by G. K. Brady
“I thought I saw something. Probably just a prowling cat or a raccoon.”
“There are probably all kinds of critters out here every night we never see.”
A devilish gleam lit his eyes, and he was wrestling her again, trying to toss her through the air. She managed to kick his legs out from under him and escape his grasp, squealing as she scrabbled out of the pool. Shivering, she snatched the towels and raced up the stairs to the main deck and the hot tub, shouting, “Last one in the hot tub has to make dinner!”
Loud splashes and squishing sounded behind her, but she slipped into the hot bubbles before Quinn reached her. With a loud, satisfied “Ahhh,” she sank until the water touched her chin. “Much better.”
Grinning like a madman, he clambered in after her. Their horseplay continued but transformed into tongue-filled kisses, roaming hands, and bodies melding together.
“We should go inside,” he panted.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think what I want to do to you is going to work in a hot tub. Besides, I need another condom.” Her nipples perked up.
Soon they were wrapped in towels, dashing into the warmth of the family room. Quinn locked the door behind them and guided Sarah to the couch, where he sat and pulled her on to his lap so she straddled him. The towels came off, a condom went on, and she impaled herself on him.
Heaven.
After adjusting to his girth, she began moving, her hands anchored on his shoulders. His eyes devoured her, and soon he was thrusting up into her. Their voices and breathing gathered speed. Sarah was lost in the feel of him deep inside her.
An outside light came on, flooding the deck in brightness. Quinn stilled, pulled her off him, and rose to investigate. Her bubble of bliss popped. He stood at the French door, stark naked, scanning. The memory of shattered glass cooled her, and she gathered a pillow to herself. “Do you see anything?”
“Nah. It was probably that cat or whatever you saw. It must have come up on the deck and triggered the motion sensor lights.” He tugged on the door handle. “All locked up.” Then he turned with a shrug and headed back to the couch. His swollen shaft seemed to be pointed right at her, and it bobbed as he walked. Her face must have given away her amusement and her appreciation because he glanced down at himself and gave her a wide, dimpled grin. “Heat-seeking missile.”
She toppled over in laughter, but humor was swallowed up in greedy kisses as he pushed her on her back. He lowered himself on top of her, his knee parting her legs. Then he entered her, slowly, and eased out. His feet found purchase against one end of the couch, and he surged back into her. And again, over and over, his pace steady and relentless. Wrapping her legs around his flexing hips, she met his powerful thrusts with all she had. He rocked her hard, shooting her beyond the stratosphere—twice—before reaching his own climax with a roar.
Chapter 36
I’ll Take Steak Over Fish Anytime
Quinn was sated, utterly wrung out, and he floated on a cloud of ecstasy. After their couch antics, they’d both been ravenous, and they scarfed down a throw-together meal of omelets, bacon, and pancakes.
Sarah wanted to wash off the chlorine, so Quinn went to retrieve the robes they had left poolside. He jogged downstairs to the gym, discovering he hadn’t locked this particular slider because he’d chased Sarah up the stairs to the hot tub. Once outside, he aimed for the lounge chair. It was empty. A quick spin revealed the other chairs were empty too.
Baffled, he smoothed the back of his head and scanned the perimeter of the pool. Nothing. As he was about to give up the search, something pale caught his eye. It lay motionless in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the glow cast by the pool lights. He headed toward it, slowing his steps the closer he got. A noise like a hiss stood his neck hairs on end.
It’s a cat. Calm the fuck down.
Another few steps, and the object came into view. He crouched and brushed his fingers across it. A pink robe. How had it wound up there? Picking it up, he peered into the dark, looking for the second robe, but the yard was plunged in inky blackness. A chill chattered along his spine, and he hustled back to the house, locking the gym slider behind him.
Walking into the master bedroom, he glimpsed the curve of Sarah’s peachy-pink back as she fiddled with the shower controls, and he forgot the robe in his hand.
When she saw him, she turned and smirked. “I guess I need a coach to show me how to operate this contraption.”
His eyes traveled over her body, and he gave her a wolfish grin. “I’m your man.”
Her eyes dipped to his hand. “What’s that?”
“Oh. Your robe. Couldn’t find mine.” He held it up to show her, and her eyes went as round as an owl’s. She let out a squeak. He craned his head and nearly squeaked himself. The robe had been slashed repeatedly from just above the hem to the shoulder, rendering it a collection of wide terrycloth ribbons joined at the top and bottom. “What. The. Fuck?”
She pointed. “You found it like that?”
He explained how and where.
She blinked—several times. “I don’t think a cat would do that.”
Neither do I. “Maybe a mountain lion is prowling the neighborhood? I hear animals are bolder now that the pandemic’s got people sheltering in place.”
“You’re not serious!” She shivered and rubbed her arms.
“How do you explain it?”
“Not a mountain lion. Maybe a bobcat?”
By the time they’d showered and fallen into bed, they’d exhausted logical explanations and agreed to put the whole thing aside until morning. As Quinn gathered her close, pulling in the scent of her freshly shampooed hair, he ran his hands over her silky bare skin. With a sigh, he drifted off to sleep in a euphoric fog.
Quinn awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. He was on his back, and Sarah’s warm weight nestled against his side as she slept in the crook of his arm. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to orient himself. Outside, it was still pitch-black.
Had he had a nightmare? He couldn’t remember.
He thought he heard a rustle and lifted his head to stare into the shadows surrounding the bed. Something moved. He blinked, convinced what he saw was a hallucination brought on by being jarred out of a deep sleep.
Then he felt a shift in the air. Something—or someone—was breathing heavily, and it wasn’t him. He glanced down at Sarah, but her inhales were soft, slow, a different cadence from what he thought he was hearing.
A flash in the dark, and every alarm bell in his head tripped at once. Blood whooshed in his ears. Adrenalin flooded his veins. An unearthly scream fired every nerve, and he shoved Sarah from the bed. He rolled just as something punched into the mattress beside his head, a harsh ripping sound following after.
“He’s here, Sarah! Run!” he bellowed.
Scrambling from the bed, Quinn’s feet became entangled in the covers. Whatever had slashed the mattress was yanked out. It rose up and sliced through the air. Little grunting noises mixed with keening. Quinn heaved his body to the side, his shoulders and head thudding to the floor. Another blow struck the mattress, puncturing it scant inches from his hip. The rest of him was still twisted in the sheets, and he kicked.
A light snapped on.
A wild-eyed woman stood at the foot of the bed, bathed in light, struggling to free a kitchen knife. She froze, distracted by the light. Blond hair escaped a black cap.
What …?
Dory’s eyes burned into his and jerked the blade free. She double-fisted the handle, drawing it up in what seemed to be slow motion.
“You called her ‘babe’! I heard you!” she shrieked. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her—in the pool, the hot tub, and you fucked her on the couch right in front of me! I hate you!” She raised the knife above her head, aiming it at Quinn. He curled away, but not enough to escape the trajectory of the plunge. He threw up his arm. A sudden thump, an impact, and Dory flew to the side. The knife tum
bled from her grasp, landing beside Quinn’s thigh. He kicked the covers off and seized the blade. Then he was up, moving.
He rounded the foot of the bed. Sarah was crouched over Dory, one knee digging into Dory’s back. Dory had lost her breath but was rousing. Spitting, hissing. He nudged Sarah off her and took over, his knee now wedged in Dory’s back. His weight drove the breath from her again, and he clamped down on her wrists and held them behind her back.
Sarah grabbed her phone from the nightstand where she’d clicked on the lamp, and her wide eyes traveled from Dory to Quinn as she dialed. She put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the bed. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” crackled through the room.
“A crazy woman broke into my boyfriend’s house and tried to stab him.” Sarah wrenched open the closet door and darted him a look. “Tape? Rope? Laces?” She jerked one of his shirts from a hanger and wrestled it on.
What’s she asking me? A klieg light flashed on in his brain. Smart girl. “Gear bag, middle of the right wall. Should have laces and tape.”
The operator asked questions, and Sarah answered, her voice shaking as she rifled the closet.
“And the woman is still there?” the operator asked.
“Yes!” Sarah screamed.
Underneath him, Dory kicked, cursed, yelled. Her strength took him by surprise. She bucked his knee off. Then she rolled and twisted, and he lost his grip on her hands. Screeching like a banshee, she scrabbled, hopped up, and rushed toward Sarah. On his knees, Quinn lunged and caught Dory’s ankle. She thudded to the floor, her free leg swinging wildly. Her heel glanced off his shoulder, but he held on, adrenalin pumping furiously through his body. Lunacy might have fueled her strength, but it was no match for his.
He caught her other ankle, hauled her in, and jerked her back on her face. Her back was too small to fit both his knees, so he rammed one between her shoulders and pinned her with his weight.
“Sarah,” he panted, “the cops need to unlock the gate to get in.” He rattled off his code and location of the exterior keypad.
Sarah relayed it and dropped beside him with two rolls of hockey tape and a handful of tangled laces. Still talking to the nine-one-one operator, she dove for Dory’s legs, sat on them, and ripped a length of tape she handed Quinn. Getting it wound around Dory’s wrists, however, proved futile. Determination blazing in them, Sarah’s eyes met his in a silent exchange. He nodded. While he held Dory’s hands, Sarah wound tape around her wrists. In sync, they worked quickly and bound her ankles too.
Quinn gulped in breath, and sweat dripped off his forehead. Sarah slid off Dory and leaned her head against the bed, her chest heaving. Then she was on the move again, snatching his T-shirt and shorts. She tossed them at him and sat on Dory while he dressed.
The doorbell gonged just as the disembodied voice of the nine-one-one operator announced the police were at the front door.
Sarah leapt up. “You stay here with her. I’ll let them in.”
He kept his knee, and his weight, firmly in the center of Dory’s back, who now sobbed uncontrollably.
The officers appeared in the doorway, Sarah right behind; one had drawn her weapon. Quinn put up his hands and backed away in a crouch. The male officer’s eyes bounced between Dory bound on the floor and Quinn.
Questions, answers, more questions. The female officer looked at Quinn as though she were trying to work out a puzzle. Finally, she said, “You’re Quinn Hadley. You play for the Blizzard.”
He nodded and pointed at Sarah. “And that’s my girlfriend, Sarah Nelson.”
Dory shrieked. “I’m his girlfriend! I caught him cheating on me with that ugly bitch!”
Hours later, after Dory had been hauled away, the cops had sorted the situation enough to leave Quinn and Sarah in peace for a few hours until they were due at the station for formal statements. Though the officers didn’t elaborate, they’d arrested Dory on other charges besides those she’d racked up at Quinn’s.
As Quinn closed and locked the front door, he sagged against it, fatigue seeping into the marrow of his bones. Sarah put her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek against his back, and tugged him toward her room. “C’mon, Sparky. Let’s sleep in my room tonight.”
If I can sleep.
He flopped into her bed and tucked her under his arm. “I thought Wolf had broken in. I never imagined it was Dory. But she was outside, watching us the whole time. When we were in the pool, the hot tub. She spied through the windows when we were on the couch and set off the lights. She must’ve sneaked in through the gym door before I locked it.”
Still wearing his shirt, Sarah snaked her arm around him and nuzzled his shoulder, soothing him. A shiver ran through her body. “I saw her out there, not a cat. And she must have shredded my robe.”
The cops had found his robe, intact, stashed in some bushes.
“She threw the rock,” he said.
“How? I thought she was with Wyatt.”
“I don’t know how she did it, but she did.” He shuddered with the recollection of his shredded mattress and how close Dory had come to burying the knife in him. And if she’d immobilized him? He had no doubt she’d have gone after Sarah. “Jesus, Sunshine. What the fuck is wrong with people? We know how to pick the crazies, don’t we?”
She parked her chin on his chest. “I guess that’s one more thing we have in common.”
He tweaked her nose. “How about we just stick with each other from now on?”
Her eyebrow dipped. “Except we’re crazy too.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “A good kind of crazy. And your crazy matches mine perfectly. I think we make a good team.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
The next day, Quinn called Wyatt, keeping the shit-shooting to a bare minimum before he launched into the reason for his call. “So I wanted to ask you about Dory.”
On the other end, Wyatt was uncharacteristically quiet.
“It’s not like that, man,” Quinn explained. “I wanted to know if you’re still seeing her.”
A throat clear. “Haven’t seen much of her. She’s been acting strange lately, and last week she went dark. I’m guessing I pissed her off, but I’m not sure why. Or maybe … Is she, ah, back with you?”
Quinn kept himself from barking, Hell no! “No, she’s not, and when I tell you what went down last night, I’m betting you’ll be relieved she’s not with you either.” Quinn filled Wyatt in, leaving Sarah’s name out of the narrative. He referred to her simply as “a lady friend I’ve been spending time with.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wyatt spluttered. “This is a joke, right? You’re making this up.”
“Wish that was the case, buddy. But don’t take my word for it. Her arrest should be public record, so check for yourself.”
Quinn lost count of how many times Wyatt muttered, “My fucking God!”
“Do you remember when you first told me you were seeing her? You said you’d been at your place in the mountains?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around some of the dates.” Quinn told Wyatt which dates.
“No, man. She was here the whole time. She drove up separately, but she didn’t go anywhere.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. In fact, McMurphy, his date, and a few other friends joined us. They saw her here too.” Wyatt laughed. “Though one of them wishes they hadn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what set it off, but McMurphy’s date got into it with Dory one night when we were all pretty wasted. What a shit-show! Told Dory she was nuts. There was no shortage of claws. Dory got so pissed, she … Oh shit! I totally forgot she did leave. But it was only for a few hours, I think. Not the whole night.”
When Quinn pressed him, Wyatt said, “Shit, Hads. I don’t know how long she was gone. I was hammered. I just know she showed back up, and everything was cool again. But—here’
s something else I totally spaced—I found out later two of Hunts’s tires were slashed. He had a hell of a time getting new ones, and his date ended up missing some important work thing. He told me all about it afterward.”
“Which night, Wyatt?” This is really important.
“Let me think. Had to be the last night we were there.”
The same night the rock sailed through Quinn’s window. By the time he hung up, Quinn was slicked in a fine sheen of sweat.
Over the coming weeks, Quinn and Sarah learned far more about the woman who’d attacked them from Officer Easton, the policewoman who’d been at the scene that night.
“You were lucky,” she told them over coffee at Quinn’s one morning. Liz and Mike were there, and Archer pranced around Officer Easton as if she were feeding him Beggin’ Strips.
In between stroking his head, she ruffled his neck and crooned that he was a good dog. “Good thing this handsome boy wasn’t around that night.”
“He was with us,” Liz blurted.
The officer gave her a nod. “That saved him. We investigated a similar case about eight months back. One of our pro basketball players was being stalked by a woman who tried breaking into his house. There are lots of similarities between the two cases. Unfortunately, in the basketball player’s case, the gentleman had a dog. That dog was fed a poisoned meatball right before the attempted break-in. The suspect in your case is facing animal cruelty charges in addition to everything else.”
Sarah gasped. “What happened to the dog?”
The officer just shook her head, and something pointy dug into Sarah’s heart.
Quinn put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, and she dropped her head against his chest, drawing comfort from his warm strength. “How do you know it’s the same person?”
“The evidence lines up,” Officer Easton answered.
Sarah looked up at Quinn. The blood had drained from his face, and his mouth hung open. “Thank you for being here that night, Officer,” he finally croaked.