A bittersweet nostalgia gripped Brad as they completed separate registration cards.
The man handed them each a key. “I’ll send my wife over to check out the rooms. Should be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“So much for relaxing,” Gillian muttered.
“Why don’t we take a walk until the rooms are ready?” Brad suggested. “It’s a tolerable evening.”
She smiled. “Tolerable? I guess that still says it all.”
Away from the distraction of big-city lights, the stars seemed nearly within reaching distance. The silvered moonlight scuttled over tall East Texas pines and dewy grass.
“It’s quiet,” Gillian commented. “At home I don’t mind the traffic and city noise, but…”
Brad remembered their dream to move to the outskirts of the city, to design a home to take advantage of the peaceful setting. “Yeah. I know.”
The silence lingered between them, but whatever was left unsaid was understood by both of them.
The sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel was louder than the hum of moths and busy mosquitoes as they dove toward the lights lining the motel’s porch.
“The smell of honeysuckle is really strong,” Gillian said finally.
Brad knew she was trying to break the strain, but he didn’t feel like small talk, preferring to walk, instead. “Yeah.”
However, Main Street wasn’t very long.
“We’re about to run out of pavement,” Gillian remarked, turning beneath the single street lamp.
The light shone on her in such a way that Brad caught his breath. What was it about this woman that moved him as no one else ever had? He wished he could simply give in to what she wanted so that he could make her his again.
Instead he offered the best smile he could muster. “Can I buy you a Coke?”
She glanced around the deserted looking street, but her lips edged upward. “Where?”
He pointed to a small machine in front of an ancient gas station.
“You big spender,” she teased.
In unison, they approached the vintage vending machine and Brad dug into his pocket for coins.
“The Cokes are in little bottles!” she squealed.
“And you think I don’t know how to impress the ladies,” he replied mildly, putting his change in the slot.
The quarters clunked their way down the passage and the bottles plopped into the chute with a pleasing sound.
“This is amazing,” Gillian continued. “It’s like a town out of time.”
He smiled at her whimsy. He had always liked the fact that she could shed her professional demeanor and have fun.
She glanced up at him. “What?”
Brad shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked up at the full, dark sky. “Just thinking what a pretty night it is.”
“These little towns seem too peaceful to contain the crime we’re encountering.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
She toed the tip of her shoe into the loose gravel. “Uh-huh.”
It wasn’t to be a night of more revelations, Brad realized. Gillian was drawing in—her form of self-protection. He decided not to push her. “Maybe this town is just as it appears. And maybe it was too small for a seventeen year old. This girl could have run away. She might be safe somewhere.”
“We’ll deal with it, no matter what it turns out to be.”
Brad reminded himself that his former wife was no wilting flower needing to be propped up. Funny, he’d never realized that fact with such clarity.
They walked back down the street, aware of the increasing breeze, the scents of summer flowers and newly mowed grass, aware of what they weren’t speaking about. The minutes passed and without speaking they returned to the motel to find the rooms were ready.
Gillian’s room was at the end of the main sidewalk; Brad’s next door, but around the corner. The wind was picking up quickly, nearly snatching the files from Brad’s hands.
Stepping inside, Gillian kept her fingers crossed, hoping that the place was clean. And was gratified to catch a whiff of lemon oil and disinfectant. Although tidy, the rooms were small, not surprising considering the era of the motel. That meant a solitary hard wooden chair, end table and a bed that looked no wider than a matchbook. She reached for the knob on one of the two doors, expecting to find a closet. But the door was locked.
“It’s a connecting door.” Brad’s muffled voice traveled through the wall. “I’ve unlocked my side if you need anything.”
No. That wasn’t going to happen. “Thank you.”
Picking up the small bag she always carried when she was going out of town on a case, Gillian slipped into the bathroom. Once in the shower, she stood under the stream of strong, hot water, glad to wash away the remainder of the day.
Out of the shower and beginning to towel off, she heard the deepening howl of the wind, realizing a storm must be approaching. Glad to be securely inside, she donned shortie pajamas, then smoothed lotion over her hands and legs.
Although it wasn’t late, she was tired. And the small bed was suddenly very appealing. Ingrained habit kicked in and she placed her gun on the bedside table.
Stretching out, she closed her eyes, wondering if her unresolved thoughts would allow her to sleep. Physical exhaustion overcame emotional distress, and she fell asleep within minutes.
Brad held the hand of a little girl. Gillian held the child’s other hand as they lifted her to skip over a curb. Brad laughed as the child—their child—giggled with delight. Gillian saw her own joy as well. They were the perfect family—husband, wife and child.
As she watched, a dark, shadowed man approached, threatening them all. Gillian tried to fight back but was helpless. Brad shielded her, along with the child. But she should have been able to help.
In her sleep, Gillian vainly struggled. Eventually spent, she gave in to deeper sleep where the dream didn’t torment her.
Hours passed as her mind restored itself.
And then the noise of glass shattering filled the room.
Jerking upward, Gillian couldn’t tell at first if the noise was real or an extension of her earlier dream.
Wind and rain gusted toward her, slapping her unprotected face and arms. At the same time, Gillian heard pounding on the connecting door.
Shaking off the temporary paralysis of surprise, she ran to the connecting door, unlocking it.
Brad pushed past her, his gun in hand as he quickly surveyed the room. Seeing the broken window, he flung open the door and darted outside to look around the parking lot.
Gillian grabbed her gun and followed.
Brad turned back before she reached him, shutting the door against the fierce weather. “I can’t see anyone.” Still he turned the lock.
“So it’s just the storm?”
“As far as I can tell.” He glanced at the ruined window. “We can call the manager from my room.”
He didn’t have to coax her. The storm had turned the night unseasonably cold. And a different sort of shiver reminded her that it wasn’t only the weather that chilled her.
Once in his room, Brad pulled his jacket from the chair, draping it over her shoulders.
“Thanks.” She glanced at him, clad only in jeans. “You must be freezing.”
“I’m okay.” He reached for the phone, listening for a few moments, then replaced the receiver. “Phone’s out. I’ll go to the office, tell the manager about the window.”
She started to pull the jacket from her shoulders.
“Keep it.” He donned his shirt, buttoning it as he crossed to the connecting door and locked it. “I’ll use my key when I come back.”
The room seemed unbelievably empty once he was gone. Walking over to the window, she watched as he ducked into the office. He wasn’t there long before he emerged, holding two foam cups.
She pulled back from the window, grabbing towels from the bathroom. The key turned in the lock.
Although Brad was drenched,
he held out one of the cups. “Coffee?”
She accepted it, handing him the towels. “Thanks.”
He put down his own cup, then pulled off his soggy shirt, toweling his hair and upper body. “Manager says he’ll nail some boards over the window, but he isn’t sure it will keep out all the rain.”
“Oh.”
“In case it wasn’t the weather, it would be a good idea to stay together.”
Gillian didn’t relish the thought of returning to her waterlogged room. Especially alone.
Brad reached for his coffee. “Doesn’t taste half bad.”
She dragged her gaze from his body. “That’s high praise for you.”
He met her eyes and she knew he didn’t want to discuss the merits of the coffee.
Unwilling to discuss anything else, she took refuge in a swallow of coffee. Not expecting it to be so hot, she choked on the scalding liquid.
He was next to her in a flash. “Jeez, Gillian, you know you can’t drink stuff as hot as I like.” He took the cup from her and then held her arm high in the air to open her air passages.
Still sputtering, she pushed her hair from her eyes. “You’re right.”
A touch of exasperated humor touched his eyes. “At least about something.”
She smiled tentatively, hoping they could broker some sort of truce. “About a lot of things.” To hide her nervousness about that admission, she reached for the files the sheriff’s office had supplied.
“You’re going to work now?”
Gillian knew she had to distract herself. “I know it’s late, but I’m too wired to sleep. I’ll be quiet.”
He sighed. “That’s not a concern. I won’t sleep.” Brad retreated into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water for her.
The cool water eased her scalding mouth. “Thanks.”
He pointed to the file she held. “So, what’s ticking in your head?”
She opened a folder. “I’m wondering why no more effort was put into finding the vic.”
“Deputy said they thought she was a runaway,” he reminded her.
“I know, but still…” Gillian drew her eyebrows together. “This is such a small town. You’d think everyone would pull together to find a missing teenager. Unless there’s something more…”
“Deep, dark secrets?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s sinister. But I have a feeling—nothing I can put into words. But it seems like something’s missing here.”
Brad picked up a stack of papers, forcing himself to study the words instead of Gillian. Some of them actually penetrated. “Looks like the stepfather didn’t seem very concerned.”
“I noticed that. And the mother’s account is noticeably brief.”
“Maybe he does the talking for both of them.” Brad scanned the second page. “Do you want to start with them in the morning?”
“Yes. And if we catch a break maybe we can talk to the mother alone.” Her voice softened. “I can’t imagine a mother not caring what happens to her child. It seems so unnatural.”
Why was it every conversation they had seemed to come back to the sore point between them?
Gillian sifted through the remaining pages. “And why didn’t they interview her friends? At that age, they’re bound to know more than the parents.” She glanced up at him. “Don’t you think?”
“Actually, I’m not sure I have enough perspective to answer that. Amanda disappeared while I was in high school. My parents were so afraid something would happen to me that they didn’t give me as much freedom as my friends. So I didn’t get to hang out with the other kids that much.”
Gillian’s eyes clouded. “That’s a heavy burden for a teenager. Indeed, for all of you.”
Brad knew what she was leaving unsaid. That he hadn’t recovered from that time. But he had moved on as much as he could. He wasn’t sure there wasn’t any chance of his healing more. Surely if there was he would have by now.
Gillian passed a hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry. I keep picking away at you. I don’t mean to. I really only want you to be happy.”
It was the second time in about as many hours that she’d expressed the same feeling. This time he didn’t feel like questioning her sincerity. “Maybe happy endings aren’t in the cards for everyone.”
She met his gaze, her eyes liquid with regret and pain. Her voice was raw with both. “I guess not.”
He felt the words bubbling inside him that needed to be spoken, that should have been spoken long before now. “I’m sorry about that, Gilly.”
Her lips trembled. “Yeah. Me, too.”
He wasn’t completely sure who took the first step. But suddenly his arms were around her, her shuddering body filling his hands, her bereft expression filling his heart.
Gillian breathed in the wonderful smell of him, savoring the feel of his lean, muscled body against hers. Closing her eyes against the waves of sensation and memories that crashed over her, she wanted nothing more than to continue melting in his arms.
His mouth found hers. Hot, impatient, greedy. Knowing she should pull back but unable to, Gillian reveled in the perfect fit of their lips, an alignment of body and heart.
Heart! Nagging shreds of reason thrust past her rebellion. Her heart couldn’t take the pain of losing Brad again, of knowing that no matter how much they loved each other, they weren’t destined to be together.
Despite the shiver that went through her, she let herself feast on him, desire chipping away at her resolve. And Gillian wondered if that, too, had impossibly taken flight.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRAD’S LARGE HAND CUPPED her breast, and Gillian felt the remainder of her breath whoosh out. How she’d missed his touch, dreamed of it, longed for it.
Heat was instant, going from zero to raging in the span of a single second.
She felt the trembling, the quaking, the singular joy that struck body and soul when she was with him. Her fingers pushed into his thick hair, grasping for a steady hold in the suddenly rocking world. His muscles were as tight as she remembered, his skin supple over that strength. She’d always loved that dichotomy, the pure maleness of him.
Panting, she pulled away, trying to hide how much she wanted him.
“Gillian,” he murmured, his voice gruff.
“This is…” She tried to stem her fugitive pulse, which gave her the feeling that she had just run miles, or needed to. “This is madness. We both know it.”
His strong hands moved over her shoulders, caressing, invoking. “Ah…”
There were thousands of things that needed to be said, but not one would be uttered.
Gillian met Brad’s eyes, seeing the desire, the regret. She guessed her own expression was the same. Straining toward him, she wondered why Brad and only Brad could elicit such a response from her.
But love wasn’t about caution or reason, she acknowledged weakly before moving back into his arms.
Gillian felt the silky fabric of her pajamas slide away, and she became impatient to remove the barrier of his clothing as well. Her hands were greedy, tugging at the button and zipper of his jeans. He aided her efforts, pulling free of the restricting fabric.
Long-denied flesh sought sinewy muscles and tender skin. Hard against soft. Male against female. Husband joined with wife.
Thoughts surfaced, fled and melded as their hands spoke the words they couldn’t say. Gillian nibbled a path of kisses over Brad’s abdomen, her own desire quickening as he sucked in his breath, then shuddered beneath her hands.
He shifted, bringing his body over hers, using his lips to nip the tender skin of her throat, then tease her breasts with kisses that lengthened until she moaned beneath his caresses.
His hands and mouth wove a familiar path over her waist, traveling downward as she trembled under his knowing touch, until her skin became a blanket of sensation.
She gasped as they were joined together, needing this feel of him, savoring it, holding on to each moment. Briefly closing
her eyes, Gillian welcomed his possession of her.
Gripping his shoulders tightly, she pulled as close to him as physically possible. Sensing her need, Brad stroked her hair, then gently captured her lips.
In that instant her heart stuttered.
And, for just this one moment, she pretended that all was right.
BRAD FELT THE DEAD WEIGHT on his arm and wondered why the limb had gone to sleep. As he was poised to turn, a warm breath whispered across his cheek.
Memory slammed into him, a fist nearly as powerful as the desire for the woman sleeping next to him.
Judging by the gray cast to the room, it was still early. However, there was enough light to illuminate Gillian’s face. Knowing what they shared was probably temporary, and that he might not have another opportunity to study Gillian in her sleep, Brad savored each moment.
Her flawless skin was rosy, and he held his hand in check with an effort. He contented himself with counting the freckles that were sprinkled over the bridge of her nose. She’d despaired of them, but he thought the small imperfections added to her allure.
His gaze went to her lips, slightly parted as though in expectation. Curled up on her side, she stirred him yet again.
Her hair would still be soft, he knew. Although he’d never told Gillian, he’d found it comforting to stroke her hair, to luxuriate in the feeling of having her close, knowing she was safe. There had been too much left unsaid, he realized.
He swallowed against the feelings, knowing she wouldn’t change her mind, despite what they’d shared. She’d been his once, but she was too smart to take another chance with him. He admired her control. But he had to admit to himself that he wanted her as much today as the first time. And he didn’t know if he could bury that desire again.
He longed to look deep into her velvety eyes, but in the light of day, they might hold wariness, shutting him out again. So he contented himself with watching the even rise of her breathing, the flush of her skin, the invitation in her lips.
When she turned in her sleep, releasing his arm, he studied her for a few last minutes. Then, with regret, he got up. Although he could have spent the entire morning watching her, he guessed she would be uncomfortable when she woke. And he couldn’t face her regret.
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