by Karen Rose
He grasped her shoulders. “Look at me. I’ve known you four days that in my life feels like four years. The first minute I met you, you were hurt defending a stranger. Then I find that’s what you do, protect women from violent men. You put yourself in danger daily and I have to ask myself why. You live in poverty and I have to ask myself why. Anyone can see you believe in what you do. But, Dana, you didn’t see the look in your eyes when you told Mia to make the trade. There was no sadness, no fear. Just surprise that anyone even objected. It scared me and that’s what made me mad.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m tired, Ethan. I’m going to bed now. You can sleep wherever you’re most comfortable.” She slipped beneath his hands and crawled into bed. After a half minute he followed, muttering an oath.
“Move over.” He got into bed and pulled her against him so they lay spooned together. He would torture himself, feeling the softness of her butt against his groin, but if she could stand it, so could he. “You know what else?” he bit out. “It made me mad that you only agreed not to trade yourself because of the trouble it would cause everyone else.”
“Go to sleep, Ethan.” The words hissed between her teeth.
“Not until you tell me why. Why do you do this? Why is your life one big penance?”
“It’s. Not.”
“The hell it’s not.” He raised up on his elbow and flipped her on her back. Ignored the look of pure fury that kindled in those brown eyes so normally calm. “Honey, I was raised Catholic. I know a penance when I see one. Is it because you made a few bad decisions when you were a kid? Dammit, don’t you think you’ve paid for that a million times over?”
The fire in her eyes blazed higher. “You”—her finger bored into his chest—“are not a board-certified therapist. And you”—she jabbed again—“don’t know what you’re talking about. So you”—a third jab that would surely leave a bruise—“shut up.”
He was close to the truth now. He grabbed her hand, clamped it above her head. Grabbed the other hand when she tried to free herself. Rolled on top of her when she tried to pull away. “I’ve met men who’ve killed in the line of duty and they don’t feel this kind of guilt.” She thrashed beneath him and he had to use all his weight to keep her from bolting. “You did some time. Smoked a little pot. It’s not like you killed anyone.”
Like a popped balloon she stopped fighting. Her body went lax and warily he waited for her to lurch away when he loosed his hold. But she didn’t. She just lay there staring at his face. Like he’d slapped her. “My mother,” she finally whispered. “I killed my mother. Are you happy now?” Then she rolled over, punched the pillow, and didn’t say another word.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 2:00 A.M.
As beds went, Evie thought, she’d had better. But she’d certainly had worse. The bathtub in this grimy little motel was cleaner than she’d expected and if she kept her limbs relaxed, she didn’t feel too stiff. The ropes that bound her hands and feet were securely tied. There would be no breaking them. The duct tape that covered her mouth gave her incentive not to cry. Tears would clog her nose, then she’d suffocate.
She had managed to sit up, only to find that Jane had not only tied her hands and feet, but secured the ropes at her hands to the safety rail in the wall. Pulling hard hadn’t budged it and she cursed herself for allowing herself to become so physically weak. Before Winters, she’d lifted weights, jogged. Since . . . she’d done nothing but hide in the dark, just like Dana said.
She tried not to worry about Erik, under the bed where Sue had left him. Gagged and bound as well. It was pretty clear the kid was not Jane’s son after all. So Evie’s instincts had been . . . not too bad. She’d thought that Jane was one step up from the hamster mothers that eat their own young. She hadn’t been too far off.
She tried not to worry about Dana. She hoped that Dana knew she was also in danger so that she would keep herself safe. And she was suddenly, fiercely glad they’d begun to make amends this morning. Dana had a boyfriend. She deserved one, after all. Nobody Evie had ever met was more dedicated to her job. Because it’s more than a job, Evie thought and frowned when tears threatened. No tears. Breathing is good. Suffocation is bad.
The thump on the door jerked her from her thoughts. Jane was back. She steeled herself to meet those lifeless, colorless eyes.
And could only blink when the door flew open and an exhausted Erik slid to the floor.
Chapter Nineteen
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 3:30 A.M.
There was blood everywhere. Everywhere. Splattered on the walls, seeped deep into the carpet. Her shoes squished as she ran. Ran. Dropped to her knees beside her body. She knew the woman was dead. She always knew the woman was dead. Yet still she grabbed, her hands slipping as she lost her grip. So much blood. Slippery. She grabbed again, as she always did. It’s a dream. It’s just a dream. She knew it. She just couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t make her heart stop racing in fear. She turned the body and braced herself for the face. Who would it be tonight?
The scream tore through her mind as she stared at the face, horror freezing her where she knelt. Then the ringing began. She groped for the phone, but it slipped from her hands. She held up her hands, the scream building once again. Blood. Her hands were covered in blood. And still the phone rang and rang.
The ringing woke her up. Trembling, nauseous, Dana came to her knees, shaking her head to clear the dream from her mind. She squinted at the bedside clock and in a rush remembered where she was. And with whom. And exactly what she’d revealed to him. She reached for the phone next to the bed and frowned when she heard only a dial tone. Then remembered the cell phone she’d set on the nightstand before her shower last night.
Evie.
Beside her Ethan lifted himself on his elbow and switched on the lamp on his side of the bed. Next to the lamp was her cell phone and his gun. He kept his steady green eyes focused on her while he reached for the phone and she felt the tension ebb, just enough to take it from his hand. Answer it. “H-h-h-” Breathe. Just breathe. “Hello?”
“Miss Dupinsky?”
Dana blinked and shook her head at Ethan. “Yes, this is Dana Dupinsky.”
“This is Nurse Simmons from Rush Memorial.”
Caroline. Dana’s heart was suddenly pounding, so loud she could barely hear. “What’s happened to Caroline?”
“She’s . . . she’s taken a bad turn, Miss Dupinsky.” The nurse stumbled over the words awkwardly. “She’s asking for you. Can you please come right away?”
Dana gulped in air. “Is the baby? Or Caroline?”
“It’s . . . both. The baby died and Mrs. Hunter is asking for you.”
“Oh, God, oh, God.” Dana swung her legs over the bed. “Tell her I’ll be there. Thirty minutes, tops. Thank you.” With shaking hands she dropped the phone into the bedsheets and tried to stand up, only to find Ethan holding her back, his grasp gentle, but firm on her arm. “Let me go, Ethan. I have to get to Rush.”
“Dana, wait.” There was a calm note in his voice that penetrated her panic. “You told me only Evie knew this number. Did you give it to Caroline?”
Dana slowly turned. He was sober, his eyes grave. And she understood. “No. I meant to, but I never got a chance. And Caroline thought they’d let her go home tonight.”
“Call Max. See for yourself that everything is all right.” His voice was still calm, but there was a steely undertone that told her he was angry.
Hands still shaking, she called Max’s cell phone, her stomach tied in knots.
“Dana, what’s wrong?” Max sounded groggy. He’d been asleep. She let out a breath.
“I don’t know yet. Tell me the truth, Max, is Caroline in danger? Did the baby die?”
There was a half beat of silence. “She’s fine, Dana. She’s here at Ma’s house with me. The doctor said it would be better for her to go somewhere without stairs. Why?”
Dana shuddered out a breath. “Oh, Max. Thank God.�
� Ethan’s hand ran up her arm, squeezed her shoulder. She braved a smile. “I just got a terrible phone call from Nurse Simmons. She told me to come to the hospital, right away.”
“She lied, Dana.” Max’s voice was tight. “It was the woman who has Evie, wasn’t it?”
Her pulse, which had started to slow with relief, started to race again. Sue had tried to lure her out. “It might have been,” she whispered. “What if it was really Nurse Simmons?”
“Are you with Buchanan?” Max bit out.
Dana looked at Ethan, fear clawing at her insides. Please not another one. “Yes.”
“Put him on. Now.”
She handed the phone to Ethan. “It’s Max Hunter.”
Ethan listened, his eyes fastened on Dana’s face. “I won’t. Don’t worry . . . I didn’t expect she’d buy it, but it was worth a try . . . Sure. Thanks.” He ended the call. “Call Mia. Now.”
Dana’s hands shook worse than before. Mia answered on the third ring, her voice husky with sleep. “Mia, it’s Dana.”
Mia’s response to the news was much as Max’s had been. “I’m on it. I’ll dump the LUDs from your cell and see if I can get a location of her call, but I’m betting she’s watching the hospital entrance, waiting for you. I’ll call Abe and we’ll check it out ourselves. Are you with Buchanan?”
“Yes,” Dana gritted through her teeth. “And I won’t go anywhere by myself.”
Mia sighed. “I’m sorry, Dana. I’m just worried about you. I’m your friend. I’m allowed.”
“Just find her, Mia. And call me if you find Nurse Simmons. Please. I need to know.”
“All right. Stay where you are. I’ll order an hourly drive-by on Max’s mother’s street.”
Dana’s heart stopped. Just . . . stopped. “You think she’ll try again?”
Mia hesitated. “How do you think she knew Simmons was Caroline’s nurse?”
Dana covered her mouth, horrified. Helpless. “She was in the hospital. Near Caroline.” One look at Ethan’s grim face let her know he’d already come to the same conclusion.
“We’ll check it out,” Mia promised. “Do not go anywhere by yourself.”
“I won’t.” Carefully she hung up the phone. “Simmons is dead, isn’t she, Ethan?”
Ethan pulled her close, pressed her cheek into his chest where his heart beat steadily. “Maybe. Let’s not borrow trouble. I need to be sure Randi hasn’t received any calls.” Not letting her go, he dialed the Vaughns’ room, had a brief conversation with Stan Vaughn. Turning off the lamp he slid them both down to the pillows, holding her just a little too tight.
It didn’t matter. She held on to him just as tightly. A fist of fear grabbed her by the throat. “She tried to lure me.”
“I know, honey.” The gentle words were at stark contrast to the tensing of his body. “But she won’t get you.”
“She was close to Caroline.” Dana could hear the panic rising in her own voice.
One hand came up to cup her jaw. “She won’t get her, either.”
No, she won’t. Max won’t let her. Mia won’t let her. Caro is safe. “What did Max say?”
“That we didn’t fool Caroline with the story of you being too busy to come over tonight. She knows something’s wrong. Max told her the truth.”
“Okay.” She found herself breathing to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat.
“Do . . . Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“It” needed no clarification. The big bomb. The one thing she’d never planned to reveal. Yet she had and it needed explanation. But the nightmare was still too fresh. The vision of the face too disturbing to contemplate in her current state. Dana had learned long ago to compartmentalize her fears. She did so now, knowing the lock on the box was a fragile one. “Not yet. Please don’t be angry with me. I just . . . Not yet.”
“I’m not angry, Dana.” He sounded more sad and that was worse than anger. Still his sadness was better than his contempt. Compartmentalize. Refocus. New subject.
“Did Randi get another call?”
“No. Stan said he’d finally made her take a sleeping pill when she didn’t fall asleep on her own, but that he was keeping watch. He said Sheriff Moore had her deputy change the beach house phone to forward to Stan’s cell phone instead of hers.”
“I liked Sheriff Moore.”
“I’ll like her a hell of a lot more if Clay comes out of this with his license intact.”
“Why did Clay stop being a cop?”
His little sigh told her he knew she was doing the avoidance dance, but that he’d go along with it. For now. “Claimed burnout. I think he did it partly for me. Said he’d been thinking about leaving the force and since I was at loose ends, why not go into business?”
Dana felt a sudden surge of gratitude to Clay Maynard. “I liked Clay, too.”
“Most women do,” Ethan said wryly and Dana lifted her head to see his face.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He locked his eyes on hers. “Good.”
The single whispered syllable had her gaze dropping to his mouth. Inches from hers. She could have it. His mouth. She knew she could have every last inch of him if she chose. Did she? Could she? She didn’t know. She only knew that in covering his mouth with hers she could put off the terrors that lurked at the fringes of her mind.
His hand slid across the back of her neck. Warm and strong. Sending a hard shiver pulsing down her spine. But not forcing her one way or the other. Which was exactly the push she needed to close the distance between them.
He jumped when her lips touched his, his whole body tensing, arching. His hand pulled her down into the kiss until together they’d taken it from sweet to sensual. Both his hands now gripped her face, positioning it one way, then another, each movement further perfecting their fit. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her blood rushing. The very core of her body throbbing. And he touched her nowhere but her lips and face.
She lifted her head, breathing hard. So was he. His eyes glittered in the darkness. But he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t. He’d made that clear. He wanted her. He was wired that way. God help me, so am I. She needed this. For just a little while. Then she’d face the world again. The threats inside her mind and out. Both were real. Both were hideous. She’d steal some peace. Just for a little while.
She splayed one hand on his chest, the golden hair tickling her palm and his eyes flashed. She moved her hand lower, the iron ridges of his abdomen flexing as his body tightened. His hand covered hers. “We don’t have to do this.”
He’d make her say it then. “Please, Ethan.” She closed her eyes, rested her forehead against his chin. “I don’t want to go back to sleep. I can’t. Not yet.”
He moved suddenly, quickly rolling her to her back. Looming over her. His breath driving his chest hard and fast. “Be sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Abruptly he straddled her hips, her sweatshirt fisted in his hands. “What do you want?”
Arousal swelled. Stunned. Anything. Everything. “You.”
He jerked the shirt over her head. Threw it to the floor. And in a single movement slid down, prone against her, his mouth on her breast. Greedy. God, so greedy.
She cried out. Arched into him and he sucked harder, pain and pleasure all rolled into one moment in time. A moment he stretched out, then started all over again when he moved to her other breast. Her fingers dug through his hair, pulling him closer. Her heels dug into the mattress and she pushed her pelvis into the rock hardness of his chest. She throbbed, she ached. She needed him. “Ethan, please.”
He released her breast, moved down her torso, kissing and licking and setting every little area of skin he touched on fire. Reached the elastic waistband of her sweats and in another of his graceful movements, rolled off her, yanked the pants down her legs, and rolled back between her thighs. And hovered there.
She could feel the heat of his breath just there . . . where she wanted him. “Ethan.”
/>
He lifted his head, stared up at her. His lips a fraction of an inch from where she wanted him. “I want you to forget everything,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Everything but me.” He kissed the tender flesh of her inner thigh and her muscles quivered from the strain of holding back. “Just remember me.” He kissed the other thigh and she moaned.
Then flicked at her with the tip of his tongue and she gasped.
Then his mouth was on her and she forgot to breathe. The pleasure was . . . sharp, vicious, it had claws, digging deep. Unwavering, it drove her higher and higher until all she could hear was the sound of her own breath, sobbing, begging. Then the shimmer grew and grew until it was a blinding flash, and everything unraveled in a fury of sensation and light and pleasure.
She was gasping for air when the weight on her legs disappeared. She struggled to open her eyes to find him standing at the nightstand, yanking the drawer, a grimace of pain on his face as he pulled a condom out of the box. Her eyes dropped to the waistband of his boxers where she could see the tip of his erection straining for freedom.
In awe, she watched him shuck off his boxers and with shaking hands slide the condom into place. Then he was on all fours on the bed, hanging over her, his eyes burning into hers. “Look at me,” he muttered. “Think of me. Just of me.”
“I am. I will. Please, Ethan.”
Then he was easing inside her, shuddering his relief. “Oh, God.” He dragged in a breath, his shoulders sagging, his powerful biceps supporting his weight. “I needed this. I needed you.” Then he was thrusting, going deeper when she raised her legs to flank his hips, drawing a guttural groan from deep within his chest. She gave a cry of surprised delight when he undulated, stroking her internal muscles with thorough precision.
His smile was razor sharp. “You like that?”
“Yes.” Her voice was like a stranger’s, husky and deep. Then he did it again and she could only moan. Which seemed to catapult him into full throttle, his hips pistoning so hard she could only hang on to his shoulders helplessly as sensation once again layered, climbed . . . And shattered. Bracing her heels on his thighs she arched just as he thrust. And came. Soundlessly. Magnificently. His muscles straining. Teeth bared.