by Kylie Brant
She fumbled with his shirt, pulled it from his jeans and unfastened it. He raised his head and pressed against her, a kiss of sensitized flesh that fired nerve endings to flash point.
A whisper of sanity had Meghan twisting her mouth from his. “Not here.” The words were panted, barely audible, but her meaning was clear. He picked her up and carried her to her darkened bedroom, setting her down just inside the doorway. Then he was swinging the door closed and crowding her against the wall. He shrugged out of his shirt with barely restrained violence and sucked in his stomach when her hands went to the button of his jeans.
Raw, wicked need thrummed in his veins. Hands tangled as each battled to be the first to strip the other. Divested of clothing, they had no barriers between them. Free to touch and be touched, they filled themselves with the pleasures of the senses. Their breathing grew quick and labored. Her hand slid down his stomach and lower, then she found him, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.
His senses careened. He swept his hands up her silky leg, followed the crease of her thigh until he found her damp heat. He entered her with his fingers and took her to the peak that first time by touch alone.
Meghan had to fight to get air into her lungs. Her senses were filled with him. Her world had narrowed until he was the focal point. She reached for him blindly; striving to bring him to that same barbed edge. A hunger that couldn’t be satiated, that wouldn’t be denied.
Long lingering strokes, quick bursts of pleasure. He tolerated her teasing until his mind reeled. Then he moved between her legs, cupped her bottom in his hands and entered her with a single savage thrust. He paused, every pulse in his body throbbing like a wound. Her arms clung to his shoulders, her teeth grazed his lips. The tiny pain enflamed him, and his hips began moving against hers, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. His eyes were open but he couldn’t see. Could only feel the quick bursts of breath escaping her, hear her moans as he hammered himself into her. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and her hips arched beneath his, urging him on.
Gabe could feel her body tense, in a taut quest for fulfillment. He moved against her faster, deeper, climbing the jagged brink to his own release. Then she crested, twisting in his arms. He allowed free rein to the savage need pounding through him and followed her over the edge, swallowing her cry of pleasure. And free-falling into sensation, nothing existed but the two of them.
Chapter 13
He left her sleeping, soft and depleted from their love-making. Slipping into his clothes he made the mistake of looking back at her and nearly reversed his decision. The fall of her hair barely revealed the curve of her cheek. He didn’t have to touch it again to remember its exquisite smoothness.
After another moment he stiffened his resolve. If he gave in to the temptation riding him, he wouldn’t be getting back out of her bed at all. Opening the door he strode to the kitchen for some juice before he made his way home. The thought had never been so uninviting. He didn’t want to slip from her bed at the first hint of dawn, and he damn well didn’t want her slipping from his. Discretion was going to grow burdensome quickly.
He opened a cupboard and removed a glass. Taking the juice from the refrigerator, he poured his glass full, then drained it. He refilled it and replaced the container in the refrigerator. Even as he chafed at the restraints she placed on their time together, he had a grudging understanding for her reasons. That’s what parenthood called for, he supposed, leaning against the counter. A constant balancing act of adult needs against the child’s. And if the parent was committed, the child’s took precedence. Danny was lucky to have landed with Meghan. Her sense of responsibility and compassion ran deep. And there was no question of her feelings for the boy.
There was a small sound, then Danny appeared, clad only in his underwear and T-shirt. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Gabe stilled, guilt stealing through him. This was exactly the kind of scene that Meghan had hoped to avoid having her nephew witness.
But the boy just shuffled to the table and pulled out a chair. Climbing up on it, he said, “I want some juice.”
Gabe watched him for a moment, but thirst seemed to be the only thing on the boy’s mind. “You got it.” He took out another glass, filled it and handed it to Danny. “You’re up early.”
The boy took a long drink. “Is it time for school yet?”
“You don’t have school today, remember? It’s Sunday.”
“Can we go back to your house today? We didn’t get to see the trains very long.”
“We’ll see.” The idea had merit. They could spend the afternoon together. Maybe grill outside, if the weather warmed up. He thought he had a couple fillets in his freezer. He wondered if Meghan liked steak. Then she appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by his thoughts, looking drowsy, soft and mussed.
“She likes hers with steak sauce,” Danny said. Another huge yawn overtook him. “But I’d rather have hamburgers. Do you have any hamburgers in your freezer?”
Gabe’s glass halted halfway to his lips. Then slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he lowered it. His voice hoarse, he asked, “What did you say?”
“Danny, what do you want for breakfast?” Meghan forced herself to keep her voice steady, to move. Anything to shatter the frozen vista before her.
Around another yawn the boy said, “Fruity O’s and chocolate milk.” He was sleepy enough not to realize the impact of his words to Gabe. Not to feel the intense regard of the man standing near him. But she felt it. And it made her bones quake.
She busied herself preparing the boy’s meal. “How about Cheerios and regular milk?”
He uttered a complaint, but was too hungry to protest for long. She set the dishes down in front of him and finally allowed herself to meet Gabe’s gaze. What she saw there tore at her heart.
Pushing away from the table, he stalked out of the room, his body rigid. She forced herself to follow him and then to meet the condemnation in his eyes.
“You lied to me.”
The flat, harsh words were barbed and stabbed deep. Guilt reared. “I was trying to protect him….”
“You’ve been lying all along. Through this whole case.” He paced the room in short vicious strides, then whirled to face her again. “It was like he walked right into my head and read what I was thinking.”
She looked away, battling back the old fears. She could well imagine his shock. She had, after all, lived all her life with her sister’s ability to do the same.
He didn’t give her time to respond. “He’s done it before. I just didn’t realize it. I never mentioned my foster father to him. He saw it somehow. Hell, I don’t know. Why don’t you explain it to me, Meghan.” His tone was barely a whisper, but savage despite its softness. “What the hell do you call that…that thing he does?”
“He’s telepathic,” she said wearily. “His therapist thinks he has some clairvoyant tendencies, too, but it’s not nearly so well developed.”
His eyes seared into hers. “Like his mother.”
She flinched visibly. “Yes. Pretty much.”
He looked as if he was on the verge of violence. But she was strangely unafraid. If she’d learned one thing about Gabe it was that she had nothing to fear from him physically. But emotionally…She swallowed hard.
“I should have figured out the way you were dragging your feet about having him cooperate that there was something you were trying to hide. And there is, isn’t there, Meghan?” She didn’t respond, and he reached her in two quick steps, taking her chin in his hand and forcing it up so she met his gaze. “He knows something, doesn’t he? Something you didn’t give us.”
“He picked up a little from the men,” she began, then flinched when he abruptly dropped his hand and turned. Sensing his intention she grabbed his arm. “You’ll just upset him. I can tell you what he saw. It doesn’t make much sense.”
He stopped and looked pointedly at the hand she’d placed on his arm until she released him. His tone was biting. “I wouldn’
t believe anything you said right now if you came down the mountain carrying stone tablets. I’ll talk to the boy.”
She followed him to the kitchen, dreading the scene to come, expecting the worst. She would intercede on Danny’s behalf if Gabe upset him. Her responsibility was to the boy.
But that didn’t mean she felt no obligation to the man. The man who’d provided some of the answers about Sandra’s death. The man who’d held her in his arms and taken her to heights she’d never dreamed existed. The man, she thought achingly, who valued honesty above all else.
Gabe casually picked up his glass and sat in the chair next to Danny. “How’re the Cheerios?”
Mouth full, Danny said, “Fruity O’s are better.”
“No kidding. I like the sugared flakes myself. Ever had them?”
Danny nodded and swallowed. “I had those at Alex’s once. Aunt Meggie won’t buy good cereal very often. She says my teeth will rot if I eat too much junk.”
“She’s probably right.” His face serious, Gabe then said, “I need your help, buddy.” He waited for the boy’s gaze to meet his before going on. “Your aunt says maybe you know something else about those two guys you saw outside the toy store that day.”
“I told you the first one was scared.” Uneasily Danny looked at Meghan, seeking her support.
Gabe nodded. “You did. And you helped a lot already by describing the tall guy. But I really need anything else you can tell me. Anything at all.”
The uncertainty on the boy’s face tore at Meghan’s heart. Swiftly she crossed to his chair and sank to her knees beside it. “It’s okay, Danny. You can tell Gabe everything.”
“Everything?”
She tried a smile for reassurance and nodded her head.
His gaze slid to the detective’s. “You know the first guy? The short one? He was scared of Pollynife, the skull guy. He got in the car with him, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to run away instead.” He stopped, looked at his aunt.
“Go on,” she urged softly. “Tell him the rest.”
“Pollynife had a nursery rhyme song in his head. The one about the weasel. We sing it at my school, too.” Gabe’s arrested expression seemed to stop him then, and he glanced at Meghan uncertainly.
“That’s good, Danny.” She made her voice reassuring.
“That’s just the way you told it to me, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Can I go play now?”
“A bath first.” His expected groan of dismay would have made her smile on any other occasion. “We got home too late last night for you to have one.”
He slipped from the chair, his shoulders drooping, and trudged toward the bathroom. Watching his theatrics reminded her achingly of how short-lived this disappointment would be for him. In a few minutes he’d have his toys engaged in a full-blown sea battle. The apprehension pooling in her stomach, however, would not be nearly as easily dissipated.
Forcing herself to turn and meet Gabe’s gaze, she nearly flinched from the condemnation in it. “Are you sure that’s everything he knows?”
“Telepathics don’t always ‘see’ words. People’s thoughts are rarely that clear. It’s usually more perceptions, fragments they can sense when people don’t have a natural guard raised. Or at least,” she added, “that’s what his therapist tells me. I told you before, what he got from them doesn’t make much sense.” Silence stretched endlessly.
“You have to understand…” Her voice faltered under his scathing look. “I couldn’t let him be endangered like his mother had been. She made her own choices. Someone had to watch out for the boy.”
“And you didn’t trust me to do that. You’re wrong. I understand perfectly.”
His words hit their mark. But that didn’t mean the quiet sound of the door closing didn’t feel like a shot to her heart. It didn’t mean the sorrow and disappointment weren’t welling up inside her in a tidal pool of grief.
Something told her she’d have to live with the feelings for quite some time.
Monday morning Gabe was at his desk again when Cal arrived. He had a stack of copies of the sketch Meghan had made on his desk. He didn’t look up when his partner clasped his chest dramatically and said, “I don’t think my heart can take any more of these shocks. If giving up nicotine has turned you into an early riser, maybe you should have gone cold turkey a long time ago.” When Gabe made no response, concern chased the humor from Cal’s tone. Peering closely at his partner he said, “You look like hell, pal.”
“Thanks.” He could have told him that he felt worse. Much worse. The little sleep he’d gotten last night hadn’t been particularly restful. The images of Meghan that he’d managed to keep at bay during the daylight hours hadn’t waited for an invitation to pounce. He’d woken from dreams of her, of them together, and reality had seemed even bleaker.
Aware that his partner was going to demand an explanation, Gabe said, “There was a deal with my mother this weekend.” He didn’t elaborate and could tell from Cal’s expression that he didn’t need to. He’d spent most of yesterday dealing with her at the hospital. He’d finally convinced her to let him drive her home when it became apparent that Butch was going to be kept a few more days. Not that Gabe held out much hope that the psychiatric evaluation would go anywhere. The man would probably walk out of the hospital in a few days with only his word that he would show up for the treatment program the hospital arranged for him. As if his word meant anything.
“Well you may be beating me into the office these days, but I’ve been getting a little work done once you leave.” Cal went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out the file McKay had sent them. “Lookie what I found when I did a little digging last night.” He handed the folder to Gabe.
Without much enthusiasm Gabe reached for it, flipped it open. And then his interest sharpened as he scanned down a list Cal had tucked inside. “Some coincidence.”
“A full dozen of Golden Enterprises’s businesses were sold to the corporation by Victor Mannen.” Cal sat on the edge of his desk, supremely pleased with himself. “And all of the sales took place within eight months of each other about three years ago. Hell of a coincidence, I’d say. Now why don’t you tell me what you’ve got?” He nodded toward the scribblings on the tablet in front of Gabe. “You working on something?”
“I’m not sure. I got more from the boy yesterday morning. Maybe a name, I don’t know.”
His brow furrowed, Cal said, “A name? How would he come up with that? He wasn’t close enough to hear D’Brusco and the other guy…” Gabe just looked at him until comprehension and incredulity warred on his face. “No way. He’s just a kid. He couldn’t…”
“He does.” Gabe’s voice was short.
Cal was still grappling with the information. “How long have you known?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Ah.”
There was a wealth of meaning in the sound. Gabe chose to ignore it. He handed the tablet to his partner. Cal read what was written there and asked, “Pollynife? What kind of name is that? A person? A place?”
“From what the boy said, a person. Namely the person with D’Brusco.”
“Skull face?” Unknowingly Cal mimicked Danny’s words. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Gabe. This isn’t much. What are we supposed to do with it?”
“You can’t think of anyone out there who goes by the nickname of Polly?” At his partner’s negative answer he admitted, “Me, either. And I’ve tried every angle I can think of to match that sketch with our database. No luck. But the answer’s on that tablet. I can feel it.”
Slowly Cal said, “You know, Gabe, this hocus-pocus stuff…well, it’s weird, okay? And not exactly the kind of thing you’d normally go for.”
“It’s real.” Gabe knew that for a fact. He’d had a thought plucked cleanly out of his mind as if he’d voiced it. But he hadn’t. And although he still was half disbelieving about the whole thing, he couldn’t refute what he’d witnessed for himself.
&n
bsp; He looked past his partner to a man wending his way toward their desks. “Hey, Doug. You lost?”
The medical examiner stopped in front of their desks. “I thought you’d want to see this right away. And since there’s a case of scotch in it for me…” He let his words trail away and held a sheaf of papers in the air.
“You got something for us?” Gabe made a grab for the papers, but the man held them out of reach. “Yeah, all right, the case is yours. Gimme.”
The man dropped the papers on Gabe’s desk, and Cal came to peer over Gabe’s shoulder. “You said you were looking for a connection between the D’Brusco and Collins homicides. I’ve got it for you, fellas, tied up here in a neat little bow. I even brought you another surprise.”
Scanning the information on the papers, Cal and Gabe saw what they were looking for at the same time. “Same knife?”
Doug pulled a chair up and sat. “Yes, indeedy. They were both killed with a wicked blade of the same approximate width and length. If it’s not the same one it’s identical. It’s probably the same killer did both, and the boy knows his stuff. It’s tougher than people think to achieve an almost instant kill by slitting someone’s throat. Most who try have to effect a sawing motion—” he pantomimed with his index finger at his throat “—to sever the cartoid artery. It takes a specialized weapon. The victims killed by this method usually bleed to death.”
“But not these two?” questioned Cal.
Shaking his head, Doug leaned forward in his chair.
“Their deaths occurred in moments. This guy has the right tool for his trade. There were kidney wounds on both vics indicating a rear attack. Then their heads would have been pulled back, like so.” He tipped his head back, baring his throat. “The blade is thrust in here, pressed forward and severs the front of the throat and neck.”
“So you’re saying this guy’s a pro,” Gabe said slowly.