by Nora Roberts
“It was like Dolan all over again. It was like Dolan.”
It was more than an hour later before Callie could manage a moment alone with Leo. “How much do you know?”
“They’re not saying much. They won’t issue cause of death until the autopsy. Once they finish taking statements, I think we should break camp here.”
“I’ve already asked Rosie to see that anyone who’s staying on goes back to the house for the night. We need someone to stay here, and Digger’s in no shape for it.”
“I’ll stay.”
“No, we should take shifts. Jake and I will stay till morning. You and Rosie are better at keeping the team calm. I don’t like the way Hewitt’s looking at Digger.”
“Neither do I, but the fact is he was here at two deaths.”
“There were a lot of people here for this one, and Digger was in the trailer. And as far as we know, Bill fell and drowned. It was an accident. Nobody had any cause to harm that kid.”
“I hope you’re right.” He took off his glasses, polished the lenses methodically on the tail of his shirt. “Rosie and I’ll gather up the team. We’ll be back in the morning.”
“To work?”
“Those who want to dig, will dig. We’re going to get media, Blondie. Can you handle it?”
“Yes. Go get some sleep, Leo. We’ll all do what we have to do.”
She went into the trailer as soon as she was able, tossed out the lousy coffee Jake had brewed, made a fresh pot. The scent of the fragrance Digger had used to clean mixed with the cinnamon scent of the candles he’d lit. Both hung in the air, little whiffs of simplicity and anticipation.
She could hear voices trailing off as people broke camp. And cars leaving. And she imagined most of the team who headed for the house would be up late into the night, going over and over what had happened.
She wanted quiet. Would have preferred to have had both quiet and solitude. But Leo would never have agreed to her staying on-site alone. Jake, she had to admit, was the only person whose company she could stand through this kind of night.
She poured the first cup of coffee, then hearing his footsteps approaching, poured a second.
“I tossed yours out,” she said. “It was bilge. This is fresh.” She turned, held out a cup.
“I’m not bunking outside just because you’re pissed off at me.”
“I don’t expect you to bunk outside, and I’m not pissed off at you. Particularly. I can’t pick up where we left off before the phone rang. I just can’t talk about that now.”
“Fine with me.”
She knew that tone, couldn’t count the times she’d bashed herself bloody against the cold wall of it. She wasn’t up for a battle, but she was never up for retreat.
“I didn’t like the way you were handling Digger. I know you were handling him, but I didn’t like your approach. And you’ll note, I got more out of him with a little comfort and sympathy than you would have with your macho bullshit.”
His head ached. His heart ached. “Why is it women automatically link macho with bullshit? Like they were a single word.”
“Because we’re astute.”
“You want me to say you’re right.” Weary, he dropped down on the thin cushions of the sofa. “You’re right. I didn’t have what you had to offer him. We’ll both agree comforting isn’t one of my finest skills.”
He looked exhausted, Callie noted. She’d seen him blitzed with fatigue from the work, but she wasn’t used to seeing him simply worn out from stress, from worry.
She had to rein in an impulse to put her arms around him, as she had with Digger. “You didn’t know about the comment he made before Bill walked off. I did.”
“Christ. He’ll never be able to put that completely aside. For the rest of his life he’s going to have that careless remark stuck somewhere in his head along with the picture of that kid floating.”
“You don’t think Bill fell into the water.”
Jake lifted his gaze from his cup, and his eyes were as careful and cool as his voice. “Everybody said he was drunk.”
“Why didn’t they hear the splash? He weighed what, a hundred and sixty? That much weight falls, it makes a splash. Clear, quiet night, you’d hear it. I could catch pieces of the conversations going on with the cops in the woods. Why didn’t he call out when he fell? Digger said he’d had two beers. So he’s a cheap drunk, fine, but a guy that size isn’t likely to pass out cold, cold enough so he doesn’t revive when he falls in water. Water’s cold, too. Slap you sober enough, quick enough to piss you off if you fell in.”
His expression didn’t change, face or voice. “Maybe he had more than beer. You know drugs slip into a dig now and then.”
“Digger would’ve known. He’d have said. That kind of thing doesn’t get by Digger. He’d confiscate any drugs and stash any joints so he could fire one up himself when he was in the mood.”
She walked to the sofa, sat on the other end. She knew what they were doing—playing both sides. She found it interesting they weren’t doing it at the top of their lungs. “Two men end up dead in the same little body of water outside the same town, on the same dig within weeks of each other. Anybody thinks that’s just a coincidence is nuts. Hewitt doesn’t strike me as nuts. I know for sure you’re not.”
“No, I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“And you’re not subscribing to the popular local theory that the site’s cursed.”
He smiled a little. “I kinda like that, but no. Someone killed Dolan for a reason. Someone killed McDowell for a reason. How are they connected?”
Callie picked up her coffee, tucked up her legs. “The dig.”
“That’s the obvious link. That’d be the connection most easily reached. Go a segment over and there’s you.”
He saw by her face she’d already gotten there, and he nodded. “Fan out from you and you’ve got the dig, the development, the percentage of locals who are a little miffed at having their paychecks cut. So you could theorize that someone was miffed enough to kill two people in order to scare the team off the dig, or put the authorities in the position of shutting us down.”
“But that’s not your theory.” She reached over, relit one of Digger’s candles.
“It’s a theory, but it’s not the one I’m favoring.”
“You’re favoring the one that fans out from me to the Cullens, Carlyle, all those names on the list, and a black-market ring that specializes in infants. But the connection to Dolan and Bill is very weak.”
“Remember this?” He opened his hands, turned them palms out, palms back, then flipped his wrist. He held a quarter between his fingers. Another flick and it was gone.
“You could pick up some extra pay playing at kids’ parties,” she commented.
“Misdirection. Trick your eye into looking over here . . .” He passed his right hand in front of her face. “And you miss what’s happening here.” And tugged her ear with his left, giving the illusion that the quarter had popped out of it.
“You think someone has murdered two people to misdirect me?”
“Hasn’t it worked, to a point? Aren’t you so distracted now that you’re not thinking about what you learned only hours ago about Barbara Halloway? Everybody on the team liked that kid. Even I liked him, couldn’t help myself. And I had some sympathy for the way he mooned after you. If somebody killed him, it was because he was handy. Because he was separated from the group just long enough.”
Casually, she nudged back one of Digger’s faded curtains, looked out the grimy window. “And they’re watching. Whoever they are. The way they were watching us at the house that night. Cold. They’d have to be cold. And if I don’t let myself be misdirected, if I keep pushing, is someone else going to die?”
“Blaming yourself is just another way of being misdirected.”
“I brushed him off, Jake.” With a sharp tug, she pulled the curtain over the smeared glass again. “When we were clearing up, he came over, said we’re g
oing to hang out later, camp for the night. I wasn’t even listening to him. Yeah, sure, maybe, whatever. Swatted him off like a gnat.”
She shook her head before he could speak. “And everything you’re saying is what I’m thinking. What I feel in my gut. And if that’s right, it means he’s dead because someone wants to stop me. He’s dead, and I couldn’t bother to give him a minute of my time today.”
“Come on, come here.” He pulled her closer. “Stretch out,” he ordered, and nudged her down until her head rested in his lap. “You should try to get some rest.”
She was silent for a moment, listening to the night sounds, absorbing the quiet sensation of having his hand stroke over her hair.
Had he touched her that way before? Had she ever paid attention?
“Jake?”
“Yeah.”
“I had plans for tonight.”
“Did you?”
She shifted so she could look up at him. From this angle she could see the way the scar on his chin edged just a fraction under his jawline. She’d like to trace her finger there, or her lips. To acknowledge that tiny imperfection.
“I’d planned to let you talk me into bed. Or to talk you into bed. Whichever seemed more fun at the time.”
He ran a fingertip along the curve of her cheek. Yes, she thought. Yes, he had touched her that way before. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to those small gestures? Why hadn’t she realized how much they meant to her?
Did she need words so much that she’d ignored the quieter, simpler signs of affection?
“Too bad that didn’t work out,” he answered.
“It still could.”
His fingertip took a little jump, as if he’d touched something hot, unexpectedly, then it lifted away from her. “Not a good idea, for either of us. Why don’t you catch some sleep? We’ve got a lot to deal with tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I don’t want to think about today or next week or yesterday. I just want now.”
“We had plenty of nows, didn’t we? Sex is a very common, very human response to death.” He played with her hair, hoping he could talk her to sleep. “It’s proof of life.”
“We are alive. I don’t want to be alone.” She wasn’t speaking just of tonight, but of all the nights without him. “I thought I did, but I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not alone.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “Close your eyes.”
Instead she rose, sliding up, body to body, until her arms were chained around his neck. “Be with me.” She covered his mouth with hers, poured herself in. “Please, be with me.”
She was trembling, he realized. Part fear, part need, part exhaustion. He gathered her closer, pressed his face to the curve of her neck. “Tell me you need me. Just once.”
“I do need you. Touch me. You’re the only one who ever really could.”
“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.” He skimmed his lips along her jaw as he lowered her to the narrow couch. “For either of us. But maybe it’s just the way it’s meant. Don’t think.” He kissed her temples, her cheeks. “Just feel.”
“I can’t stop shaking.”
“It’s all right.” He unbuttoned her shirt, bending over to brush kisses on her throat, her shoulders. But when she reached for him, he eased back, pressed her hands down again.
“No. Wait. Close your eyes. Just close your eyes. I’ll touch you.”
She let her lashes lower. Even that was a relief. The soft dark soothed the headache she hadn’t been aware was thudding. The air was cool against her skin when he slipped the shirt away. His fingers were warm as they trailed over her. Warm, with that rough scrape of callus. Her belly quivered as they stroked down and flipped the button on her ancient trousers.
His lips pressed lightly, just above her waist, and made her moan.
“Lift your hips,” he told her, and drew the worn cotton down her legs.
He tugged off her boots, her socks. Then began to rub her feet.
Now she groaned.
“There was a time when I could barter a foot rub for any sort of exotic sexual favor.”
She opened one eye, saw him grinning at her. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll let you know.” He pressed the heel of his hand to her arch, watched her lashes flutter. “Still works, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. I still figure the first true orgasm started with the feet.”
“I like your feet. They’re small, almost delicate.” He ran his teeth along the side, grinned again when her body jerked. “And very sensitive. Then there’s your legs.”
He let his mouth roam over her ankle, up her calf. “Just can’t say enough about your legs.”
Then suddenly, he pressed his face to her belly. “Christ, Callie, you smell the same. I’d wake up smelling you when you were a thousand miles away. Wake up wanting you,” he murmured and captured her mouth with his.
Every day, every night, he thought as that scent surrounded him. Haunting him and taunting him until he’d wished with every fiber of his being he could hate her for it.
Now she was here, her arms tight around him, her mouth eager under his. And it made him weak.
Love for her blew through him and left him helpless.
His hand came up to cup her face. His lips softened, gentled on hers.
The change in tone had her eyes opening again. “Jake.”
“Ssh.” He laid a kiss of utter tenderness in the hollow of her throat. “Don’t think,” he repeated. “Just feel.”
When his mouth came back to hers in a kiss of lingering sweetness, she went pliant under him.
A surrender, he realized. Both of them surrendering in a way they never had before. Her heart was thudding thickly under his lips, and her breath was slow and ragged. And still the tenderness for her drifted over desire like a mist.
The air was so heavy, she thought. So heavy, so warm. So soft. It was gliding over her, and she over it to a world where there was only pleasure.
He’d taken her there.
She sighed his name as his lips, his tongue, his hands slid over her, as they soothed and aroused, calmed and awakened. When his lips found hers again, when they lingered as if there were nothing more vital in the world than that single kiss, her heart simply melted.
The feel of him under her hands, that long, lean torso when he stripped his shirt away. The narrow hips and hard muscles. His body excited her, and knowing it was hers, hers for the taking brought her unbearable pleasure.
She shuddered with it, nipped her teeth into his shoulder when the pressure built. “Jake.”
“Not fast this time.” He stroked down her, over her, tormenting them both. “Fast is too easy.”
Time, nothing but time. The scent of her, the quiver of her body, the heat that was beginning to pump out of her skin. He wanted all of that, and so much more.
Having her now erased every lonely hour without her.
He pressed his lips to her throat, her shoulder, her mouth, let the need for her rage through him. As he nudged her over the first peak, her strangled cry beat in his blood.
Now they watched each other as he slid inside her, watched as they began to move together. He saw her eyes blur, both pleasure and tears as he gripped her hands with his.
“Stay with me.” He crushed his mouth to hers. “Stay with me.”
He stripped her heart bare. She wondered he didn’t feel it quivering in his hand. She wondered he couldn’t see it on her face as the tears welled in her eyes.
So she closed them, kept her hands in his, stayed with him. Stayed with him. And was with him still when they shattered.
She slept, deeply for an hour, then fitfully as dreams began to chase her. In the woods, in the dark, in the cold water. It closed over her head, and hands tugged her in opposite directions.
She couldn’t pull free of them, couldn’t kick her way free to the surface. Couldn’t breathe.
As she struggled, the water
shifted, changed, weighed down and became a grave.
She woke with a start, strangling for breath. The trailer was dark, chilly. There was a thin cover tangled around her legs, and she was alone.
Panicked, she leaped up, ramming a hip against the table, stumbling for the door. Her throat was closed, forcing her to gasp and gulp for air as she had in the dream. She clutched at her chest as if she could tear out the pressure that weighed there.
She fought with the door, her breath wheezing as her fingers slid damply off the latch. A scream was ripping through her chest, into her throat. She all but fell out of the door when she finally shoved it open.
And collapsed to her knees in the dim chill of dawn.
At the sound of rushing footsteps, she tried to push herself up. But the muscles in her arms had gone to lead.
“Hey, what happened?” Jake dropped to the ground beside her, lifted her head.
“Can’t breathe,” she managed. “Can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.” Her pupils were dilated, her face dead white and clammy. He put a hand on the back of her head and shoved it between her knees. “Slow, easy, deep. You breathe.”
“Can’t.”
“Yes, you can. One breath. Inhale. One breath. Now another one. Let it out.” He felt the tightness in his belly begin to ease when she started to draw in air. “Keep going.”
“I’m okay.”
He simply held her head down. “More. In and out. I want you to lift your head up, slowly. Nausea?”
“No. I’m okay. I just . . . woke up, and I was disoriented for a minute.”
“Like hell. You had yourself a full-blown panic attack.”
She was far from steady, but just steady enough to feel the prick of embarrassment. “I don’t have panic attacks.”
“You do now. Unless you come flying out of trailers naked for fun.”
“I—” She glanced down, saw she’d run out without a stitch on. “Jesus Christ.”
“It’s okay. I like seeing you naked. You’ve got an amazing body, even when it’s clammy with panic sweat. Up you go. You need to lie down a minute.”