by R. T. Wolfe
The next question was like a painful fever sore in the back of her mouth. One she had to touch with her tongue. "How many?"
He rubbed his nose with the side of his thumb. "Hard telling."
This time, she growled. "Estimate."
"Ten? A dozen maybe?"
The muscles in her face fell, and her mouth opened into a little 'o.'
He smiled. "Give it up, little girl. Go back to your little town. Find your little jewelry store perp. Go home to your boyfriend. Nice rock, by the way."
The room became cold, damn cold. She refused to wrap her arms around her for warmth. Or to hide her left hand. In fact, she forced herself to lift it, ring facing out and held up two fingers. "Arkansas and Washington state. Where else?"
He shrugged.
"That answer's not going to keep you in isolation."
"I dunno. They move around a lot. I just had to keep tabs on you."
Her hands shook and heat built at the back of her neck. "That's right. You were just the low-level john working off his addiction, you sick motherfucker. I'll find Juracek's killer, all right. And I'll put him away just like I did you." Her chest rose and fell like she'd finished a race.
"Temper, Nick. You're losing your edge. Desperate makes mistakes. Did I teach you nothing?"
Chapter 22
The town house was chilly. Since Nickie left her house shoes at Duncan's, she kept on her coat and boots as she turned up the thermostat and did a quick search. No sign that the window locking bars had been tampered with. If Zheng truly ran ten to twelve groups of girls, he had bigger issues to address than a small town detective.
Taking a cleansing breath, she tried to make sense of it all. She surveyed her place. Not much here. Not because she'd moved nearly everything to Duncan's house. The only things there were most of her clothes and bathroom stuff. Well, and her dry beans, spices, canned vegetables, and protein bars. She simply didn't have a lot of things.
Cops don't make much money, she rationalized as she checked each room. No, that wasn't it. She wasn't a homemaker. None of it seemed to matter.
Taking down Zheng's group of girls had been euphoric. It all seemed distant and less significant now. Surprisingly, the files the FBI sent her may serve as a needed distraction. She would take the time to sit down and comb through them. Tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
The last room she checked was the kitchen. "All clear," she whispered.
Chicken noodle soup and saltines for dinner. As it heated on the stove, she checked her phone and decided the place had warmed enough to shed the coat. Duncan had texted her earlier in the day, asking where she was sleeping that night. Did he still view her as a flight risk? When she gave him her answer, she expected a responding text arguing that his house was their house. Instead, she got nada. Get a grip, Savage.
The soup began to steam, and she took down a cereal bowl. A few crushed crackers in the bottom and she had the perfect dinner for mulling over the loads of crap that were screwing with her head.
The knock on her door made her jump nearly out of her seat. Since when did she jump at knocks on a door? She'd just left Eddy. Duncan was in L.A. Tiptoeing to the foyer, she slipped her gun from the holster as it hung from her coat rack, then took it off safety. Glancing through the peephole, she gaped for a solid ten seconds, wondering if she was in an alternate universe.
It was Duncan. He just left for L.A. yesterday. The L.A. that was on the other side of the country. He texted her when he landed. Yanking open the door, she said, "What are you—?"
"I can explain."
"That's good, because either you have the ability to apparate or you stayed in L.A. for about ten hours."
"You don't know." He said it like a statement. Either way, she wasn't following his meaning.
"Apparently, there are a lot of things I don't know, but which thing do you mean exactly?" Shit. The soup. She turned for the kitchen. "My soup is going to boil over. Why did you cut your trip so short?"
An arm came from behind her and beat her to the knob. She turned to find his hands gripping the sides of the stove, his face an inch from hers. His scent filled her, making her eyes drift closed. She forgot about dinner, Tanner and the file in her briefcase.
"I need you to hear me out."
Her eyes opened. She found his dilated and all too sincere.
Pushing away from her, he started pacing. "It's not what it looks like." His hands ran over his face, through his hair, then rested on the top of his head. He looked like Andy when he did that.
"You're sort of freaking me out," she said and folded her arms over her chest.
"No." He shook his head.
"Excuse me. Earth to Duncan. Are you losing it on me here in my kitchen?"
She was sure he didn't hear her.
"That's wrong. It's backward. I was." He looked back at her with his brows dug deeply over his eyes. "It was at the fundraiser, the one in L.A. the last time I went."
Ah. The muscles in her face relaxed as she realized where he was going with this. A much nicer woman would stop him.
"The paparazzo were there. Of course. There is a picture. I was there for Sophia. No, that sounds all wrong."
She couldn't take it anymore. He didn't even sound like himself. "If Coral touches your ass when we're married, I'm going to break every finger in her Oscar award-winning hands."
He stopped pacing. That was a good thing anyway.
"You know?" he asked.
"I saw the picture in The Daily Rich and Famous, if that's what you're getting at."
"But I was kissing Coral Francesca. Her hands were on my ass."
Not that this was all about Nickie, but it sure was a pleasant distraction. "Must I repeat my threat? And do you think I'm going to go all jealous nutso every time some paparazzi grabs a shot of a bimbo throwing herself at you?"
"But—"
"You had your hand on her wrist. I expect she didn't like it too much when you peeled her fingers from your tight, muscular, gorgeous ass." She reached both hands around him and took hold just to make sure it was still tight and muscular.
Dropping his forehead to hers, he squeezed his eyes shut. The muscles beneath her fingers seemed to relax as he expelled a long, deep breath. "I can't ever lose you." He moved his forehead from side to side against hers. "I thought—"
"You could have called." Men hated to be interrupted. Sometimes, it made it all the more necessary. "We're going to have to have a serious talk about this issue of yours." She moved her hands to the sides of his face. His eyes had turned nearly oynx like they did when he worked himself up about something.
Talk could wait. Zheng could wait. So could dinner and the FBI files. She smirked as she threw his catch phrase at him. "I haven't seen you naked in three days."
His sexy lips turned into a grin. The small lines that so rarely radiated from the corners of his eyes made him look smart and sexy.
He kissed her temple. "I'm in love with you." Painfully slow, he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was long and careful. Did he sense something had changed? Her head spun and her heart thumped.
"Shall we eat?" he asked as he drizzled his lips along her cheek and jaw.
She didn't tell it to, but her head shook quickly back and forth before falling back, inviting him to her neck. Long, strong arms scooped her up.
"I'm going to make love to you in a bed." He said it like an objective as he carried her toward her bedroom. "Under the sheets."
Although his body was warm against hers, she still shivered at his declaration.
As they reached the side of the bed, he kissed her once more before releasing her to the floor. He went to turn down the sheets, and she wrapped her arms around him. He turned into her as she pulled his shirt from his pants. He grabbed her wrists. "Bed. Covers."
She bit her lip and lifted a knee, reaching for the side of the mattress, but he scooped her up again and gradually laid her down. They took lazy turns exploring and caressing with lips and hands. She selfishl
y used him as she sank into a warm cocoon of escape.
There was no internal debate in Duncan's mind or body. He released each button and zipper purposely with the greatest of attention, then followed the lines of newly exposed flesh with his lips. Her body responded to his pace with equal serenity as if they were dancing a slow waltz—very different from their usual tango frenzy. They rotated and turned as they took their time relearning each other's bodies with touch and tongue.
Her skin quivered beneath his patient touch. His fingers dipped, barely brushing over her, and she instantly responded, crying out promises of forever. Even through her aftershocks, she rotated again, drawing lazy lines over him with her teeth and body. He sent her over again and then again, until she tossed the sheets and blankets to the floor, sucking air and clutching a fist to the center of her chest.
As he grinned and reached for her again, it was her turn to grab his wrists. "What," she said, panting, "do you think I am?" As if she'd just run a marathon, her breath labored and she climbed over him, hovering cruelly. In contrast to her heaving chest, her lips curled into an evil grin.
Instinctively, he took hold of her hips and lowered her around him. The shock to his system left him clutching her sides. His vision blurred. When his focus returned, his Nickie was there, watching with steel gray eyes that were drunk with need. She held her arms out, and he answered her request by taking hold and linking their fingers together. They used their arms for purchase as they began to sink and move in a pace that grew symbiotically.
Her mesmerizing body moved over him. The lines of her face, the intoxicating droop of her eyes. Every part of her clutched him tighter as she neared her final peak.
"Nickie," he groaned and spilled over the edge. Everything around him disappeared. He pulled her deeper and her thighs contracted around him. His Nickie. He couldn't stop. She didn't stop. They moved together right up to the last ounce of pleasure, clutching fingers and bodies slick with sweat.
She fell on top of him like the dead. Her arms lay awkwardly to the sides, her chest heaving in long, deep breaths. "Welcome." She heaved a few more breaths of air. "Home."
* * *
The only light was the one coming from the ice maker on Nickie's refrigerator. Duncan hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch, and his stomach rebelled. Greek yogurt, Naked Juice, a drawer full of green things and hard-boiled eggs. She should be as thin as Sophia for what she ate. Thankfully, she wasn't.
Eggs. The raw kind. He pulled out the carton, some of her low fat cheese, some green and red peppers that still had some stiffness to them, mushrooms, skim milk, and butter. He would make himself an enormous omelet. Add some toast and possibly some of the juice and he might have a decent meal.
There was something she wasn't telling him. Something bigger than an overly confident actress who couldn't keep her hands to herself.
He flipped on the light above the stove and starting beating the eggs. Three should do it. The sudden burst of light didn't make him jump, but it did make him want to hit the bulb with the whisk hard enough to break it into several pieces.
"You're naked in my kitchen."
He kept beating and turned to her. "My robe is at home." Unfortunately, hers was on her body.
She tossed him his boxer briefs.
"Put these on, at least. I can't focus on eating—" She wandered over and surveyed her counter. "—an omelet with you naked."
As he pulled on his boxers, she bumped him with her hip and picked up his whisk. "Mind if I add a few eggs?"
"Please do," he said as he pulled her cutting board from the cabinet below and started chopping peppers. The smells of food and his woman began to wake him enough to forgive the light. "I flew from L.A., because I assumed you would think—"
"You didn't trust me."
"This was supposed to be a discussion about you trusting me, not the other way around, but you're right. I should have called. I was frightened I might lose you." The fear may be relieved, but the concern over the worry lines on her forehead was not. "I'm not used to feeling helpless. I didn't want to discuss it over the phone and certainly not through texting."
"It's going to happen again, you know."
"Another thing I should be telling you, not the other way around."
"You're going to need to get over it."
He shook his head. "Here's my proposal. You agree to text me when you arrive in out-of-town locations, especially ones that require an airplane, and I'll agree to communicate with you regarding any insecurity going on in my head instead of flying across the country."
She poured the egg mixture into two pans, and he sprinkled the ingredients. Then, she turned to him and held out a hand. He took it, and they shook. Without letting go of her fingers, he traced her knuckles with his thumb. "Now for what's bothering you."
Her lungs expanded fully before she exhaled.
Releasing her hand, he moved his to the dark circles beneath her eyes, tracing them with his fingers. The aroma of omelets filled the kitchen. She turned from him and set the table. He poured the juice.
"You're hungry," she said without looking him the eye. "You should eat."
The worry grew, making it impossible to think of food. "Is it the FBI?"
"The FBI seems like days ago."
"It was days ago."
"Only two. And a half." She placed salt and pepper on the table.
"Stop." He took her wrists this time, locking them together between his hands. Her eyes clamped shut, but she didn't fight him. Taking her hands, he shifted to hold them by just her fingers. He curled the ones on her left hand, kissing his ring. "I'm here for you. For the rest of our lives."
He led her to one of her kitchen chairs, then turned the heat to low. They sat in silence and he swore the circles darkened before his eyes.
"It's been a big few days," she started. "I'm still taking it in." A small smile erupted at the corners of her mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Two thousand yards in your pool didn't even help."
"You swam in our pool? Alone?" In the house where Zheng had been most likely been keeping an eye? "With Zheng after you?"
She shrugged. "I'm not so sure he's really concerned about me after all."
He leaned back and gave her time.
"I should have realized... I mean why else would he be absent the night we took down the white house?" Her tortured gray eyes turned to him. He hoped she saw warmth in his. "Tanner told me there are more groups of girls. A lot more."
Oh. It took his mind some time to grasp. He could only imagine—or at least empathize with—her reservations in sharing this. It changed everything.
"Strong and Lewis sold out to the other side. They're in an undisclosed location. Hurst and Goodrich told me they found a file on me. It was more than the one you and Andy found. Supposedly, it included the details from the time of my escape to now. Fifteen years."
Strong and Lewis sold out to the other side. It made sense and wasn't something he would be forgetting any time soon even without his eidetic memory.
"I was a fool for thinking he would have just the single group of girls. Not after doing this for sixteen years."
He couldn't grasp this. Not even with all the extra space an eidetic memory allowed. "How do you continue to trust people?" He shook his head wanting nothing more than to take away her pain.
She didn't look puzzled. She knew exactly what he referred to, and instead, stood and folded the omelets, then popped some bread in the toaster.
"A good man reminded me once of who I can trust." She smiled warmly and leaned down to kiss him once on the lips. "You, Dave, Gloria. Andy, Rose, Gil. That's a lot of people I have in my life. I'm not so bad off. I just need some time to get used to this bigger picture." Her brows sunk low and her chin turned to the side like she'd been slapped. "An appreciative woman would say Gloria saved me. Not that she didn't. But I do it for the girls. You saw them. They are so young. And now it looks like they are still out there. There will always be girls out there wh
o need me. The rest is water over the bridge." She looked to the ceiling. "Or is that under the bridge?"
"Where is this file?"
"You have a one track mind."
"Yes, and it is you." He stood next to her at the stove and placed his hand on her cheek. Moisture in her eyes began to pool.
"It's in my briefcase."
"Here?"
She nodded.
"Have you looked through it?"
She shook her head.
"Do you have a reason there is a file that was kept by crooked FBI special agents that is sitting untouched in your briefcase?"
"I plead the fifth."
Chapter 23
"I see. Shall we look through the file together?" Carefully, Duncan linked his tense fingers with hers. He couldn't think of a single time before now that Nickie's had been cold and clammy.
"Onward." Nickie smiled weakly. "It's my new motto."
They took their time. Buttered the toast, placed the steamy egg masterpieces on the plates and situated themselves at her small table in the middle of the night, her in her robe and him his boxers.
The file was huge yet organized, all papers ordered chronologically.
She scooted her chair closer to his. The file rested between the plates that sat at the edge of their private circle.
The first several pages listed each of the foster homes she either was kicked out of or ran away from. She should not have to relive this. The arrangement to have her drugged, taken from her final placement in Maryland to an unsuspecting Gloria.
She yawned and stretched, then craned her neck. "They have my high school grades? That's just creepy as hell."
It was more than creepy. It was more than illegal. Someone was going to pay.
"You okay?" she asked.
She should not have to be asking that. He forced a smile and nodded.
Her college records, the police academy. Her first job as a cop in Liberty. The omelets were long gone by the time they reached her transfer to Northridge. They'd moved and sat together on the couch with the papers spread over her coffee table. The light in here was softer and, as the windows faced the east, was beginning to show signs of sunrise.