Winterfall

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Winterfall Page 11

by Denise A. Agnew


  “Right.”

  Another silence started. “I should probably get to work or my clients will start calling wanting to know what’s going on.”

  “Of course.” He stood and placed his plate and glass in the dishwasher. “I’ll let you go so you can work and rest. You know where to find me.”

  She followed him to the door, but when they arrived she touched his arm. Hard muscles moved under her fingers, and a shiver of pure female awareness made her nipples tighten. Oh. Just touching him affected her on levels she’d never experienced before. Today had been tough, and what she wanted…

  “Mark.” She heard the huskiness in her voice. “Thank you for…” How did she say it? “For throwing your support behind me. You’ve gone above and beyond.”

  Mark’s gaze took her in, and she fell into those dark eyes. Heat filled her as Mark looked down on her with a sexual awareness that supercharged the air between them.

  “You’re welcome, Juliet.”

  His hand slid slowly up to her shoulder. Her skin tingled as his strong touch glided until his fingers slid into her hair. Gently he cupped the back of her neck, and she sank into his tender grip, wanting it so much the feeling staggered her. He leaned in, and she didn’t resist. Oh, yeah. When his head dipped and his mouth slid warm and soft over hers, she tingled from head to toe. Warmth surrounded her as she reached for him. She burned, suddenly and brightly with a desire she couldn’t deny. Yet he teased her with a light touch, his mouth coaxing. She knew if she wanted more, she had to let him know. Juliet arched and she slid her arms around his neck. With a low groan he drew her against him. Her lips clung to his, and when he stroked his tongue into her mouth, hot arousal went straight to her core and set it on fire. She met each thrust of his tongue, dying to know more, to experience everything he had to give. His palms slid down to her hips, and when the thick bar of his arousal pressed into her stomach, it made her need stronger. She writhed in his hold, the sinuous movement uncontrolled and uninhibited. She was alive, wanting it all.

  When he drew back slightly, he said, “I’d better go.”

  “Or?”

  He drew her into a hug and whispered into her ear. “Or I’ll be deep inside you. I don’t think either of us is ready for that.”

  A quiver raced along her skin as the image of such a scenario made her desire claw forth and beg. But so did reality, and it came crashing down.

  She drew away and out of his arms. Although her body pulsed and wanted, she smiled. “You’re a tease, O’Day.”

  He laughed. “It’s always better to wait.” He unlocked the apartment door and stood with his hand on the doorknob. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said softly, when she wanted desperately to say now.

  Wait? Did that mean he still saw sex in their future?

  When the door closed behind him, and Juliet relocked it, she wanted to groan. She balled her fist and laid it against the door, half tempted to pound on it in frustration. She leaned her forehead against the door, and the cool wood eased the flush in her face. Good thing Mark had his head on straight, because she certainly didn’t. If he hadn’t pulled away, would they have gone the distance? Of course she could have said no, and he would have stopped. But right now, right this crazy second, she would have gone there, gladly, openly taken him into her body.

  It’s always better to wait.

  * * * *

  Mark groaned as the ringing went on and on. At first he thought the obnoxious noise came from his cell phone. His eyes flew open and he rolled to his left side, blinking in the dim light. He flipped on the bedside light and his cell phone was dark.

  “Damn it.” He snatched the cordless phone off the base. “Yeah?”

  “Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” Juliet’s voice spilled over him like delicious wine on his tongue.

  He was immediately lucid. He glanced at the bedside clock. Eight in the morning. “Yeah, but it’s eight o’clock. I never sleep this long.” He scrubbed his face. “Stayed up too late.”

  He wasn’t about to tell her that sex-laden dreams had awakened him more than once last night. Not any garden variety sex dream, but cock-exploding dreams featuring him buried deep inside Juliet. Fuck if his Johnson wasn’t hard now just talking to her. His thoughts reeled. After he’d left her last evening he’d doubted his sanity. When he’d kissed her, their embrace had gone from zero to sixty. Potent and drugging, her touch had lured him straight toward heaven.

  “Something wrong?” he asked on instinct.

  “Yes…well, not really.” Her voice had a broken quality.

  Caution and concern tensed his shoulders. “Okay.”

  She sighed. “Detective Morrison called. He said they found my father. He’s…uh…he’s in the hospital. In a coma.”

  “What?”

  “He was at a homeless shelter in Buckleport. He came in two days ago and stayed, then he collapsed. They don’t know what’s wrong with him. I think it’s pissing off Morrison that he can’t ask him questions.”

  “I’ll bet. Do you want to see your dad?”

  “I don’t know. Morrison wants me to.”

  “He’s hoping your father will wake up while you’re there so he can see what happens.”

  “Bingo.”

  Mark closed his eyes and lay back on the bed. “I’ll get a shower and come over. We can talk about it.”

  “I’ll be here with coffee on and breakfast ready.”

  He rushed through a shower in record time. When he arrived at her door, he knocked. She allowed him inside, the scent of eggs and toast immediately grabbing his stomach’s attention. Her appearance worried him. Not that she looked any less beautiful than before, but dark rings under her eyes drew his immediate worry. He closed the door and reached for her.

  “Hey.” He cupped her face. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  She clasped his wrists and held him there. “About three hours.”

  He kissed her forehead and released her. She blushed, and he liked the fact his show of affection could affect her. “Then I guess we’d better get you to the hospital to see your Dad.”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “The detective is expecting you at a certain time, right?”

  “Ten.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Then we’d better get cracking.”

  They shoveled in breakfast—she acted as if she hadn’t eaten in days, and he felt as ravenous. In between bites, they discussed the merits of seeing her father.

  “They say coma patients can hear people.” Disdain colored her voice.

  “You don’t believe they can?”

  “I think they can. Doesn’t mean I would know what to say to him.”

  Her cell phone rang and she picked up and answered. “Hey Jeeter.”

  Jeeter. Mark didn’t want jealousy to rear its deformed head again, but the more time he spent with her, the more he felt possessive as hell. He didn’t like the feeling, and he had no right to it. He didn’t have some creepy notion, like some men he’d known, that he owned a woman. He wasn’t some throwback, but the need inside him to tell Jeeter to fuck off disturbed Mark on a deep level. Control, Bub. You’re known for it, so stick to it. He hadn’t confessed to her last night that even though people always seemed to swarm to him for advice, he didn’t always want to be asked. Leadership, though ingrained by the military, didn’t come naturally to him. He’d gone into leading other men kicking and screaming. He’d honed himself into a well-controlled machine capable of smiling at someone, telling them to fuck off, and having them thank him for it. He could pretty up the truth, but he found it exhausting.

  His mind snapped back to her conversation with Jeeter—he’d missed more than half of it.

  “Yeah, we’re going to the hospital,” she said, still on the phone. “Right now.” She smiled. “Thanks Jeeter.”

  She hung up and set her phone on the counter.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “The wh
ole station knows my father’s in the hospital. Jeeter says Okono blabbed it.”

  “How does Okono know?”

  “He’s got a cousin in the police department.”

  “Great.” He made a sound of derision. “Really professional of his cousin to leak it.”

  “Really professional of Okono.”

  He shrugged, and reached for her hand, which still rested on the phone. “It’s okay. You know I’ve got your back, right? I’ll be with you at the hospital.”

  She smiled, and he wanted to stuff his hands in her crazy hair and kiss her until they both burned up in the flames. He wanted to reassure her nothing bad would happen in her world with him by her side. But that wasn’t a realistic possibility. Bad things could and did happen. Didn’t matter, though. He would do his damnedest to stand between her and danger.

  “You’re something else, O’Day.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “Mark.”

  “Mark.”

  “Let’s go to the hospital.”

  “Rip off the bandage?”

  “As fast as possible.”

  * * * *

  Mark kept his hand at the center of Juliet’s back as they walked into the hospital. It had taken a long time to get across town, with traffic jams and obnoxious drivers. Mark wasn’t a fan of hospitals—too many bad vibes, and with Buckleport General taking on more patients than they could handle, the chaos inside ranked right up there with “fucked up” most of the time. He didn’t blame the staff, because from everything he could see, most of them busted their asses. When he’d been in Buckleport General as a patient after that RPG almost took out the SUV he was riding in, he’d discovered how insane an emergency room could become during a major ongoing crisis. Though things had calmed considerably in the last few weeks, the busy, chaotic scene still made him twitch. Juliet appeared uncomfortable, and short of suggesting they return to Sentry Security, he couldn’t change that. After checking in at the front desk, a nurse led them to her father in the ICU. The detective sat in a chair next to her father, which surprised the hell out of Mark.

  Juliet looked surprised, too. “Detective. I thought you’d be out in the lobby or something.”

  The detective smiled. “Strange, I know. I’ve noticed the hospital has lax standards these days.”

  Meaning, Mark imagined, that the detective had snuck into ICU.

  Mark ignored the detective as Juliet stood at the foot of the bed looking at her father. Mark expected a different-looking man, though he didn’t know why. Mr. Van Pelt was hooked up to this machine and that, beeps sounding in the right rhythm. His body looked too thin, his cheekbones and chin sharp, eye sockets sunken. His skin had a gray pallor. No way to misinterpret it. The arsonist didn’t look as if he’d last much longer. Juliet stayed rigid, her hands clutching the railing near the bottom of the bed. Detective Morrison stayed in the chair as if he had every right. Mark wanted to take the detective outside and reeducate the man on manners and respect, but Mark didn’t want the grief. The detective would probably try to have Mark arrested.

  “Juliet?” Mark touched her shoulder in a show of support. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  Her gaze stayed on the man in the bed. “I’m here now. Time to rip off the band aid.”

  “What?” the detective asked.

  She ignored Morrison and moved closer to the head of the bed. “Dad?” Her question came out as a whisper. “Can you hear me? It’s Juliet and I’m here now.”

  The detective stood across from her, peering down at his suspect. Mark didn’t budge.

  Juliet touched her father’s left hand, covering it with her own. “Dad? Can you hear me?” She waited but didn’t get a flicker of an eyelash. “This is my friend Mark O’Day. The other man is Detective Morrison. The detective is trying to figure out who’s been setting the fires in Buckleport. Please, Dad. I need you to wake up. I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s important you try. For your health. And because we have some questions. Do you know who sent me the letters? Did you send me the letters?”

  Not a twitch of an eyelid.

  Mark hoped the fuck her father hadn’t sent the letters. If her father thought that way about her it would be a sick situation all the way around.

  “Dad?” Her voice had gone hoarse, but at this angle Mark couldn’t see her expression. She leaned closer to her father. “No one has died yet, but things could get worse. If you know anything—”

  Van Pelt’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped. Juliet jerked in reaction and drew her hands back. Van Pelt looked around, confusion in his eyes at first. Before anyone could make a sound, the skinny man grabbed her hands in both of his.

  “My fault,” Van Pelt said, his voice hoarse and eyes frantic. “I did it. It’s all my fault! I caused this. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

  Stark panic struck her face. “Dad what—”

  “What do you mean, Van Pelt?” The detective launched into questions. “Did you start the fires in Buckleport? Did you send the letters to your daughter?”

  As the old man’s eyes closed, he dropped Juliet’s hands.

  “Damn it.” The Detective leaned closer to the bed. “Van Pelt. Van Pelt?”

  A nurse rushed up to the bed. “Time to leave. You’ll be able to visit him later.”

  “This man is a suspect in a crime,” the detective said.

  The nurse tossed an exasperated expression at the police officer. “Doesn’t matter. He’s seriously ill. He needs to be examined by a doctor.” The nurse took vitals, and she smiled. “He’s stable so far as I can tell.”

  Juliet’s expression eased. Maybe she did love her father in the most basic way.

  The nurse shooed them. “You need to leave for now.”

  Mark moved to Juliet’s side and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on.”

  Once outside in the lobby, the detective stepped in front of Juliet and Mark. “We need to talk. That was a confession.”

  “It sounded like it.” Juliet’s voice was dull and her eyes equally void of emotion. She shivered. “I can’t believe he’d send me those letters, though. It’s just…I don’t know.”

  “You don’t sound relieved,” the detective said.

  “How can I feel relieved?”

  “With his confession you’re off the hook,” the detective said. “Plus I have other news.”

  “Other news?” Juliet asked.

  The detective pursed his lips a second. “Your father’s fingerprints are all over the envelopes of the letters you received.”

  Juliet’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “Look,” Morrison said. “I understand the letters are…”

  Mark filled in. “Creepy as shit.”

  The detective didn’t flinch at Mark’s blunt assessment. “Unfortunately, yes. Anyway, now that he’s confessed and we have his fingerprints on the envelopes, it’s a slam dunk.”

  She shivered, her whole body moving as she rubbed her hands together. Today she wore a light blue long-sleeved shirt and jeans, the weather warm enough to go without a coat. He wanted to take her somewhere secluded and keep her warm and safe. Damn. You’ve got it bad, sport. He’d never wanted to coddle a woman before, never felt this overwhelming desire to protect before. With everything pointing towards her father’s guilt, God only knew what was going on in her mind, what kind of turmoil she faced.

  She slipped out from under Mark’s arm. “I need some air.”

  “There’s a place out back some of the employees use,” the detective said. “A garden.”

  Before Mark could speak, she waved one hand in dismissal. “I’ll go there.” She looked up at Mark. “Give me a few minutes.”

  He didn’t know what she had in mind, but he respected her need for time alone. “Of course. I’ll see you there shortly.”

  She left, her gaze on the floor but her stride determined.

  Detective Morrison made some notes in his ever-present notebook. “She doesn’t s
eem too happy for a woman who’s off the hook. Unless she’s been planning arsons with her father.”

  Mark planted his hands at his waist. “That’s bullshit. She’s not an arsonist.”

  Detective Morrison’s eyes held continued skepticism. “How long have you known her?”

  “Not long.”

  “Then how can you be sure?”

  Mark put his hand to his chest for a moment. “I feel it right here. I trust my gut. It’s pretty damned accurate.”

  “Okay, if you’re so accurate, what about her father?” Sarcasm dripped off Morrison’s voice. “Did you get any vibes off him?”

  “No.”

  The detective snorted, as if that proved Mark didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Mark didn’t care.

  “By the way, the fire marshal finished investigating her neighborhood. She can go home whenever she wants,” Morrison said.

  Mark felt something ease inside him. At least she’d find comfort in her own home. “Good. I’ve got a few questions, though.”

  Morrison looked wary. “Like what?”

  “So her father’s been homeless since he got out of prison?”

  “Apparently. We don’t think he was in Buckleport the whole time. Something triggered him to start the fires in Buckleport, but who knows what sort of twisted shit the bastard believed in. He’s just damned lucky he didn’t kill anyone. This will put him away for life if I have anything to say about it.”

  Mark hoped Van Pelt would go away for life, if only to keep Juliet safe. “You’ve taken Juliet off your radar, I hope.”

  Morrison’s eyes stayed like silver dollars, lifeless and cold. “I can’t discuss more details of the case.”

  Shit.

  Detective Morrison’s eyes were flinty and unforgiving. “Well, that’s enough for today. Give Miss Van Pelt my regards.”

  “Right.” Mark just wanted the man out of his sight.

  Morrison left, and Mark took an elevator downstairs and toward the back of the hospital in search of Juliet. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.

  Chapter 9

  Juliet sat on a small concrete bench in the little back garden outside the hospital. A small fountain sent soothing sounds into the air, a sweet trickle and tinkle that relaxed her. She filled her senses with fragrant flowers and greenery nearby. Her mind spun with the implications of what her father had confessed. When the door opened behind her, she turned and spied Mark walking toward her. His face was hard and drawn in grim lines, as if he’d been given bad news. God, she hoped there wasn’t more. There couldn’t be more. Everything that had happened in her father’s room weighed heavy on her heart.

 

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