered prayer to her maker, is my undoing. Releasing my hold on the towel, I reach up to gently tangle my fingers in her hair, grasping the roots tight and tipping her head back so she’s looking right up at me.
“Something’s bothering you,” I murmur, tracing the outline of her lips with my thumb.
Her hands pull the towel away, and I bite back a hiss at the onslaught of chilly air against my flesh. “We can talk about it after.”
“Isn’t this what you were just getting onto me about the other day?”
My hips jerk inward as she wraps her fingers around my shaft, the tips just barely touching as she begins stroking. I curse under my breath, intensifying my hold on her hair, and she grins wickedly.
“Yes, but I didn’t get to say thank you for this morning.”
She lets go of me for a split second, dropping her body so her hands and knees are holding her up on the bed.
“It wasn’t a favor,” I say, sliding my hand from her hair down her spine, leaning in to glide over her perfect ass as it strains against the fabric of her black dress pants. “You don’t ever have to thank me for pleasing you, sweetheart.”
She glances up, eyes wide, and a slow, sexy smile spreads over her face.
“I want to,” she insists, sitting back on the bed. Just enough to unbutton her pants and shimmy out of them, kicking her legs free before resuming the same position, baring her ass to me as she pushes it into the air.
My finger slips under the lace of her thong, snapping it against her skin, and she reaches for me again, running her thumb over my slit as arousal bubbles from it.
She sucks the digit into her mouth, laving her tongue all around, and rips it out with a pop, not once dropping her gaze.
I groan, my body feeling like it’s been set on fire, all of my nerve endings in a constant battle between combustion and convulsion.
“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” I tell her, flexing my hips so the tip brushes her lips. “You want it so bad, prove to me you deserve it. Suck it down that pretty throat and make me come.”
Her eyes widen for a second, electricity blazing in the irises, but then she’s diving in, opening her mouth and taking me all the way. I choke up at the sensation of her warm, wet mouth enveloping me, her tongue flat as it glides along the underside.
“That’s my girl,” I croon, my head falling back as my control begins to unravel.
Humming, she works me faster, laving her tongue over my veins and suctioning like she’s trying to drain me.
My hands go back to her head, holding without guiding as I let her set the pace; truth be told, if I help at all, I’ll be blowing my load in about three seconds, and that’s just embarrassing.
She gags a little as the crown breaches the back of her throat, her hand coming up to provide a barrier at the base of my dick; she pulls back slightly, drool pooling from the corners of her mouth onto her hand, and for a second I think she’s going to remove her mouth completely.
Instead, she draws in a wet breath, spits, and spreads it along my length before covering me with her mouth again. She hollows out her cheeks as she sucks and bobs and my balls draw up, almost back into my body.
“Jesus, fuck.” My dick throbs, release barreling through me like a shotgun blast, and I tap on her nose to get her to look up at me. I suck in a breath, gritting my teeth at the erotic sight. “I wish you could see how fucking perfect you look with my cock down your throat.”
Her mouth widens into a grin, her fingers slipping down to massage my balls, and she pops off for a second, reaching behind her for her phone on the mattress.
“Take a picture,” she says, and I swear I almost come right fucking then.
I swallow, grabbing the phone hesitantly, my body aching with the need to let go. “Are… are you sure?”
She nods, licking a
path from my sac to my tip, before blowing on it. “I trust you.”
My stomach tenses, the muscles clenching so hard that I feel like I might pass out.
I trust you.
Three simple, little words, and yet they shake the foundation of my being as they leave her lips.
When I swipe for the camera on the screen and angle it just as she brings her mouth flush with me, eyes on mine, I’m still not entirely sure I deserve it.
Blinking up at me, she continues her ministrations, gurgling each time I hit sloppy, wet resistance.
“You feel so good wrapped around me.” I tilt my head back, squeezing my eyes shut as euphoria pours over me. “Gonna suck me dry, aren’t you, sweetheart? My sinful girl wants me to come.”
She hums, her muscles contracting, and my fingers tighten on the phone.
I watch her through the lens, satisfaction worming its way through me at having her on my own private display, her performance heightened by the naughty way we’re cementing the moment.
Gritting my teeth, a harsh breath shakes out of me.
“Ah, fuck, Morgan. Coming,” I roar, attempting to pull free, but she wraps her hands around my waist, digging her fingers into my ass and keeping me in place.
A painful groan wrenches from deep within my chest as I release inside her throat, convulsing as she swallows around me, her muscles milking every last drop of cum from me.
For the first time in my life, I fucking black out, stars racing across my vision as this woman shows me what heaven feels like.
I’m not even consciously taking pictures anymore, don’t even realize I’m holding down the button for infinite snapshots, until she slides off me and opens her mouth, showcasing her reward.
“Swallow it,” I command, my tone gravelly. Exhausted. I take a couple more photos as she snaps her mouth shut, her throat vibrating as she obeys, and I toss the phone aside, pulling her up and throwing us onto the bed.
“Well?” she prompts, nestling against my chest. I cock an eyebrow, struggling to right my breathing. “Deserving, right?”
A hoarse laugh falls out of me, and I pinch her ass, pulling her chin up to press a kiss to her lips. I can taste myself on her, and I fucking love it. “Absolutely.”
It’s not until we’re starting to drift off that I remember how she looked when I first came into the room, and the fact that I don’t know what’s going on with her bugs me. Maybe more than it should.
I roll so I’m hovering over top of her, and pin her arms up above her head. “Let’s talk about what’s bothering you now.”
She sighs, looking past me. “I talked with Paul Jensen today.”
My nerves draw tight. “And?”
“And he said something that got me thinking. It freaked me out, and so I was wondering if you’d be able to tell me more about his daughter?”
Grunting, I flop onto my side and push into a sitting position, clasping my hands together in my lap. Her eyes rove over my chest again, pausing on my rose tattoo, and I nod, eager to figure out more for myself. “What do you want to know?”
She hesitates, chewing on her lip as she raises her gaze to mine. “What can you tell me about the night she disappeared?”
I grin, relief at her cautious curiosity warming something inside me, and hold my hand out. “Why don’t I show you?”
We get dressed quickly and come out of the bedroom to find Daisy passed out on the sofa, then head outside. I shove a life jacket over Morgan’s head before she takes a step on the dock, and she glares.
“Safety first, killer,” I say, ignoring her irritated huff as I start down the wooden path. After helping her onto the boat, I haul myself over the side and walk over to the storage bench where I keep my lockbox.
Except, when I peel back the plastic cover, the box is gone.
Chapter 38
“What do you mean ‘it’s gone’?” I ask, peering over his broad shoulder into the empty bin.
Lincoln rips his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots while he paces back and forth. “I don’t know, nobody even knows that it exists. I…”
He stalls mid-step, slowly turning toward me, his eyes wide and his body stiff as a board.
“What is it?”
He swallows, and my eyes follow the motion, having the strangest urge to walk over and breathe in his scent. Now that I’ve given in to whatever this is between us, it’s becoming difficult to stay away, which is odd because I’ve never been particularly touchy-feely.
Or maybe I’ve just never been touched by the right person before.
“Remember when you asked me if I knew of any people who might have a grudge?”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “Are we back to this? I’m telling you, Lincoln. Something isn’t right.”
“Yeah, well… I forgot a name.”
My brow raises, surprised he isn’t arguing the topic. “Oh?”
He nods. “Oliver Klepsky.”
My mouth drops. “The cop?”
“Yeah.” He scratches at his chin. “We used to be buddies back in the day, but… he’s a dick. If anyone wanted to get me off this island, I’d bet money on it being either Jordan or him.”
I suck in a breath, my body vibrating to life at the new information. “And Jordan Thomas has never been on your boat.”
Something sparks in his eyes. “But Klepsky has. He was here earlier, when forensics was dusting for prints.”
My stomach cramps. “Are you saying you think Officer Klepsky is the Fate Reaper?”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. But my shit shouldn’t be missing.” He points to the lockbox. “No one even knew. “
“But why would he take a box of souvenirs?” I ask. “Ones of me—of Morgan?”
Lincoln’s eyes widen slightly at my almost slip—one that I’m not even convinced I believe—but he doesn’t press.
“He was in some of the photos.” He shrugs, rubbing at the scruff on his jaw. “They were Sunday school pictures.”
My insides freeze. “Does Klepsky still go to church?”
Lincoln’s mouth parts on an exhale, shaking his head slowly. “No. Not anymore. But back then? He practically lived there.”
My mind whizzes a thousand miles a minute, trying to slot new pieces into an empty puzzle, but not being able to figure out where they go. “Were you guys treated well when you were there?”
“I wouldn’t know. Preacher Cartwright never really liked me.” He smirks. “Said I talked back too much.”
“I’m shocked.” I stifle the grin that wants to break free, anticipation lighting up my insides. “I need to go find Alex.”
I start to move but pause, spinning back around, disappointment settling in my stomach like a lead weight. “Look… I still want to know about Morgan, I just—”
Lincoln’s smile dims as he waves me off, moving to the lip of the boat and hopping over the rim. “I get it. This is more important.”
He reaches his hand out, and I place my palm in his, wishing that we weren’t wearing gloves and I could feel his skin on mine. I step gingerly over the edge, expecting him to let go, but he doesn’t, and a small smile teases my lips as he links our fingers together and leads us up the dock and back to his cabin.
As we stomp over the brittle leaves, the cold October air whips across my face and I wonder if I should feel guilty, finding something that makes me as happy as Lincoln does in this moment, when we’re in the middle of trying to solve a murder.
But self-care is important, and I can’t pour into other cups if my own is empty.
And I won’t lie, it’s nice having him work with me instead of against me.
“Carina,” Alex’s voice floats through the breeze, and I grin as he comes into view, standing at the top of the hill leading to Lincoln’s house.
His eyes flick to where my hand is held tightly in Lincoln’s grasp, but other than the clenching of his jaw he doesn’t comment, and I don’t remove my palm or say anything in my defense, even thoug
h my chest burns with the need to comfort him; to let him know that he’s still important. He still matters, even when I can’t give him what I know he wants.
Alex moves his gaze from where we’re locked together up to our faces. “I was just coming to get you.”
“I thought you were at the precinct.”
“I was,” he huffs. “Fighting with fucking Klepsky, who wants to hold Jensen for another forty-eight hours on some bullshit charge.”
My insides curdle. “We actually were coming to find you about Klepsky.”
Alex’s body stiffens. “We?”
“Did she stutter?” Lincoln snaps.
Alex’s face flushes, and I throw my free hand up in the air. “Stop. This is more important than whatever pissing contest you two want to have.”
“Tell the hero.” Alex waves at Lincoln.
I sigh. “What were you coming to get me for?”
Alex’s eyes flare, his hands resting on his hips. “Sandra Wilkinson found me at the precinct, desperate to talk. She has… a lot to say.”
Lincoln chuckles. “The day Sandra stops talking is the day she’s dead.”
I tilt my head, looking between them. “Who’s Sandra Wilkinson?”
“Preacher Cartwright’s secretary,” Lincoln says. “And the organ player for the Sunday morning service.”
My brows shoot to my hairline as I stare past them, searching for where she might be. “And she came to us?”
Alex nods. “Yeah. She seems spooked.”
“Where is she now?” I ask, stepping away from Lincoln and taking back my hand.
Alex points to the cabin. “Inside.”
Lincoln huffs. “You left her alone in my house?”
“She’s with your sister.”
Lincoln replies, but I’m already halfway up the hill. If she knows things about the church and she’s ready to talk, I’m all ears.
Sandra Wilkinson is an older lady with graying hair and a dimple in her cheek. She goes to the hairdresser every Saturday for a nice blowout and to “catch up on the town news.” She also has two grown children who moved away from the island the second they turned eighteen, and haven’t visited once, no matter how many times she’s tried to convince them to come back home.
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 24