The Beast Within: Mended Souls #2

by Jacquie Biggar

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julie entered the police station and was hit by a case of nerves. It had been a week since she’d spoken to Detective O’Rourke, but he’d never been far from her thoughts. He made her uncomfortable—like her favorite pair of skinny jeans that just never fit the same after her pregnancy. She went on the defensive every time he was near, as though sensing danger. Which was silly. He couldn’t hurt her; he didn’t even know her. Not really.

  She thought of her life in two parts, before the accident—and after. The person she’d been before was gone, she was changed. Tougher. Cynical. A pessimist where she’d always been an optimist. But that’s okay, learn to expect the worst and you couldn’t be disappointed, that was her new motto.

  An officer stepped up to the window separating the public from the back. “Can I help you?”

  Julie worried the strap of her bag hanging from her shoulder. “I have a meeting with Detective O’Rourke,” she said.

  “Name?” the female Mountie inquired.

  Julie. Julie Crenshaw.”

  The officer looked her over with sharp eyes that didn’t miss a thing. “Have a seat and I’ll check if he’s in.” She pointed toward a row of chairs near the entry.

  Julie nodded, grateful to have a moment to marshal her thoughts before the appointment. She searched her purse until she found the stick of gum Freddy had offered her last night. Usually it helped when she was anxious, she hoped it worked today. Not that she had a reason to be nervous, she hadn’t done anything wrong. And if seeing Connor O’Rourke again ramped up her heartbeat and made her hands sweaty, it was only to be expected. He was a criminal investigator on the trail of a possible homicide. It had nothing at all to do with his lean body, smoky gray eyes, or copper hair with that distracting curl on the forehead.

  Julie glanced down and realized she’d been twirling her wedding ring round and round on her finger. Grimacing, she stopped and ran a hand through her frizzing hair. Darn rain. Her friends had gently nudged her, hinting it was time to let the past go, maybe even date again. And maybe she would—just not yet.

  Mike had been in her life for so long, she wasn’t sure she could move on. He’d been her first boyfriend back when they’d been sixteen and too young to know what they wanted in life. They’d broken up and got back together all through high school, then she’d gotten pregnant with Dustin and their future was set. Not that she regretted anything. Mike was a decent man, a good provider. He’d loved becoming a father.

  “He’ll see you now.”

  Julie jumped, refocusing on the Mountie waiting to let her into the back. She gathered her belongings, then hurried to follow the woman, the steel door clanging shut behind her. There was a grouping of six or eight desks, most filled by officers either on the phone or their computers. Not so different from her job. A narrow hall, the walls painted off-white, led past a couple of rooms with closed doors—interrogation, maybe?—and ended at a conference room, the door half open as though awaiting their arrival.

  The officer knocked once. A deep voice Julie remembered in her dreams bade them to enter. The Mountie smiled her reassurance, moved aside to let Julie in, then closed the door behind her. She was alone. With O’Rourke.

  Connor smiled his thanks to Madeline and watched Julie enter the room. He should be thinking of her as Mrs. Crenshaw. He knew he needed to keep his distance, but something about her called to him on an elemental level he couldn’t control. It wasn’t just her looks, though she was beautiful with those high breasts, and eyes that reminded him of an autumn forest, all shadowy golds and browns. They made him want to slay dragons for her, those eyes.

  “Hi.” Witty, that was him. “Come in, have a seat.”

  She smiled uncertainly and chose a chair halfway down the conference table. Telling. Maybe he disturbed her too—the thought heated his skin and made his pulse jump.

  He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his dress shirt, hesitating when she tugged her purse in front of her body. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, paid a visit to your station today. I hoped to catch you there and save you the trip.” And he’d needed to see her again, not that he could tell her that.

  “What’s so important? Did you get a lead? Have you caught him? Who is he?” The words tumbled out like a runaway train. She reached into that suitcase she called a purse, impatiently tucked her hair behind her ear, and pulled out a digital recorder. “Mind if I use this?” she asked, holding it up for him to see.

  “Hold on,” he said, his hand firm on the file in front of him. “That’s not why I asked you down here.” Her face fell and he felt a stab of sympathy. He knew this was her first big story since moving to the island. She had something to prove, maybe more to herself than anyone else.

  He rose and moved down the table, sinking into the seat next to hers. He wrapped his hand around hers holding that blasted recorder and tried to keep his mind off the fact her skin was soft as silk. He had no problem picturing it on his body, skimming, sliding, stroking. Great, now he had a hard-on to deal with.

  Time to get his head in the game before he did something he’d regret, like laying her out on the conference room table.

  “Jules…”

  She looked up at him with shock, her skin turning pale.

  “What? What did I do?” He squeezed her fingers, icy in his grip. “Talk to me, honey. I want to help.”

  She gazed at him blankly, then tugged her hand free. “Don’t ca… call me that. I don’t want you to call me that.”

  Jesus, way to go, Romeo. Obviously the name was special to her. Maybe her husband had used it—and there was no way he was going to contemplate when. He’d never considered himself a jealous man before, but when it came to Jules… Julie, he had that green-eyed little bugger stomping up and down screaming to be heard.

  “Sure, no problem,” he said. “Look, let’s start again. I arranged to meet because I need to ask a couple of questions. Are you okay to answer them now?”

  She glared and he was glad to see her snap back. “Of course. What is it, detective?”

  Ouch, that hurt.

  “Did you notice anything odd, besides your findings, on the beach that morning? Anyone who didn’t quite belong? A vehicle maybe?” She shook her head and he leaned forward, desperate for any crumb she could give him. “Think, Mrs. Crenshaw. Sometimes our subconscious picks up on things we don’t always notice. Try.” He hesitated. “Please.”

  Julie opened her mouth, no doubt ready to tell him off, then a dark shadow passed over her expression. She licked her lips—he cursed himself for noticing—gave a short nod, and closed her eyes as though to concentrate.

  Connor waited with bated breath, amazed at the delicate tracery of sandy lashes against peaches and cream skin. When her lids opened and she gazed at him with mysterious golden eyes a moment later he felt a sharp tug in his groin. He reached up and ran a gentle hand down that beguiling silver streak in her hair, smiling a little when she leaned into the touch.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I wish…” There were a hundred things he wished, not least that he had met her at another time, another place.

  She turned into his hand and placed a butterfly kiss on his palm, so fleeting he wasn’t sure she’d touched him, except for the tingle she left behind. And the fact that his heart was about to explode.

  “It’s okay, I understand.” She played with the strap on her handbag. “I don’t remember seeing anyone, but there was a delivery truck parked parallel to the water. One of those big tractor-trailer units. I thought it was weird to see, but figured whoever it was probably needed to rest.” She looked at him and the suppressed fear ripped him apart. “Was that him, Connor? Was that the killer?”

  He didn’t know, but he sure as hell hoped not. The driver would have had a clear vision of her walking down that beach.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julie’s stomach churned. What if the killer had been on the beach? He could have followed her home, seen where she lived. Watched h
er greet her boys after school.

  God, her boys.

  She pushed her chair back, the screech of the legs on the ceramic tile echoing the shriek of her nerves.

  “I have to go. My boys…”

  “Wait.” Connor stood and reached for her hand, then let it drop to his side without touching her.

  She felt the loss and tried not to think about her still tingling lips. What was she doing? Kissing a stranger’s palm like some kind of… of floozy. She needed to pull herself together. Concentrate on her family. Keep them safe.

  He looked around and reached for his jacket resting on an adjacent chair. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” She cringed, hysteria edging her tone. “They aren’t even home from school yet. I’ll call if there’s a problem.”

  The last thing she needed was to explain to Dustin why the police officer was at their house—again.

  She edged toward the door, anxious to leave, but pulled up short when she remembered her car was back at the newsroom. Damn.

  “What’s wrong?” Connor had thrown his coat on and followed her. His arm brushed her shoulder as he held the door handle and she shivered. He looked down at her and must have recognized her body’s inappropriate response because he sucked in a quick breath and his eyes darkened to match the stormy gray clouds outside.

  “Julie.” He moved to kiss her, and God forgive her, she couldn’t help it, she wanted him to. Her hands went to his chest, whether to hold him back or draw him close, she couldn’t say. His head lowered—and a door clanged down the hall.

  Julie jumped back as though scalded.

  They were in a police station for crying-out-loud. What was she thinking?

  “I gotta go. Can I wait inside the entry until a cab comes?”

  He scrubbed the back of his neck, his eyes contrite. “Of course. Where is your car? Is there something wrong with it?”

  She smiled, relieved to be back on neutral ground. “My baby might not be so pretty anymore, but she’s as reliable as they come.” Mike had always sworn by Honda. It was an easy decision to buy the old girl when they arrived on the island. The price was right, and it reminded her of their first car. “A cabdriver found my scarf earlier so I bought him a coffee and he returned the favor by driving me here during the storm.” She shrugged, not sure now why she’d agreed to such a thing. She certainly could have driven herself, and not been left in this position.

  Connor was frowning. She could practically see his mental gears turning and coming up with a worst case scenario. And if she’d known what she knew now, she might have thought that too. But the old cabbie had been harmless. Just a nice man out to do a good deed. She couldn’t very well go around all paranoid every time someone came near her. That was crazy. She had a job that involved meeting and mingling with strangers. It’s what she did and she was damn fine at it. It was unlikely that a serial killer would bother with her anyway, right?

  She shivered.

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you to be careful. You shouldn’t be traveling around by yourself until this guy is caught. If he has been near a television, he’ll have heard about you by now.” Connor tipped her chin and stared down at her with worried eyes. “Your children need their mother. Please tell me you won’t take needless risks, especially while chasing this story.”

  Julie’s pulse skipped. His fingertips were calloused and warm where they touched her skin. It was all too easy to picture them sliding down her neck and over her suddenly aching breasts. His breath smelled faintly of the coffee he’d been drinking when she arrived. If she lifted her mouth just slightly she could taste him and find out if he liked sugar as much as she did.

  His gaze changed, registering her need. His lids drooped and focused on her lips. His nostrils flared, breathing her want. She bit the inside of her lip, holding back the moan threatening to escape. She’d never been this turned on by a simple look.

  His mouth lowered and found the spot she’d injured. His tongue soothed. Her heart stopped.

  Waiting.

  Wanting.

  Aching.

  He murmured something, the buzzing in her ears blocked the words. It didn’t matter anymore. All she could think about was his mouth on hers.

  And then it was.

  Matt stood by impatiently waiting for Marko to finish inking a butterfly onto the shoulder of a kid young enough to be his daughter. He’d better have gotten a consent form from her parents or Matt would run him in. Kids these days. They couldn’t wait to grow up and taste life’s excesses. He could have told her to slow down, enjoy her youth. Once gone it was damn hard to get it back. He knew.

  Marko had built up quite the clientele in the years since getting out of prison. His business, Let It Bleed, was popular with the young and hip as well as some… shall we say, darker, clients. It was the second category Matt was interested in.

  He stood before a wall filled with a wide variety of drawings, all stapled together like some sort of decoupage gone crazy. He actually liked a couple of the designs. One in particular, had a set of angel wings in three dimensional detail spread across a stencil of a man’s back. It was probably as close to Heaven as he’d ever get.

  The tinkle of the bell above the door turned his attention to a heavy-set guy wearing a faded Red Sox ball cap low over his eyes. He took two steps into the store, saw Matt, and headed the other way.

  Matt raced after him, ignoring Marko’s, “Hey, man, not in my store.”

  The guy was quicker on his feet than he expected. He was already halfway across the parking lot when Matt exited the building.

  “Hey, Stop. Police. I want a word with you.”

  The ball cap glanced back, then picked up the pace, dodging cars and a truck who’d just pulled into the lot, to duck around the side of the building, disappearing behind a dumpster.

  Great, and Matt was wearing his favorite loafers.

  He slowed as he came up to the garbage can, his hand resting on his firearm and heart pounding out a don’t go in there message he was probably going to wish he’d listened to.

  The wind rustled a bag and sent it tumbling along the ground, almost giving him a heart attack. There was no sign of the suspect. Where the hell was he?

  Suddenly, an arm shot out and caught him square in the chin, sending him backward to land hard on his ass. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and took a boot to the ribs.

  Fuck.

  What was this guy’s problem?

  “Police. Freeze,” he panted, hand cradling his side. Left with no other choice, he pulled his service revolver and took aim on his assailant.

  The guy froze and slowly lifted his hands behind his head.

  Matt squinted, trying to get a good look now that he had the situation controlled, but the sun was directly in his face.

  Which is why he didn’t see the missile that slammed into his forehead and put him out for the count.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Butterflies happy-danced in Connor’s chest. He held a warm, willing woman, and his lips were busy filling in the gaps between his imagination and the reality that was Julie Crenshaw.

  Her skin was the softest silk. She tasted of apple pie and homemade bread. Of lazy Sunday mornings and tussled sheets.

  Of home.

  When she opened her eyes, they were just as bemused as his must be, but it was the slightly dazed arousal glinting out of their depths that almost sent him back for more.

  “So… that happened.” His mouth quirked. He eased back but retained his hold on her waist. The confusion and guilt seeping into her face disappointed him. Her husband’s only been gone a year, what did you expect?

  Connor dropped his arms and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and eyed her warily.

  She straightened her shirt, tucking it back into the top of her skirt with trembling fingers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost control like that. What the hell was w
rong with him?

  The buzz of his cell startled him. He tugged it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Great, now what?

  “O’Rourke.”

  Julie jumped, her gaze wide-eyed as it landed on the phone in his hand.

  “Detective O’Rourke? We have your name on file as first to be called in case of emergency.” The preppy female’s voice hesitated. “Sir, it’s your partner, sir. He was brought into emergency with blunt force head trauma. Can you come?”

  Connor stared at Julie, his mind blank. “What happened? Is he all right? Which hospital?”

  Julie’s warm honey gaze turned sympathetic. She placed a reassuring hand on his arm and squeezed.

  “I can’t divulge that information over the phone, sir. He’s at the Jubilee. Do you know where the emergency entrance is?”

  Connor opened the conference room door and waited for Julie to precede him. “Yeah, I know it. I’ll be there soon, thanks.” He ended the call and shoved the cellphone back into the pocket of his pants. Damn. He didn’t always get along with Matt, but that didn’t mean he wished the guy ill.

  “I’m sorry about your friend.” Julie glanced over her shoulder.

  “Thanks.” His smile felt flat. “He’s a good cop.” It was a chance they all took. The role of a police officer was filled with highs and lows. From the break that might lead to the location of a missing child and the joy of reuniting them with their frantic families, to the sometimes devastating deaths humans inflicted on one another. It was a difficult and sometimes thankless job, but the rewards outweighed the negative. Most of the time.

  They were nearing the bullpen now, he could hear the muted chatter of his workmates going about their daily routines, filling out the never-ending files, making calls, doing online searches. Much of the legwork was spent with their butts planted in front of computers, different from the way television liked to portray them.