At about one thirty in the morning it finally hit her. This time was different. This time we saved ourselves.
She gave up trying to sleep, pushed aside the covers and swung her feet to the floor. For a while she sat there, trying to sort through her feelings and sensations. She had her meds in her handbag but she didn’t need them. She was definitely wired but, astonishingly, she seemed to be dealing with the fallout from the harrowing experience. Perhaps there would be some kind of delayed reaction in the future, but for now she was, oddly enough, relatively okay.
She stood, pulled on her robe and went to sit in a chair at the window. Most of the marina lay in darkness, but there were a few lights strung along the docks. A cluster of private boats and a small sightseeing vessel bobbed gently in the dark water.
A soft knock sounded. Cabot was awake, too. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was one thirty-five. No surprise.
She rose and opened the connecting door. Cabot, dressed in trousers and a T-shirt, loomed in the shadows. His dark hair looked as if he had raked his fingers through it. His eyes were deep pools of midnight. She sensed the edgy energy prowling through him.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You couldn’t sleep, either.”
“Business as usual for me. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, strangely enough. I keep thinking about what happened today, of course. How so many things could have gone wrong, but didn’t.”
“What happened today was that we made one hell of a team.”
“And we got very, very lucky.”
“As Anson would say, we made our own luck.”
She thought about that and then smiled a little. “Yes, we did.”
Cabot retreated a step. “If you’re sure you’re okay—”
And just like that she knew she did not want him to go.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she said.
“What?” He sounded a little wary.
“Why did you get fired from your job as chief of police? I know it’s none of my business, but I have this theory, you see.”
Cabot braced one hand on the doorframe.
“You’ve got a theory,” he repeated, his tone utterly neutral.
She was on dangerous ground now, but she was very sure she would not retreat.
“Yes,” she said.
“What is your theory?”
“I’m guessing you were probably a little too good at your job. It was a small town. That means small-town politics. You might bend the rules if you thought that was the only way to see that justice was done, but you wouldn’t give an inch if some local mover and shaker tried to lean on you. If you bent a rule, I’m guessing you would have found a way to keep it quiet. So, what did you do? Arrest the mayor’s son?”
For a second or two she didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he whistled very softly.
“How the hell did you figure it out?” he asked.
“You and I have been through a lot lately. I’ve learned a few things about you.”
Cabot was silent for a few beats.
“It wasn’t the mayor’s son,” he said finally. “The mayor didn’t run the town, a man named Ashcroft did. He owned the biggest local business. Employed a lot of people. Half the town owed him in one way or another. His son, Nick, came home from college for a long weekend. He brought some friends with him. They got high, picked up a couple of local girls—high-school kids—and got them blackout drunk. Probably used drugs. They raped the girls. One of Nick’s pals made a video with his phone. The father of one of the girls came to me for help. I looked at the video and arrested Nick and his buddies.”
“What happened?”
“Ashcroft threatened to have me fired if I didn’t get the charges dropped. Said I was going to ruin his son’s future. I ignored him. In the end, Ashcroft finally made a deal with the families of the two girls. Paid them off. They dropped the charges.”
“And you lost your job.”
“I was ready for a change. By then I had already figured out that if you want to pursue a career in law enforcement in a small town, you have to be good at playing politics.”
“Which is not your strong suit.”
“No,” Cabot said.
“All in all, the private investigation business sounds like the right career path for you.”
“It feels like a good fit.”
Another short silence.
“Would you mind very much if I kissed you?” she said.
“It’s okay so long as it’s not one of those pity kisses.”
“Nope. I just want to kiss you. But I should warn you that it probably won’t go anywhere, given my intimacy issues. I don’t want you to think of me as a world-class tease.”
“You’re world-class but you are definitely not a tease,” Cabot said. “You’ve got a few issues. So do I.”
“Different kind of issues, though.”
“Issues are issues. We’re wasting time here. Are you going to kiss me or not?”
She took a step forward, gripped his shoulders and crushed her mouth against his.
Except he didn’t crush. Instead, he caught her face between his hands and raised his head so that his mouth was an inch away from hers.
“Remember what I said,” he whispered, his voice a little ragged. “It’s not a trip to the dentist.”
“I know.” She clutched at his shoulders. “I just don’t want to screw up again.”
“Then quit trying so hard. Relax. Go with what you feel. When you stop feeling it, we’ll stop whatever it is we’re doing at that moment.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”
She giggled. It was ridiculous. Totally inappropriate. But for some reason, the urge to laugh was irresistible.
Cabot did not laugh, but in the glow of the night-light, she could see him smiling a very sexy, very masculine smile.
The part of her that had been locked in ice for so long started to heat. She leaned into Cabot’s strength and kissed him again, not trying to force the pace; taking her time, testing the waters.
She sensed his response—his mouth was hot, his body was hard and his erection was rigid—but he made no attempt to overwhelm her. He did not tighten his grip on her nor did he try to rush her.
Encouraged by her own reaction as well as his, she pressed herself against him, caught hold of his wrist and moved his hand to her waist.
A deep longing rose within her. She wanted to touch and be touched. She wanted to be free to enjoy the sensual side of herself.
The kiss got more intense. Thrilling. It charged all of her senses.
After a moment or two she guided one of Cabot’s hands inside her robe, just under her right breast. He settled his fingers there but he did not try to touch her in more intimate ways.
She slipped her hands up under his T-shirt, thrilling to the feel of him. To hell with feeling guilty for sending out mixed signals. Cabot could handle it if she lost her nerve again. He could handle it if she experienced a panic attack. He would not hold it against her. He would not judge her. He would not think she was weird.
An unfamiliar excitement ignited her blood. She began to explore Cabot with a growing sense of urgency.
“Virginia,” he whispered.
Carefully, cautiously, he drew the pad of his thumb across the tip of her breast. It was as if he had flipped a switch. Desire crashed through her.
“Yes,” she said. She kissed Cabot’s throat, the curve of his shoulder; closed her teeth around his ear. “Yes.”
“There’s no rush,” he whispered.
“Yes. There is.”
“We’ve got all night.”
“You might have all night. I don’t. I need to do this now, before something goes wro
ng.”
“That’s it. Think positive.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Just a little. Mostly I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to be afraid. We can go this far and stop as often as you want.”
“I don’t want to stop, damn it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Whatever you say.”
She seized his hand and started to haul him into her room, aiming for the bed.
“No,” he said.
He didn’t try to free his hand but he did not follow her. Instead he simply stood there in the doorway between the two rooms, as immovable as a large rock.
The first flicker of fear sparked through her. She’d screwed up somehow.
“What?” she said.
He tugged her gently back toward him. “We don’t need a bed.”
Her heart sank. This was worse than she’d thought. He might not blame her for leading him on, but he had evidently lost interest in the entire project.
He led her across the room and stopped at the padded reading chair. He unzipped his trousers and lowered himself into the chair.
“Let’s try it this way, instead,” he said. “You did say you liked to be on top.”
He drew her down slowly, giving her time to figure out a comfortable position. And then she was kneeling astride his thighs, her nightgown riding up above her hips.
Desire rushed back with the force of an incoming wave. She wrapped her fingers around his shoulders to steady herself.
He moved one hand along the inside of her leg and then he was touching her, stroking her in ways that made her want more. She closed her eyes against the fierceness of her need. Everything inside her went tight. She sucked in her breath and dug her nails into his shoulders.
He did something with his fingers, something that shocked her senses in the most delightful way, and in the next instant the intense, tightly wound sensation inside her was released in a series of deep waves.
“Cabot. Cabot.”
He eased her down onto his rigid erection before she had finished climaxing. She was so sensitive now she could scarcely catch her breath. Another little ripple of release sparkled through her, an echo of the first cathartic sensation.
She heard Cabot’s hoarse, muffled groan. His heavy climax shuddered through both of them.
The night became very still and quiet.
CHAPTER 41
Virginia stirred and eased herself to her feet. She was a little unsteady, but she could not recall the last time she had felt so good. Cabot lounged in the chair, utterly relaxed. There was just enough light seeping through the doorway of her room to let her see that he was watching her with half-closed eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She thought about it and then smiled, feeling pleased and more than a little smug. “Yep. I do believe I am okay. And you are positively brilliant.”
“I am? Well, I feel very good at the moment, but not sure what you mean by brilliant.”
“How did you know?” she demanded.
“How did I know what?”
“That a chair would be a solution to my issues?”
“Ah. The chair thing. Lucky guess?”
She waved that aside with a magnanimous sweep of her hand and began to pace the room.
“Somewhere along the line I must have begun to associate beds with panic attacks,” she said. “Some people can’t get on an airplane without having a panic attack. Maybe that’s how it is for me with beds.”
“Are you suggesting we should have sex on an airplane? Join the Mile-High Club? I’m willing to give that some serious consideration.”
She shushed him with another wave of her hand. “I’ve experienced some of my worst attacks while I was in bed. And then there are my commitment issues. A therapist would probably say that somewhere along the line sex and bed got fused into a trigger that set off my anxiety. I figured out a while back that I needed to be on top, but obviously that didn’t always work.”
“Are you sure you’re not overthinking this?”
She went back across the room, leaned down and kissed him on his forehead.
“You’re better than any therapist I’ve ever had,” she announced, straightening.
“Good to know. A possible career path for me if this PI gig doesn’t work out.”
He reached for her but she slipped away.
“I need to wash up,” she said.
She hurried into her own room, went into the bathroom and turned on the light. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror she was a little startled by her flushed cheeks, tangled hair and overbright eyes.
“Good news, Cinderella,” she said softly. “It’s after midnight, you just had great sex and there are no signs of a panic attack. You are almost normal, at least for tonight.”
She didn’t remember the sheaf of photocopied papers and the photo that she had found in Rose’s nightstand until she emerged from the bathroom. She crossed the room to the table where she had left her handbag. Unzipping the bag, she reached inside and took out the envelope and the papers.
She switched on the reading light, put on her glasses and shuffled through the photocopies.
A name leaped off the page. Kim.
Her euphoric mood evaporated in a heartbeat. Dread shivered through her.
“Cabot?” she called quietly.
He materialized in the doorway, zipping up his trousers. “Right here. Are those the papers and the photo you found in Gilbert’s nightstand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, stunned by what she was reading. “What with everything that’s happened since the explosion, I forgot about them until now.”
Cabot changed gears in an instant, transitioning from satisfied lover to intense hunter mode. He crossed the room to the table and looked down at the papers and the photo.
“I assumed they’d been destroyed by the fire,” he said.
“I shoved them into my bag on the way out the door. It was instinctive. I wasn’t really thinking.”
“You’ve got great instincts.”
“We’ll have to give these to the investigators when they arrive in the morning, won’t we?”
“If they want them. For all we know they may not consider them important. The dates on these letters go back a couple of decades.”
“Twenty-two years, to be exact,” Virginia said very evenly. “And they aren’t letters, they’re pages from a diary. The name Kim appears on some of them. I think it may be short for Kimberly.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.” Virginia flipped through a couple more pages. “Hannah’s name appears as well. There’s also a Jacky.”
“My mother’s name was Jacqueline Kennington Sutter.”
Without a word, Virginia handed him one of the pages. He read a few sentences and then he put the paper down on the table.
“This isn’t just a collection of memories of life in Zane’s cult,” he said. “This is hard evidence. Your mother and mine, together with Hannah Brewster and Abigail Watkins, came up with a plan to steal from the devil himself.”
CHAPTER 42
Cabot drew up a chair and sat down at the table, his phone at the ready. Virginia sat beside him. Together they went through the papers.
“There are only half a dozen pages here,” Virginia said. “And they’re just photocopies. I wonder what happened to the original diary?”
“No way to know. But obviously Rose Gilbert must have considered these pages important. She didn’t throw them into the bottom drawer of the bureau along with the rest of Abigail’s things, and she didn’t throw them away.”
Every page contained a fresh shock. Virginia had to keep wiping the tears from her eyes.
. . . We know the plan is terribly dangerous but what choice do we have?
Kim and Jacky are right. As long as Zane holds the children hostage and as long as his thugs control the compound, there is no escape. We need leverage that we can use to force the monster to give up the kids and let us go. All he cares about is the money . . .
. . . We know that he is capable of murder. Jacky and Kim are certain now that he murdered their husbands . . .
Virginia turned over the last photocopied page.
. . . Kim says the money has been deposited in the secret bank account that Jacky set up using her trust fund. Regardless of what happens to us, the money will be safe, held in trust for the children. Only the four of us know the location of the key. Tomorrow we will confront Zane.
Virginia looked at Cabot. For a moment neither of them spoke.
“They had a plan,” Virginia said eventually. “They were going to try to force Zane to free the children. They were so daring, so brave. So desperate. They must have been terrified of Zane.”
“Somehow he must have discovered that some of the cult members were plotting against him. He decided to destroy the whole operation and kill as many people as possible on his way out the door. At that point he probably didn’t know that the money had disappeared into a secret account. He made the mistake of murdering most of those who could have told him where it was hidden.”
“Except for Hannah and Abigail.”
“It was sheer luck that they survived that night. They weren’t locked up with the mothers of the children. Zane kept them in a different section of the compound. He evidently saved it for last. Someone driving past out on the old highway reported the fire. Anson and the local fire crew responded immediately. Zane must have heard the sirens. He had vanished by the time the first responders arrived on the scene.”
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