by Burton, Mary
He laughed and turned down more roads, following a series of smaller and smaller side streets until he took a hard right onto a freshly paved blacktop driveway. It snaked up the side of the mountain, winding around a switchback curve, and then pushed up to the final stretch.
The house waiting for them was not what she had expected when she had heard farmhouse. It was large and at least a five-thousand-square-foot extravagance of stone, tall glass windows, and a wide covered porch that wrapped around the entire front of the house.
“Wow, Grandpa rolled large,” she said.
“He built roads for a living.”
“And made a small fortune.”
He hit a button on his visor and a garage door on the side opened, allowing him to pull in. He shut off the engine. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Why not?”
A combination lock opened the door leading from the garage into the kitchen. She paused to study the neat display of mountain bikes, hiking gear, and ski equipment precisely arranged along the walls.
“How long did he live here?” she asked.
“Forty years.”
“This gentleman was also Ellis’s grandfather?”
“No. I’m related to Ellis on my mother’s side. George, my grandfather who built this house, was my dad’s father.”
“You were close to George?” She’d slept with the guy, but neither had really talked about their pasts.
“My grandfather raised me from age fifteen onward after my parents died.”
“You never told me that. How did your parents die?”
“Car accident. Hit head-on by a drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
“It was a long time ago.” He waved her in before he disappeared inside.
She traced her finger over the handlebar of a mountain bike, realizing she wanted to know more about Nevada. Curiosity served her well on the job, but it wouldn’t in this case. She liked the guy a lot, but the less she knew about him, the better. Regardless of their pasts, their futures were headed in opposite directions. If she went inside Nevada’s house, the odds of her sleeping with him were high. God knows she wanted it. But when the case ended and she returned to Quantico, she would again endure the one-two punch of loss and longing.
“Since when did fear stop you?” she muttered.
Shouldering her backpack, she followed him inside. Nevada shrugged off his boots and hung his coat on a peg in the entryway. Her gaze was drawn to the vaulted ceiling cutting high into an A-frame and a wall of windows that overlooked another deck and the rolling mountains behind the house.
She toed off her shoes and crossed in sock feet to the window. “You have the high ground. Expecting an invasion?”
“As Grandpa used to say, no one ever expects one.” He selected a glass from open shelving and filled it with water before handing it to her.
“Thank you.”
He opened the double-door, subzero refrigerator and pulled out several precooked meals. He set the temperature on a convection oven and unwrapped the meals. “Do you eat meat?”
“Don’t I strike you as a carnivore?”
He laughed. “No comment.”
She set her bag down and got out a bottle of ibuprofen. She popped two and drained the glass of water.
“How’s the leg?”
“Surprisingly good.”
“Would you tell me if it weren’t?”
“Probably not.”
While the oven came to temp, he removed cheese and bread from the refrigerator and sliced pieces of both. He placed them on a plate in the center of the island.
The oven now ready, he popped the two meals in. “Grab a piece of cheese, and I’ll show you around while dinner cooks.”
“This is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Let’s say I shouldn’t assume anymore.”
He moved into another room and flipped on lights. This room was smaller with a lower ceiling and painted in a dark-navy color. In the center was a tall stone fireplace, its firebox blackened by decades of use. Beside it was a neat stack of wood. Across the room was a large mahogany desk covered in more piles of papers. “Now that it’s getting cooler, I’m gravitating toward this room.”
“Snow on the trees and a crackling fire. You’re on the verge of being a holiday greeting card.”
Again he smiled as he showed her several more rooms on the first floor, including a room with a pool table and another with gun cases displaying shotguns that ranged from modern era to antique.
“Very nice, Nevada.”
“It’s a work in progress.” He walked down the hallway back into the kitchen and flipped on more lights.
She settled on a barstool around the large kitchen island made of reclaimed barnwood. Industrial pendant lights hung above. The place smelled faintly of fresh paint. “If you’d told me in Kansas City we’d be sitting here now, I’d have laughed.”
“You and me both.” He glanced at the timer on the convection oven, which had five minutes remaining. He removed two plates from the cabinet and set them on the table.
Whatever he was cooking smelled delicious. “So what are we eating?”
“Steak and potatoes.”
“My two favorite food groups.” As he set out silverware and two cloth napkins, she said, “Did you ask Ramsey for me on this case?”
He stood still for an instant as he placed a fork on a gray napkin. “I called him when the DNA results came back. He told me he’d received your application. He also told me in the few weeks you’d been at ViCAP you’d connected the dots linking six stabbing cases in five different cities to one offender.”
“It wasn’t all me. If local law enforcement hadn’t entered the case data, we wouldn’t have had anything to analyze.”
“That offender liked to use a serrated knife.”
So he had done more homework than she’d imagined. “He stabbed his victims in the lower left portion of their backs.” There was little correlation between the victims other than a method of death that was very specific.
When the timer dinged, he grabbed a set of hot mitts and removed the steaming food packages. Removing the top seal filled the room with the scents of beef, butter, and fresh herbs.
“I know my frozen foods, Nevada, and this is a cut above.”
“I special order it.” He set one on each plate and placed one before her. “The killer made knives for a living.”
“His blades have a national reputation with his customers.”
“What brought your attention to the case?”
“Two stabbings occurred in Raleigh, North Carolina, in a ten-hour period. Local law enforcement sensed he’d done this before and filed a report with ViCAP. My colleague Andy and I pulled up all stabbing deaths and then narrowed our search from there. Once we identified ten possibly related cases, we sent the case to a forensic pathologist to look at the images taken of the wounds and then created a likely weapon profile from there.”
“How did you trace it to him?”
“I visited several knife experts in the area. Our boy has a fan following in the world of handcrafted weapons. I checked out his website and then cross-checked dates of the murders with the trade shows on his events page. He was picked up in Tennessee five days ago.”
“You’re smart as hell, Macy.”
“If I were so smart, I wouldn’t have connected Debbie Roberson’s romantic getaway to the serial offender we’re hunting.”
“Better you sounded the alarm and she ended up fine than the other way around.”
“Nice of you to say, but I still feel foolish.”
“You are nobody’s fool, Macy.”
She ate in silence and realized she was hungrier than she had thought. When she finished off the last slice of steak and drained her soda, Nevada looked pleased.
“Once again, you’ve fed me when I didn’t realize I needed to eat.”
“Here to serve.”
“Let me clean.”
“No, I have this.”
As he took the plates away, Macy walked to the large windows that overlooked the sloping yard below. Moonlight bathed what looked like a work shed and beyond that a stone firepit with adirondack chairs around it. She could imagine him sitting out there with the fire blazing, drinking a beer under the stars.
When she heard him approach, her gut tightened with longing. He stopped several inches away from her, but she could feel the snap of energy radiating from his body. Delicious sensations flooded her.
She didn’t want to think about cases or bad guys or weird dreams, at least for a little while. “I’m wondering if you could help me out with something.”
“What’s that?” His voice sounded deep and rich.
She worried he might not want her anymore. Scrub brush hair, thin arms and legs, and scars conjured images of a scarecrow, not a seductress. Instead of wondering too much, she kicked caution to the wind as she faced him.
“I haven’t had sex since Kansas City.”
He didn’t touch her but his attention intensified. “That so?”
“I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.”
Nevada reached out and cupped her face. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you.”
He tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers. She leaned into his touch, savoring a skin-to-skin connection that was purely sensual. In the last five months, she had equated touch either with a physical therapist’s painful bends and twists or a sister’s hug. Both had their place, but, lord, how she missed feeling wanted and desired by Nevada.
She closed her eyes and, gingerly rising up, wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. His hand slid down her back and cupped her buttocks. He squeezed and pressed her against his erection.
He kissed her shoulder. “You’re tense.”
“My body has changed.”
“It feels good to me.”
“I have scars. I’m so thin.” Insecurity and worry were new additions to her repertoire. “Figured I better put that out on the table.”
He smoothed the short strands of hair away from her face. “It’s okay.”
Unwanted tears burned her eyes. “I don’t want you to hate my body.”
“Your naked body is all I’ve thought about since I saw you arrive.”
“You haven’t seen it.” Moonlight filtered through the trees.
“Show me. Now.”
“Strip?”
“Yes. Take your clothes off, Macy.”
It was an order she could refuse, but as much as she feared his reaction, a perverse part of her wanted to see how he handled himself.
She reached for the button between her breasts and unfastened it. She reached for the next and then the next until she shrugged off her shirt and let it puddle around her ankles.
He traced the line of her white, very practical bra. His eyes looked bluer, more intense, but his expression remained unchanged. The first time they had slept together, he’d appeared just as aloof and withdrawn. Her job brought her into contact with so many emotionally damaged and needy people that she found his detachment oddly calming.
He traced the faint pink tracheotomy scar at the hollow of her neck. “You’re a warrior.” His voice was husky, full of desire. “A survivor. That puts you in a different league. That makes you even more beautiful now.”
He slid her bra straps off her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her arms. He kissed the creamy white flesh of her breast as he reached behind and deftly unhooked her bra. Her breasts were high, her nipples hard as he fingered one and kissed her on the lips.
A dry moan escaped her lips as she struggled to keep her thoughts from tumbling out of control. She fumbled for his belt buckle and unfastened it, sliding her fingers under his waistband. It was one thing to survive, but it was another to feel alive.
“If you don’t take me to your bedroom right now, I’m taking you on the countertop,” she said.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he took her by the hand and guided her through the house to a large room on the first floor. Another span of windows overlooked the wooded valley bathed in moonlight before he pressed a button by the door and privacy screens dropped.
She removed her weapon, cuffs, and Mace and set them on the nightstand before tugging off her socks.
Nevada watched her with fascination as she shrugged off her pants and let them fall to the hardwood floor.
“Keep going.”
Her gaze locked on his, and she slid off her panties.
He walked up to her and caressed her body, tracing his index finger over the long scar that snaked up her leg. Then he smoothed his hand over the road rash scars, which she hated the most. The rosy blotches spread up her side and over her shoulder.
She closed her eyes, focusing on his touch and refusing to shrink away. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, and the top of her breast.
He took her by the hand and led her to the bed and, as she sat down on the firm mattress, he undressed. His erection made her wet. She scooted to the middle of the bed and opened herself to him, feeling drunk now with sensual desire.
He lay on top of her and kissed her fully on the lips. She arched her hips, and he placed his erection at her moist center.
“Let me know if I hurt you,” he said.
She nodded, not sure how her body would react, and slowly he slid into her. She held her breath for a moment, accepting him and praying her body didn’t betray her now. Instead of pain, she felt pure pleasure.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
“Really damn good.” She traced her hands over his buttocks. “Amazing.”
He began to move inside of her, slowly at first, waiting for her body to fully relax. As she grew accustomed to him, she began to move her body against his and whispered, “More,” in his ear. He moved faster and harder.
His touch sent heat coursing through her body. She cupped her breasts and arched toward him, and when he pressed his fingers to her center and rubbed small circles, it was akin to tossing a match onto gasoline. Passion exploded through her and built so quickly she couldn’t temper it.
“Let it go,” he said.
Macy wanted to wait for him, but the orgasm exploded in her, crashing through every nerve and muscle in her body.
When the sensation eased and she looked up at him, he seemed pleased with himself.
His eyes were dark with desire. He thrust faster inside her, and this time she pressed her body to his and touched him in the places she remembered he liked. He groaned her name and ground hard into her as his own release cut through him.
When he was spent, he lay on top of her. Both were covered in perspiration, and his racing heart matched the pace of her own.
“You’re still the best. Just as I remember,” he whispered against her ear.
“Out of practice,” she said, a little breathless.
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Maybe we can work on that.”
“Maybe.”
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Macy dreamed of Cindy Shaw calling her name, begging for help. The young girl’s cries were so vivid they startled her out of a sound sleep. She sat up in the bed, her heart racing and sweat beading between her naked breasts. She searched the unfamiliar room and had no idea where she’d been sleeping.
A strong hand rubbed her lower back, up her spine, and cupped the back of her shoulders. She turned quickly, ready to bolt, before she realized it was Nevada. He stared at her with keen, alert eyes as his fingers massaged some of the tightness away.
He sat up and looked into her eyes. “You were dreaming. Was it the hit-and-run?”
His hand slid down her back, the soft and steady pressure of his callused palm against her bare skin easing the fight-or-flight response.
“I never dream about the accident anymore,” she said.
“But something was bothering you.”
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nbsp; She pulled her fingers through her hair. “It’s nothing.”
“You were screaming, Macy.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Ever known me to exaggerate?”
Telling him about the dream would blow her credibility. He might be able to deal with the physical scars, but to learn she could be off her nut was another matter.
“Macy, you can tell me,” he said.
A sad smile curved her lips. “You know, people always say that until they hear the truth.”
“I mean it.” His hand felt like a steady, constant support.
She sat in silence, weighing the pros and cons. The cons were shouting at her to keep her mouth shut. “I really don’t understand the dreams myself.”
He didn’t speak, letting silence coax out more of her secrets. The trick hadn’t worked when Ramsey had tried it on her, but with Nevada, she knew she could trust him. “The dreams always start with a scratching sound.”
“Explain.”
“Like someone is digging in dirt.”
“Digging a hole.”
“This is where it gets weird. I’ll be honest. You’ll be supercool about it, and then in the light of day, you’ll wonder who the hell I am.”
“Spill it.” He sharpened his tone like a fine blade.
“Whoever is making the scratching sound isn’t digging into the ground but out of it. I can’t explain it other than it’s like a buried-alive vibe and whoever is trapped is trying to escape.”
His silence wedged between them.
“I know. I know. Insane. Or worse, some kind of weird brain damage.” She tried to scoot away.
He gently held her by the wrist. “I didn’t say that.”
When she finally found the courage to look at him, she saw a curiosity in his gaze that reminded her of him when he was piecing together a case. That gave her some courage to say, “I don’t understand it.”
“When did it start?”
“I thought I heard sounds when I was still in the hospital in Texas. I chalked that up to the pain meds. But it persisted through rehab, and whatever it was followed me back to Virginia.”
“It?”
“I know. I talk about it like it’s something other than me, but it must be coming from my brain. All I can think is that my hardwiring has changed.”