“I’m ready,” she said. Her hands tangled in Levi’s wet hair, her nails scouring his scalp.
He tugged from her hold, peered down at her, breathing harshly as he searched her face. And, oh, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Rugged, powerful, determined.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He waited, just waited, and realization finally dawned. He expected her to direct him—and so, that’s exactly what she did. She led his mouth to the places she wanted him, and she wanted him everywhere.
He moved far more slowly than before, but the more she moaned, the more she arched into him, the more fervently he worked her, as if the tether of his control was in danger of snapping. Her desire ramped up and up and up, until her blood was molten in her veins, until her limbs shook and she was arching and writhing toward him—exploding from the pressure as pleasure consumed her.
Straightening, shaking, he said with a half smile, “That was fast.”
“You complaining?”
“Rejoicing. I’ve never been closer to death by heart attack.”
A laugh bubbled at the back of her throat. Humor with sex. How unexpected. But she really, really liked it.
“Sure you’re ready?” he asked.
More than ready. On fire. “You don’t know, Detective Hottie?”
“Just making sure, princess.”
“Did you bring protection?”
He nodded, left the shower and returned with a condom already sheathing the long, thick length of him. He didn’t waste any time, but picked her up, growled, “Wrap your legs around me,” and thrust deep the second she obeyed.
A strangled cry left her. He filled her perfectly and, oh, did her pleasure spark back to life. He pounded hard and fast, and reclaimed her mouth just as savagely.
“Good?” he demanded, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the sensations rioting through her but the thoughts in her mind.
Even so, the answer was the same. “Amazing.”
Faster…faster…harder…harder…until they were both moaning and groaning. He held her waist in such a strong grip, she knew she would have bruises tomorrow. Bruises she would savor, because they would remind her of this moment, of his total possession.
“Harper,” he shouted, climaxing.
“Levi!” She was right there with him, crying out his name, enfolding him in her arms.
For a long while, he remained just as he was, his head resting on her shoulder, the rough pants of his breath trekking over her skin, his heartbeat drumming against her own. She could have fallen asleep just like that, because, despite everything that had happened, everything that would probably happen, she was suddenly more content than she’d ever been, but cool droplets of water began to splash on her, rousing her.
“Shower…turn off,” she begged, then blushed when she realized she’d sounded like a caveman.
“Only if we can do this again in the bed,” he replied, leaning back to turn the knob.
“Only if you’re about a thousand degrees.”
“Cold, baby?”
“Beyond.”
“Well, what my princess desires, my princess receives. I’ll heat you up.”
Dirty little turd. “Well, the prince has just made the princess desire a nap. Alone.”
“Is that so?” He set her on her feet, only to dig his shoulder into her stomach and hoist her up fireman-style.
“Levi! Put me down right now!”
“Why? I’m the prince’s evil twin, who tricked the princess into going to bed with him, and now I’ve decided to hold you for ransom. And as I’m a stone-cold baddie, you’re gonna need to do something to keep me from pillaging your people before that ransom is paid.”
He carried her to the bed, and she laughed the entire way.
CHAPTER TEN
Levi snuggled Harper in his arms, sated in a way he’d never been before. She was such fun, her laughter a study and gift of music. With only a smile she lit him up on the inside, shining a spotlight into hidden places. She fit him, her passion a match for his own, her cries for more an aphrodisiac, her kneading hands a revelation.
As long as he’d kept them both on the edge of pleasure, their minds had been too wrapped up in what was happening at the moment to delve into the dark, dangerous territory of past and future. He’d been right. That was exactly what she’d needed to relax and let go.
Afterward, exhausted from hours of learning her body, he’d noticed the haunted look had disappeared from her eyes. Those baby blues had crinkled at the corners as she smiled and teased him about his insatiability, color had been high in her cheeks, and her lips had been red and swollen from where he’d bitten and sucked.
Now, though, in the silence of the night, enveloped by shadows, Harper asleep and breathing deeply, evenly, he couldn’t stay out of those dark, dangerous places. The two of them had been living in a building with a spirit of the dead. How could they not have known? How had he developed the ability to see into the spirit realm, when everyone he knew who possessed it had developed it before puberty or worked hard to spark it to life? How had Harper?
Harper. His pretty princess. He felt as if he would lose her at any moment, felt helpless as a baby. As if she would simply float away, never to be seen or heard from again. He’d willingly fight her demons for her, but a fist and even a gun could not stop an unseen force, could they?
Despite what he’d said in Peterson’s office, Lana was probably dead. The painting probably wasn’t the future, but the past. Harper had probably stumbled upon her friend’s torture and slaying.
Probably. How he hated the word, but he hesitated to think in absolutes without more proof.
Lana’s death had probably occurred while Harper was missing. And Lana’s undead status would also explain the lack of bruises on her body, why Harper had never noticed any injuries and how Lana had taken off and hidden so expertly.
And, really, Harper’s entire disappearance could be explained by the blackouts—meaning, she had never been abducted. She could have remained in a fugue state, unable to deal with what was happening, from the time she’d found Lana on that table to the time Lana reappeared in her life.
Lana’s spirit would have repressed what had happened, too, continuing on as if everything was business as usual.
A few niggling questions remained, however. Why had Harper’s blackouts continued? To allow her to slowly come to grips with what had happened? And then there was the timing of everything—Levi’s own blackouts, his appearance here, the fact that he could see Lana. Harper seeing her was understandable. The two were bonded. But him? No. Unless…he was somehow bonded to Harper and saw what she saw.
Also, Lana had reported Harper missing, only to go missing herself? Talk about a major coincidence. And yet, that would explain why Lana had never returned to the station and reported Harper as found.
So many questions, new and old, and Peterson might have all the answers. That look of abject sympathy as Harper had spoken of her painting…that promise to do a little digging, spoken in a tone of dread and suspicion…
Peterson clearly suspected something terrible.
Harper mumbled something incoherent and began twisting out of his embrace. Dread worked through him as he loosened his hold. She sat up, stayed still for a moment, stood. Between one sexual marathon and the next, he’d had her place her painting and supplies in the proper places, mimicking the setup of her studio.
“Harper,” he whispered, but there was no response.
Silent, she padded to the table with the brushes and paints. A soft light cascaded over the entire area, allowing him to watch her. With fluid motions she mixed colors, dipped the tips of the brushes and began to paint.
Levi sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He stood, nearly tripped as he shoved his legs into his underwear and closed the distance between them. Rather than study the canvas, he studied her face. Her eyes were closed, the length of her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.
> Her expression was scrunched, her skin pale as milk. Protective instincts rose to the surface, and he had to fight the urge to shake her awake, to make her stop. He hated that a horrible image of blood and pain held her captive, but more than anything else they needed to see the killer’s face.
She worked for hours. Several times she would stop and a tear would trickle down her cheek. He could tell she was trying to jerk herself out of sleep because her breathing would change, becoming choppy, ragged.
He would say, “Keep going, sweetheart. I’m here. Levi’s here,” and she would rally and continue.
He wanted this thing done, wanted its horrors out there, so that they could know what to fight, where to go, what to do. Maybe they’d luck out and get to tell Peterson to suck it.
Finally Harper’s arms fell to her sides and her paintbrush dropped to the floor with a thump. Still she stood there with her eyes closed. He dared a look at the canvas—and nearly roared with shock and rage and fear.
She had painted the killer, and it was Topper as he’d feared. She’d also added more blood. Blood on the walls, on the floor, on the slab. On the man—and on the woman.
On Harper.
She’d painted over Lana’s face and added her own. Oh, the woman still had Lana’s dark red hair, but that face as delicate as a cameo was Harper’s all the way.
Without thought, he swooped her into his arms and stalked to the bed to gently lay her across the covers. He did not want her to see that thing. Wasn’t sure what it meant—wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant.
And he’d thought himself helpless before.
She’s not a spirit, he assured himself. He could touch her, could feel the warmth and softness of her skin, smell the sweetness of her scent. She’s alive. Well.
She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back. Her eyelids fluttered open, closed, fluttered open again. She drew in a deep breath, only to go still. Her gaze homed in on him.
“I painted,” she said, her tone dripping with anxiety.
Unable to form any words, he nodded.
“Let me see.”
He held her down. Her wide gaze, still on his face, searched and searched. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged.
She stiffened. “I finished it.”
Another nod.
“It’s bad.”
Yet another nod.
“Really bad.”
Finally he managed to find his voice. “If you want to see it, you can see it, but I want you to remember a few things. Okay? You’re here. You’re real. And I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go.”
Her lips parted as she fought for breath and jerked upright. Her gaze drove past him, straight to the canvas. Horror cascaded over her expression.
“That’s…”
“Yeah.”
Slowly she stood. One step, two, she approached it. Her arm stretched out and she traced a fingertip through the blood dripping down the woman’s leg. Crimson stained her soft, white skin. “I can’t… That can’t… There’s just no way…”
“You’re here,” he repeated, staying close. “You’re real.”
“I would remember if something like this happened to me!”
Maybe she had done more than stumble upon Lana. Maybe she had been forced to endure a little torture of her own, but she had escaped.
Topper was now locked away, he reminded himself. She couldn’t be hurt again.
“We’ll go see my friend Bright.” Levi’s words were croaked. “He’ll test your DNA against what we found in the killer’s house.” Topper had gotten sloppy there at the end, when he’d left that female on the billboard, and that’s how they’d snagged him.
He’d stopped abducting women at night, with no one around to see as he stunned them and stuffed them into the trunk of his car. His last victim had rarely left home, and never at night, but Topper, who lived in the same neighborhood, had seen her, wanted her and had gone in to get her.
Eyes wider than before, Harper swung around to face him. “You know who he is? You already found him?”
“Yes.” And I nearly split his spine in two with my fist. “He’s in prison and can’t harm anyone else.”
“I…I want to talk to him,” she said, shocking him.
“No,” he growled, then more calmly repeated, “No. He’s not allowed to have visitors right now.”
“Try again.” Scowling, she slammed her hands on her hips. “That might have worked on someone else, but I happen to be a Law & Order fan, and I know my rights according to Hollywood and television.”
Stupid TV, ruining everything. Levi could put in a request with Topper’s attorney, and if Topper approved it, yeah, Harper could visit him. And as much as Topper liked the ladies, he’d say yes. “We aren’t bringing you to Topper’s attention.”
She mouthed the name, shuddered, then shook her head, obviously forcing her determination to rise. “He’s locked up. What can he do to me?”
Uh, only annihilate her mentally. No biggie, though, right? Questioning evil had never brought anyone satisfaction. Evil lied. Evil taunted. A person would be better served keeping their eyes on the road ahead, running the race of life.
“He can make you cry, and if you think I’ll sit back and watch that, those multiple climaxes I gave you killed your brain cells.”
“I don’t care. I want to talk to him,” she reiterated.
“Have I ever told you I prefer soft, malleable women?” he said, as mean as a honey badger. This was too important to him. He couldn’t cave.
“I. Don’t. Care.”
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he leaned into her. “You want to bring yourself to the attention of a killer who might have friends on the outside? A guy who would be willing to pay someone to hurt you just to send him the pictures? Yeah, that kind of thing has happened before.”
Finally he spotted a crack in her stubborn facade. But still she said, “I don’t want to, no, but I have to. Knowledge is power, and right now I’m pretty much without power. He’s got it all.”
“Lies are weakness, and lies are all you’ll get from him.”
“I have to try.”
“If I refuse to help you?” he said on a ragged breath.
“If you refuse to help me,” she replied, stepping into his personal space, peering up at him with anger and determination, “I will work around you. I’m tired of wondering. I want the truth, once and for all. I want Lana protected.”
“Peterson said the painting wasn’t of the future. Maybe Lana doesn’t need protection.”
“And Peterson knows everything? Her word is law?”
Good point. “All right,” he said. “I’ll put in a request to see him.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harper was on edge as she and Levi trekked through the halls of King’s Landing.
She expected Peeping Thomasina to pop through the walls and scream “boo,” but the girl never showed. In fact, all of the residents were strangely quiet.
Maybe they sensed Harper’s mood. Fury and fear burned deep in her gut, desperate for a release that would not be pretty. Or, heck, maybe they were frightened of Levi. His gun was drawn and at his side, at the ready.
Unlocking her door proved difficult, because she refused to place the painting on the floor. She wanted it in her hands or in her studio, and nowhere else would do. Right now it was her only link to what had happened, what would happen or what could happen.
Before she could enter, Levi shoved past her. “I’ll check things—”
“You’re not leaving me—” She drew up beside him.
“Out,” he finished.
“Alone,” she finished at the same time. And then they stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted them.
Peterson, as well as a man Harper had never met, lounged comfortably on the couch.
The After Moonrise employee had her now-blue hair pinned into two knots that looked very much like horns. She wore a dark blue corset, a spiked dog collar and b
lack pantalets that ended just below her knees, where blue-and-white-striped socks stretched to black ballerina slippers.
The man next to her had sandy hair and brown eyes. He was tanned and slightly weathered, as if he’d spent most of his life outdoors. But what struck Harper most was the fact that he bore the same hard look as Levi, as if he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and nothing could ever affect him again.
“Breaking and entering. Very professional,” Levi muttered, shutting and locking the door behind him.
“It served its purpose. I’m sure you’ve broken into many houses in the line of duty.” Peterson’s gaze fell to the painting. “Did you finish it?”
“First,” Levi said, stepping in front of Harper, “who’s the guy?”
“Are you always this suspicious? This is my associate, Mark Harrowitz.”
Harrowitz nodded.
Gaze shrewd, Peterson added, “I never enter a strange home alone. I’m sure you understand. He’s just here to ensure you two don’t try to murder me.”
Oh, that was all? Harper’s heart drummed in her chest as she moved to Levi’s side. “And you call us suspicious?”
A smile devoid of humor flashed. “Now that the gang’s all here, can we continue?” Her brows arched, Peterson motioned to Levi’s weapon with a tilt of her chin. “Without the threat of death?”
“Fine.” Levi sheathed his gun after moving in front of Harper.
She liked the fact that he wanted to protect her, she did, but she didn’t like that he placed himself in danger to do it. They’d be having a chat about that later. Of course, knowing him, he’d kiss her to distract her or vow only to do what he thought was right no matter what.
“Okay, so. The painting.” Harper stepped around him and spun the canvas, allowing Peterson to view the horrific scene from top to bottom. “It’s finished, yes.”
Peterson studied the scene for a long while. Finally, she nodded. Harper took that as her signal to place the thing on its easel, out of the room, out of sight, then rejoined the group in the living room.
Levi had taken the seat across from Peterson and motioned her over. The moment she was within reach, he tugged her beside him, so that she practically reclined across his lap. A protest was not forthcoming. She liked where she was, and needed his strength.
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