Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

  “I have bad news, honey.”

  She drew her quivering lower lip between her teeth and stared. Her eyes, moist with unshed tears, seemed to speak to him. She knew. He didn’t have to say the words.

  He barely heard her softly spoken question. “The burned body is Kris, isn’t it?”

  “The dental records match, so we believe so. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, God.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Cathleen, and now Kris.”

  He held out his arms, and she moved into them. Patting her back, he said nothing. If only he could take away her pain. He offered what comfort he could, holding her and letting her sob. His body refused to ignore the warmth of her or how perfectly she fit against him, but he did his best to position himself to avoid inappropriate contact. Now wasn’t the time for her to feel his erection.

  She composed herself and pulled back, staring at the wet circle she’d left on his shirt. “Oh, dear. I messed up your uniform.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll have to run home before morning and change anyway.”

  “No.” The volume and tone of her voice did not cover the tremor. “Take off your clothes, and I’ll run them through the wash.”

  He grinned, hoping to coax a smile from her. “Darlin’, I’ve dreamed of you asking me to get naked, but—”

  “Then get naked.” When he didn’t move, she heaved a weary sigh. “Look, we’re adults. I invited you to spend the night.”

  “You’re upset right now. Two of your friends have been murdered—”

  “So Kris was murdered. What happened?”

  “We don’t know yet, but—” He didn’t want to give her graphic details about a bullet hole found in the skull. “She was shot.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Just like Cathleen—”

  “We don’t know that yet, either.” He reached for her, pulling her back into his arms. “Didn’t you say Kris had an ex-husband?”

  She hiccupped and blinked rapidly, fighting more tears. “Yes, but she said he was a nice guy, just that they grew apart.”

  “Did she mention where he is now?”

  She shook her head. “But he’s remarried and has a daughter. He and Kris broke up a long time ago.”

  “He’s an unlikely suspect then. Still, I’ll need to check him out.” He smoothed her hair and hugged her against his shoulder, loving the scent of baby powder and fresh spring flowers from whatever she’d used in her shower.

  “I know Kris used her maiden name. I haven’t a clue what his name is. She just referred to him as her ex.”

  “You smell nice.” He gripped her by the shoulders and pushed her away. “I’d like a rain check on that invitation to stay the night.”

  “You’re right about my emotional state, but you aren’t taking unfair advantage if you sleep with me, Wilson. If anything, it’s what I need. You’re the only true friend I have, the only person who knows who I am. I need to be me, Fia, just for tonight.”

  Damn. He wanted to take her to bed, no doubt about it. Her candor and directness made her difficult to resist. “When we make love, I don’t want you to regret it.”

  “I don’t want you to regret it, either.” She closed the distance between them and reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Let’s get your clothes in the washer.”

  “If you help me undress, the clothes won’t make it to the washer.” Removing her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. “They will… eventually.”

  He moved his lips to her wrist and kissed the spot where her pulse raced. Her moan was all the encouragement he needed. Tugging her against him, he covered her mouth in a kiss filled with need and yearning. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, and he lost himself in the sweetness of her taste.

  No woman he’d held before her came close to the rightness of Elizabeth in his arms. He’d known for months they’d be good together. Did she feel it, too? Had that been the reason for her keeping him at a distance for so long?

  He thanked God she’d relented at last, whatever her reasons. Caught up in the thrill of touching her, he’d lost track of everything else until the chill against his skin roused him. How had she unbuttoned his shirt without his awareness? She reached for his holster and froze.

  Covering both her hands, he ended the kiss and stepped back. “I’ll remove the holster, darlin’.”

  Lots of people feared firearms, but he wanted Elizabeth to overcome hers. She’d have to get used to the presence of guns, living with a cop.

  Living with a cop?

  Holy hell, he needed to back up, take things a step at a time. Just because he envisioned a happily ever after with her didn’t mean she shared that dream. He’d do his best to make the night unforgettable. He wanted to force from her mind the memory of whatever her fiancé had done to betray her. Even more, Wil wanted his own face to be the one she dreamed of when she closed her eyes, his name to be the one she attached to thoughts of love.

  At the moment, only one worry nagged him. When he cried out in the heat of passion, what name should be on his lips—Elizabeth … or Fia?

  Once Wilson removed the dreadful gun and holster, she resumed undressing him. Eager to jump his bones, she nonetheless wanted to linger over every inch of his body, memorizing details and savoring her exploration. She pulled his shirt from his arms, then tugged his undershirt over his head. Wiry blond hair covered his chest—his impressive pectorals that spoke of regular workouts—and arrowed south, disappearing into his slacks. Oh, my! She needed to see all of him.

  When she reached for his belt buckle, he grabbed both her hands. “You’re trembling.”

  A strong shiver seized her body. “Nerves.” He held her hands captive and stared into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  He seemed worried about her mental state, but why shouldn’t he? She’d proven to him she could pretend to be a completely different person. Would he think she was pretending now? He must wonder if she was using sex to take her mind off Kris’s murder.

  Was she?

  No matter what, she couldn’t stop shaking. “I’m not all right. Two friends have been murdered, and it could be because of me. I can’t deny that I want you, Wilson, but I also want to forget. Just for a few hours. And that makes me sound—”

  “—normal.”

  “—selfish.”

  “Darlin’.” He tugged her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. God help her, she wanted his embrace. “Feeling guilty won’t bring them back. Believe it or not, I know what you’re feeling.”

  “Do you?”

  “Come on.” He led her to the sofa, where he sat then pulled her onto his lap. “My mom was killed in a car accident when I was still a kid. It wasn’t until much later I found out she was drunk.”

  She resisted interrupting him. Had his mother’s drunk driving accident been behind his attitude toward alcohol? Elizabeth had never seen Wilson drink, and he’d seemed super vigilant about Kris driving after too much beer.

  He exhaled a deep breath. “The accident wasn’t my fault. Hell, I didn’t have anything to do with it. But for months I’d lapse into a moment of fun and immediately berate myself. I felt guilty for enjoying anything when my mother was dead. It’s irrational, but it’s normal.”

  “How sad to lose your mom. At least I had both of my parents well into my thirties.” Until some sociopath murdered her father. She pushed that particular memory to the back of her mind. “I took my happy life for granted.”

  “You’re close to your mom?”

  “I’m close to all of my family. That’s why I’m such a whiner about being unable to contact them.”

  “You’re no whiner.” He kissed her forehead, nudging her head to rest on his shoulder. His bare shoulder. “If anything, I’m amazed at your discipline. It must be hard to isolate yourself from them. Most folks in the program can’t hack it.”

  “The ones who can’t, die. That’s what Cory said.”

  “Who’s Cory?”
<
br />   “Cory’s his last name, but that’s what he told me to call him. He’s Special Agent Cory, my handler in the program.”

  Wilson’s body tensed. She sat up and turned to look at him. He seemed distressed, but at her questioning gaze, he smiled. Barely. “You do what Special Agent Cory tells you, then, because I want you to stay alive for a long, long time.”

  Even if Cory told her to move again? The unspoken question hovered between them, unanswered. She didn’t want to think about relocating. Not tonight. “Do you remember your mother?”

  “I remember.” His mouth tightened into a thin line.

  “Still hurts too much to talk about it, right?” She couldn’t talk about her father without a sob in her throat, and he’d died more than two years ago.

  “I … just never talked about her. Not to Sam, not to Taylor. Certainly not to Dad.”

  “Too much shared grief?” Although sharing their grief got her own family through her father’s funeral, not all families were that close.

  He snorted. “I’ve never talked about this to anyone, never felt the need.”

  “That’s all right. I didn’t mean to pry—”

  He silenced her with a gentle touch of his lips to her mouth. “I want to talk about it with you.”

  The magnitude of his admission wasn’t lost on her. He wanted intimacy, and not just the physical variety. “I’d be honored to listen.”

  “First, I’m going to have to move you off my lap, or I won’t make it another sentence.”

  She crawled off his lap to sit beside him. “I didn’t realize I was that much of a distraction.”

  “How could you not?” He nodded toward the erection straining the seams of his trousers.

  She smiled but said nothing. After all, she wasn’t going to apologize for arousing him. On the contrary, it buoyed her confidence. Even though she was overweight and dowdy, this hunk found her sexy! She drew up her legs and tucked her feet beneath her, snuggling against him on the sofa. She’d envisioned such a scene for one of their movie nights that had yet to materialize. But the quiet darkness provided a cozier setting.

  “Mom wasn’t living with us when she died. Dad had kicked her out months earlier.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Yeah. Mom was … weak. Emotionally dependent. And Dad either didn’t realize or underestimated her neediness. He was a county commissioner in addition to running a business, which kept him away from home a lot of evenings. He and Mom had their problems, I guess, but kids don’t understand. They think in terms of how does this affect me?”

  She nodded, not wanting to interrupt him, her heart aching for the children who lost their mother and had so little time with their father.

  “Dad’s an environmentalist, and he ran for commissioner on the platform of controlling the growth of Foster County. Jed Gillespie owned a lot of land on the river and planned to open a hotel and water park. He applied for the necessary permits, but the council turned him down. Dad said the septic system in Jed’s plans wouldn’t handle the demand and would threaten the Suwannee River ecosystem.”

  “It would.”

  “Furthermore, Dad believed the extra traffic would cost the county in road repairs. The two-lane county blacktops weren’t designed for big rigs or heavy use. The bridge across the Suwannee that leads to the Gillespie spread is barely adequate for local traffic. Jed argued that in the interest of growth and progress, Foster County should build a sewage treatment plant for his development, handle any road repairs, and replace the bridge. Dad led the opposition, contending that the county shouldn’t foot the bill for Jed’s business.”

  “That’s a universal battle, I’m afraid. Progress versus the environment.”

  “Unfortunately, Jed had sunk every penny he had into the property. When his plans had collapsed, he had to move his family out of Drake Springs and into a mobile home on the riverfront property.”

  “Is this Jed Gillespie related to Adam Gillespie, the police chief?”

  He nodded. “His father. Anyway, Jed blamed Dad. Hated Dad. And found an easy avenue for revenge with Mom.”

  “Oh, no. He caused the accident?”

  “No, at least not directly. Mom was vulnerable, and Jed could be charming from what I heard. They had an affair. Jed made sure Dad found out. Unfortunately, Mom thought Jed cared about her. She believed he intended to leave Phyllis—”

  “The newspaper editor, right?” What had Harold said earlier? Phyllis is going to have a picnic with this. Phyllis Gillespie, editor of our local tabloid. His hostility now made sense.

  “Yes. Phyllis and Jed had three kids, also: Adam, Amy, and Megan. Adam you’ve met. Amy is his twin sister who now lives out on the property with her own family.”

  “And Megan?”

  Wilson’s muscles in his neck tensed. If she hadn’t been snuggled right next to him, she might not have noticed the tightening of his jaw. “Megan is dead. But that’s another story.”

  Since she’d said almost the same to him about her father’s murder, she let it pass. “So what happened to Jed? Did Phyllis kick him out, too?”

  “No. She blamed Dad for the affair, Jed’s drinking, and all of Jed’s self-destructive behavior. Jed eventually drank himself to death. She still blames Dad for her troubles.”

  “After all these years. Grandma says holding a grudge hurts the container the most.” Elizabeth sensed the topic of Megan was off-limits but asked anyway. “Did she blame your Dad for Megan’s death, too?”

  Again, his body stiffened with tension. “No. I got the blame for that one, even though I wasn’t within a hundred miles of her when she died. But that happened much later.”

  She dropped the subject of Megan for now. “So your dad couldn’t forgive your mother for the affair and—”

  “He would’ve if she’d asked. But Mom was in love with Jed. He’d given her the attention she craved. Dad wasn’t willing to stay married to a woman who openly loved another man.”

  “Marriage is hard enough between two people who love each other, so I see his point.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t see it that way at the time. Dad made mistakes, but he really loved my mother. I thought he should’ve gone after her. I blamed him for years, thinking he could’ve saved their marriage and her life if he’d put aside his stubborn pride.”

  “Pride works both ways. Maybe she was too proud to admit she made a mistake.”

  “You’re right. Mom didn’t fight for custody of us or try to return.” Wilson’s voice was flat, but bitterness bled through his too-casual tone. “She moved out and waited for Jed to join her. Of course, that was never his plan. He used Mom to hurt Dad, and it broke her. She died in a single car accident out on County Road 12. But I guess I always felt it was suicide.”

  “Oh, Wilson. How sad for all of you.”

  “It was a long time ago.” His offhandedness didn’t hide the regret in his voice. “My grandmother raised us, so I can’t complain of a neglected childhood.”

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I don’t know why I needed to, especially when you were ready to tear off my clothes and drag me to bed. Sorry I spoiled the mood.” He draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

  “You haven’t.” Another time she might have protested his version of her intentions, but he seemed too thoughtful. Too lost in the past. He’d exposed a part of himself she’d never seen—his serious side. He’d given her a closeness that she’d missed. She couldn’t blame the Witness Security Program, either. Since breaking up with Brendan, she hadn’t had the heart to trust another man. “There’s more to intimacy than sex. Thank you for sharing something of yourself with me.”

  He gave her a gentle hug, his thumb drawing lazy circles against the bare skin on her arm. “Deep down I think I’ve blamed myself, even though that’s the immature reasoning of a kid. Guilt is a waste of energy. I don’t want you feeling anything but normal grief for your friends.”

  “I’ve had a dose of irrat
ional guilt, so I know what you mean,” Elizabeth said. “My sister Nina and I were riding horses together when she had an accident that left her in a wheelchair.”

  “What kind of an accident?”

  “Etta, the horse she was riding, stepped into a hole and went down, taking Nina with her. Part of Nina’s spine was crushed, and she’ll never walk again. I still feel responsible, although logically, there was nothing I could’ve done. It was a freak accident.” She shook her head at the memory. She’d thought at first the fall had killed Nina because she’d lost consciousness. “We had to put Etta down.”

  “How was the horse destroyed?” He seemed to tense as if knowing the answer.

  “Dad shot her in the head with his pistol.” She shivered at the memory. “I think he worried that I’d try to save her. But I was a trained vet and knew nothing could be done, at least nothing humane.”

  “But he didn’t give you the chance.”

  “No. I would’ve put her down, but not that way. I would’ve given her an injection.” Like the one she’d seen Frank Sullivan give jockey Ollie Breckinridge? With that memory, her full-body trembling returned with a vengeance.

  Wilson must have assumed her shaking resulted from talk of Etta’s shooting. “Is your dad’s pistol part of your aversion to firearms?”

  She nodded. “More guilt. Almost losing my sister left me emotionally raw, and I lashed out at Dad. I told him I never wanted to see that gun again. He promised me he’d keep it locked in his desk at work.”

  “Why would he need a weapon at his office?”

  “He didn’t. Oh, maybe he thought he’d be robbed, but the car dealership he co-owned wasn’t in a high crime area.” She snorted. “Or so we thought. He wound up dying from his own gun, a staged suicide, right there at his desk.”

  “And you think he’d be alive if he hadn’t taken the gun to work?”

  She nodded. “Not logically, of course. His murder prevented him from going to the police about a crime he’d uncovered. The killer would’ve found another way. The gun just made it convenient.”

  “Did they catch the offender?”

  “Yeah.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that were enough to block the grief of losing her father. That pain would be with her for a long time. “I really don’t want to talk anymore about it.”