by Karen Rose
Megan was frowning. “Long enough to know you’re going away tomorrow and bringing somebody back. What’s going on here, Daddy? And who is she?”
“She’s an old friend, Megan. It was why that private detective was calling me. He was trying to pass on a message from her. I met her for dinner last night. She went home and someone broke into her house. She’s shaken and scared.”
Megan’s face went carefully blank. “Why can’t she be shaken and scared in her own house? Why does she need to come here?”
Christopher flinched at the utter lack of compassion in his daughter’s tone. “Megan.”
Megan turned on her heel. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll call Debbie and ask if I can spend the night with her. That way you won’t have to worry about me at all tomorrow. For now, I have homework to do.”
Christopher scrambled to his feet. “Megan, wait. We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Call me when the pizza gets here.”
He flinched again at the sound of her bedroom door slamming and slumped into his chair. “Hell.” She’d been so sweet this last week. He swore he’d never understand the mercurial mood changes of adolescent girls.
His daughter wasn’t a baby anymore. But she’s still my baby. His gut clenched at Harris’s warning. Someone had been watching him. That same someone might be watching Megan as well, and while the police meant well, they wouldn’t be able to watch her constantly.
Christopher picked up the phone and dialed Jerry. “Hey, buddy, I need your help.”
He could hear a television being turned down in the background. “Name it.”
He told Jerry about Emma, about Darrell, about Harris’s concerns for Megan. “I’m going to Cincinnati tomorrow. Can you make sure Megan gets to school and then to her friend’s house after school?”
“My God, Chris.” Jerry’s voice shook a little. “This is insane.”
“I know. I can’t believe any of this is happening, but it is. Can you watch Megan?”
“You know I will. Do you need me to come over?”
“No. She’s going to her friend’s house tonight. Just make sure she gets in the school building tomorrow morning. She’ll be safe there. They have resource officers patrolling the halls.” He’d hated the thought that his daughter’s school needed officers, but at this moment he was damn glad they were there. “I’ll call you when I get back.”
* * *
St. Pete, Sunday, February 28, 8:30 p.m.
The phone rang. He closed his eyes, the ceramic tile cold against his cheek. The pain still too intense to move. The ringing ceased, only to start all over again. Groaning, he grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and pulled himself to his knees. He picked up the phone, a spear of white hot pain shooting up his arm and down his back. “Yeah.”
“You were wrong,” Andrews said. “He didn’t give the Townsend woman anything.”
He’d figured that out himself. Having one of Andrews’s Neanderthals attack him in his own kitchen was a major clue. He had at least three broken ribs and cuts and bruises all over his chest, back, and abdomen, none of which would show when he put on his shirt tomorrow. Which, he supposed, had been the point. “I’m sorry.”
“Lie to me again and you’ll be dead.”
He hurt too much to be afraid or to argue, but he hadn’t lied. He’d followed Walker to the airport that morning, watched him slip a thick envelope into the hands of the same woman he’d had dinner with the night before. She’d zipped the envelope securely into her overnight bag and he couldn’t get it without her raising a public fuss. So he’d managed to get in line behind her while she waited to go through airport security. She was so intent on sniffing her flowers that she didn’t even notice that he was looking over her shoulder at the ID she held with her boarding pass. Her driver’s license said she was Emma Townsend of Cincinnati, Ohio. Then he’d mumbled something about forgetting something to the person behind him, got out of line and called Andrews.
He let Andrews know Walker had passed information to this woman, that she was romantically involved with him, clearly evident from their good-bye kiss. Andrews had cursed him for not getting the envelope, muttering that he’d have someone else get it. They moved more quickly than I expected. “Is she?” he asked. “Dead, that is?”
“No. Our guy was supposed to make it look like a robbery, but he got interrupted when the woman managed to call the police. Now they’ll be doubly suspicious. You’d better find out what Walker knows.”
The phone clicked in his ear just as someone started knocking at his front door, and he bit back a groan. He pulled on a shirt and fumbled with the buttons, wincing at the pain. “I’m coming.” He opened his door and blinked. “Tanya.”
Tanya’s eyes were red and puffy. She’d been crying. But now her eyes were dry. And narrowed. She pushed her way in and slammed the door. “We have to talk.”
Chapter 6
Cincinnati, Monday, March 1, 9:02 a.m.
“The view looks different from up here,” Emma murmured, looking down over the balcony at Monday morning commuters streaming up the airport escalators. She had always been the one coming up the escalator. Never a traveler, Will had always waited above.
Kate put her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “He should be here soon.”
“This is just so unreal.” Emma rested her head against Kate’s shoulder. “I know I’ve said that a million times already.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true. Emma, when you get down there with him . . . I just don’t want you to get hurt rushing into anything. Y’know?”
Emma sighed. “I know. But he wouldn’t hurt me, Kate.”
“Not on purpose. Just be careful, Emma. Every which way.”
Emma’s stomach tightened as a familiar form became visible below, his dark head and broad shoulders above the crowd. “That’s him.”
From behind her Kate hummed her appreciation. “Oh, Emma. Very nice.”
Emma wasn’t listening, every nerve in her body vibrating, waiting for him. He was halfway up the escalator when he caught her eye and her blood surged. He’s here. He came for me. Then he walked off the escalator and she was in his arms, held so tightly she had a hard time drawing a breath. He lifted her against him and her arms were around his neck, holding on for dear life. They stayed that way for a long moment, and she could feel his heart racing in his chest. Its beat matched her own.
Shuddering, he let her go, carefully setting her on her feet. “I’m sorry I held you so hard. I forgot you’re bruised,” he said, his eyes critically assessing her face, darkening with fury when he saw the bruise on her cheek. “He hit you.”
Self-consciously she touched her fingertips to her cheek. “When I tried to get away.”
“Dammit, Emma,” he hissed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right, he thought. He’d make sure no one hurt her again. He lifted his eyes from her face to the tall thin woman who stood behind her. “You’re Kate.”
“Yes.” Kate unabashedly searched his eyes, then nodded. “You’ll keep her safe?”
“You can count on it.”
“Your flight doesn’t leave for another hour and a half,” Kate said. “Let’s go grab a cup of coffee. I’d like to get to know you a little better.”
Christopher slipped his arm around Emma’s waist. “Coffee sounds like heaven right now.” They’d started in the direction of a coffee shop when his cell phone rang. “Walker.” At the sound of Ian’s voice, he stopped short, earning quelling stares from the passengers that were forced to go around them. Ian’s words didn’t seem to make any sense. “What do you mean Tanya’s gone?”
“Tanya’s gone,” Ian repeated. “She didn’t show up for our eight o’clock class this morning and her aunt says she didn’t come home last night. Her aunt was frantic.”
> Christopher clenched his jaw. “Call Harris.”
“I did. He says he’ll send a squad car ’round to check out her aunt’s house.”
“Call me the minute you hear something,” he gritted, hung up and dialed Jerry’s cell. “Did Megan get to school all right?” he asked and Emma looked up at him, her eyes grown wide. He squeezed her shoulder lightly, reassuring her.
“I walked her in myself, Chris,” Jerry said. He laughed shakily. “She probably won’t speak to me for a month, she was so embarrassed.”
“She’ll survive a little embarrassment,” Christopher said grimly. “I fly back in a little more than an hour, so I’ll be home in time to pick her up from school. Thanks, buddy.”
“Anytime. Call me if you get delayed. I’ve got one of my grad students ready to cover my afternoon classes in case I need to pick Megan up.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and started moving again. Kate was leading the way toward the coffee shop on the upper level. “Megan is fine.”
Emma’s sandy brows were puckered. “But Tanya isn’t?”
Christopher swallowed hard, not even wanting to contemplate the possibilities. “Tanya’s another one of my grad students. She’s missing.”
“And she’s not one to just take off for a weekend getaway and not come back.”
“No.” Christopher clenched his jaw. “She’s a first-year grad student, six months out of the undergrad program, but she’s always seemed so much older. More mature. She’d never just up and leave, especially knowing how much we’d worry.”
Emma laid her head on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have come up here to get me,” she said softly. “I could have flown down on my own.”
He looked down at her, at the bruise on her cheek left by some thug looking for something someone had already killed for. At least once. “I know you could have. But I needed to see you with my own eyes. To know you’re safe.”
Her eyes were sober. “I’m fine, Christopher. Let’s make sure the other people in your life stay that way.”
* * *
St. Pete, Monday, March 1, 2:30 p.m.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Christopher said, setting her small suitcase on a ceramic tiled entryway. But Emma wasn’t looking at the house. With a delighted smile she walked to the back wall, which was all glass, and looked out onto a narrow channel that flowed at the back of his property. A small two-person fishing boat bobbed in the current, tied up to a weathered dock on which rested a fat pelican. The sky was blue, the air warm, without a hint of the winter she’d left behind.
“You’re right on the bay,” she exclaimed. “How lovely.”
He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and an involuntary shiver raced down her back. For the first time since Saturday night on the beach, they were truly alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, rhythmically across the curve of her neck. “It’s technically on the channel,” he said, his voice husky, and she gave in to the need to lean back into him. “Even a shack on the beach is well out of my price range.”
“It’s still water,” she murmured. “I always found the water to be soothing.” His arms settled around her waist, his hands loosely linked on her stomach. Rocking her gently. Soothing her in a different way. Then his lips brushed the sensitive curve of her neck and she drew in a startled breath as her nerves scrambled.
“Should I stop?” he whispered and she shook her head.
“No,” she whispered back. “It’s just still so unexpected. How you make me feel.”
His lips trailed a warm path up the side of her face, pressing a kiss against her temple. “How do I make you feel?”
Another shiver shook her. “Alive.” She swallowed hard, tilted her head to one side to give him better access. “Like a woman should feel.”
“Hmm.” His hum of appreciation tickled her skin and he turned her in his arms, his hands cupping her face, his lips taking hers in a hot, sensual kiss that left her senses reeling. “I can’t take any credit for that, Emma. You’re all a woman should be. I’ve been wanting to really kiss you since I left you at the airport yesterday morning.” His hands rested lightly at the small of her back, undemanding.
She lifted on her toes, her arms around his neck. “So what’s stopping you?”
His eyes heated. “I was afraid you were too sore.”
“Just my ribs, and only a little.” She nibbled at the corner of his mouth, desperately wanting to feel the force of his passion again, as she had on the beach when he’d pressed the hardness of his erection against the softness between her legs. It had been so tempting. Tantalizing. “Kiss me, Christopher.” She pulled herself an inch higher on her toes and felt his body shudder. Felt that tempting ridge once again, but pocketed against her stomach, still not low enough to feel relief. With a growl he cupped her behind and lifted her, bracing her against the wall of glass, and he thrust, drawing a whimper from her throat. His hands slid lower, lifting her thighs so that she gripped his hips, enabling her to grind hard against him, to feel him pulsing against her even through the double denim barrier of their jeans. And he kissed her like he’d kissed her on the beach, open-mouthed and totally sexual, nothing hidden, nothing withheld.
She kissed him back, greedily, ignoring the twinges in her bruised ribs. Threaded her fingers through his short-cropped hair and moved his head this way and that, getting the most she could out of that kiss. Then froze when his fingers on her thighs brushed inward and upward. Butterfly caresses against the part of her that throbbed for him. How could a touch so light rock her body like that?
It had been a long time. Too long, she told herself. Long enough that your body will get ahead of your brain if you’re not careful. She remembered the last letter he’d written, the desires he’d spelled out in graphic detail. And she wanted to fulfill each and every one of them. Right this very moment. But she shouldn’t. She forced her head to lift and her eyes to open. Found him breathing hard, his eyes nearly black. His fingertips continued to brush against the juncture of her thighs, so softly. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him to stop, but no words came out. She hung there, steeped in the sensations with which he gifted her, her body trembling, her heart racing.
Then his fingers withdrew and he shifted her away from his pulsing erection, slid her thighs down his legs and gently pressed her hips downward until her feet were steady on the floor once more.
“I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice cracked, raspy and harsh. “I only meant to kiss you, but I can’t seem to stop myself where you’re concerned.” He attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I guess I have too much want for you built up.”
Emma licked her lips, tasting him still. “It’s a two-way street, Christopher. But I’m not ready to go to bed with you. Not yet.”
He was quiet for a minute, then raised a brow. “Did you read my last letter?”
Heat flooded her cheeks and he chuckled. “You should have put a warning on the envelope,” she said with mock severity. “Rated R or something.”
He was grinning now. “I did tell you to open it when you were alone.” His hands had returned to the small of her back where they simply rested. “I read your book.”
She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Did you find your inner child?”
His lips twitched. “No. But I could hear you on every page. It’s good stuff.”
“From a man who finds self-help books no help, I take that as a compliment.” She sobered, flattening her palms and running them up his arms to his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I’m sorry that Darrell’s gone. The pain of losing someone to an act of purposeful violence is different from any other kind of grief.”
Christopher’s throat worked. “And Tanya’s still missing. I still can’t believe this is happening.” He’d called the detective working the case as soon as he’d set foot off the plane in
Florida. The grad student was nowhere to be found. He cleared his throat. “I have to go pick up Megan from school. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. You can just relax while I’m gone.”
He withdrew from her arms, his manner suddenly brisk. But Emma didn’t take offense. It was his way of coping with a situation that had rocked his world. She followed him to the back of the house where he put her suitcase in a modest little room with a double bed. He surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Like I said, not much.” He trailed his finger through a thin layer of dust on the nightstand. “Sorry. We’re not much into housekeeping, Megan and I.”
“Christopher, after hotel rooms that all look the same, this is perfect.” She brought his face down to her level for a soft peck on the lips. “Go get your daughter. I’ll be fine.” She walked him to the door, gripped by a longing as real as the doorknob she clutched as he drove away. A picture had inserted itself into her imagination, her waving him good-bye every morning from this very door. He’d go to work at the University and she could stay here and write. With the blue sky and the balmy breeze and the swooping birds . . . Who could ask for a better place to just . . . be?
She shook her head at her own wishing as she closed and locked the door. It was normal to want a home again after living alone. But she’d seen too many clients rush into relationships after the death of their partners, because the loneliness was so severe. Sometimes these new relationships worked, but more often they crumbled. Emma had broken Christopher’s heart once before. She wouldn’t do that to him again. If they were meant to be, it would work out. In its own time. She wouldn’t rush it.
But she could make him and his daughter dinner, she thought, and headed for the kitchen. It had been more than a year since she’d cooked an entire meal, but . . .
“Like falling off a bike,” she muttered.
Her grandmother’s Alfredo sauce was simmering on the stove when the front door slammed and a panicked voice called out.
“Chris! Megan!”