8 Scream for Me

by Karen Rose

  Her fingers stopped stroking and she pulled back far enough to see his face. “You really want me to?” she whispered and held her breath as want and responsibility warred in his eyes. After what seemed like an eternity he shook his head.

  “No.”

  The breath she held rushed out. “Good.” Nimbly she freed the buttons up the front of his shirt, then pulled the tie over his head and dropped it on the floor. Finally she had full access to his warm, hard chest, and she fanned her hands side, to side, feeling every flex and ripple. Golden hair covered him and she brushed at it with her fingertips, trailing lower until his abs twitched. “Daniel, look at you,” she whispered.

  He kissed her again, softly this time. When he answered, his whisper was husky. Tender. “I’d rather look at you.” He pulled at the belt of her robe and caught her nightshirt in one hand. “Lift up.” She did and he pulled the nightshirt over her hips, continuing until she felt the cool air on her breasts. She shivered.

  Then closed her eyes when his body slid down hers and his mouth closed over her. She shivered again, but this time from the heat. He sucked and fondled until she was thrusting against him, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer. He switched to the other breast, and she twisted, knowing she could get no closer, but trying nonetheless.

  His hand flattened on her stomach and she sucked in a breath and held it, waiting. But he didn’t move it up or down, just kept it lightly resting, and she realized he was waiting for permission. Encouragement, even. Instead she begged. “Please.”

  The single syllable launched him back into motion and his fingers slipped under the cotton that still covered her and she knew she’d been right about how good that thumb of his would feel. He made her shiver and shudder, but when she whimpered for more he shifted his mouth back to hers, swallowing her little moans.

  She was so close. Digging her heels into the sofa cushions she surged against his hand until her blood was pounding and every nerve on every last inch of skin was firing. Until finally, light exploded behind her eyelids and she fell back against the cushions, panting and feeling better than she’d felt . . . possibly ever.

  He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his body rigid, his breathing labored. “Okay.” His murmur was ragged. “Now go to bed. Please.”

  But his hand was still touching her intimately and she knew there was no way she could sleep now. Her pulse still thrummed and she still . . . needed. Judging from the way his body was still pulsing against her thigh, Daniel felt the same way.

  She slid her hands to his belt and he lunged up, his brows crunched in a mighty frown. The hand that had worked such magic caught her wrist, but Alex had nimble fingers and she’d already worked the belt loose.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed and she blinked at him.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” she countered.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I thought I said go to bed.”

  She feathered her fingers along the skin at his waist and his abs convulsed, his body going taut. “You really want me to?” she whispered once again. She watched his face, his struggle obvious. Then he strained up to look at Meredith’s door over the back of the sofa and Alex swallowed her smile even as she grabbed the edges of his shirt and pulled him down on her. He fell with a hard thump and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him as he’d kissed her before. With a growl he took over, his mouth hungry, almost savage. The thrusts of his hips were hard and equally savage.

  He ripped his mouth away. “This is crazy,” he whispered against her lips. “We’re not teenagers having sex on this sofa.”

  “No, I’m almost thirty and I want to have sex on this sofa.” She met his eyes with challenge. “With you. So do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” he said, his answer strangled and hoarse. “But are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m very sure.” She eased down his zipper. Her first touch was tentative, but his body jerked and he hissed out a curse. Quickly she pulled her hand away. “But if you’re not . . . I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable—”

  He silenced her with a hard kiss, then flipped the snap on his holster and carefully put his gun on the floor. He wrestled his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a condom and tossed his wallet next to his gun. He looked down into her face, his blue eyes brighter than the core of a flame and twice as hot. “Be sure, Alex.”

  Keeping her gaze on his, she slid the cotton panties down her legs and kicked them away. “Please, Daniel.” His eyes jerked down to the skin she bared. She watched his throat work as he tried to swallow and suddenly understood this moment was more than a mating between two consenting and extremely attracted adults. It would be the moment she ceased to be a victim in his eyes.

  And perhaps in her own. “Please, Daniel,” she whispered again.

  For three hard beats of her heart he stared down at her, then with unsteady hands he ripped the packet and covered himself. Slipping his arms beneath her back, he cradled her head between his palms and settled himself between her thighs. He took her mouth with a quiet authority that was more intense than his most reckless kisses had been. Then he entered her with a slow reverence that stole her breath.

  Every roll of his hips was deliberate, and he watched her, gauging her response. Then he shifted and she gasped as unexpected pleasure rippled through her body.

  He brushed his lips over her ear, making her shiver. “Right there?” he whispered.

  “Right there is really good.” Her hands covered his buttocks, thrilling in the play of his muscles as they tensed and flexed. He was a well-formed man, hard and honed.

  Slowly he began to bring her up again, rocking harder against her until her heart was racing faster than before, rocking faster up into her until his control began to slip. She wanted to see his control slip. She wanted to be the one to break that deliberate restraint, make him forget who he was, where he was, and . . . take her.

  She brought her hand around his hip, trailing her fingertips over the sensitive skin of his groin, and his body jolted. With a low groan he froze, trembling against her.

  “Daniel, please.” She whispered it in his ear. “Do it. Now.”

  He shuddered as his control shattered. His hips plunged at a frantic pace, as if he couldn’t get deep enough fast enough. This, this was what she’d wanted. Him, holding nothing back. She met him at each peak, clutching his shoulders, digging her nails into his back to get closer, to bring him deeper until once again she teetered at the edge. With one last hard twist up into her body he pushed her over. She started to cry out, but his hand clamped across her mouth, muffling her moan.

  When the bucking of her body had subsided to quivers, his body went rigid, his back arching as if he’d bay at the moon, but no sound broke free. His jaw clenched as his hips jerked, pressing hard and deep. For a long moment he held himself motionless above her, magnificently male. Then his breath left him in a rush and he collapsed, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He was panting and shudders racked him. Alex smoothed her hands across his back, up under the shirt he still wore.

  When his shudders stilled, he lifted his head again, this time leaning up on his elbow so that he looked down into her face. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was wet and his breathing was still strident. But his eyes . . . She always came back to his eyes.

  He looked awed. And Alex felt as if she’d conquered Everest. He drew a deep breath. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, loving looking up at him. “No. It was perfect.”

  Another shudder shook him, an aftershock, smaller this time. “You were so tight. I should have done this better, in a bed. I should—”

  “Daniel.” She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “It was perfect. Perfect,” she repeated on a whisper and watched his mouth smile.

  “Now that sounds like a definite challenge. Next time I’ll—”

  “Police! Stop right there!”

  The shout came from outside and Dani
el was instantly on alert, on his knees. He zipped his pants and rolled to his feet, scooping up his gun. “Stay down,” he told her. He stood at the side of the window, peeking between the lace curtains.

  Alex stayed down until she saw his shoulders relax. “What?” she asked.

  “What?” Meredith echoed, opening her bedroom door a crack.

  “It’s the paperboy,” Daniel said. “Hatton took the paper and he’s coming up the walk. But he doesn’t look happy,” he added, sounding unhappy himself. “Now what?”

  Alex grabbed her underwear from the floor and shoved it into her robe pocket before pulling her belt tight around her waist. Ignoring Meredith’s raised brow, she fled to the kitchen, busying herself making coffee while Daniel opened the door for Agent Hatton.

  “Sorry, Daniel,” Hatton said. “Miss Fallon.” He nodded at Alex, then Meredith, apparently not a man to waste words repeating a name when it worked for both women. He turned back to Daniel. “He drove up in a van. We didn’t know he was the paperboy at first. But take a look at the front page. Your friend Woolf has been a busy boy.”

  Daniel grabbed the paper, then looked up, his expression grim.

  Alex forgot the coffee, hurrying to take the paper from his hands. At first she frowned. Then her eyes widened. “Rhett Porter’s dead?”

  “Who is Rhett Porter?” Meredith asked, reading the front page over Alex’s shoulder.

  “Rhett was one of Wade’s friends,” Alex said. “Rhett’s father owned all the car dealerships around here. Wade worked for them, detailing cars.”

  “Rhett was also the brother of the boys that discovered Alicia’s body,” Daniel said.

  Hatton’s brows were lifted. “Coincidence?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Nothing’s a coincidence in this town.”

  “I wonder how Woolf got this scoop?” Meredith asked. “It wasn’t on the news or on the Internet. I was just online, checking my mail.”

  She said it with a pointed look, and Alex knew Meredith had not only been awake but had heard the entire scene on the sofa.

  His cheeks darkening, Daniel buttoned his shirt. “I’ll go have a chat with Mr. Woolf.”

  “I’ll stay inside the house with the Miss Fallons,” Hatton said.

  “And I’ll make coffee,” Alex said. “I know I need it.”

  Meredith followed her to the kitchen, smirking. “I need a cigarette,” she murmured.

  Alex glared at her. Neither of them smoked. “You just shut up.”

  Meredith chuckled. “When you decide to get a wild hair, you really do it right.”

  Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 5:55 a.m.

  Daniel was turning onto Main Street when he saw a light come on in the window of the office of the Dutton Review. Instinct told him to hold tight, so he pulled his car behind a boxwood hedge, turned off his headlights, and waited. A few minutes later Jim Woolf appeared from behind the building, gliding past Daniel with his headlights darkened as well.

  Daniel pulled out his cell phone and called Chase.

  “What now?” Chase asked, grumpy.

  “Woolf got another big scoop last night. One of the town men was killed when his car went off the road. I came to ask him about it and it looks like our boy is going for another early morning romp.”

  “Fuck,” Chase muttered. “Where’s he going?”

  “East. I’m going to tail him, but I need backup. I don’t want him noticing me.”

  “Tell Hatton to stay with the ladies and have Koenig tail him with you. I’ll start driving your way. Call me before you confront him.”

  “Yes, sir, partner sir.”

  Wednesday, January 31, 6:00 a.m.

  No, no, no, no, no . . . Bailey rocked herself, the pain from banging her head against the wall a welcome relief from the loathing and disgust that made her want to die.

  “Bailey. Stop it.”

  Beardsley hissed the command, but Bailey didn’t listen to him.

  Bang, bang, bang. Her head throbbed and she deserved it. She deserved to be hurt. She deserved to die.

  “Bailey.” Beardsley’s full hand shot under the wall and grabbed her wrist. He squeezed hard. “I said stop it.”

  Bailey dropped her head, dug her chin into her knees. “Go away.”

  “Bailey.” He wouldn’t go away. “What happened?”

  She stared down at the dirty hand that had her wrist in an iron hold. “I told,” she spat. “All right? I told him.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. You held out longer than most soldiers would have.”

  It was the smack, she thought heavily, her thoughts a nauseated whirl. He’d held the syringe just out of reach and she’d wanted . . . needed. Craved to the point nothing else mattered. “What have I done?” she whispered.

  “What did you tell him, Bailey?”

  “I tried to lie, but he knew. He knew it wasn’t in my house.” And he’d kicked and hit and spat on her every time she’d lied. Still she’d been strong. Until the needle.

  Now it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

  “So where did you hide it?”

  She was so tired. “I gave it to Alex.” She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She tried to cry, but she had no more water in her. “Now he’s going after Alex, and Alex has Hope. And he’ll kill me, and probably you, too. He doesn’t need us anymore.”

  “He won’t kill me. He thinks I wrote down Wade’s confession and hid it.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but it’s buying me time. He’ll keep you alive until he checks out your story.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I wish he’d just killed me.”

  “Don’t say that. We’re going to get out of here.”

  She let her head drop back against the wall. “No, we won’t.”

  “Yes, we will. But you have to help me. Bailey.” He dug his fingers into her wrist. “Help me. For your daughter and for all those other girls you hear crying in the night.”

  Bailey faltered. “You heard them, too? I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “You aren’t. I saw one of the girls when he was taking me to his room.”

  His room, where he’d tortured her for days. “Who is she, the girl?”

  “I don’t know, but she was young, maybe fifteen.”

  “Why does he have them?”

  “Why do you think, Bailey?” he countered gravely.

  “Oh my God. How many does he have?”

  “I counted twelve doors on that hall. Now help me. For those girls and for Hope.”

  Bailey drew a breath that hurt inside and out. “What do you want me to do?”

  Releasing her wrist, Beardsley threaded his fingers through hers. “Good girl.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 6:15 a.m.

  Can I get you some more coffee, Agent Hatton?” Alex asked. He sat at her table, calm and unrushed. His partner was gone, giving backup to Daniel.

  Hatton shook his head. “No, ma’am. My wife only lets me have a cup a day.”

  Alex lifted her brows. “You listen to your wife? Really? Very few men that come through the ER listen to their wives, which is why most of them end up in the ER.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I listen to every word she says.”

  Meredith scoffed from the kitchen. “But do you obey her?”

  Hatton grinned. “I listen to every word she says.”

  “I thought so,” Meredith said and filled his cup anyway.

  Hatton saluted Meredith with his cup, then put it down on the table. “Hello there.”

  Hope stood in the doorway of her bedroom staring at Hatton.

  “This is Agent Hatton.” Alex took Hope by the hand. “Agent Hatton, my niece Hope.” Then Alex stared as Hope touched Hatton’s face where a soft gray beard grew.

  Hatton leaned forward in his chair so Hope could reach him more easily. “Everyone says my beard makes me look like Santa,” he said. He opened his arms, and to Alex’s shock, Ho
pe climbed into his lap. She stroked his beard with the flat of her palms.

  Meredith uttered a small groan. “Not again.”

  Alex looked at Hatton helplessly. “Hope’s had a tendency to fixate on things.”

  “Well, she’s not hurtin’ a thing, so leave her alone for now,” Hatton said, forever endearing him to Alex.

  Alex sat down at the table with them. “You have kids, Agent Hatton?”

  “Six. All girls. Eighteen all the way down to eight.”

  Meredith looked at the organ, then at Alex. “Maybe he knows what the song is.”

  “I don’t want to get her started again,” Alex said, then sighed. “We have to try.”

  “What song?” Hatton asked.

  Meredith hummed it and Hatton frowned. “Sorry, ladies. I can’t help you.” He checked his watch. “Vartanian said you were meeting Dr. McCrady and the forensic artists this morning at eight. We should be getting a move on.”

  Disappointed that he hadn’t recognized the song either, Alex stood up, her knees still stiff from her concrete slide the day before. “I have to walk Daniel’s dog.”

  Hatton shook his head. “I’ll take the dog outside, Miss Fallon.” To Hope he said, “You’ve got to get ready. Little girls need time to primp.”

  “He does have six daughters,” Meredith said wryly.

  Hope pressed her hands to Hatton’s soft beard, her little face suddenly intense. “Pa-paw.” It was the first word she’d spoken, her voice small and sweet.

  Hatton blinked once, then smiled at Hope. “Your pa-paw has a beard like mine?”

  “Does he?” Meredith asked, and Alex tried to bring Craig Crighton’s face to mind.

  Quiet. Close the door. When she could think, she shook her head. “He never had a beard that I remember.” She cupped Hope’s cheek. “Did you see your pa-paw?”

  Hope nodded, her big gray eyes so sad Alex wanted to cry. But Alex made her mouth smile. “When, honey? When did you see your pa-paw?”