A Matter of Time 03 - 04 (Volume 2) (MM)

by Mary Calmes

  "Jory, she bought it," he said, stopping and looking up at me from where he was on the first landing. "What the hell?

  That was scary."

  I chuckled, climbing more stairs. "If everybody in the world always did exactly what they should, think how boring life would be."

  "Yeah, sure, but I could be an axe murderer for all she knows."

  "You look like you belong on the Disney channel," I told him. "You are all kinds of clean-cut, all-American goodness."

  He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder before I could start down the hall on the third floor.

  "What?"

  "Are you by any chance into clean-cut, all-American guys?"

  "I have a guy," I said quickly, moving away from him to check the numbers on the doors.

  "He wouldn't have to know, Jory."

  "He's a police detective," I answered distractedly, getting closer, watching the numbers ascend.

  "So what?"

  "He knows everything," I said, finding the door, stopping in front of it, taking a deep breath because here I was on the brink of my discovery.

  "And if he did find out? What's he gonna do, kill you?"

  "Yeah," I said, sliding the key into the lock, feeling how easy it moved, the glide of it. "And then he'll kill you."

  "Knock it off, Jory. He's not gonna hurt me."

  But I couldn't even concentrate enough to debate him. I was much too interested to see what was in Susan Reid's apartment.

  I figured I would find something small. It was going to be an uphill battle for me to clear Caleb. What I got was more than I could have ever hoped for or imagined. Because in the master bedroom, where there should have been a bed or a chest of drawers or a nightstand or a chair, there were only walls covered with pictures and clippings of Dane Harcourt.

  There were long strips of paper, maybe two feet by five, thumbtacked to the walls, and on them were photographs of a ribbon, a card, some ticket stubs, and various other items—

  a cocktail napkin, a matchbook—all put together in a mosaic that was horrifying and stunning at the same time. It must have taken weeks, months, just to take all the pictures, and the patience to see a task like that completed was hard to imagine. That it had been painstakingly done was an understatement, and Tyler's low whistle of awe said all that I could not at that moment.

  We walked closer to get a better look, neither of us touching the prints, just our eyes moving over the surface.

  "Somebody's got a little obsession going, huh?"

  Absolutely. "There's something weird about it, though."

  "Weirder than it being here at all?" He chuckled.

  "Yeah," I said, leaning closer, wanting to allay my curiosity. "Weirder than that."

  His hand closed on my shoulder. "Don't touch it, Jory."

  I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but maybe Sam could. I turned on my phone and dialed him.

  He didn't greet me, he just made a demand. "Tell me where you are... please."

  "I can't do that. I don't wanna psych eval or a straightjacket."

  "Oh for crissakes, Jory, you know I would never—"

  "I expect you, no matter what... to always have faith in me."

  "Jor—"

  "Everybody else can be surprised that I'm not dead or roll their eyes and be like 'dumb-ass Jory', but you... you're the one who's supposed to know I'm smart and good and not just someone else waiting to hear the latest stupid thing Jory did."

  "You're right," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

  I took a breath.

  "I think you're amazing. You are smart and sexy and I'm going out of my mind 'cause I can't put my hands on you."

  He always knew the right thing to say. "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Yeah."

  He growled. "Tell me where you are."

  "I'm at the Drake Garden Apartments."

  "And?"

  "Apartment three ten."

  Deep exhale. "Good. Lemme call it in. Don't touch anything."

  "No, I won't. Tyler won't either."

  "Who the fuck is Tyler?"

  "One of Gwen's friends."

  Quick, exasperated exhale of breath. "Dane and I are coming with an army of people, but so help me, if I do not find you sitting on the floor when I get there, when I finally do catch up with you—you will be more than sorry."

  His threats did nothing for me. "There's something weird, but I can't put my finger on it."

  "Define weird."

  "I dunno."

  "So you're already inside the apartment?"

  "Yeah."

  "How did you figure out which one it was?"

  "I'm gifted."

  "Christ, you really are."

  I smiled into the phone. "I miss you."

  Another frustrated growl. "Just wait, all right? Just stop... I need to see you."

  "Just see me?" I teased him.

  "Your brother is sitting in the car with me."

  I laughed at how uncomfortable he was. "Sorry."

  He groaned.

  "I'll be here. Hurry up."

  "Baby, don't touch anything. If you touch something or ruin evidence—then Caleb's screwed."

  "I know. I'm just gonna walk around."

  "Baby—"

  "Hurry up," I said, and hung up.

  "Jory?"

  I looked at Tyler.

  "Maybe I shouldn't be here, huh?"

  I nodded. "Probably not."

  "Call me later if you need a place to crash," he said, taking my hand, turning over my palm and writing his number in pen on my skin.

  "Thanks," I said, patting his shoulder.

  "For the record," he said, walking backward away from me. "You are seriously hot and a rush to hang out with, and if you wanna see me later, just call."

  I had a man. What did I want with a boy?

  "Did you hear me?"

  I waved and started back through the apartment.

  What was I expecting? So many thoughts ran through my head. Scenes from CSI, or Silence of the Lambs, even Seven.

  What was I expecting—a severed head? Perhaps nothing so dramatic, but the apartment was pristine and I found that strange.

  In the smaller bedroom there were the same kinds of things that were in Sam's second, unused bedroom. Gym equipment and a computer and a twin bed shoved up against one wall. But if this was the place that guests slept and where the free weights lived, where was the furniture that should have been in the master bedroom? Walking back out, I went through the kitchen and found nothing out of the ordinary; the living room was the same. Somebody just like me lived there, and yet the wall in the bedroom and the lack of furniture spoke to something else all together. It didn't add up.

  The bathroom was clean, but from the products in the medicine cabinet and on the counter and under the sink, a guy lived there. The bathroom had no feminine touches, but there were a few articles of women's clothing hanging in the closet of the master bedroom. There was nothing under the bed in the second bedroom, hardly any food in the refrigerator, and very little in the pantry as well. It was a bachelor pad, plain and simple, but whose?

  I used my sweater sleeve and unlocked the sliding glass door that went out on the balcony. There was nothing out there but dead plants and wicker furniture.

  "Freeze!"

  Not Sam.

  "Hands on your head!"

  I did as I was told, and seconds later I was face down on the ground with my hands cuffed behind me, being frisked.

  When I rolled my head sideways, I saw the shiny black leather shoes.

  "Mr. Harcourt."

  I let out a deep breath. "Agent Calhoun."

  "Take him to County now. Put him in lockup."

  I didn't have a chance to say anything. I was half-carried/half-dragged down three flights and taken out the opposite way of how I had come in. The two officers that had taken charge of me complained back and forth that they did not work for the FBI but instead for the city of Dallas. I was put not into t
he back of a black and white, but in the back of an SUV. I was locked in and they told me to sit tight. I waited to move until they walked away.

  I look helpless. I'm not a big guy, and when people meet me they think subdued first, until I open my mouth. So the two police officers had no clue who I was. So they didn't check to see if I had climbed out of the backseat and out through the driver's side door. The windows were tinted; I locked it after me and calmly walked around the side of the building and down the street. A block away, I ran. At least, since they had taken my phone, I wouldn't be in trouble for not calling Sam.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Most people think I'm stupid. It comes with being younger than thirty, blond, and kind of an airhead. So while it's true that I have the attention span of a goldfish—oooh castle, oooh castle—I can actually use my brain for complex reasoning. I didn't go to the hardware store or anyplace else to get the handcuffs off. I got a cab (with handcuffs on) and asked to be driven to a store that specialized in adult sex toys. When I got there, I told the cashier that my boyfriend had lost the key for the cuffs we had bought the day before.

  She laughed, her manager laughed, the guy in charge of the viewing booths laughed, but the stock clerk got the bolt cutters and separated my hands before another stock clerk, coming back from break, picked the locks on each cuff for me. They were impressed at how real they looked as they tossed them into the steel wastebasket behind the front counter. I gave the manager a fifty and asked him to buy everybody lunch. He invited me to go line dancing with him after work, and I graciously declined before ducking out of the store.

  I caught a cab to the Galleria and found a pay phone. I dialed my own number.

  "Jory, goddamnit! Where the fuck are you?" Sam asked when he answered on the second ring.

  "Do you have my phone?"

  "Obviously," he growled. "What the hell happened? You were supposed to wait!"

  "Ask Agent Calhoun."

  "No, I know he—screwed up. He said... shit... are you cuffed?"

  "Not anymore."

  "Jesus," he deflated. "Baby, you—"

  "I gotta get out of here, Sam. If I stay, I'm gonna get hurt."

  "Jor—"

  "I'll see you at home, okay?"

  "No, it's not okay! I need to—"

  "I'm not gonna fly." I was thinking out loud. "They might be looking for me at the airport, so I'll drive or take the bus or—"

  "No," he said flatly. "Just meet me at the hotel and I'll—"

  "I don't want you to get in trouble for harboring a fugitive."

  "Love, you are not a fugitive. The only thing Agent Calhoun wants to do is hold you for questioning."

  "The way he talks—he scares the shit outta me."

  "I know, but he—"

  Aaron Sutter suddenly popped into my head. "Shit—I just thought of something."

  "Baby, just please—meet me at my hotel. Dane and I are staying at the airport Hilton. I'm in room nine-twelve.

  Please—just be there."

  "I think I have a better idea." Aaron had a private jet—he could send it for me, and would, I was sure, if I asked him nicely enough.

  "No, don't call anybody else. Do not turn to anyone but me right now, it'd be a mistake."

  There was no denying that the man knew me well. "But Sam, I—"

  "Baby," he said, and his voice was like honey. "Please."

  I let myself take a breath, and as I did, the sound of his voice seeped into me.

  "Don't leave without me. I need you."

  I let out a deep breath. "I'll go get my stuff and meet you at your hotel."

  "I'll get your stuff—just go to the hotel. I'll call and tell them to give you a key."

  "Are you sure you won't get—"

  "Jory, just go to my room and wait for me. Please, I'm begging you."

  I was useless when it came to saying no to Sam Kage.

  "Tell me where you were staying so I can grab your crap."

  I told him and hung up after he extracted another promise to meet me at his hotel. The man was determined to see me, and as always, my stomach fluttered just thinking about him.

  I wondered vaguely if it would ever change.

  * * * *

  I smelled bad, I felt grimy, and so I took a shower after I was in Sam's room for an hour. When I opened the bathroom door a while later, stepping out into the room, I found him standing by the window. He still had his coat on, like he had just gotten there.

  "Hi." I smiled over at him and I couldn't keep the sigh out of my voice.

  He didn't answer, just crossed the room and grabbed me, yanking me forward, crushing me against his big, hard body.

  I felt myself shaking but I was powerless to stop. It felt so good to finally be safe. He was warm and solid and his lips on the side of my neck felt like heaven.

  "Look at me."

  When I lifted my head, his mouth was on mine. It was a devouring kiss, nothing gentle about it, his tongue tasting me, claiming me. He lifted me off my feet and carried me to the bed, where he fell down with me still wrapped in his arms.

  I expected to be ravaged, but instead he straddled my hips and sat up. He pulled off his coat and scarf and threw them on the floor as he looked down at me.

  "God, you look so good," I sighed, taking in the sight of him... all better, healed, back in one piece. "How do you feel?"

  "Me?" He scowled. "Jesus Christ, J, you look like shit."

  I tried to get up, to move away, but he held me down easily.

  "Stop screwin' around, you know you're gorgeous. I just mean that you look like you've been through it and... Christ, I'm never gonna let you outta my sight again."

  His eyes were so dark and beautiful. "Okay."

  He grunted before he lifted my chin to look at my neck.

  "Jesus, baby, you're covered in bruises. How did—"

  "But you still like me, right? You still want me?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  It took me a minute to answer. "I'm not pretty right now."

  He lay down beside me, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. "Jory, I love the outside of you, I do... you're beautiful and just seeing you gets me going. But honey, really... I'd never stick around if that's all there was."

  I nodded, my jaw clenching tight.

  "I love you, Jory. I love your good heart and your kindness and the way you bring out the very best in everyone you meet. I need you, because without you I'm empty and mean."

  "No, you're not," I said, leaning into his hand.

  He eased me back down onto the bed and kissed up my neck.

  "I can feel your heartbeat right here, under your skin."

  I felt my breath catch in the back of my throat. Just having him close to me was causing rippling heat to run through my body.

  "You scared the hell out of me, again."

  "I'm sorry," I said, staring up into his eyes. "I just knew that Susan Reid was the one who—"

  "I know, I know, but listen," he said softly, his voice deep.

  "Don't go anywhere without me from now on. I'd love to be your sidekick."

  I smiled up at him. "I think we both know who the hero of the piece is, Sam."

  "No, I don't think we do," he said as he leaned over and kissed me, slowly but thoroughly, taking his time, his tongue exploring my mouth. It wasn't full of the usual heat and urgency, but I felt it sear through me just the same.

  I whimpered when he pulled back.

  "You need me."

  "Yes," I agreed wholeheartedly, wriggling around under him.

  He smiled suddenly. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm trying to get rid of the towel."

  "I can see that." He grinned lazily. "But baby, you are in no shape for me to—"

  "Oh yes, I am," I assured him, grabbing his hand, sliding it down over my groin, just terry cloth separating our skin.

  "Does that feel like I'm not ready?"

  "Babe," he said gently, "you—"

  But I p
ushed up, shifting him off balance enough so I could roll over on my stomach and breathe.

  "And now what?" he asked as his hands rubbed over my ass.

  "Sam... please... show me you're all better. I don't wanna be the strong one anymore."

  There was no movement.

  "Sam?"

  "You've been doing all this to try and protect me 'cause I was hurt."

  "Yes."

  "So if I'm better, you'll stop playing detective?"

  Playing? "Now wait." My voice dropped low. "I've done pretty well to—"

  "Shut up," he growled before he yanked the towel away, leaving me naked beneath him. "Guess what I brought you?"

  "I'm sure I have no—"

  "Don't move."

  His weight was gone for only seconds before it returned.

  The sound of the cap opening let me know what he had retrieved from his duffel bag on the floor.

  "You weren't worried about me," I teased him. "You just wanted to fuck me."

  He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back hard. "No, J, you want me to fuck you. I have been sick just thinking about you dead or raped or God knows what else."

  I shivered, I couldn't help it. My brain understood that we were having a serious conversation, but my body was just processing the dominance and the strength he was exerting over me.

  He let go of my hair and I pressed my face down into the pillow. I felt his slick fingers pressing inside my body and let out a low moan.

  "I'm all better now, J, so you need to do exactly as I say from now on. Do you understand?"

  I nodded, unable to speak, feeling his hands slide over my ass, spread my cheeks.

  "You need to remember who you belong to."

  "I know who I belong to," I whimpered, trying to move back into him.

  He kissed the back of my neck, moved to my shoulder before he bit down and thrust deep inside me. I lifted my head and he repeated his movement.

  "Sam...." It came out as a rasp of sound as his hand slipped under me.

  "God... I missed you... I just got you back...." His voice had a catch in it, faltering at the end.

  No comforting words could be given, as there was only heat, the familiar smell of his skin, and my drowning, aching response to him.

  "I hate that I need you."

  And I wanted to explain to him that what he saw as a weakness was really a gift. Most people never needed anyone.