Unafraid

by Allie Harrison

  But right now, his body was burning for Abigail.

  He wasn’t aware she moved until the door swung closed behind him. Still kissing him, still gripping his jacket in both hands, she pulled him into the dark shop. He heard her heavy tote bag plop to the floor. She pulled him until the two of them bumped into one of the tables. Then he was leaning over her, pressing her down onto the table, kissing her as if they wouldn’t survive if he stopped.

  He was a man who had been given the first taste of paradise in a very long time, and the last thing he wanted was to stop eating.

  Time stopped, but the kiss went on. He didn’t know when or how, but her red sweater was over her head and he found himself admiring a red lacy bra covering the prettiest breasts he thought he’d seen in a long time. Then his hands covered them.

  And he was lost.

  Chapter Thirty

  Virgil woke slowly, aware of his surroundings in waves. First there was nothing but darkness. And the rushing sounds of his heart beating in his ears. Then there were shadows. More sounds came to him, voices with unrecognizable words, a woman weeping. It didn’t sound like Emily, at least he didn’t think Emily would sound like that if she was crying. He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t Emily. At the same time, he would be relieved if it was. If Emily was crying, it meant she was all right enough to cry. He also detected movement. He wanted to see, but for some reason his head felt as if it weighed eighty pounds and he couldn’t seem to lift it. A mad bastard of pain, like a volcano with molten lava flowing out, filled his face. For long moments, all he could concentrate on was taking his next breath. It didn’t take him long to figure out he was tied to a chair, his arms bound at his wrists to the arms of the chair. He breathed through a surge of nausea and worked to get a grip on the situation. He knew it wasn’t good. But hell, in the Gulf he’d dealt with worse. At least he hoped he had. Since he didn’t yet know the complete situation or who had tied him to the chair, he didn’t think he could do a fair comparison.

  He just needed to get this head together and figure out what was what.

  If he could just get past the pain.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  John worked to catch his breath. As soon as they’d started, he hadn’t been able to put a cap on it and stop it, much less slow it down. Their sex had been fast and furious. It felt like it lasted an eternity, but after a glance at the clock over the counter, John learned it had lasted no more than five minutes. Which, he supposed, might also be a record breaker.

  He stood up and zipped his fly, his gaze never leaving Abigail. She lay on the table still, her jeans down on the floor, her pretty bra up and askew. The basket weave of scars that laced her mid-section were shadowed, as if they worked to stay hidden. Slowly, she moved to fix her bra. Should he help her? He supposed he should, since he’d helped her get into that state of undress. She sat up, her skin looking pale in the darkness.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She stopped and looked at him sharply. “Sorry? Really? Are you kidding? Are you sorry that you fucked me? Regretting it already? You could have at least waited until you were out the door.”

  Her sudden anger left him uncertain. And he thought he better clarify in a hurry. “First of all, I didn’t just fuck you. I don’t fuck women. I don’t fuck anyone.” Except hopefully the bad guys. “Just so we’re clear on that. Second of all, the only thing I regret is not protecting you. You could get pregnant. And while I assure you, you don’t need to worry about any diseases, I still should have worn a condom. I shouldn’t have let things happen so fast. You deserve slow and nice and kisses. That’s what I’m sorry about.”

  “Do you always talk this much after sex?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I had sex.” And he didn’t feel he should talk about his past sex with his dead wife, even though she had more than once commented he had sweet pillow talk. “Do you?”

  She reached for her sweater and tossed it back over her head as if she needed to cover herself. He wished she didn’t. She was damn nice to look at, scars and all. He couldn’t help but notice she seemed more worried about covering her scars than she was about covering her breasts. Had her ex put them there?

  He was not about to make this moment worse by asking.

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time I… Are you always so romantic? Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice.”

  He wasn’t so sure he believed her. Especially considering the way she slid off the table and slipped her jeans back on in almost one motion as if she couldn’t get dressed fast enough. Was he being romantic? He wasn’t sure about that either. Susan had always called him her softie. Was that her word for romantic? He didn’t know romantic. This was just the way he was—military considerate his mother had always called it when she talked about John’s dad.

  For the first time in forever, he was at a loss as to what to say. The truth was he was out of his league. He’d never had a one-night stand. He hadn’t had sex in over a year and a half. That was what had led Susan to see a doctor—their sex was painful. He thought it was a hormone thing. It turned out to be cancer. And he hadn’t had sex with anyone other than his wife for over twenty years.

  He’d never in his life had sex with someone he met only hours before.

  Not to say he didn’t like it. It was great. She felt like a dream. She was fire in his arms. She was like a rare delicacy he wanted to taste again and again. It was as if no words had been needed moments ago.

  And now he couldn’t find the right ones to keep things clear between them.

  Maybe she didn’t know the right things to say either, and that was why her words contradicted her actions.

  “If wanting to protect you is romantic then I guess I am.”

  And perhaps there would be no right words for this moment. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him and kissed her. Quick. Hard, but not too hard. Precise and perfect. It wasn’t a dominating kiss, but one that said I’m here. Right now. Look at me.

  Then he let her go.

  Given her panting breaths and the fact she trembled slightly with his release, to say his kiss left her unsteady was probably an understatement. And he ignored the impulse to hold her. With the same purpose with which he’d just kissed her, he moved to the door. “I’ll be here to pick you up by seven tomorrow morning.”

  Then without another word, he left, closing the door easily behind him. The bells over the door tinkled, their jingling sounds quickly lost in the dark. They called to him, as if to propel him back inside the shop. He ignored them. It was a short time later as he stood in his own driveway before the coolness of the night penetrated the heat she’d put in him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  John didn’t sleep, not one moment. After Susan had gotten sick and needed a hospital bed, he’d moved a twin bed next to her. He’d been able to sleep holding her hand, knowing she was close where he could hear her breathing and feeling her warmth. After she’d died, he’d begun sleeping in the chair in the living room.

  Now, he couldn’t even sit in that chair.

  He spent the night pacing, first the living room. Then the kitchen. Twice he was down in the bunker, once with Monty and the second time with Louis who relieved him. Both times he sat and watched Bob Smith sleep in his cell.

  Although he doubted Smith ever really slept. The man was an evil entity and probably didn’t require sleep like a normal human. In fact, after watching him, John was convinced the appearance of sleep was just that—nothing more than appearance, just for show. John had no doubt Bob Smith was just waiting for someone to lower his guard.

  It was too fucking bad the guy was still breathing. John was suddenly sorry he’d involved Abigail. He didn’t want her within spitting distance of this monster.

  It was at that thought he moved back up to the kitchen. Where he paced more. And watched the sun come up out the kitchen window. Again. The same window through which Bob Smith had shot him.

  Chapter Thirt
y-Three

  Virgil kept his eyes closed for a long time after he was fully conscious in hopes of gaining some perspective while not giving himself away. Through eyes barely open, he took in Emily also tied to a chair nearby and appearing unconscious. There was also a woman on a cot beyond Emily. It was that woman who sobbed. It appeared they were held in a windowless, damp basement of sorts with no walls. Light came from two single naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. He could see the edge of stairs going up. There was no sign of cameras.

  There was no one else.

  His hands were fastened to the chair with plastic zip ties.

  His face hurt like hell.

  He hoped to get his hands on whoever was behind this. Hell, whoever it was would have to get in line behind Shackleford.

  He started moving his arms against the arm of the chair, rubbing the zip tie against the corner of the wood. He didn’t know if it would be enough to help him escape, but doing something was better than doing nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Coffee didn’t help. The shower didn’t either, but John was fairly certain, if not at least hopeful, his team did not see his antsiness. His mouth was dry. He licked his lips. And tasted Abigail. He had ten minutes before he needed to leave to pick her up. He decided not to wait.

  “I’m going to pick up Abigail.”

  “Before you go,” Louis stopped him. “Virgil hasn’t checked in.”

  They’d been a team for over two decades. When they were working a case, within every twenty-four hour span, they checked in with one another. It was how they worked.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. I’ve touched base with everyone but him. He didn’t check in and he’s not answering.”

  “Call Detective Emily Benton. Virgil was supposed to check in with her regarding a case of a missing girl at the college where Charlie goes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Maggie Smith stood in the school parking lot while she dropped her kids off. She gave her daughter a kiss and her son a pat on the shoulder. It amazed her how much the boy worked to act like a strong man. Hell, she saw him bite his bottom lip to keep from crying when his eyes were filled with unshed tears. That action was probably painful on that healing busted lip. She was slowly working up the courage to tell him he didn’t need to be strong all the time. He was, after all, hardly eleven. Still a boy, still a child. But if he ever told his father she’d said such a thing, it was hard telling how her husband might react, if he was ever given the chance, that is.

  Just thinking about everything that had occurred in a little less than a month when she and the kids had rushed to Bob’s office when the alarms were set off still sent blood boiling through her veins.

  She was doing everything she knew to keep things as normal for the kids as she could. But fuck, Bob had certainly put them in a horrid place this time.

  “See ya, Mom.”

  Maggie forced a smile at her daughter, a sweet, innocent little girl of eight, whose two front teeth were a little too big for the rest of her face. “See you later, sweetie.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, Robbie.” She smiled and fought the urge to pull her son into her arms. She wished to hell she could shelter them both from all this, but she simply was not able. She knew Robbie had been teased all week at school. He had to have been. The teasing had started the week their father was arrested. At first, she’d been up there talking to the principal. Now, they weren’t telling her about it. She was certain the kids in Lilly’s third class were probably saying unkind things, too. Kids were vicious. Robbie had come home two days ago with a busted lip. But he’d refused to tell her what happened. If she was ever allowed to see Bob again, she might bust his lip and show him how it felt.

  She smiled and waved at Jenna Blackwell’s mother. That damned bitch not only did not wave back, but she literally turned her back. That fucking bitch. Maggie sucked in a breath and held her head up. Bob had been shot and arrested. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her kids’ faults. Yet, here she was, both she and her kids being snubbed as if they were ones who had committed a crime.

  Her only crime had been she’d married Bob Smith not quite thirteen years ago. Yes, they’d moved six times in the course of their marriage, but Bob told her they needed to go where the computer business needed him. Each move, he’d set up his office. Twice right in their own home.

  Now he was arrested for extortion and robbery and attempted murder and rape. Hell, he was the gentlest lover. It was Maggie who often had to ask him to be rougher or move faster or try new things. He’d even been uncertain the first time she’d given him a blow job, as if it was something dirty the two of them shouldn’t enjoy. And he’d been shot by some woman.

  Shot!

  Unbelievable. She was obviously some sicko who’d pegged her poor honey bunny.

  Those fucking Feds were stupid and had apparently messed up somewhere and were now trying to find a scapegoat. She knew how this shit worked. Dear God, they had even come to her house, advised her of her rights, searched every room, leaving it an absolute disaster. They had even sifted through the kids’ toys and stuff, leaving all of them feeling so violated. If Bob had seen that, he would have had a shitfit. She had not been allowed to see him or call him or even check and see if he was all right.

  And it had taken her until this week to clean the mess of the house up.

  She only knew Bob wasn’t dead because he was on the news. All. The. Time.

  And she and her kids were forced to suffer the brunt of all this. Which was why the television was no longer allowed to be turned on. By any of them.

  She was fairly certain she and her children would have been better off if Bob was dead.

  Her children moved off to the door of the school. She turned to get back behind the wheel. It was then she discovered Jenna Blackwell’s mother hadn’t turned her back completely or left as she’d first thought. No, she was standing right behind Maggie.

  “Well… hi.” Shit, Maggie hated that she didn’t know what to say. She hated she had to keep a friendly smile on her face when Ms. Blackwell—for the moment, her name escaped Maggie, another thing that infuriated her—maintained an inquisitive smirk on her expression. Hell, she looked liked she’d just stepped into a huge pile of dogshit.

  “I need to know about these charges against Bob, Maggie.”

  Maggie worked to maintain her small smile. “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding, and Bob will be home soon.”

  “Yeah, well he’s been gone for weeks. And these are some really big charges for it all to be a misunderstanding—robbery, conspiracy, my God, Maggie, rape? My Jenna has stayed overnight at your house.”

  “I assure you Jenna was always utterly safe while at my house. And I’m sorry but I’ve been advised not to speak about any of this.” It was a lie that sounded appropriate. It felt like volcanoes were shooting off in her gut.

  “Well, I think you should also be advised the FBI is talking to everyone in town. They don’t readily believe you knew nothing about any of these crimes. As a matter of fact, when they came to our house last night, most of their questions were regarding you.”

  With that Ms. No-name Blackwell turned and headed to her car.

  No, Maggie hadn’t committed any crimes. But right then, it took every bit of her willpower not to reach down and pick up the huge rock in the parking lot and heave it at the back of Blackwell’s head. Maggie climbed into her car and slammed the door behind her, letting out the breath she’d been holding in a loud whoosh.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The words were whispered harshly. Her throat was too tight to let them out any louder. Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel. There had been a drawer in Bob’s office filled with stacks of money. Stacks! She thought of the tight budget he’d always kept the family on. Hell, he wouldn’t even let her buy a Michael Kors purse. She was a fucking fool, believing in him, kissing him, begging him to have sex with her. When t
here was the chance he was out raping other women! What kind of man has trouble getting it up with his own fucking wife, but can get it up when he’s forcing it on someone else?

  She knew he was hard on Robbie. She knew he also looked at Lilly with disdain at times as if he hated that she was a girl. Maggie had heard him mutter stupid girl under his breath whenever Lilly made a mistake. And while she didn’t think Bob was brilliantly smart, he did make enough money to pay the bills and keep them under a roof. Was he smart enough to get away with all the crimes they were trying to pin on him?

  She was afraid she did know… After all, he was certainly gone more than he was home. And she should have been tipped off on the idea the FBI wanted to know about her. They hadn’t said much directly to her, except to stay out of their way and to not try and contact Bob.

  She had planned to see this through with her head held high, prove to the entire town she and her family were innocent. But maybe it was time to take the kids to her mom’s for a few days. Until things cooled down.

  Not that she felt the need to hide. She didn’t. She certainly had nothing she needed to hide. But what was left of her family could only handle so much. And knowing the FBI was asking questions about her was the last straw.

  If she ever got her hands on Bob, she vowed to kill him. She sat in the closed up car in the grade school parking lot for a long time.