The Night Is Forever koh-11

by Heather Graham

  “But if someone at the Horse Farm hurt him, wouldn’t he be afraid of that person now?”

  “Yes—unless the person threw something at him from a distance, maybe as Sammy approached. In that case, it’s possible he never associated the person with the action and the pain it caused him.”

  She walked past him and into the kitchen, pulling a casserole from the oven. “It’s just hamburger and potatoes, with a soup mix and crisp onion topping. Not very gourmet.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything better,” he said.

  Not true. He’d never smelled anything as good as her.

  “I’ll bring it out. There’s a dining table set up in the family room. You can eat and play on your computer at the same time,” she told him.

  She carried the casserole into the spacious back room. The table appeared to date from the early 1800s, and there were heat pads on it for protection. “Agent Blake, have a seat,” she said, placing the casserole on one of the pads.

  He was wondering how she’d managed anything other than the casserole, but she also put out a platter of raw vegetables and dip, along with glasses of sweet tea, plates and silverware.

  He’d opened the computer while she set up.

  She closed it as she joined him. “I’m starving, and I know you are, too.”

  “I am, and we can talk, which is almost as good as staring at a computer screen.”

  “Almost?”

  He was pretty sure he actually flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that the facts and figures I need are in the computer.”

  “Where do you think Marcus has been lately?” she asked.

  “I assume he’s off trying to solve his own murder—except that he could help a lot more by hanging around with us.”

  “He never did like camping,” Olivia said. “Strange, because he loved nature so much. He loved a walk or a ride through the hills or along the stream.” She looked away quickly and he realized she was close to tears. You could accept the death of a loved one, but it often took time to really remember the good times and be able to smile and laugh at a memory.

  “Well, he’s still with us,” he reminded her softly. “Somewhere,” he added. “But let’s go back to that day. So Marcus was at the Horse Farm and we know he definitely went in to see Aaron. We know they talked. He probably talked to Andrew and Sydney, too, because they would’ve been working at the stables.”

  “Yes, and we know that because Frank spoke to them. They had casual conversations with Marcus fairly early in the day. I had a session in the morning. When I’m with my groups, I’m not paying attention to much else. As gentle as our horses are, they’re still horses. I keep an eye on every interaction. Not to mention that I’m talking most of the time. So, the upshot is that I wasn’t really watching.”

  “When did Sammy come back hurt?”

  “During the lunch break. It’s from twelve to one.”

  “Who was around during the break that day?”

  “Hmm. You’re not going to like this. I had some paperwork to do so I was at my desk. I saw Drew when I brought in Trickster. He was cleaning Gargantua’s hooves. I think he’d been checking all their shoes.”

  “Did you see Sydney?”

  “Not until Aaron talked about how concerned he was once Sammy came limping back. I remember Sydney called the vet right away—and our vet is wonderful. He came out and made a house call, then took Sammy with him because he wanted to keep him still for the night. He was afraid Sammy might tear out his stitches. By the time the vet left, we were all worried about Marcus. We started calling him and looking for him, then we mounted up and headed out on a search. Everyone except Sandra. We needed someone to stay at the house. Oh—we’d called Frank Vine. He gave us a spiel about Marcus being a grown man, but Aaron insisted that something was wrong. Because of Sammy, you see. Sammy would never have left Marcus.”

  Dustin was glad to hear her memories of the day; for one, listening to her, he was able to eat. And he’d been famished. But now she was waiting for him to respond.

  “As far as you know, any one of the others could have been out in the woods during the lunch break?”

  “I suppose so. I wasn’t keeping track. And we were focused on Sammy and on the fact that Marcus seemed to be missing.”

  “Someone could still have slipped through the cracks.”

  “Have you eliminated anyone?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay, but if you were going to eliminate someone, I’m assuming it would be Aaron.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Dustin! He almost died.”

  “Almost.”

  She shook her head and groaned. “Seriously?”

  “If I were going to eliminate someone, I’d say Sydney and Drew.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like them.”

  “Now, there’s a good reason for you. I like everyone I work with—most of the time. And you have to realize it might not be someone involved with the Horse Farm. You could be wrong.”

  “I could be—but I’m not.”

  “You’re confident.”

  “Yes.”

  “Arrogant, really.”

  “No, let’s be kind. Go back to confident.”

  She began to pick up their dishes, and he rose to help. As she moved into the kitchen she asked, “Who, then? Mason? His greatest flaw is his self-regard—but he’s still a good therapist. Mariah loves history, is almost obsessed with it, but that doesn’t seem like much of a flaw. Sandra—well, okay, she can be bitchy. I had my head in the clouds about her and Aaron. I mean, I had no idea there was an affair going on. But if they’re in love, and I think they are, it sure doesn’t make sense that she’d try to hurt him, does it? Anyway, Aaron is really a doll. He’s always patient and never loses his temper. As you say, Sydney and Drew are great. They’re both low-key. Drew works with the boys from Parsonage House a lot, while Sydney is more of a loner. He’s the sweetest man on earth, but he does tend to like animals better than people. I don’t really hold that against him. And...you did suspect Aaron.”

  He stood behind her at the sink. His arms were almost around her as he set down their glasses. He had to step away. He’d barely heard what she’d said; he’d been breathing in the scent of her hair.

  He cleared his throat. “They all have clean backgrounds,” he said. He paused. “None of them have any charges against them, no criminal history or official complaints.”

  “Does any of that matter?”

  “I don’t know, but finding out everything we can about all of them is important.”

  The dishes were done; the kitchen was clean.

  “I’ve got to go outside with Sammy,” she said. “Usually I’d just let him out, but tonight...”

  “We’ll go with him.”

  They walked to the front and unlocked the door, waiting for Sammy, who came running. Olivia stood on the porch, with Dustin just behind her.

  “Sammy, stay in the front, please. Do what you need to do and come back in, okay?”

  The dog barked as if he understood her every word.

  Maybe he did.

  When they were back inside, Dustin watched her lock the door.

  “I wish we hadn’t missed the alarm company,” she said anxiously.

  “It’s okay. We have a dedicated watchdog—and I sleep with a big gun beside me.”

  She smiled at that, then yawned. “I...guess I’ll go on up. Like I said before, make yourself at home.”

  She turned quickly and ran up the stairs.

  Dustin double-checked the door. He walked through the house, checking all the windows but, of course, they remained bolted tight. The way the dog had behaved earlier disturbed him, though. He was pretty sure someone had been at the house—someone other than the mailman or the people from the alarm company.

  Satisfied that no locks had been compromised, he returned to the back porch and his computer and tried to focus on the hi
stories of the people involved. He needed to go deeper into their backgrounds, searching for motives, but he had a hard time concentrating. Restless, he stood and called the information line at the hospital; Aaron’s condition was described as “good.”

  Next, he called Frank Vine, who seemed grumpy when he answered. Okay, it was nighttime, and it had been a long day. Yes, Frank had been in touch with the officers on duty at the hospital and everything was fine; Sandra Cheever was sleeping in a chair next to Aaron. Frank grumbled a little more about the overtime it was going to cost him and hung up.

  He’d barely put his cell phone away when it rang. He could tell from his call display that it was Ellie, the young clerk at Willis House. “Hi, Agent Blake. I don’t mean to bother you, but we were just a bit worried. We knew you were off on the camping trip, but then we hadn’t heard from you.... It’s pretty quiet out here, so we tend to worry about other people’s business.”

  He smiled. “I’m fine, Ellie. But I won’t be back tonight. Don’t worry—and please don’t let my room go, okay?”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t do that, Agent Blake.”

  “And I intend to pay for every night, whether I’m in the room or not.”

  She giggled. “Not to worry. We’ve got your credit card number. The management definitely intends to make you pay. I was just checking that you’re all right. Because, of course, everyone knows what happened today!”

  “Everyone knows...what?”

  “You’re a hero! You saved Aaron Bentley’s life!”

  He winced. “No, Ellie, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m not a hero. The real heroes are the nurses and doctors and paramedics who save lives every day. I’ve taken a few classes in emergency procedures, that’s all. Pretty basic stuff. And it was more a matter of right time, right place.”

  “Yeah? Maybe I should take a class.”

  “Knowing first aid is always a good idea—for anyone.”

  “Yeah. Well, Coot says hello. He says he misses you and that you should go to the café for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Tell him I’ll try to make it.”

  He put his cell away and hesitated for a minute; instinct really did count for a lot in his field. His instincts told him it would be quiet tonight. Or maybe it was pure logic—if the killer didn’t want to be caught, he or she would lie low for a while.

  He walked to the stairs and paused there. “Marcus?” he said aloud. But he hadn’t sensed the presence of the ghost. And Marcus didn’t respond.

  It was quiet on the second floor. He went into the bedroom and placed his Glock within easy reach on the nearby table. He prepared for bed, then prowled the room anxiously before he settled down to sleep. He was glad Malachi was coming with more Krewe members tomorrow. His concentration was at a low point, maybe because he’d figured out he was a fool. Everything wasn’t forever; everything didn’t need to mean something. Adults encountered one another in life, enjoyed physical relationships, moved on....

  Yes. Hell, yes, it happened all the time. Didn’t make people enemies; didn’t naturally make them lasting friends or lovers, but...

  Sometimes the attraction was too strong, too much was expected, he told himself. And in those situations, getting involved was a mistake.

  Oh, bull. He’d been an idiot to turn her down.

  As he lay there, he heard her door open and close. She was going downstairs. He waited for a few minutes and leaped to his feet. There was nothing that suggested a break-in; he was certain he would have heard.

  He left the room and walked to the landing. Sammy was sleeping there. He raised his head, wagged his tail when he saw Dustin and went right back to sleep.

  Nothing could be wrong if the dog was so sedate and unconcerned, but still...

  Barefoot, he moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. As he rounded the staircase, he saw her in the kitchen, wearing a robe, something that clung to her body like silk, making a cup of tea.

  “Uh, hello,” he said, wishing he’d grabbed a robe himself rather than running down in his boxers.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said thickly. “I just heard you down here.”

  She stared at him. “Tea,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me, neither.”

  She let the tea bag fall into the cup and, grinning, walked up to him. If a man could emit sexual desire like sweat, he’d have been drenched. He didn’t move. He was afraid to—for several reasons. There was the way he felt. There was his lack of attire. She was so close he could breathe in her scent, and if he moved, he’d have to touch her.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said.

  “This?”

  “Us. Here. Not, um...not. You and me...not?”

  “I know,” he said.

  “You do?”

  “I agree.”

  “I mean, after all,” she told him seriously, “I’m quite prepared. I’m on birth control. It doesn’t make sense for two people to abstain when the desire is there. And, well, it’s the age of Fifty Shades of Grey—and...I want to have sex.”

  “Hmm. Just sex?”

  “Yes, just sex.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  “What kind of sex?” he asked, but he knew she saw the grin twisting his lips.

  He thought she was about to say normal sex. But she stopped herself and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her presence touching him without touching him, the heat of her excitement reaching out to him.

  “Mmm,” she said softly, eyes alight. “Let’s see. Hot, steamy, passionate, wet, sweaty sex? Energetic, explosive...sensual, vital, vibrant, amazing, incredible... The kind that makes you forget everything else in the world.”

  “Okay,” he said. Still, he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Then he asked, “Did you want that once—or twice? If you’d like it twice, I’ll do my very best to oblige.”

  “Something tells me you’re up for the job—and that you’ll be pretty good.”

  “Just pretty good?”

  “Possibly excellent. This is all still theory, you know?”

  “Theories need to be tested,” he said. “That’s the only way to prove them.” He didn’t know which one of them moved first. She eased up on her toes; he crushed her into his arms. He found her mouth and kissed her, trembling in his effort to control the force of everything he wanted. She returned the kiss and it was passionate...and hot, wet, steamy. His hands were on her and the robe seemed to slide from her skin in slow motion. She was naked beneath; maybe she’d been dreaming of him, of this, before she felt the urge for tea. Maybe she’d even hoped he’d come down.

  Maybe didn’t matter. They were together. Everything in the kitchen—pots, pans appliances—seemed to evaporate. He slid down the length of her body where they stood, his kisses covering her flesh, his fingers sweeping along it. Desire stoked energy, and each time his lips touched a new inch of her, it seemed as though something gripped him and shook him and wouldn’t let him go. He felt her hands on his shoulders, heard her sweet urgent whispers and sought her with ever greater intimacy. She trembled, crying out at last, as she slipped into his arms. Their mouths met in another kiss and he lifted her up, seating her on the counter. She was breathless and beautiful, lips parted softly, eyes intense with sensuality.

  He moved against her, thinking about his boxers, but somehow he’d lost them; he couldn’t recall when. Something on the counter crashed to the floor. Neither of them paid any heed. They just began to move, clinging to each other.

  He’d wanted her. He denied himself, and now...

  The excitement, the urgency, was almost unbearable. His muscles ached and trembled, and everything in him—muscle, flesh, blood—felt the building explosion.

  It was inevitable; the moment of climax came and seemed to roar through him with the shattering force of a windstorm. He’d tried to hold out...and yet he felt her fall against him, heard the lyrical tone of her cry as she held him tight, shaking, all but melded to him.


  And there they were, on the counter in her kitchen. Tremors continued to rack his body so that he almost feared he wouldn’t be able to stand.

  He smoothed back her damp hair, feeling awkward because, as he’d feared, somehow it wasn’t just sex, although it had been incredible sex.

  “I think we nailed the sweaty,” he told her, trying to lighten the mood.

  He felt her smile before she pulled away to look up at him. Her arms locked around his neck as she leaned her head back.

  “Pretty good on the passionate, too,” she said.

  “And vital, I think.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her smile deepened.

  “Did you want to give our theory a second go-round?”

  “There’s nothing like checking and rechecking the facts,” she agreed.

  “Always important,” he said.

  She slid off the counter and into his arms. He ducked down to retrieve his boxers and her robe. They ran up the stairs.

  Olivia stopped on the landing, and he nearly plowed into her. He looked over her shoulder.

  Sammy had raised his head again. Once more, he wagged his tail—and promptly went back to sleep.

  “Thank God!” he said. “I wonder where I’d be if the dog didn’t approve.”

  She laughed, caught his hand and led him into her darkened room. The moon was almost full and its opaque glow seemed to shine like a strange and magical blessing.

  He fell into bed beside her and felt her hands moving over him, felt the unrestrained passion of her kisses.

  “Wow,” he murmured.

  “Hmm.”

  “Are you ready to try this again?”

  “Hmm...”

  * * *

  “I know it’s a cliché, but...I think the earth moved,” she said solemnly. She rose up on her elbows. Her hair cascaded around her face. He marveled again at her stunning beauty, and he marveled that they were together.

  He lay with his hands laced behind his head. He smiled. “Really? The earth moved?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? They might’ve been digging in a nearby mine.”

  “Are there nearby mines anymore?” he asked her.

  “Oh. Maybe not. So the earth moved, and...”