by Marie Harte
Gil stared at her, the vein in his temple pulsing with each beat of his heart. She thought for a moment he was going to turn and leave, but then he sighed and raked a shaky hand through his hair. “So you do want to talk about this now.” He crossed his arms and pushed his shoulders back. “All right, Fallon. Let’s talk.”
Fallon snorted and threw her hands up in the air. He just didn’t get it. “You know what? There’s really nothing left to talk about. I got your message loud and clear when you left without a word and refused to even pick up your cell. Not to mention the couple of times I went to your apartment only to discover, you weren’t home.” Oh he’d been home, he just hadn’t answered the door. “You wanted a life without complications. Where your job was the only thing you gave a damn about. Well, it looks like you got it. But sue me for not sharing in your devotion.”
Oh, and the next time you want to fuck, go fuck yourself!
The words filled her head and she had to snap her back teeth together to keep from blurting them out. While a part of her wanted to hurt him with them, she knew they’d be a lie. She’d been more than willing.
Fallon glared back at him, channelling her anger into her stare, a triumphant smile touching her lips when she saw him flinch. “And for the record, you owe me a new cycling shirt.” She turned, but stopped before she’d taken a step, glancing back at both men over her shoulder. “On second thought, forget it. I’ve learnt to live through disappointment.”
Gil watched Fallon storm into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of bottles out of the fridge before slamming it shut and stomping her way out to the porch. The air was cold and damp, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t even notice it.
“Feisty little vixen, isn’t she?” said Wade, his voice tinted with humour. “Damn, Gil. You sure pissed her off. Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes tonight.”
Gil could only shake his head. He didn’t really want to be in his shoes either. “I’d be real careful with what I said right now, if I were you, Junior. Fallon won’t hesitate to launch any handy object at anyone who ventures through that door, so don’t think she’ll pull any punches just for you.”
Wade sauntered up beside him, still staring at the door Fallon had nearly slammed off its hinges. “Couldn’t help but notice she’s wearing a shirt exactly like the one you had on earlier.” He looked Gil in the eyes. “Don’t tell me you went straight for the nasty before grovelling at her feet and begging for forgiveness?” Wade moaned when Gil raised his eyebrow in challenge. “Gee whiz, Gil. Haven’t you learnt anything hanging around a chick magnet like me?” Wade shook his head. “At least tell me you made it good for her.”
“I don’t see how that is any of your business, partner. But I’ll have you know, she screamed my name so loud the fucking earth shook.”
Wade smiled and it was all Gil could do not to smack the grin off his partner’s face. He wasn’t one to brag, but Wade’s taunting was getting to him. Maybe because the man understood Fallon better than he did. And that thought alone was enough to ignite a blaze in his chest. He didn’t know how to handle Fallon, or this…thing…they had between them. Great sex was one thing, but he knew she needed more. And he didn’t know if he was capable of giving that to her. She was right. He’d been dead ever since Charlie had died.
Gil sighed and leant back against the table. He hadn’t expected Fallon to get so emotional, and he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. It hadn’t helped that she’d been wearing his shirt. Just watching her breasts press against the cotton had made his mouth water. He’d suckled those breasts just a few hours ago, and his cock had only gotten harder at the sight of her perky little nipples poking out at him. Thank God he’d had the good sense to leave his shirt hanging loose to hide his growing erection. The last thing he needed was Wade teasing him about having a hard-on.
“So what do we do now?” asked Wade. “She may be small. But I wouldn’t want to face her in a showdown.”
Gil smiled. He’d always loved Fallon’s passion, even when he was on the wrong end of it. “We go and talk to her. Just try not to say anything else to piss her off. I meant what I said before. She’s a wildcat.”
“Don’t worry about me. I plan on keeping my mouth shut until you’ve taken the brunt of her anger. I may be younger than you, but I’m not stupid.”
Gil glared at him as he walked through the kitchen. “Just look sincere and be ready to make a hasty retreat if she grabs one of those bottles.”
Chapter Ten
Fallon was curled up on a patio chair, chugging a cooler, when the sliding door opened. She sneered into the bottle, wondering if she should just throw the damn thing across the porch, before deciding against it. Knowing Gil, he’d sent Wade out first in the hopes the man might soothe some of her temper. But there was little chance in that. Arguing with Gil had brought back all the months she’d spent agonising over what had gone wrong. Why Gil had refused to talk to her, to share his pain. Why she’d promised herself she’d never get involved with him again.
So I guess fucking him doesn’t count as getting ‘involved’.
She cursed the voice, and knocked back another gulp. Maybe she could get drunk and forget the whole thing?
“Fallon? We need to talk.”
Damn. Gil hadn’t sent his partner in ahead. He’d chosen to face her, and she wasn’t quite sure what he was up to. She glanced at him over the edge of her drink, but said nothing.
Gil sighed and took a step forward. He looked reluctant to get too close to her. Good! She didn’t want him close. He was too tempting in his faded jeans and cocky half smile. And she’d already caught the scent of his cologne on the breeze drifting through the trees. It was a mixture of spice and pine, and it was all she could do to keep her ass in the chair instead of pouncing on him like a hungry animal. Even angry and hurt, she wanted him. But it wasn’t just the sex. She needed to confide in him. Share her secret. But he’d only laugh, or worse, turn away. And she didn’t think her heart was up to another disappointment.
“Fallon.”
“There’s nothing to say,” she said, tipping the bottle up, needing to drown her pain in the cold liquid.
Gil moved forward and placed his hand over hers, gently lowering the bottle. “The alcohol won’t help, darling. Believe me. I’ve tried.”
Fallon stared at where his hand touched hers, trying to ignore the heat that flowed between them. It was as if her body was tuned to his, always accepting and ready. He simply needed to touch her, and her juices collected along her slit, preparing her body for his penetration.
She pulled her hand away, spilling some of the drink on her arm. “I believe I asked you to leave.”
She watched Gil sigh, stepping back from her. “We need to know what The Priest said to you. Just tell us about the conversation, and we’ll leave.”
“Don’t you think I’d tell you if he’d given me anything remotely useful? Do you really think I enjoy being part of his little masquerade?” The image of the bastard raping the woman flashed in her head and she turned away. There were aspects she hadn’t shared, but she knew they’d never believe her.
Gil stepped back over to her and knelt down. “No. And I know you wouldn’t hold back anything you thought was important. But we’ve got nothing to go on. And sometimes the small details are the ones that mean the most.”
“Meaning…”
“Meaning, maybe you know more than you think.”
Fallon huffed and stared out at the night. The rain had passed, but the clouds were still thick and dark. “What do your profilers think?”
Gil shrugged and stood back up. “Nothing other than the usual. Caucasian male anywhere between twenty-five and forty. Sexually assaulted as a kid, probably hates his mother and is trying to make his mark as a man by carving up women.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“It may be slightly transparent, but it’s all we’ve got.”
Fallon shook her head and took another drink. The Bureau was so far o
ff on this guy, it was no wonder they didn’t have a clue how to track him down.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gil. “Disagree with the profile?”
She snorted and looked up at him. “Other than you’ve got it all wrong, not really.”
Gil smiled at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Think you can do better?”
Fallon rolled her eyes and looked away. “Let’s start with the fact that the guy is much older, say mid-fifties, and that this has nothing to do with his mother.”
“Is that so? And what makes you so sure?”
Fallon sighed, so damn tired she blurted out the truth before she had time to consider the consequences. “Because most psychos don’t rape their victims if they think they’re their mother.”
She barely had time to gasp before Gil crossed the small space and lifted her from the chair. He locked his hands around her shoulders, giving a firm shake that made her head spin. “How do you know that? Did the bastard tell you?” Her head bobbed again as he shook her even harder. “Damn it, Fallon. What the hell is going on? First you talk about all the blood at the scene and how the church has stained glass windows. And now you know he rapes his victims before he kills them. How do you know all this?”
“Easy, Gil.” Wade was at Gil’s side, trying to pry his fingers off her shoulders. But she could only glance at him before Gil shook her again.
“Answer me, Fallon!” Gil shouted. “We didn’t tell anyone outside the Bureau. So how do you know?”
“I…”
“He told you over the phone?” prompted Gil.
“No…I…”
“How?”
Tears stung her eyes and fell down her cheeks before she could blink them away. She’d never seen Gil so upset, other than the first day in the hospital when he’d regained consciousness and realised Charlie hadn’t made it. Her shoulders felt numb where he’d clenched his hands around them, and her head was still spinning. She met his stare, watching something flicker across his expression as she drew a deep breath. “I saw him.”
Gil released her, whether because she’d answered him, or he’d finally noticed she was crying, she didn’t know. But as soon as his hands fell away from her shoulders she backed up, putting as much space as she could between them.
Gil watched from the edge of the porch, his expression unforgiving. “What do you mean, ‘you saw him’? You were at the scene?”
“Yes, no.” She sighed and crossed her arms around her chest. She felt cold and vulnerable, and didn’t want Gil to see how badly her hands were shaking. She looked up at him. “You won’t believe me.”
“Whether I believe you or not, isn’t the issue here. Now explain what you meant by, ‘you saw him’.”
Fallon huffed and couldn’t resist stomping one foot on the floor. “What good is explaining everything if you think I’m crazy? Can’t you just accept what I tell you without questioning it?”
“You know I can’t. Now quit stalling.”
Another tear tracked down her skin, but didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. She took a deep breath and stared at the floor as she spoke. “I was at the church, but not in the way you think. I have…visions.”
Both men stifled a moan, and she could only close her eyes. She’d known they wouldn’t believe in her ability. Hell, she sometimes wondered herself.
“You have visions?” asked Gil.
Fallon nodded and forced herself to meet his glare. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, his doubt mirrored in the twitch of his hands. “Yes, Gil. I have visions.” She held up her hand, stopping any questions before he had a chance to speak. “Look, I know what you’re both thinking, but I’m not crazy and I’m not making this up. I’ve had them before, but never this intense. Or with someone I don’t know. They’ve always been with people I’ve had a personal connection with.” She shook her head and stared at the floor again. “I don’t really understand why it’s happening.”
Gil stood on the porch, silently watching Fallon toe the floor as she huddled against the wall. She looked lost and scared and he would’ve gone to her if she hadn’t completely unnerved him, Visions? What the hell was she talking about? They’d been together for two years and she’d never mentioned anything about having visions.
He shifted his feet, not sure what to say to her. “Fallon.”
Her head snapped up as his voice seemed to fill the night air. It’d sounded suspect in his own head, let alone how it must have sounded in hers. She glared at him and palmed her hips. “Don’t even start with me,” she sneered.
Gil took a step back, not sure what she thought he was intending to do. Hell, he was far too confused to think of anything remotely intelligent to say. He cleared his throat and hoped to hell he could sound convincing. “I wasn’t going to start with you. I just don’t quite understand what you’re trying to tell us. Exactly what do you mean by visions?”
Fallon just snorted and shook her head, her eyes blazing with heat. If he didn’t know she was furious with him, he’d have sworn she was aroused. She’d had the same black rage this afternoon when she’d begged him to fuck her. He sighed, wishing her intensions were more along those lines. Fucking he could deal with.
“Don’t patronize me, Gil. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not…”
“Visions!” she yelled at him, her hair bouncing across her shoulders as she stomped her way towards him. “Good, old fashioned, full-fledged, lock you up in a padded cell visions! You know, the kind of stuff that makes you cringe whenever some lunatic saunters into your office and claims they’ve seen where the body is buried, or where some bastard has taken a kid. Those kinds of visions, Gil!”
He watched as she crossed her arms again and dared him to question her. Shit, she was mad. If it wasn’t for the sick feeling rising in his stomach, he would’ve shoved her down and fucked her until she’d channelled all that energy into him. Lord knows he could use the distraction right now. But he could tell from the glint in her eyes, fucking him was the furthest thing on her mind.
Gil raised his hands, palms forward, compelled to show her he wasn’t trying to fight with her. It seemed an inane gesture, but some of the tension eased from her brow and she lowered herself to the chair again. He stepped in front of her, keeping an arm’s length away. “So you’re saying you get images of the dead women?”
She looked up at him, exhaustion replacing the anger in her expression. “Not images. It’s more like…” She paused as if searching for the right metaphor. “I’m watching a movie. I can see, hear, and even smell, but I can’t change anything…or help anyone,” she added quietly. “I feel like a ghost.”
“So you’ve seen the killer?” asked Wade.
Fallon jumped and turned her head towards the man. Her lips pulled tight, as if she’d forgotten the other man was still in the room. “No. It’s part of the curse. I only get to really see the victims.” She looked pleadingly at Gil. “But I can give you a more accurate description. He’s tall, with blonde hair and large shoulders. He seems to be in his late fifties…”
Wade nodded, though Gil could see the uncertainty in the man’s face. “But you can’t identify who’s doing this?” interrupted Wade. “You’ve never seen his face.”
Fallon sighed and shook her head. “No.”
The answer was soft and distant, and Gil knew Fallon had seen Wade’s scepticism. Gil reached out and brushed his fingers along her shoulder. “Why don’t you get some rest, and we can discuss this more tomorrow.”
“I’m not crazy. I know you both think I’ve lost it, but everything I’ve told you is true.”
“I never said I didn’t believe you.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d never said the words out loud, and he didn’t think she could hear his thoughts. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for everything you’ve experienced.”
Fallon huffed and stood up. “Believe what you want.” She grabbed the remaining bottles off the floor and headed to the doorway. Her should
ers sagged as she stopped and glanced back at him. “I’ve told you everything I know. I can’t make you act on the information, but at least I’m not hiding it anymore. I can tell you that he told me talking to me helps him quiet his demons, so you should get a day or two reprieve.” She looked over at Wade. “Gil knows the way out. Lock the door behind you.”
Gil watched her leave, a tight feeling gripping his chest. He didn’t know if it was the desolate look in her eyes or the pain that seemed to radiate from her body in visible waves, but the image of her small frame stepping through the kitchen door slammed a stake through his heart, resurrecting the love he’d buried. He’d forced her to reveal a secret she’d kept hidden for years, and then done little to soothe her fears.
“Well?” asked Wade, stepping over to his side. “What do you make of her claim?”
Gil shrugged his shoulders and stared at the empty space. “To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s not like Fallon to make shit up, but…” But he didn’t believe in psychics or mystics or whatever you called them. He’d always believed they were usually just desperate, lonely people who needed to feel valued. But Fallon?
Gil turned to Wade. “Let’s let her rest until morning. Maybe she can explain it better then.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Here. Take my truck and get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning for a pick-up.”
Wade took the offering, a knowing smile kicking up the edges of his lips. “You’re going to stay? You’re braver than I thought.”
“I just don’t think it’s safe for her to be here alone. This bastard seems to be getting pretty attached to her, and I’m not convinced he’ll be satisfied with just talking to her.” He motioned towards the door with his hands.
Wade nodded and stepped into the kitchen. “Just do me a favour? Make sure you apologise before you seduce her this time, or I’ll be the one getting visions,” he crooned. “Of your death.”