by Cait London
It was the same kind of pat he gave Rachel’s butt.
The similarity was strange, but somehow comforting.
Until she thought of Bob’s pats on Mallory’s bottom, then the disturbing images came tumbling back again.
In worn blue jeans and a black T-shirt, Kyle looked big, tough, and unlike the battered man of three nights ago. Kyle wasn’t happy, and those blue-gray eyes locked onto Rachel said she was in for trouble. She crossed her arms, and tilted her head, enjoying the sight of him and the senses kicking up in her body, that hunger locking low in it, heating—
Still. Kyle could be more than unpleasant and this looked like war.
He nodded to Rachel’s mother. “Trina.”
“How’s it going, Kyle?” Rachel asked softly.
Despite her mother’s presence, Kyle tugged Rachel close to him and took a deep, searing kiss. “Fine,” he said grimly, still holding her in his arms, looking down at her. “Just fine.”
“My mother is standing here, you know.”
“I already said hello to her, dear.”
“So you did.” Rachel’s hands were locked onto his belt, because that kiss was pure possession and she wanted him to know that it worked both ways. “Come down here,” she whispered and when Kyle warily bent to her, Rachel kissed the bruise on his cheek.
Kyle held very still as if he were uncertain what to do, this man who had had little kindness in his early life, who probably understood Mallory better than anyone, who had cared for her—
“Your daughter has been missing for a little bit. She was supposed to be here and when I called, she wasn’t,” Kyle stated to Trina, his expression still wary as he studied Rachel.
“I was busy,” Rachel noted, allowing her body to lean against his, to absorb the safety there, a contrast to Bob’s anger and domination, his bullying.
“And I was worried. Doing a solo number, were you? Where were you?”
She wasn’t ready to spread her theories to either her mother, heavily involved with Bob Winters, or to the younger man who just might decide to avenge Mallory. “Walking.”
“Liar.” That narrowing of Kyle’s eyes said he would want the real answer later.
Trina smiled softly. “It’s good to see you two together. Let’s go to my house for dinner. Since Moses has been around, I’ve been cooking more. I enjoy seeing a man with a hearty appetite eat—with gusto, to say the least. Jada has him on her sperm donor list and he’s run from the few tentative approaches she’s made to him. Oh, I am so glad that Shane is off her list. I really, really do not like that man. Bob agrees. He’s trying to get Shane transferred. I can’t imagine why a man would want to dress up like that, or why Mallory catered to him at all.”
Kyle smiled in that dangerous way. “Different strokes, isn’t that what they say?”
Trina shook her head, then said, “Dinner? My house? Backyard barbeque? I’ll call Bob.”
“You just do that,” Rachel agreed softly as Kyle stood with his arm around her. She wanted to see how Bob reacted now, with Trina, Jada, and herself—how all the pieces fit. Or did they? Was she so mistaken about Bob’s relationship with Mallory?
The violence was definitely there, the way Bob had gripped her arm, his threatening stance. How could any of them have missed that side of him, for so many years?
Rachel understood that Trina wanted to soften Bob’s dislike of Kyle. But was it possible for a displaced older male, one with bullying tendencies and maybe worse, to accept a young man moving within his private—very private harem?
Within minutes, Trina was back, her expression uncertain. “I’m sorry, Kyle. Bob says he has to work tonight. I guess this isn’t going to be that easy. You’re elected as barbeque man, I guess. Bob seems upset, but then I didn’t think this was going to be easy. He usually comes around. Ah, here comes Jada and Moses. I’m so glad we’re all together.”
Trina’s voice caught and Rachel finished the thought silently: but everyone isn’t here. Once upon a time there were three sisters, and now there were two aunts and one niece with fine brown hair….
“Where were you?” Kyle demanded when he closed the apartment door behind Rachel. After the barbecue, and at nine in the evening, Rachel’s apartment was dark and shadowy, Atlantis Street’s lights piercing the miniblinds in tiny strips. Rachel paced across those stripes as Kyle watched.
Edgy, tight with emotion, she moved restlessly, like a tigress prowling and hunting, her body taut: first she crossed the living room, pausing at the minibar, then into the kitchen that Mallory had rarely used—the place where she’d hidden her tape and that voodoo doll. Rachel paused at the sink, gripping the countertop, her nails tapping on the slick surface.
Kyle recognized that tilt of her head, that slanted look at him, the way her body shifted in that sea foam green sweater and slacks. The air seemed to hum around her, bristling with energy.
There was one way to burn off that energy and get down to baseline answers, Kyle decided as he walked to her. Rachel leaned back against the counter, watching him.
Frustrated that she didn’t trust him, even now, not enough to give straight answers, Kyle didn’t feel sweet. He leaned in close, his hands braced beside hers, pressing against that thrust of her breasts, nudging her feet apart so that his body nestled in tight and hard.
“You going to tell me where you were at—or not?”
He already knew the answer that came cool and clear with that tilt of her head, those narrowing of her eyes—“Not.”
“Now that’s confidence,” Kyle stated as he nudged in closer, kept the slow rhythm going against her softness as he bent to nuzzle her cheek, taste that sweet spot behind her ear.
“I’m not the only one with confidence….” She leaned back, giving him access to that long, smooth throat.
“Give—” he ordered as she turned slightly, her teeth nipping his ear.
“Make me.”
He smiled just that once, admiring her. Then Kyle stopped thinking as he fastened his lips to Rachel’s; he opened them and sought her tongue as they undressed in a flurry of hands and hunger.
Kyle filled his hands with her softness, diving into her. Her fingers dug into his back, nails sliding down, her legs strong against his, opening slightly for just that first connection, then back to keep the play within her grasp, her control. Control wasn’t something he intended Rachel to keep, Kyle decided as he bent to taste her breasts, a little rough maybe, but taking her right to the edge without pain. She was breathing unevenly, her body hot and naked against his.
With Rachel, it was always a question of who had whom, Kyle decided as he slid his hand downward and found that dainty responsible nub. A few strokes and Rachel arched, crying out against his shoulder, her teeth caught his skin briefly, and Kyle knew he was in the lead—
There would be other gentler times, but not tonight, not when the tigress prowled, seeking her mate—dark and primitive, she needed him as much as he needed her, give and take, not sweet but lovers meeting each other on a plane where everything else had been stripped away and only the truth remained.
Love was buried deep in there somewhere, but tonight wasn’t for lazy caresses and whispers in the dark. Tonight was to burn away everything else, testing the limits—
While Rachel was trying to pull back, getting control of her quivering body, Kyle lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
“That wasn’t fair,” she whispered unevenly as he lowered her to the bed, coming down upon her, settling tight within that still clenching glove of her damp heat. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Make me,” Kyle whispered, serving her own challenge back to her as her legs captured him, her arms held him tight.
She bit his jaw lightly. “Don’t do that move again, cowboy,” she warned, arching up to him.
“Okay.” Kyle worked his way downward, over her smooth belly, circled her naval with his tongue.
“That wasn’t fair,” Rachel whispered moments
later as her cry finished echoing in the shadows and her body was limp within his keeping.
“Can’t take it?” he asked while licking her nipple, toying it into an erect peak. If he held out much longer, he should get a medal, Kyle decided grimly, his body barely leashed.
“Give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Rachel only needed that minute, fiercely moving beneath him, capturing him tightly, pitting herself against him. They were slick with sweat, breaths harsh and uneven, each trying to control their own bodies, challenging the other to give the utmost…. In the shadows, she lifted slightly, frowning down at him. “You bastard. This is real, isn’t it?”
Kyle knew what Rachel meant. It might not be the sweetest way for a woman to tell him she loved him, but that was exactly how Rachel felt—she loved him and he was a part of her, not only in this fierce lovemaking, but deep inside where she allowed no other man to touch…. “Real enough,” he admitted, careful not to give her too much, not just yet.
With a cry, Rachel shook her head, threshing against the pillow, her hips braced high as they locked together, met each other, hearts pounding, racing…. And then, the world stood still, burning bright and red and exploding—
Rachel sighed softly sometime later and curled against him, her hand stroking his chest lazily. “You’ll do better next time, dear,” she whispered against his shoulder.
Kyle smiled against her hair; they’d both reached the ultimate limits quite thoroughly. In the stillness of the shadows, he waited….
Suddenly, Rachel tore free of him and went into the shower. Kyle followed, slowly entering the stall so as not to frighten her.
“Water conservation,” he explained as he soaped his own body and tried not to notice his marks still on her body.
She smiled tenderly up at him and smoothed a droplet from his eyebrow. It was one of those caring touches that a guy could latch on to, hoarding them, while his woman was telling him off. “You’re a real bastard, Kyle,” she said softly.
He grinned at her; Rachel understood that he’d made love to her for a purpose, and for their satisfaction. “Yeah. I know.”
Friends, he thought, something that didn’t go away. All the sweet stuff was going to his head and making him feel a little foolish. He sensed that Rachel would be telling him in different ways, and every one of them were going to make him feel just as dizzy, as boyishly happy. She had him thinking about a home and kids and a lifetime together.
In her robe and cuddled against him later on the couch as they sipped wine and watched the candlelight flicker upon the dish of beach stones, Rachel said, “Kyle, I need you.”
Kyle, I need you…. He waited, because this wasn’t about sex, it was about trust and Rachel was preparing to share her troubled thoughts with him….
“I keep seeing things in my mind. Unpleasant things. I don’t like them, and they won’t go away.” Rachel moved slightly away from him, leaning forward to stare into the candles’ flames.
Kyle rested his hand on her back, smoothing her, letting her know that he was with her, no matter what.
She looked over her shoulder to him. “These things actually happened, Kyle.”
“Okay….” Rachel needed to take her time to sort through what had happened, the disturbing elements she had wanted to ignore.
“Mallory was thirteen when Mom adopted her. Mom was already seeing Bob, casual dating, that sort of thing. He was a regular at our house, and I guess she was lonely, maybe enjoying being a woman after devoting so much time to raising us.”
Rachel placed her wineglass on the coffee table and ran her fingertip across the twin flames. “He always seemed to prefer Mallory…he did little special things for her. I guess we thought at the time that maybe he thought she needed extra attention, maybe someone like the father she’d never had….”
She laughed shakily. “But then, I don’t know where we got that idea. Jada and I never knew our own biological father. It would seem that Bob would treat us all alike, if he were just playing the father role.”
“Oh, dear Jesus,” Kyle heard himself say as he closed his eyes, stunned at this awakening idea. “It all fits.”
Rachel seemed to fold into herself, holding her hands over her face. “He took time tucking her in…. The way she tried to please him…. The time she spent at his house—cleaning, we thought, or maybe helping her with her homework—she was always behind…. As she got older, we just thought they had a special affinity, like what happens naturally sometimes, how one child can link better than the rest with an adult—Oh, Kyle, I don’t want to think about this—”
“Neither do I,” Kyle agreed as he pulled Rachel back into his arms, holding her close in the silent quivering candlelit shadows that blended memories, weaving them into one ugly conclusion…. “That’s where you were, wasn’t it, Rachel? You faced Bob, didn’t you?”
When Rachel looked at him, her face was streaked with tears, her lips moving soundlessly. “The way he looked at her for all those years—a little different from me or Jada…. I don’t want to think about this anymore. It’s only a feeling. I don’t have any proof, nothing concrete, nothing at all to string everything together. There’s no way to make it right—what and if that actually happened to Mallory—he’s a town pillar, always donating to charities, an upright citizen. But I know it happened. I do, Kyle, and I want him to admit it—that he hurt Mallory.”
For Rachel’s sake, Kyle tried to push down his rage, tried to hold his voice even. “You think he was behind that New York attack in the park?” he asked, needing to feel his fingers close in on Bob’s throat, to beat that soft paunchy body—
“It was him. He wore a ski mask, and it was dark, but I felt him, his body. It was the same man who hugged me today, and for all those years. He couldn’t perform that night, but he would have if the others hadn’t laughed. I have nothing to go on, but just my feelings. You’re right—it all fits. Looking back is so easy—it all fits, Kyle. So simple, the way he touched her, those little whispers, the way she sometimes kissed his lips when thanking him—maybe we all did, I don’t know. Maybe we all—”
“He picked the weakest one. A bully usually does.” Kyle gathered Rachel’s shaking body close, rocking her against his own memories that started moving in his mind—Bob was always here with Mallory, “fixing things” or “seeing that she got what she needed.”
“There were no pictures of Bob anywhere in this apartment—nowhere in her scrapbook.” Rachel’s voice was thin, uneven. “He was so much in our lives, that he should have been in something—we took enough pictures with him…. But he wasn’t in anything. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Kyle held Rachel tight and whispered into her hair. “That’s enough for now, honey.”
“He had the means to make copies of the apartment’s keys…. It was all so obvious. I should have—”
“Give it up, Rachel. What makes you think you’re so special that only you should have seen it?” Kyle chided gently and didn’t expect an answer.
Rachel had been right about Mallory wanting something from her—Mallory had known that Rachel would uncover Bob and block him from ever discovering her daughter.
And Bob, as the supplier of Nine Balls’ locks, had had the apartment’s keys and probably now had that missing handgun….
Bob would be coming after Rachel, the woman who had uncovered his dirty little secret—and that led Kyle to think that there were more things Bob didn’t want uncovered….
Kyle reached for the phone and dialed Trina’s number. When she answered, he asked for Moses. “Bring Jada and Trina over here, will you? And then, we’ll talk.”
To Rachel, he said, “You’d better put on the coffee, honey. It looks like a long night. And leave the door to the stairway open, will you? Pup will let us know if anything funny is going on.”
“You think this is going to move fast, now, don’t you?” she asked unevenly.
“Real fast, and I want all
of your family in one place, and safe.”
“You don’t think he’d hurt my mother?” But Rachel understood the look Kyle leveled at her—Bob Winters would stop at nothing to keep his secret….
Eighteen
MALLORY’S APARTMENT, WHERE SHE’D SPENT HER LAST hours, suited the place in which Trina Everly would discover her daughter’s fatal darkness. The apartment’s miniblinds were closed, candlelight leaping over the faces of the three women seated on the couch.
Moses was at the kitchen table, tapping away at Rachel’s laptop, seeking information about Bob Winters. The strap running across the beefy ex-wrestler’s back and chest ended in a holster lying against his ribs. The semi-automatic resting there was big and black and deadly.
Rachel looked at Kyle who stood with his shoulder against the wall; his face was that of a merciless killer, not the man who had protected Mallory’s child and others. Kyle would be going after Bob, and he intended to come back alone. He intended to make Bob pay for destroying Mallory, to make him admit to what he’d done, and then he’d kill him.
Trina stared at the doll’s thatch of fine, brown hair; her expression was shattered and disbelieving, her face starkly pale. “His hair was like this before it turned gray—I do not believe this. I don’t believe any of it…. Not Bob. He’s been my friend for years. He couldn’t have hurt Mallory—or you, Rachel….”
Rachel ached for her mother, but she had to reveal everything. “Bob was the person who attacked me. I’m certain of it. I’ve gone over everything. Kyle just checked to see if Shane really was at that retreat—and he was, he’s listed as a speaker at their website, and he did hold sessions that day in California. Even on a coast-to-coast Red-Eye, he couldn’t have managed to be in New York at the time I was attacked.”
Trina’s shaking fingertips flowed over the doll’s hair, the blue pinstriped shirt with the tiny button. Her lips moved soundlessly and her head shook, denying the possibility of Bob hurting Mallory. “I always thought they had a special attachment—he’d never had children, and he said Mallory’s red curly hair reminded him of Alissa…. Alissa died of a drug overdose, too. I—I felt sorry for him even before she died and we weren’t dating, that came later. He was just always there—safe, comfortable, lonely…. I still don’t—How could he abuse Mallory in my own home and me not recognize the signs?” she asked in disbelief. “When did it start?”