“She what?” Luke demanded. Involuntarily, his fingers tightened on her face. Swearing, he jerked his hand back and stared at the faint red impressions he’d left on her porcelain complexion. She had baby-soft skin, he thought inanely, and she bruised too easily.
Bile churned in the back of his throat. He shoved to his feet and moved away from her desk. None of the social workers had their own office on this floor, not unless they were in charge. But Devon’s cubicle had a small window, facing out on the parking lot. He moved to the window and leaned his head against the chilly pane of glass, tried to cool his anger so he could help Devon with hers.
But the objectivity that served him most of his life was coming up seriously lacking here. Under most circumstances, Luke could be completely pissed off yet maintain his composure. Wasn’t so easy this time. Devon . . . a whore. Her youth had been hell. He still didn’t have the whole picture. The ugly reality of what her childhood had been wasn’t one that Luke liked to think about, yet it was compulsive, something he couldn’t stop thinking about.
But even as often as he’d wondered about what all she’d gone through during the time she lived on the street, this wasn’t something that had occurred to him. Even if it was something that she’d been forced into as a child, the picture just wouldn’t come together for him. He couldn’t imagine how anybody could think it of her.
“She’s just trying to do her job,” he said, forcing the words out through a tight throat. He glanced back at her, forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Logically, I know that. You probably do, too.”
He waited a beat and then asked, “So did you hit her?”
A faint smile curled her lips. “No. I was tempted.” He glanced down, saw her hands, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles had gone white. “But she isn’t worth the trouble I’d get into for assaulting an officer.” Then she grinned. “Of course, she called—didn’t come in person. If she’d been standing here, who knows what might have happened.”
Snorting, Luke turned back to stare out the window. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “It’s bullshit. I know that. Chances are she probably knows it. But I guess cops have to dig around in bullshit a lot.”
“Thank you.”
Slowly, he turned back around, studied her pale face. “You didn’t have some weird idea in your head that I’d believe that, did you?”
Devon grimaced, shrugged. “No. Not really.” Then she looked away, shot him a sidelong look from the corner of her eye. “Maybe a small part of me was a little worried. Just a small part, though.” She sighed, reaching up to rub her temple. “You know, I remember when I was in the hospital, a lady came in—it wasn’t Eden. I don’t even remember her name. But she talked to me, wanted to make sure nothing bad had happened, wanted to make sure I hadn’t been forced into . . . that. I was embarrassed, mad, scared . . . but she just wanted to make sure. She never accused me of anything. This was the first time anybody has ever implied that I was a whore.”
“Somebody like her, she probably doesn’t see a whole lot of the good stuff in life. Probably gets natural for her to assume the worst.”
She glanced back over at him. “You saw a lot of bad stuff.” With an indelicate snort, she added, “Hell, I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff. But that doesn’t always make me assume the worst. Even when I know the worst is probably the truth, I hate to think it. Leaves me feeling dirty, angry. I can’t imagine living my life always thinking that way.”
Sighing, she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and then touched her fingers to the strand of pearls around her neck. “I hate this, Luke,” she murmured. “This entire mess is driving me fricking nuts.”
Luke crouched down in front of her, laid his hands on her thighs. “Yeah, me, too. Since she basically called to dig around in shit, I guess they really don’t have a clue about who did it, do they?”
“I’d say they are pretty much clueless.”
Clueless. Yeah, that pretty much summed up Luke’s state of mind, too. He had absolutely no fucking clue about who had done it, and he’d spent a decent amount of time over the past couple weeks trying to figure it out. But nobody had seen a damn thing, and the times he’d tailed Devon to or from work, he hadn’t seen anybody else doing the same.
The only thing that made sense was that it was somebody related to her job. Occasionally Devon had to deal with distraught or outright pissed parents, but none really stood out in her mind.
Devon was a sharp lady. If something out of the ordinary was going on, she would have noticed. More, he would have been able to tell. They’d spent too much time together over the past couple of months. He knew her; he knew when she was pissed, when she happy, when she was sad.
If something had been worrying her, troubling her, he would have picked up on it.
But there hadn’t been anything hinting at something like this. The only moment that stood out in Luke’s mind was that first night he’d been with Devon, those few moments when he’d felt like he was being watched. Just that one moment in time, and then nothing.
“It has to be somebody through here, Devon. Either one of the kids or their parents. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Luke said quietly.
Her eyes darted off to the side, and he followed her glance, saw a closed manila folder. “I’ve pretty much come to that conclusion myself.”
When her eyes came back to his, Luke asked, “You got an idea about who?”
Devon licked her lips, opened her mouth. Then somebody passed by the narrow door to her cubicle. “Not here,” she murmured with a shake of her head. Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, she rubbed the tense muscles there. Already the tension was coming back, even after Luke had worked his magic. “Gee, you think I could be lucky enough that’s it over? I mean, maybe it’s just some twisted kid, and all he wanted to do was scare somebody for kicks.”
“You know better than that,” Luke murmured. “A twisted kid is a possibility, but he’d have to be damn smart, damn clever—and damn twisted. More, he’d have to be patient. Whoever is doing this understands patience; most kids don’t.”
Distracted, he reached up and pushed a hand through his hair. The pale, golden blond locks fell right back into place, shielding his gaze from her as he looked downward. He shifted so that he knelt in front of her, close enough that she could feel his heat. “I’ll be honest, Devon. It’s not even the dead dog that bothers me the most.”
Devon grimaced. “It sure as hell has me worried.”
He blew out a breath. For a second, Devon was unaware of anything he did or said as that air caressed her legs. The dress she wore had a full, long skirt that buttoned down the front, but she’d only buttoned it to the knee. Sitting with her legs crossed had the skirt parting a little higher on the thigh than was probably professional, but she hadn’t really noticed, not until now. And now? She didn’t give a damn. Too aware of the heat of his body, how close he was . . . and how serious.
Yeah, they were discussing something serious. Something important. So why was she suddenly having a very hard time focusing on it?
It had been too long since he’d touched her. How she’d managed to go her entire adult life without feeling him pressed against her, she didn’t know. The past week had dragged on, and now it was like her body was reminding her just how long it had been.
Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than his body.
It didn’t help, though, that when she licked her lips, his gaze dropped down to her mouth, and Devon felt the heat of that gaze burn through her. His hand came up, rested on her bared knee.
He stroked her skin, his fingers warm and calloused, but as she focused on his words, the heat she’d been feeling melted away into icy fear.
“It takes a pro to get in and out of a house without leaving a sign, Devon.”
“A pro . . . ? Like a professional thief?”
Luke shook his head. “Serious thieves aren’t into violence. They don’t even ca
rry weapons. Increases the penalty if they are caught armed. I don’t see a thug doing this without leaving a trail.”
Laying his palm flat against her thigh, he flexed his fingers and then squeezed gently. “I’m not talking a professional thief or a thug. Getting in and out of places without leaving a sign requires a lot of focus, a lot of training.” He glanced up at her. “Kind of like I had.”
Devon blinked. “Kind of like you . . . you mean in the army?”
Luke shook his head. “The typical soldier isn’t trained on breaking and entering, Devon. The average cop couldn’t do it without leaving some kind of sign. Hell, I bet the average fed couldn’t.”
“Okay, then who trains on breaking and entering? Doesn’t sound like any electives course I’ve ever heard of.”
“Special Forces.” He glanced at the files on her desk and asked, “Any of those possible suspects of yours have a military background?”
“Military background?” she repeated faintly.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Yeah, a professional thief could break into your house, but I haven’t heard of too many pros with a bent toward violence. The other types of people who can do this, frankly, you wouldn’t show up on their radar.” With a restless shrug of his broad shoulders, he murmured, “This makes sense, though. If you’ve been working with a child with a parent who worked Special Forces . . .”
It was like having cold water dumped on her. She suddenly felt chilled, and nausea churned inside her belly. Crossing her arms over her middle, she leaned forward and dropped her head down on his shoulder.
His only response was to curve a hand over her neck, holding her close. His warmth and his strength were a soothing comfort, and for a minute, she relaxed against him.
Once she’d settled, he asked quietly, “There is somebody, isn’t there?”
In a stiff voice, she replied, “Yeah. Yeah, there is.”
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, sure. I’ve got some psycho, crazy stalker on my ass, and who knows, he just may be a professional whatever in the hell you call it. I’m fine.”
He rubbed his cheek against hers and whispered, “You’ve also got a professional whatever in the hell you call it watching your pretty little ass, Devon. I won’t let anything happen to you. Got it?”
“Hmmm. Yeah. I got it.” With a weak laugh, she snuggled in closer. “And as long as I can stay just like this, I think I can be pretty okay.”
Luke slid his arms around her, tucking her as close as he could manage. “I got no problems with that.”
But life and responsibilities intervened. Her office phone started to ring, and as she reached for that, so did her cell phone. She gave him a wry grin and said, “Break time’s over.”
JUMPING at shadows . . . seemed she’d been doing a lot of that lately. Once more, Devon sat in her driveway, staring at the garage and wishing she’d gotten around to clearing it out enough that she could park in there. She just hated to do it. It was a small garage barely big enough for her car, and when she parked in there, the few times she had, she ended up overcome with a sense of claustrophobia that had her shaking and hyperventilating.
She couldn’t handle small spaces and the garage with a car in it was damn small.
Her nerves were already shot, and the thought of parking in that small garage was even more unnerving. But she couldn’t decide what was worse: getting out and walking up the sidewalk in the dark to her house, or parking in the coffin of a garage.
It wasn’t even dark now, and Luke was home, no reason to be so nervous, but she couldn’t move past it.
It had been one hell of a day, and she hadn’t even worked a full day.
Even aside from the troublesome case of Tim Wilder, her day had been crap. She’d talked to a mom who was encouraging her six-year-old to diet—a six-year-old who was small enough to still wear clothes off the toddler rack; she’d talked to three judges, two lawyers, one doctor, and one very insulting cop.
The doctor was Luke, naturally, and he’d been the highlight of her day. After he’d left, it had only gone downhill. Detective White had called three more times but Noelle had fielded two of the calls, and Devon had hung up on the detective the third time. Sooner or later, she’d have to talk to the cop again, but not today. Not until she cooled off.
At three o’clock, she’d gone to her boss and asked if she could cut out early. Normally, as heavy as her workload was, he wouldn’t have been happy, but thanks to the office grapevine, he had heard about what had happened and apparently understood the need to cut out for a while.
Cutting out wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was Luke. But now she couldn’t seem to make herself climb out of the car. Luke was home and probably waiting for her to call and tell him if she’d be leaving work at her regular time, and he’d probably growl at her for not letting him know that she was leaving early.
Fine. He could growl away, and then she could cuddle up against him, and he could make her forget about life, abused kids, crazy stalkers, and cruel parents. “Ain’t going to happen until you get your butt in the house,” she muttered.
She’d like nothing more than to shrug this whole mess off, forget all about it. Devon had decent instincts, and the few times there had been a client capable of causing serious problems, she’d known. When the threats, thankfully few, were serious, she’d known. If somebody had been following her home or watching her, she would know . . . right?
Lifting her head, she looked into the rearview mirror, tracking a silver Jeep as it headed down the street. She saw nobody. Still, her skin crawled, and she was so damn jumpy, when a squirrel dropped down out of the tree in her front yard, she almost leaped out of her skin.
Uneasy, she grabbed her purse and slid the strap around her neck, adjusting it so that it would lay crossways over her chest, and then she dug the pepper spray out. Holding it in her hand, Devon climbed out of the car and headed for the front door. Her gaze darted back and forth. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Part of her insisted, Relax. Relax.
The other part was going, Yeah, right. Relaxing was so not going to happen. Her hands shook as she slid the key home, and she breathed out a sigh of relief as she turned the doorknob. Then a hand landed on her shoulder. Yelping, she whirled around, her hand lifting up the pepper spray, pushing down—
Long fingers caught her wrist, jerking her hand aside at the last second. Air wheezed out of her lungs as she stared up at Luke’s face. A muscle jerked in his jaw as he studied her face. Almost imperceptibly, his features softened, and he tugged on her wrist, urging her closer. “I was across the street, talking to Danielle again. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Cuddling up against him, she sucked in air and waited for her heart to level out before she even tried to speak. “It’s okay. I’m just a little jumpy.” Something bit into her fingers, and she looked down, saw that she was holding the little canister of pepper spray so tight, the grooved plastic was cutting into her skin. With a grimace, she murmured, “Okay. A lot jumpy. Second time today.”
“Let’s not go for a third.” Strong, gentle hands stroked up and down her back, and he nuzzled her neck. “It will be okay, Devon.”
Turning her face into his, she replied, “I know.” Their lips were all but touching, and unable to resist, she leaned in, covered his hard, unsmiling mouth with her own. He opened for her, and she pushed up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck.
He felt so damn perfect against her, warm and strong, his hands cradling her so gently, his mouth moving against hers in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. She felt safe with him, but more than that, she felt whole.
Whole—and hungry. All the pent-up adrenaline channeled itself into heat, burning away her fear but leaving her so aching and so empty, it almost hurt.
Wiggling closer, she rocked against him, shuddering as she felt the heat and strength of him through their clothes. Devon forgot where they were, unaware of the cars that moved up
and down the street, the retired couple across the street that passed down the sidewalk, their terrier prancing around like he owned the world, the little girl who was riding her bike in the driveway next door.
Nothing seemed to exist but his mouth on hers and his arms holding her close.
Tearing his mouth away, Luke pressed his face against her neck and muttered, “Damn it, girl. You trying to get us both arrested?”
He didn’t wait for a response, though. Banding an arm around her waist, he lifted her and carried her inside. He kicked the door shut and then spun around, pressing her back against the smooth wooden surface. Sliding his hands under her skirt, he shoved the loose material upward, higher and higher until he slid his hands inside her panties and cupped her butt. “I’d planned on yelling at you for not letting me know you left work early,” he muttered against her mouth.
Then he lifted his head, held her gaze as he closed his fists around the skimpy strings at either side of her hip, jerking. Her panties tore, and he threw them to the ground. “I’ll do it later.” Still staring into her eyes, he cupped her heated core in his hand and rubbed the heel of his palm against her. “Unbutton my jeans, Devon.”
Her hands shook a little as she obeyed, fumbling with the button and then the zipper, easing it down over the massive length of his erection. After dragging the zipper down, she ran the back of her fingers down his hot flesh, a faint smile curving her lips as he jerked in response.
He hissed out a breath and pushed away from her just long enough to shove his jeans and underwear out of the way. Strong, big hands cupped her bottom, boosted her up. “Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped, and his eyes burned into hers like molten silver, hungry, intent.
Unable to resist, Devon wrapped her legs around his waist and whimpered as that simple movement opened her folds, exposing her to the heated shaft pressing against her. Sliding her arms around his neck, she tugged him closer.
“It’s been too long, Devon. The past week has been hell. Damn it, Devon . . . you’re so fucking wet,” he crooned as he pushed inside, working past the initial tightness. “So soft . . . relax for me . . . fuck, yeah. That’s it.”
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