Whispers of Fate: The Mistresses of Fate, Book Two

by Deirdre Dore

After a moment, she nodded, straightening a little in her seat, as if she were flustered.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything back yet on the ribbon?”

  “No, and I’m not likely to this week, either. Cold cases just don’t take priority.”

  “I understand,” she said softly.

  “I did talk to Old Ninny, though.”

  “Old Ninny?” She sounded surprised.

  “Just this morning.”

  Tavey looked bemused but curious. “What did she have to say?”

  “I asked her about when Summer disappeared, about Jane’s mysterious husband and who they hung out with. You know that Belle, Mark, and Jane all hung out together and partied?”

  Tavey pursed her lips, thinking.

  I’d like to bite at that lip. The errant thought had Tyler shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I’m a little surprised,” Tavey said finally. “Bessie said that other than my father, Belle never cared much for anyone in town.”

  “Your father? Didn’t he—”

  “Die when I was two? Yeah. He and my mother and their driver. They went over an icy bridge and into the water.”

  “So he and Gloria Belle were friends before he met your mother, before everything that happened with Summer?”

  Tavey nodded. “Belle left town permanently after he died. She came back every now and again, though, till Bessie asked her to stay away. I suppose it makes sense she would spend time with Jane. They were essentially neighbors, after all.”

  “I got the feeling from Ninny that Mark pulled them together. He seems to be the leader of that crew.”

  Tavey set her elbows on the table, her mouth set in a firm line. “We need to talk to him.”

  “Uh-huh,” Tyler agreed. “I do need to talk to him. As soon as he and Jane get back from wherever they’ve gone, I intend to.”

  “Jane’s gone?” Tavey sounded startled. She didn’t comment on the deliberate emphasis he’d placed on the “I.”

  “Since Sunday, apparently.”

  “And Ninny didn’t seem worried.” Tavey sounded aghast.

  “She didn’t,” Tyler muttered flatly. “Essentially she told me to mind my own business.”

  Tavey didn’t comment on that. Everyone knew that the Havens were a closemouthed bunch. “I doubt Jane would miss her solstice festival. She looks forward to it every year.”

  “I hope not. I’d like to talk to her long before then.”

  Tavey finished her coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her cup, her eyes curious and warm. “Thanks for the coffee, Tyler.”

  She sounded almost . . . shy, a quality he would never have attributed to her before.

  “You’re welcome,” he said finally. “I’ll walk you back over to Dog.”

  “That’s okay.” She put a hand out to stop him. “Finish your coffee, please. I’ll manage.”

  “I know you’ll manage, Tavey.” He stood, picking up his coffee in one hand and holding out the elbow of his opposite arm for her to grip. “But you’ll manage better with my help.”

  Her long fingers curled around his arm, her smile wry. “I suppose I will.”

  They walked together across the circle, her arm in his elbow, and she felt as stupidly giddy as a teenage girl with her first crush.

  “Why don’t you come in my office for a minute, Tyler.” She didn’t want this moment to end. She wanted to keep him with her while they were on good terms. She wanted to flirt and brush herself against him and see if he would deliver on the promise she’d always seen in his eyes.

  Some small part of her thought that if she didn’t keep him with her now, she would lose the opportunity. Something terrible would happen and he would hate her again. He would hate her and she would never have gotten to touch him the way she wanted. Make him hers.

  He looked around, no doubt as aware as she was of the glances that were being sent their way. Gossip was probably already buzzing like a downed electric line.

  He glanced down at her. “Are you flirting with me, Tavey Collins?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I am, Tyler Downs.”

  He seemed to think about that, a slight flush rising on his cheeks. “I never thought the day would come when I could flirt with you outright.”

  Tavey felt her own cheeks heat, but she straightened her shoulders a little. “We’re adults.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, turning her with his body away from her store and toward his truck. “Just how busy are you this morning?”

  Tavey felt her breath come faster and moved so that she was a little closer to him, so that her body brushed his with every step. “Not that busy.” Tavey was never not busy, but she wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to spend some time with him.

  “Well, I have a few hours before I have to be on duty. Why don’t I show you my house? You’ve never been there.”

  Tavey hadn’t, but she knew where he lived. There was a small neighborhood of cottage-like homes from the fifties and sixties not far from town proper. Raquel lived in one; Tyler’s house wasn’t too far from hers.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Neither one of them said anything else as they walked in concert toward Tyler’s truck. He unlocked it with the fob on his keychain and Tavey hurried to the passenger side, pulling the door open and climbing into the seat.

  He met her eyes as he started the truck. “This is crazy.”

  “It is,” she agreed.

  “We don’t even like each other.” He sounded uncertain as he backed out of his parking space and maneuvered the truck around the circle.

  “Tyler Downs, I’ve wanted you to make love to me since I was fifteen years old.”

  He stopped the truck abruptly and stared at her. “Damn.” He shook his head and started driving again, a little faster than he should. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “I used to watch you,” he confessed softly, turning to head up the hill toward his house. “You would come to my games with your hair down around your shoulders.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I felt like every time you looked up, your eyes were on me.”

  “I thought about you all the time.”

  “Hurry,” she ordered. “Please.”

  He did. Driving the short distance with the concentration of a man who thought his life would end if he didn’t arrive somewhere on time.

  He pulled into the driveway of his house, a pale green one-story home with a willow in the front yard and a few nondescript shrubs in front of a picture window.

  Tavey removed her seat belt and opened the door before he came to a complete stop.

  “Come on,” she urged him.

  He removed his own belt, consternation on his face. “Whoa. Let’s just—”

  She ignored him and hopped down, crossing in front of the truck, and meeting him as he stepped down. Reaching for his hand, she tugged him toward the door.

  “Hurry,” she said, pulling him. “I’ve wanted you so long I can’t stand it.”

  “Tav—what’s the rush? Are we really going to?”

  She turned around abruptly, letting her body meet his as she gripped his shirt. He was hard; she could feel him through his jeans. “I want you.” She leaned close and breathed him in. “I want you so bad I can’t stand it.” She looked at the hollow of his throat, felt tears sting her eyes. “I can’t not have you again.”

  He touched her hair, running his hand down the soft strands. “I don’t get what you want with me. I never have.”

  She looked at him, thought about the boy who had fought his way out of years of abuse and become a cop, thought about the man who’d defended his uncle so faithfully all those years. He was a good man, and so beautiful he broke her heart.

  “Does it matter?” she whispered.

  He laughed. “F
uck no. Not anymore.”

  He pulled her along the path to the door, holding her close to his side as he pulled a thick set of keys off his belt. He fumbled a little and cursed, making her laugh, but then the door was open and he was pulling her inside hastily, shutting the door behind him.

  He pressed her against it and kissed her, taking her mouth as completely as he had when they were young. Only now there was no anger, just a long simmering lust that was now boiling over, rushing over both of them. The hair on Tavey’s arms stood up as she shivered in desperate excitement. He tasted like coffee and man, his tongue tangling with hers as they struggled to get closer and closer together.

  She tightened her fingers in the short strands of his hair, wishing it was longer, as it had been then, but then she couldn’t think of anything but the feel of his body on hers as he pressed her against the door, grinding his body against hers.

  “God,” she gasped. “Kiss me more. Kiss me harder.”

  He did, sliding one hand down her hip. She was wearing a skirt, a long flowy one that gathered easily in his hands. He tugged it up, and up, until the long, smooth column of her thigh was visible. He secured the loose fabric between the back of her hip and the door so that he could have unrestricted access to her skin, trailing his fingers over her smooth leg. She was perfect.

  He broke off the kiss and looked at her. “I’m kissing Tavey Collins. I’m touching you,” he marveled, and she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Damn right you are,” she agreed, kissing his skin. “Do it some more.”

  He swung her away from the door and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he walked her toward his bedroom.

  Tavey had the distant impression of well-worn comfortable furniture in varying shades of brown. They passed by one room with a bright neon bedspread and then they were in his room. The blinds were shut, but the morning light filtered in through the cracks.

  He laid her down on the messy bed, coming down on top of her. He propped himself on his elbows.

  “You are so pretty,” he told her simply, his eyes drifting over her face.

  She smiled at him. “Not as pretty as you are.”

  “Ugh.” He kissed her. “The last person that called me pretty got a punch in the mouth for the compliment.”

  She kissed him back. “Are you gonna punch me?”

  He levered himself off her. “I have a better idea. Take off your shirt.” He bent to remove his boots.

  Tavey did, removing her shirt hastily and throwing it behind her. Her bra followed.

  Tyler, who’d unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, froze as his eyes fell on her breasts.

  “Shit,” he said simply.

  Tavey felt her nipples tighten and her skin flush.

  She had the prettiest tits Tyler had ever seen. They weren’t big, but they were perfectly round with dark pinkish-brown nipples.

  He didn’t remember deciding to let his jeans fall, he was just suddenly on top of her again, curling his tongue around one nipple and letting the taste of her fill his mouth, her gasps of pleasure fill his ears, and the feel of her, warm and firm and strong, sink into his flesh until she was firmly lodged beneath his skin.

  Scrambling with his hands, he tore her panties aside and let his fingers dip gently into the dark sweet heat of her. She trembled as he felt her soft, slick petals. He sank one long finger inside her and had the pleasure of seeing her arch and moan.

  Tavey, damnably polite, stubborn, proper Tavey was begging him with her body. Sweat slicked her skin and his, dampening his shirt. She was pulling at it, trying to get it over his head.

  He stopped what he was doing and sat up long enough to rip it over his head and off, groaning himself as her long, delicate fingers ran down his chest.

  “Damn, we should slow down,” he suggested even as he bent down again, kissing her cheek, her collarbone, her nipple. He took his mouth away and pinched the tip lightly, loving how her body jerked. He slid his hand down her rib cage and over her belly, skipping over the skirt that was still bunched around her hips.

  “Are you protected,” he asked hoarsely, looking at the thatch of hair between her legs.

  “Yes.” She moved her legs restlessly. “Please, Tyler. Touch me.”

  He did, sliding both hands along the outside of her thighs and then between them, letting his knuckles brush the soft damp thatch of hair before dipping in between the folds, teasing her with feather-light touches.

  The perfume of her arousal and his filled the air between them as he separated her gently with his fingers and moved the head of his shaft into position.

  He slid just an inch inside, an inch, and he could already feel the warm, slick muscles of her gripping him.

  “God,” he gasped. “You’re tight.”

  Tavey couldn’t do more than moan. Tyler was above her, his muscled chest slick and heaving as he worked his way inside her. Tavey lifted toward him, wanting all of him now, between her legs, the hot hard length of him taking her.

  When he was all the way inside, she wrapped her legs around him and squeezed, wanting to keep him inside her forever.

  He gripped her hips and slid out, making her moan in protest, before sliding back inside with a long, steady thrust.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped. “More. God, please.”

  He gave her more, riding her with hard, steady thrusts, until she was moaning incoherently, her breath coming in harsh gasps. “Do it harder, please. Tyler.”

  He did, struggling not to come as she gripped and squeezed him.

  “God, please. Take it,” he urged her. “Take it, baby.”

  She did, crying out as she came, shivering against him as he continued to thrust, his hips out of his control as he struggled to get closer, deeper. When he came, his vision went dark around the edges, and pleasure burst from him, wringing a shout from his throat.

  He collapsed on her when he was done and for the moment there was nothing but their harsh breath, the smell of sweat and sex, and Tavey’s long, pleased chuckle.

  “That is what I’ve been missing,” she said softly, and kissed his shoulder.

  He looked at her, at her closed lids and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. He’d forgotten about her head, he realized. Her ankle as well.

  “Are you all right? I forgot about your head.”

  Tavey opened her eyes just enough to look at him.

  “Tyler, I’ve never been better in my life.”

  28

  THEY STILL HADN’T found it.

  Circe and Rob had managed to shift most of the bricks from the fireplace into one corner of the room after half a day. Mark had pulled up the rope at one point and told Rob to throw him his car keys.

  Rob, grimacing, had obeyed. “It’s at the end of the service road.”

  “I’ll be back with some food,” Mark had told them, sounding almost cheerful. “You children keep working.”

  By the end of the day on Monday, Circe’s arms and back were shaking and sore, and Mark was no longer smiling.

  They’d dug up the section of the floor where they’d hidden it, looking for the distinctive hard plastic of the suitcase they’d used. It wasn’t there.

  “Maybe we’re remembering wrong?” Circe ventured.

  Mark pointed the gun at her. “Maybe you didn’t just ‘take a little.’ ”

  “I only took a little,” she promised. “A very little. I left the rest.” She didn’t mention that she’d come back for more and it hadn’t been there. Saw no reason to mention that. She was so tired she could barely make herself care about the gun in his hand. She didn’t know why he was pretending that he would shoot her. He would never shoot her. She was his wife.

  That and two pennies will get you a piece of gum at the hardware store, the voice argued.

  When it was clear that neither Circe nor Ro
b could dig any longer without sleeping, Mark threw a pack that Rob had brought down into the hole. It contained two emergency survival blankets and some water. Mark had removed everything else.

  Rob and Circe had lain down together, listening to Mark snoring above.

  “What if Belle took it,” Rob whispered in her ear.

  Circe didn’t like being this close to him. She wanted to be with her husband, not in a hole in the ground next to Rob.

  “I don’t think so,” Circe whispered. “Last time I saw her, she begged me for money.”

  “She’s a fucking druggie. She probably spent it on nose candy.”

  Circe shrugged. “Why do you want it anyway?”

  He gave a short, sharp laugh. “What the hell else have I got at this point? My wife took everything I had.”

  Circe privately thought that if he’d wanted to stay out of jail, he should have paid his taxes, but she didn’t say so, not when she was lying on the ground next to the man with plenty of bricks nearby.

  TUESDAY MORNING, Mark brought them breakfast. Circe had tried to leave by way of the back stairs when he left them, but the wooden steps had long ago crumbled. They were trapped until Mark decided to lower the rope.

  The basement smelled sharply of dusty leaves and urine, but there was nowhere else, not unless Mark let them out. The voice laughed. He doesn’t seem inclined.

  They ate McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches and continued digging. Mark had brought Circe a shovel so that she could help dig. They’d buried it only a foot or so deep, but since it hadn’t been where they’d left it, Mark was forcing them to dig in a grid with sections as big as the hard plastic suitcase had been, though they argued some about the dimensions.

  “You know,” Rob suggested to Mark, pausing in his shoveling and leaning on the handle. He was looking up at Mark, his expression disgruntled. “This would go faster if you would help.”

  Rob’s shirt was covered in sweat, the armholes a distinct yellowish color. He didn’t smell good, but neither did Circe. She’d started dreaming about her bathtub with her milk bath soak and her neck pillow. She was starting to think she would kill to sleep in a real bed.