by Lucy Farago
He set his beer down, then did the same with her wineglass. He wasn’t a moody SOB. Life was too short for crap like that. He slid a hand under her knees, picked her up, and, ignoring her protests, plunked her onto his lap. “So all this was to put me in a better mood?”
“I don’t like it when you’re… cranky. I’m cranky enough for the both of us. You’re the ray of sunshine to my dark cloud,” she said, her wide smile over the top.
“Wow, and here I thought you were the sane one. Goes to show.”
She cupped his face and pressed her lips to his, the gesture so sweet that if he had been moody, as she claimed he had, she’d be his ray of sunshine. When she drew back, her eyes stayed locked on his.
“It’s been an exhausting day. You must be tired. Can we fly back in the morning?”
“Sure, but it means spending the night here. You okay with that?” Please, he thought, let her be okay with that.
“That’s fine. You want to order in and watch TV?”
Like a real couple? Would it be so bad? Or so wrong? “Pizza? Thai? There’s a cool Indian place down the street.”
“Pizza, but no green peppers.”
“You got it.”
“And no pineapple. That’s gross.”
“Anything else?” he said, unable to keep from smiling.
“Nope.”
“I have one request.” And he was curious to see how she’d respond given she was still sitting on his lap.
“What’s that?” she said, sounding leery. Rightfully so for what he had in mind.
“Kiss me again.”
The grin that spread across her beautiful face almost made him forget how a secret he’d kept for more than sixteen years had nearly been blown sky high. And when she put her mouth over his, he could barely remember his name, not the one he’d been born with, not the one he went by. Twice now he’d lost himself over a woman. The first time born out of necessity for Jessie. This time it was born of desire. He ran his hands over her back and pulled her closer. Then when it wasn’t enough he pushed down on the sofa, covering her body with his.
There was no rationality to how much he wanted her. It made no sense. He wasn’t a player, not anymore, but when he wanted to get laid, he got laid. So why did it feel like he was desperate? The fact that they were both dressed and not in his bed drove him insane. Drawing her arms over her shoulders, he linked their fingers together and worked what he hoped was magic on her neck. She seemed to like that, the attention he gave the tender skin in the hollow of her collarbone. And he wanted her to like it. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her because it wasn’t fair how much he needed her. He hit a particular sensitive spot and when she purred, throwing a leg over his hip, he couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.
A t-shirt flew over the couch. His belt stayed on his jeans, which fell to the floor along with hers. A bra landed on his hat and he was fairly certain he owed her a thong. He had no idea where his underwear ended up, nor did he care. He stood over her, naked, panting and ready for more. But when she deliberately put one foot down on their clothes and drew her other knee up in welcome, he knew if he didn’t slow this down it would be over before he’d gotten what he really wanted, even though he wasn’t all that sure what that was. So he knelt and positioned her in front of him, one leg on either side of his hips. Somehow her hair had come free of that messy bun she’d worn all day and it now fell over her shoulders and perfect breasts in rich, silky waves that made him want to lose himself in it—in her. She smiled and hooked her heel over his spine, urging him forward. Like he needed any encouragement. When he hesitated, too caught up in the beauty laid before him, she closed her eyes and arched her back, reminding him of a wicked cat, lazily stretching, taunting the dog to chase her…to bite.
He arranged himself at her entrance, eager for how this position would give him delicious ways to torture her, when…. “Shit.”
Chapter Eighteen
Her eyes flew open. “What?” She looked around in a panic, drawing herself up and away from him.
He groaned. Then realizing he’d fucked with the mood, he slid his hands up her arms, pressing his fingers into her thighs. “Condoms,” he said and leaned in to kiss her.
“Oh. You scared me, you big ass.” She slapped his shoulder.
He scratched the back of his neck when he really wanted to punch a wall. “We used the last one the other night. I haven’t had time to get more.”
“Oh,” she repeated, this time not so relieved. “Well, I’m on the pill.” She looked at him expectantly.
“We’re tested every six months. Insurance purposes for Ryan. Some of the guys are married,” he explained, “and we’re insured up the wazoo. Plus, I…uh,” he said, embarrassed at first but then realizing she wasn’t one of the guys who would razz him. “I haven’t had sex in seven.”
“Weeks?”
“Months.”
Her reaction surprised him. She grinned, her eyes lighting up in a mischievous twinkle. “Got you beat. Before you,” she pointed to him, “one whole year.” She scooted forward and threw her arms around his neck. “Let’s go, cowboy.”
He was curious about why she hadn’t had sex in such a long time. He knew his reasons. He told his buddies Ryan kept him busy and even on the times he’d been able to catch the occasional circuit and catch up with his old pals, the rodeo bunnies simply no longer did it for him. But her? Now, he had the woman he wanted in his arms and nothing else mattered. “Hang on, gorgeous.” He stood with her still clinging to his neck, her legs crossed at the ankles and high around his waist. “Do you realize all the times I’ve carried you to the bed?”
“Why stop now?” she said, nuzzling his neck. “I’m saving my energy.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, pushing his bedroom door open with his foot. “For what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She glanced over her shoulder then let her feet drop onto the bed. She fell to her knees with a soft bounce. Drawing him tightly to her, she kissed the right side of his chest and flicked her tongue over the nipple. It caught him off guard as he hissed in a breath.
“Oops, sensitive spot.” She did it again, and even though he’d been prepared, it felt too good to hide, especially considering where her hand had wandered to.
He moaned.
Her mouth traveled to his rib cage and when he glanced down, he saw how she’d parted her knees to allow her to slide lower. Being tall could sometimes prove awkward in bed. But his standing, with her on the bed, put her at the perfect height for—holy mother of God. Her mouth swallowed his hard-on. There was no way he could take much of this. Part of him wanted to yank her off and bury himself inside before she could protest. Part of him wanted so much to lose himself between her lips that when her fingernails dug into his ass, he thought the skin on his dick would split in two. “Grace,” he managed to croak.
“Don’t think about telling me to stop,” she warned and continued her assault to his senses, his knees threatening to buckle under the pleasure.
When he could take no more, he held her off with his arms and stepped back. She opened her mouth in protest, but as he wiped the sweat off his brow with a shaky hand she gave none. Instead, a slow, knowing smile met his gaze.
“Hmm, come here,” she said, lying down to beckon him forward with a finger.
“Are you going to torture me some more?” he said, slipping into her open arms.
“Yes sir, I am.”
*
Grace didn’t remember falling asleep, but as she looked back at the man dozing away on his belly, the blankets twisted around his hips, what she could remember was scary amazing. She stood at the window overlooking the cute courtyard behind the house debating to wake him now or after the food arrived. Tiptoeing out of the room, she decided on after. She’d been exhausted and he hadn’t slept nearly as long as she had.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but from the loud protest of her stomach, it had been enough for
the sun to set and New York lights to illuminate the sky. She’d found the menus from various restaurants in his kitchen and chose the Indian one he’d raved about. Then she returned to the scene of the crime, his sofa, and checked her phone for messages and emails.
Her editor was requesting she report in. Unusual for him because he normally trusted her to meet her deadline. She sent him a quick text, telling him he’d have his draft on time. There were several messages from her father, asking if she was all right. She wondered if there been any news but she didn’t want to talk him. Even knowing why he’d done it, she was still angry at him for hiring Cowboy, or at least the way he’d gone about it. She was certain Monty would tell them anything they needed to know.
Them. That was a frightening word. Rationally, they weren’t a them. They weren’t anything but…partners in finding Jessie’s killer, partners in bed, and when this was over maybe friends. Irrationally, they were what? Nothing, she told herself. Enjoy what you have. Live in the moment. Everything had an expiration date. That was life.
After she paid the delivery man, she found plates and cutlery and arranged everything on the small, round dining table, trying to think if she’d forgotten something.
“Smells good.”
She looked up to see a half-naked cowboy coming down the hall.
“Forget your shirt? Or are you trying to tease me?”
He laughed. “Is it working?”
“Hmm.” She stopped fussing with the cutlery so she could give him an honest answer after taking a long, long appreciative look at the man. Damn, he was beautiful. “No,” she lied.
“I think you need to take those pants off before that sexy ass of yours gets scorched.”
“And the food will get cold.”
“Indian food tastes better reheated. Come back to bed,” he said, holding a hand out for her.
Her stomach could wait. She reached out just as his apartment phone rang.
“Damn, that’s Monty.” He went to answer it.
“How do you know?”
“No one else has my number. He insisted I put in a landline in case anything happened to my cell phone. Hey,” he said into the phone. “What’s up?” There was a long pause as he listened, his expression unreadable as he turned his back to her.
She refused to be insulted. He’d tell her everything that was being said. He’d tell her or she was one stupid cookie.
“Uh-huh” was followed by “Are you sure?” and then “Hang on.” He spun around and reached out for her hand. “Come on,” he said, leading her into the living room, where they sat.
“What is it?” She tried to prepare for whatever he was about to say.
He put the phone on speaker and held it between them. “You’re live, Monty. Before we start I need you to check for missing black women or unsolved rapes in the year leading up to Edward Stanton’s death.”
“How far of a radius?”
“Start around the college he attended and any neighboring towns.”
“You got it. Hi, Grace. Sorry we missed each other in San Antonio. I had some great stories to tell you about our cowboy here.”
“Tell her what you told me,” Cowboy said, glaring at the phone like Monty could see him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell her?”
“She needs to hear it from you,” he said.
This, she suspected, had something to do with the plan she’d suggested and he’d shot down.
“The damage to the front wheel well of Jessie’s car seems to indicate someone forced it open.”
“Someone wanted to pull her out?” Grace asked.
“Careful, Wolfman. She’s making you look stupid. More stupid,” he amended with a snicker.
Cowboy rolled his eyes. “Tell her the rest.”
“The police don’t think she went over with the car. Her seat belt was unbuckled and with that drop, she’d have been thrown through the windshield. Her body didn’t show that kind of damage. They also found traces of ketamine in her system.”
“The date-rape drug?” She was going to throw up. Had someone violated Jessie a second time?
“One of them, yes. But it’s also used recreationally. Unlike GHB, it’s more easily detected, as it stays in the system longer. There were no signs of sexual assault. So unless she was a recreational drug user, someone was either subduing her or trying to make her more susceptible to answering questions.”
“Considering Lyle Stanton is looking for his grandson, that’s not out of the realm of possibilities. If he was aware Jessie knew Regina Lewis….”
“Which brings me to my next point,” Monty said. “The hospital records. Lyle and Presley Stanton both passed their yearly physicals, as did Stanton’s daughter. No cancer. Mrs. Stanton had to have a psychical prior to entering rehab and she too got a clean bill of health. William is also clean and their granddaughter Ella hasn’t suffered so much as a cold.”
“Come on, seriously? She’s a kid,” Cowboy said. “Kids get sick.”
“Not this one.”
“So then they were using it as an excuse to find Isaiah. That has to be it,” Grace said.
“Maybe, but right now this is still all just theory.” Cowboy put a hand on her knee. “I know you want answers, but don’t draw conclusions without more proof. It could blind you to what’s in front of your nose.”
She nodded. He was right, of course. “Do you feel like we’re missing something?”
“Like what?” Monty asked.
“I don’t know. Part of it is a gut reaction and part of doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree.” A loud beep could be heard in the background. “Shit, I gotta go. Team member in trouble. Grace, a pleasure talking to you. You don’t know me, so my word isn’t worth much, but trust Cowboy. Besides being raised by wolves, he’s a good guy. And even if Stanton isn’t guilty, he’s a piece of shit. Making an enemy of him wouldn’t be smart.” And then the line went dead.
She appreciated the warning but had already drawn her own conclusions about good ole Lyle. “Does no one know your real name?” Would he ever tell her?
“That person no longer exists.”
That wasn’t an answer. Admittedly it bothered her that he wouldn’t share, but just as it was Jessie’s prerogative, so was it his. “So, you agree? We’re missing something.”
Taking her by the hand he led her back to the dining table and pulled out a chair for her. “Why would Lyle Stanton go looking for Isaiah when he was so well hidden? If his mother wasn’t talking, how would anyone discover Edward Stanton was a rapist? Did he not think anyone would notice the disappearance of three people and investigate?”
“Something must have made him think it would come out.” She opened the delivery bag and began to pull out the tin takeout containers. Hot to the touch, she didn’t suggest they reheat the food. “Maybe Jessie’s interview triggered something.”
“Like what?” Cowboy removed the lids and set them on the plastic bag that had held the food. Then he sat down.
“You don’t have a drink,” she said, standing.
“Sit, I’ll get it.”
She did and began putting food from each container onto their plates. He returned with an open beer bottle. “After we eat, let’s go over my notes on my interview with Stanton and compare them to Jessie’s story. Could be we missed something.”
“Good idea. Now eat before it gets cold.”
It was a good idea. And maybe it was her imagination, but something wasn’t right with Cowboy. He’d been acting odd ever since Mrs. Lewis had told them her story. Cowboy had been honest with her up to now, but he had a habit of not telling her things while at the same time not lying to her. And she suspected this was one of those times. Should she be worried? Then again, how completely honest had she been with him? He’d asked to see the article and that’s what she’d shown him. She hadn’t lied. But she also had not been completely open. She slid a fork full of chicken curry into her mouth and had to work at swallowing. T
his was stupid. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She returned a few minutes later with all of Jessie’s notes and pictures and placed the envelope on the table between them.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Me putting my complete faith in you. Please don’t disappoint me.”
Chapter Nineteen
If he’d been pissed at her for holding back, he didn’t say anything. Grace had allowed him to scan everything and send it to Monty, hoping he’d have better luck than they had had going over the notes.
The flight back to Texas had been far less nerve-racking than the trip to New York. Of course, Grace had spent most of it going over Jessie’s notes and article, hoping—praying—she and Cowboy had missed something. It didn’t look like they had. But what she did get was a brilliant idea. And after they landed, Cowboy called Monty and again asked for his computer wizardry.
Their first stop had been to the hotel to change clothes and drop off the bags, then the University of Texas at Austin, Edward Stanton’s would-be alma mater, had he graduated. They were going to search out old university papers. “The more eyes on this the better,” Grace said.
Police files were left to Monty. Clearly, Edward had never been charged but that didn’t mean a victim hadn’t reported the assault and not been able to identify her assailant. But old university papers could prove resourceful. Lucky for them, Edward’s time at the university had been short. After hours of eye-straining research, Cowboy left to refill their coffee, while Grace remained in the library pouring over the old stories. A September issue reported two accounts of assault and warned students to be on high alert, although no details were given other than where on campus they had occurred.
Police records also revealed two missing black women during Edward’s time in Austin. Both were young and pretty, both active in their community. Foul play was suspected and confirmed when the recovery of one victim’s body proved rape. DNA provided no match. No surprise—no reason for the cops to have run Jr’s DNA through the system.