Each of the boys—even Liam, who almost made me emotional—stops by the couch to kiss me hello, haul their backpacks upstairs, and return for the snack Mom set out for them on the kitchen counter.
“So he’ll be here for dinner?”
“That’s the plan.”
Initially Max was supposed to stay here last night as well, but when Mom spilled the beans to Dylan I’d had a tough recovery day, he insisted we wait. He didn’t get here until after dinner these past two nights and spent them on my couch. I would’ve preferred him in my bed, but seeing as I’m still recovering and not feeling at all sexy—with an immobilized leg and having not had a proper shower in days—I didn’t object when he took a pillow and sheets and bunked downstairs.
He’d been up with the kids, getting them off to school in the mornings. He’d wait for Mom to get here, bring me up a coffee, and kiss me goodbye before heading to work.
I felt better today. Able to move around with my crutches a little easier, and Mom helped me take a shower. A little clumsy trying to keep my leg wrapped in plastic from getting wet, but we managed to get my hair washed, which made me feel ten times better. Thank God for the handheld, so I could give the rest of me a good scrub before Mom had to come back in and help me get dressed.
It’s a little weird, at forty-one, getting bathed by your aging mother, but I was grateful for the help. Sure made my day a lot more enjoyable.
Kerry called this morning, checking in on me and to tell me she’d hired extra help for the store. She also reminded me I have eight sick days I haven’t touched yet for the year, and my employee benefits will cover me for eight weeks of short-term disability at eighty percent after that. The alternative, if I felt up to it by then, would be to take over some of her duties I could do from home.
Finances are still a worry without my cleaning pay, but I can handle tight, I just can’t do without.
Which makes me feel a whole lot better about the monster grocery run I know my mother is on. She’s off to Farmington to hit up Sam’s Club with a friend this afternoon. Since she spent most of the morning making room in my pantry, and asked to take my Jeep instead of her Ford Focus, I’m prepared for the worst. Knowing I have money coming in, I can transfer some to her to cover what she’s been paying for.
She should be back shortly. The chili she left simmering in the Crock-Pot is starting to smell mouthwatering, and I know she’s planning to throw together some cornbread, which won’t take long. I’m considering sneaking a taste when my phone buzzes with a message.
Dylan: Held up at office. Don’t wait with dinner.
I feel a pang of selfish disappointment but quickly squash it. He has more important things to do right now. I shoot off a message back.
Me: We’ll save you some chili.
Dylan: You’re killing me. ❤
An emoticon.
He sent me an emoticon. A heart.
Dylan is an attentive man, but a pretty straightforward one; not exactly the type I would expect hearts and flowers from. Certainly not someone who randomly drops emoticons in his messages, but there it is—a heart.
Is he telling me something? Should I send him one back?
Geezus, I’m fawning like a twelve-year-old who just caught a glimpse of her crush by the locker rooms. Ridiculous.
The decision is taken out of my hands when the front door opens and Mom walks in, balancing enough toilet paper in her arms to last a year.
“Mom, alarm,” I warn her when she leaves the door wide open and marches straight through to the pantry. As I’ve tried to explain to her about fifteen times since the alarm was installed Monday afternoon, you have all of thirty seconds to punch in the code before it goes off.
Sure enough, the incessant beep fires up and the boys come barreling down the stairs. I try to get my crutches under me when Mom comes stomping out of the pantry, cursing under her breath about that “blasted noise-maker.”
“What’s the number again?” she yells over the din, having beaten me to the small panel in the hall.
“I’ll do it,” Harry volunteers, but he gets shoved aside by Theo.
“I’ve got it,” he says and punches in the numbers. Now the alarm double beeps.
“It’s two-nine-four-three. You punched in a five,” Harry helpfully announces at full volume to the world at large.
“No it’s not.”
“It so is, right, Mom?”
I give up and sink back down on the couch.
Three minutes later, after Mom was able to silence the noise by entering the correct number, there’s a knock at the door I was expecting. Just like the other two times a patrol car stopped by to check after we accidentally set off the alarm.
Mom opens the door and apologizes to whoever knocked, when I hear Keith’s chuckle.
“How are you doing?” he asks, walking into the living room.
“I’d be better if my family stopped setting off the goddamn alarm.” I throw a glare at Mom, who shrugs and heads outside to grab more groceries, I presume.
“Don’t worry about it. It takes a little time to get used to.”
“Right,” I snort. “By the time that happens, the alarm center, as well as Durango PD, will have learned to ignore any alerts coming from this address.”
“The security company is used to it, and in your case, because a lot of stuff is happening, we don’t wait for confirmation, we just send out the closest unit.”
“I’m sorry.”
He grins at me. “Don’t be. Besides, I just heard there’s a development that makes me hopeful you won’t have to worry about alarms anymore soon.”
“Really? Dylan just sent me a message saying he was held up. So something’s happened? Did they find Thomas?”
Mom hears my last comment, just as she comes walking in, dumps the bags in the hallway, and walks over to listen in.
“They found your ex.”
IT WAS TEN WHEN I SENT Mom home.
That took some doing—she initially insisted on staying until Dylan showed—but I reminded her that with Jeremy no longer a threat out there, we’d be fine. She finally conceded and left, but not until she left a covered plate out for Dylan with a little note.
I just closed the door behind her, armed the alarm, and turned off lights. The kids are in bed, or so I thought. Harry stumbles out of his room when I hoist myself up the stairs on my ass, pulling my crutches along with me.
“Max here?” He’s rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“Don’t think he’s coming tonight, baby. His dad is working late, so I think Max crashed at his grandparents. Why don’t you go back to bed?”
“Can I sleep with you?”
I wince at the thought. Harry is high energy, even in sleep. It’s like trying to cuddle with kicking horse, and I don’t want those size sevens of his pounding my poor knee.
“When I’m better, Bub. I’ll come tuck you in.”
He’s almost back under by the time I have him tucked in and press a kiss on his floppy hair.
I do my thing in the bathroom, change into my nightshirt, and settle myself in bed; with my leg elevated and my book within reach. I don’t even manage to read a single page before my eyes get too heavy.
I’m not sure what time it is when I feel a hand slip under my shirt and over my stomach.
“Dylan?”
“Go back to sleep, Sweetheart,” he mumbles, settling in on my good side, his head on the pillow next to me, hand still under my shirt.
“You got Jeremy.” In the dark room I feel more than see his head come up.
“How’d you know?”
“Mom set off the alarm again and Keith showed up. He mentioned it.”
“Right.” He lies back down, his head closer so he can reach to kiss my shoulder. “We got a tip and found him in a rented RV south of town.”
“Any sign of Thomas?” All Keith had told us was they’d brought in my ex, but he couldn’t elaborate further and I’ve been dying to know.
“No, and
Jeremy clammed up. Asked for a lawyer.”
I hate hearing defeat in his voice. “You’ll find him.”
“Fuck, I hope so, Sweetheart.”
CHAPTER 23
Marya
Like the last night when Dylan slept in my bed, he leaves it before the sun comes up. The toilet flushes and I wait for the shower to be turned on, but instead there’s a splash of water in the sink before I can hear him come back in the room. The mattress moves under his weight as he gets in, and his body curves again mine.
“Do you need to leave early again?” My voice sounds rough with sleep, even though my body is fast coming alive.
I feel his lips brush my neck and then my shoulder. “Yes,” he mumbles, “Need to start my day with a fill of you first, though.”
A charge skips over my skin when his large hand slides over my stomach, and up between my breasts, coming to rest at the base of my throat. There’s something deeply possessive about the weight of his forearm pressing between my breasts as his fingers brush the pulse in my neck.
“You’re so warm. So soft. So fucking sexy, all rumpled with sleep.”
“My leg,” I remind him when his touch travels south, playing with the trimmed curls at the apex of my thighs before dipping a finger through the wet. I hiss at the almost casual brush against my clit.
“We’ll be careful, and creative.”
“Yes...” I moan, pulling up my good leg to give his nimble digits room. With my foot planted in the mattress I try to lift my hips into his touch.
“Stay still, Sweetheart. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Trust me to do the work.”
He works me all right, with lips and tongue, hands and fingers, until tears of need squeeze from my eyes.
“Please...”
“I’ve got you.”
He does. In every aspect, he has me: my body, my needs, my back, my trust, and yes, my heart too. In the care he takes when he positions me under him, rolling me partly on my side, hooking his arm under my good knee to spread me wide. Straddling my immobile leg, he plants a hand in the mattress in front of me and braces as his cock brushes along my slit, gently probing.
“Honey...” I whisper on an exhale when he slides in, filling me up.
The muscles in his arm bulge when he shifts all his weight there, keeping it off me, as his hips pump deep.
“Work your clit, babe,” he grunts, the strain showing in the tendons of his neck and the lines of his face. “Hurry.”
My hand slides down, two fingers rolling over the slick tight bundle as he grinds his cock deep. I feel my body tensing, reaching for release as my touch becomes frantic. The moment his strong rhythm starts to falter, I slide my fingers wide over our connection and feel the pulse of his release, triggering my own.
All too soon he slides out and rolls off on his side, facing me, as we both catch our breath. His eyes are deep warm pools, just inches from mine, as he wipes the hair from my face and leans in for a lazy kiss.
“There isn’t a day I can’t handle if I can start every morning like that,” he mumbles, his lips still on mine.
My heart full, I slide a hand along his jaw and let the words spill over.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I find myself whispering, drowning in his eyes.
“I know,” he whispers back. “I promise it’ll be a soft landing; I’m already there, ready to catch you.”
I’m not sure how long we lie there, breaths mingling and our souls in our eyes. Cocooned in a safe, early-morning vacuum keeping the world at bay. Nothing in the moment but the two of us, hearing each other in silence.
“Mom?” Harry’s soft voice sounds as the bedroom door is pushed open.
Dylan barely manages to yank the covers up over us when my youngest pads in, rubbing his fists in his eyes.
“Yeah, Bub,” I manage, pushing myself up a little, thankful I’m still wearing my nightshirt, even if the bottom is wrapped around my waist under the sheets.
“I threw up.” He stops at the foot of the bed; the front of his pj’s a mess as he blinks at us. He seems to take finding Dylan in my bed in stride, not even reacting.
“You feeling sick?” I ask, struggling to get my nightie to cover my ass before I try to slide out of bed. I belatedly remember the state of my leg and hiss in pain.
“Stay put,” Dylan rumbles beside me, as he swings his legs over the other side, keeping himself covered with a corner of the sheet while grabbing for his jeans.
“My stomach hurts,” Harry announces, his tearful eyes still focused on me. Thank God. From the corner of my eye, I spot Dylan pull the jeans up over the tight globes of his ass.
“I’ll get him cleaned up and take him downstairs,” Dylan says, putting a hand in Harry’s neck. “Come on, sport, let’s get the puke washed off you. You reek.”
Even through his misery, Harry manages to grin. Must be a guy thing.
I gingerly get out of bed—this time—the moment they disappear down the hall. My leg is throbbing, but I know it’ll get better once I start moving around some. Grabbing my crutches, I snag some clean clothes and head for the bathroom to clean up.
I skip the shower; it takes too long, but give myself a sponge bath by the sink. Since my hair looks like a gale-force storm is blowing in from the left, I feel the need to stick my head under the hand-held shower over the side of the tub. It’s a pain in the ass but I feel better after.
I’m about to head down on my ass when Dylan comes up, two steps at a time, and swings me up in his arms.
“I can walk, you know.”
“Yup,” he says with an easy grin.
Despite my words, I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on tight as he carries me downstairs. Harry is curled up on the couch covered in a quilt, a bucket beside him.
“He feels feverish, you may want to check.” He sets me on my feet and I make my way over to the couch. “I’m just gonna strip his bed and hop in the shower, okay? Coffee is brewing.”
I’m about to tell him not to bother, that I’ll take care of the mess later, but he’s already disappeared upstairs.
Harry turns out to have a bit of a fever, but I hold off on giving him anything until he can keep down the piece of toast I’m trying to feed him. He’s just dozing off when Dylan comes back down, his arms full with Harry’s dirty sheets and pj’s.
“Drop it on the floor of the laundry room, I’ll pop it in the washer later.”
Of course he doesn’t listen and is rummaging around in there, probably looking for detergent. A moment later, I hear water flooding the washer as he walks into the kitchen, straight for where I’m waiting with a travel mug for him.
“Thank you.”
“I believe that’s my line,” I correct him. “Thank you for cleaning up my kid’s puke first thing in the morning.”
He hooks his free arm around my waist. “First thing this morning I was buried to the hilt inside you.”
“Mmmm,” I mumble at the memory, a smile on my lips he bends down to kiss. “Still,” I persist. “You didn’t have to clean up, I could’ve done that later.”
He shrugs. “I love you,” he declares, as if that explains it all.
One more brief press of his lips and he’s out the door.
I swallow hard at the emotions his words evoke and let that safe and treasured feeling settle deep in my soul, realizing he’s right.
It does explain it all.
DYLAN
“Yeager is driving up.”
I look up to find Damian standing in the doorway.
“Berger?” I ask.
“Yup, he should be at the police station in about forty minutes. I talked to Joe, the public defense attorney just walked in to meet with his client.” Since it was obvious last night Berger wasn’t going to talk without a lawyer there, he was held overnight at the police station. “I’d like you to sit in. See if maybe your presence will get him worked up enough to start talking.”
“Sure,” I respond immediately. Yesterday I was
relegated to watch Luna and Damian have a go at him from behind the one-sided mirror in our single interrogation room here in the office, which was frustrating to say the least. I wouldn’t mind having a go at him.
“Just remember we want him worked up, not you,” Damian cautions, a stern look on his face.
“Gotcha.” Seeing as I was the one with my dick in Marya this morning—her sweet declaration in my ears—I’m pretty confident little the man says can get me rattled. “Does Yeager have anything more to report?” I ask.
“They still have a few search parties going out during the day, but it’s been five days, Thomas could be anywhere in the world by now.” The strain on Damian’s face is the same I imagine we all wear. We all want Thomas found, which is what makes Berger’s silence so infuriating. “So far no luck with the IP addresses in Farmington or Aztec. No one seems to recognize Berger from his DMV picture.” He turns to Luna. “You’re heading back out to the Starbucks in Hermosa?”
“Yes. The one barista who was on vacation should be back on shift today. I’m leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Fucking hope she has better eyes than the rest,” Jasper mumbles from behind his screen.
As pumped as we all were to find and bring in Berger sixteen hours ago, the shine came off immediately when he didn’t give us an inch. He’d blanched when we brought up Thomas’ disappearance. Was adamant in his claim of no involvement with the boy’s disappearance and clammed up altogether when Seth’s name was brought up. We went over that trailer with a fine-tooth comb. The Colorado Bureau of Investigation had their forensics team there last night, going over every inch of the place to find any evidence Thomas had been there. Nothing had jumped out and sadly analysis of anything they collected would take some time.
Time Thomas likely didn’t have. If he had any left at all.
“HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN you realized you had a fascination with little boys.”
10-Code (Rock Point, #4) Page 19