by Brenda Novak
“You want me to stay?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt.
“You’re my hope for the future. Once I catch the bastard who killed my family, I can provide everything a cop’s wife deserves—a nice house, babies, anything you want. Give me two weeks. That’s all I ask.”
“Can I call home?”
“No. You know what Marcie would do. She hates me. She’d tell you to leave me. She’d try to get me in trouble.”
“I just want to let my other sister know I’m okay.”
He searched for an excuse and came up with a solution instead. “Does she have a computer?”
“It’s an old hand-me-down her boss gave her, but she can do e-mail.”
“Perfect.” He slid his laptop over to her and watched as she logged in to an e-mail program and typed a brief message.
Gloria—
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe. I’ll be fine and will be in touch in two weeks. Until then, take care of yourself and be happy.
I love you—
Latisha
The tormented expression on her face made Malcolm fear she might change her mind. She was missing her sister, missing home.
“Just two weeks?” she said.
“Just two weeks,” he promised. “That’s nothing, right?”
She drew a deep breath. “Okay.”
He squeezed her affectionately and nuzzled her neck. “And now it’s time for that massage I promised you.” Determined to win her over, he carried her into the bedroom.
While Jane was trying to convince her daughter to get ready for bed, Kate kept disappearing into the living room to take another peek at Sebastian. She loved the excitement of having male company and kept asking if Jane thought he was handsome.
Jane did her best to act indifferent, but she was even more aware of the man watching TV on her couch than Kate was.
When she finally managed to get her daughter into bed, she carried out some blankets and a pillow for Sebastian and piled them on a side chair.
He muted the television. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine.” He had his computer on his lap. She waved toward it. “Any word from Mary?”
“Not yet. She’s probably getting settled in Phoenix. I doubt she’ll write or call me until tomorrow.”
“Are you worried about her?”
“I feel bad for disrupting her life by getting her involved in all this, but…I think she’ll be okay.”
“I wish I could have that kind of confidence when it comes to Latisha.”
Looking more tired than she’d seen him, he covered a yawn. “Have you talked to Gloria?”
“Not since I was over there.” Jane felt she should call, but she didn’t know what else she could say. Taking a deep breath, she patted the blankets. “Here’s what you’ll need for the night.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Their eyes met and the intimacy they’d already shared seemed to draw them together again. For a second, Jane wished Kate was still at her in-laws’. Sebastian felt like the best thing ever to have happened to her. She craved his taste, his smell, his touch—craved him. But Kate wasn’t at the Burkes’. She was just down the hall.
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
“Yeah. See you then.” The volume went back up a little as he returned his attention to the TV.
Clenching her hands in determined fists, Jane marched over to her bedroom, closed the door and got into bed, where she lay wide awake for what seemed like hours.
Although Sebastian had dozed off, he’d done it without the blankets Jane had left him. He hadn’t even put away his computer. He was still sitting there with the TV on when he woke up at two.
He made himself a bed but couldn’t go back to sleep. The macabre images of the day kept intruding—countered only by the more positive knowledge that Jane was just a room away.
He considered going to her. He wanted to lose himself in her warmth, feel her melt against him the way she had last night. Kate was asleep; she’d never know…. But Jane had made her wishes clear.
He hoped a shower might relax him, so he got up and went to take one.
Leaving the light off, he stripped, turned the water to hot and stood beneath the pulsing spray. He was trying to blank his mind, to force Emily, Colton, Mary, Malcolm and Jane—especially Jane—out of his thoughts. He was pretty sure it was working, until he heard the door open.
He could smell Jane’s perfume. He hadn’t locked the door. That had been a conscious decision, one he’d made with exactly this hope in mind. But when the door closed again, a click told him it was locked now.
Twenty-One
She was addicted to him. That was all there was to it. She couldn’t continue to lie in bed, aching with need. She had to have him. And somehow the resistance she’d tried to summon but couldn’t made the experience all the more intoxicating. Giving in had never felt so sweet.
The scrape of the shower curtain against the rod told Jane that Sebastian had heard her come in. In some deep recess of her brain, she hoped he’d send her back to her bed. This had to end somewhere, didn’t it? If she wanted to get out of this affair unscathed, the sooner it ended the better. But he didn’t rebuff her. She could sense his anticipation, feel him waiting for her approach.
Biting her lip, she wondered what she’d do on the off chance that Kate woke up and discovered them both missing from their beds. She’d tell her daughter that Sebastian had left and let Kate think she was in the bathroom alone, she decided. If Kate was older, she might doubt that, but not at twelve. Not when Jane had never had another man over.
They had to be quiet, though. Very quiet…
Assured that she had a way to protect her daughter from knowing too much, she slipped off her nightgown and dropped it on the floor. Steam billowed through the open curtain, so thick it felt like a thousand hands reaching out to curl around her.
Sebastian found her as soon as she stepped toward him and drew her against his slick, hard body. “There you are,” he breathed in her ear. “I’ve been waiting for this since you brought me those damn blankets. What took you so long?”
The memory of Wendy’s scorn. The hope that it wasn’t too late to atone for her mistakes. The determination to do what was best for her daughter.
Clearly, she wasn’t up to those challenges. But she’d already made love with Sebastian several times over the past two days. What would one more night matter?
“I wanted to do the right thing,” she told him.
“I can’t think of anything that feels more right than this,” he said. Then his lips met hers in a breathless, frenzied kiss spurred on by the urgency rising in them both.
“You’ve got the Shield?”
“I’m ready.” Her thoughts were somewhere in the stratosphere, but she’d hung on to that much of her sanity.
He licked away the water dripping from her left breast. “Smart girl,” he whispered.
Minutes later, he lifted her onto him and she could think of nothing except the rasp of his labored breathing, the contraction of his muscles as he held her against the tile wall and that moment of ultimate ecstasy when he covered her mouth with his to capture her moan.
She didn’t hold back with him anymore. She couldn’t. She gave him everything she had, physically and emotionally. She knew that was why making love with him was so much better, so different, than before.
But she also knew that what made it different could swing back the other way—and hurt her more deeply than ever.
The next morning, Sebastian sat at the breakfast table with Kate while Jane stood at the stove, dressed for work in tailored pants and a starched white blouse, frying eggs. Kate already had her meal and was somehow managing to fork up her food and find her mouth without ever looking down at her plate. She had eyes only for him. Every time he glanced up, he found her watching him with rapt attention. He was beginning to wonder if she’d somehow caught on to the fact that he
’d had sex with her mother last night. Maybe his smile was giving it away, or the fact that he still felt so aware of Jane as she cooked behind him.
“Are you married, Mr. Costas?” Kate asked.
“Call me Sebastian,” he said. “And no, I’m not married.”
“Do you have any children?”
“Kate, you need to finish your breakfast,” Jane interjected from the stove. Sebastian wasn’t sure if she was trying to protect him from having to say he no longer had children, or if she was trying to stop Kate from getting to know him. Maybe both.
“No. No kids, either,” he said to keep it simple. After what Kate had been through, he didn’t want her to hear what had happened to him. She had to be traumatized enough already.
“Oh.” She drank the rest of her milk. A white mustache covered her upper lip when she put the glass down, but she quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe it off. She was beginning to cross the boundary between child and young woman, and he liked that stage, admired the innocence of it.
Jane brought him three eggs and some toast. He thanked her and began to eat.
Kate continued to stare. “Do you like kids?” she asked as her mother cracked more eggs into the frying pan.
“Kate—” Jane started, but he shook his head to indicate he’d answer.
“I like them very much.”
“Even girls?” she asked hopefully.
Putting down his fork, he pretended to contemplate that question. “Yes,” he said with a decisive nod. “Every bit as much as boys. Why?”
Her gaze slid away from him for the first time that morning. “I don’t think my daddy liked girls.”
Considering the scar on Jane’s neck, Sebastian could understand how she might’ve arrived at that conclusion. “But that’s not because of you. You understand that, right? Some people don’t like anybody.”
She toyed with what was left of her meal. “Sometimes he was nice.”
Her confusion broke his heart. “It’d be easier if the people who hurt others came with a warning sign on their foreheads, don’t you think?”
She giggled. “Yeah.”
He picked up his fork and went back to his meal, but she wasn’t finished speaking. “He killed my uncle,” she said.
Sebastian could tell that Jane was dying to put a stop to the conversation, but he was grateful she had enough faith in him to let him handle it. “That’s what I hear.”
“And he stabbed my mom.” She touched her neck. “Right here.”
A wave of protectiveness swept through him. “I’ve seen the scar. That’s very sad.”
“She almost died.”
“I’m glad she didn’t.”
“Me, too. But…I don’t think my aunt Wendy’s glad.”
There was a clatter behind him. Sebastian turned to see that Jane had dropped her spatula. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“Maybe she’s confused about what really happened,” he said to Kate.
“That’s what I think. That’s what my grandma says, too.”
“Kate, concentrate on eating so you won’t be late for school,” Jane said.
“I’m full.” Setting her knife and fork on her plate, she got up to carry everything to the counter.
“Then get your teeth brushed,” her mother said.
Kate started to leave but paused at the hallway entrance to address him one more time. “You’d never hurt anyone, would you?” she asked.
The bite he’d been about to take hovered in midair. “Never.”
Doubling back, she gave him an unexpected hug. He didn’t even have the chance to put down his fork and hug her back. “I like you,” she whispered before her mother could shoo her out of the kitchen.
Clearly embarrassed, Jane laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“Sorry for what?” he asked.
“The questions, the fascination, the sudden affection. I’m sure it was a bit overwhelming.”
It wasn’t overwhelming; it was endearing. Kate’s behavior reminded Sebastian of how quick children were to love, how quick to forgive, how much they wanted to trust adults, how much he missed his own child. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re definitely a novelty around here.”
Sebastian thought he heard his phone ringing in the living room. He paused to listen when Kate hurried in with it. “It’s—” she checked his caller ID “—Constance Sherwood,” she said as she handed it to him.
He would’ve let it go to voice mail, but she’d just announced that a woman was trying to reach him at seven in the morning. It would look odd if he didn’t answer. “Thanks,” he said and hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“Is it true?” Constance demanded.
He was aware of Jane collecting her car keys and her purse as he answered. “Is what true?”
“I got another call from Malcolm last night.”
The tension Sebastian was so familiar with returned. “What’d he say?”
“That you’ve been sleeping with his ex-girlfriend.”
Why would Malcolm bother to call Constance about that? Just to cause trouble? What a vindictive bastard. “That’s a lie. He said the same thing about Emily, remember? He’s insecure, paranoid.”
“So you haven’t been with her.”
Jane stood at the front door, waiting for Kate to zip her backpack. He looked up to see if she was listening and saw her watching him. “I just told you I haven’t.”
“Is everything okay?” Jane asked.
Apparently, she could sense the change in him. To keep Constance from realizing he wasn’t alone, so the conversation wouldn’t deteriorate into a senseless argument, he nodded instead of speaking. But the suspicion in her next question indicated that she’d heard Jane’s voice. “Have you been with anyone?”
Memories of Jane in the shower filled his mind, from the thrill that’d gone through him when he first heard the door, to the sweet taste of her mouth, to the warmth and softness of her beautiful body. She hadn’t been timid last night. She was beginning to lower her guard, to feel comfortable with him—to ask for more, take more, give more. He liked that. A lot.
“Sebastian?” Connie repeated.
“Don’t ask if you don’t want to hear the answer,” he said.
“That’s a yes! Were you cheating on me the whole time? Have you met someone? Is that why you won’t come home?”
She still didn’t understand what was driving him, how the murders had affected him. Maybe she never would. “I can’t come home until I find Malcolm. You know that. It hasn’t changed.”
“But you’ve met someone else, haven’t you?”
He waved goodbye to Kate as she and Jane left the condo. Then he strode over to the window so he could see them get into the car. “Maybe.”
The silence that followed was more deafening than Constance’s customary rapid-fire questions.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “I—it’s my fault we fell apart, Connie. I’m just in a different place right now, and I can’t find my way back.”
“You haven’t even tried,” she complained.
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Come home to me. Come today.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No.”
“Who is it?” she demanded. “Who are you seeing?”
“No one I’ve mentioned before. I just met her.”
“You can’t give me a name? We were together for six years and you can’t respect me and my feelings enough to give me a name?”
Did they have to do this? “I don’t want to hurt you even more by talking about another woman.”
“Just tell me where you met her.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “She works for The Last Stand, okay? It’s a victims’ charity here in Sacramento. She’s helping me search for Malcolm.”
“So that’s where I went wrong. I should’ve flown out there and proved my devotion by dedicating my life to your investigation.”
He wanted to hang up, to
silence her with the simple push of a button. But they’d been together for a long time, and as he’d told her, he felt the breakup was more his fault than hers. The least he could do was make sure it ended well. “Stop the sarcasm, Connie. I never expected you to fly out here. I’m not holding it against you that you didn’t. Jane’s been through a lot. I’ve been through a lot. We have some common ground. That’s all. Somehow we…fit. At least for now.”
“I was such a fool,” she said.
He winced at the sob in her voice. “You weren’t a fool.”
“Anyone who loves you is a fool!” she spat and disconnected.
Sebastian shoved his phone in his pocket. “Shit!” He had so much adrenaline charging through him that it was fifteen minutes before he could settle down enough to think. Then, trying to forget that he’d just hurt the woman who’d been waiting for him for a year, he logged on to his computer.
There was another e-mail waiting for him—from Malcolm.
What? You don’t have anything to say? You can’t even respond?
Sebastian wanted to respond. He wanted to tell him to set Latisha free, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Sebastian was also tempted to tell Malcolm what a sick son of a bitch he was for doing what he’d done to Marcie. But that would only let Malcolm know how squarely he’d hit his target, and Sebastian refused to give him that satisfaction.
Forgoing all the accusations and recriminations that churned in his head, he wrote the one thing that really mattered.
You said it all. It’s you or me.
“Glib asshole,” Malcolm muttered.
“What is it?” Latisha asked.
He glanced over at the table, where she was eating the chocolate he’d purchased when they’d gone grocery shopping this morning. Latisha seemed to believe what he’d told her about the murder of his family. He supposed it didn’t hurt that he’d been a cop. That provided him with a certain amount of credibility. But he hadn’t expected to find her sympathy so irresistible. He was growing more and more certain that he wanted to keep her forever. “The man who killed my wife and son,” he said. “He’s answering the e-mail I sent him before we went to the store. He’s taunting me.”