Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  His thrusts became almost frantic, and he released her wrists, grabbing her hips with both hands, lifting her, angling her so he could drive deeper still, and then he was jerking against her, his open mouth on her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, nipping, biting, a harsh, agonized groan ripping out of his throat, his fingers digging desperately into her hips. She slid her hands around to his tight butt and held him close, pressing as tightly against his heat as she could, riding out his pleasure, rewarded with an extra fluttery sensation as he came in an endless, hot gush.

  And then they were still, their breathing harsh and synchronized. His hand, hot and damp, stroked her thigh, her ribs, his fingers gentle, almost tickling.

  Holy crap, she thought vaguely. He’d just fucked her all the way to heaven.

  An odd sound came from the other side of the room, and she lifted her head, surprised when it spun. “What’s that?” she asked, then wondered if the words had sounded as slurred to him as they did to her. Yep, she was drunk. Drunk on wine and incredible, incredible, fucking incredible sex.

  He chuckled, the sound low and lazy, vibrating his body under her. That was when she realized that somehow she’d ended up on top of him, that she was sprawled across his chest, her hair cascading over them both, her breasts pressed against his muscled chest. He was still nestled firmly inside her. Her nipples instantly hardened, and she sighed, closed her eyes, head taking a slow, lazy spin.

  “Cell phone,” he murmured.

  “Oh.” She pressed her hands against his chest, started to push herself up, too lazy to pull her hair back and out of her face, but he easily flipped them, pinning her to the bed, and kissed her on the mouth, his tongue briefly touching hers. She welcomed the kiss, reluctant to let him go, reluctant to break the moment. She didn’t want this to end. It was too good. It was like coming home after being out of the country, living with people who didn’t speak the same language, for too long.

  “Let it ring,” he said as he raised his head and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Am I too heavy?”

  She closed her eyes and smiled. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “You feel good.” He felt right. He’d always felt right.

  “God, your smile,” he breathed. “I’ve missed that. I’ve missed you. So much.”

  She opened her eyes, her heart skipping at how intensely he stared into her. Then he sighed, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, you know. For everything.”

  She nodded and swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “Me, too. I was such an idiot to leave.”

  His smile spread into a grin. “Kind of, yeah.”

  “It was never you. It was me.”

  “That’s what women say when they want to dump a guy.”

  “But in this case, it’s true. I couldn’t . . . deal.”

  He kissed her, gentle, tender, reverent. “I know. I wish I knew how to help.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could do. It was up to me to get over it.”

  His brow furrowed. “You can’t just get over what happened to you, Ky. It’s part of who you are.”

  “I just want it all to be over.”

  He started to respond, but his cell phone rang again. “Damn,” he said, dropping his head to nuzzle her cheek.

  “Maybe you should get it,” she murmured as she rubbed her fingers through the soft hair behind his right ear.

  “Probably should.”

  He kissed her one last time. “When I’m done, we can pick up where we left off.”

  “You’ve got a date.”

  36

  CHASE, GRINNING LIKE A FOOL, GRABBED HIS CELL out of his pants on the floor and walked stark naked into the living room. Rain continued to fall outside, and he wondered vaguely whether there’d be flooding issues in Kendall Falls.

  “Manning.”

  “Sylvia Jensen here, Chase. I’ve got the test results on the shirt that was buried with the baseball bat.”

  Chase stopped in midstep, fingers freezing where they’d started to give himself a satisfied belly-scratch. “Okay.”

  “It’s definitely Kylie’s blood.”

  Chase shoved a hand through his hair. Damn. He’d hoped against hope that it wasn’t. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. That bat was the weapon used in her attack. No doubt about it.”

  Ah, hell, he thought. Things weren’t looking good for Quinn, innocent or not.

  “There’s something else,” Sylvia said. “Another type of blood on the same shirt.”

  Chase turned to look down the hall toward the bedroom. Kylie was in there, naked and waiting. He wanted her again already. “Whose?”

  “I’ll run the DNA through the system first thing tomorrow to see if there’s a hit. This could be what you need to identify at least one of the attackers.”

  “Or it could just be Quinn’s blood, since it’s his shirt. And that wouldn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.”

  “I can tell you right now that, based on the DNA in the sample Kylie gave us, it’s not Quinn’s. Whoever’s it is isn’t related to the McKays. But we could get a hit in the DNA database.”

  “Okay. Let me know as soon as you get anything.”

  “You bet.”

  “Thanks, Sylvia.”

  He cut off the call and stared down at the floor, tapping the edge of the phone against his chin. Just because Kylie’s blood was on Quinn’s shirt didn’t mean Quinn did anything to her. It could have happened just as Quinn said. He’d gotten wet and left the shirt at the Bat Cave, and the attackers used it to clean up the bat before they buried it. But would a grand jury see it that way? Especially considering Quinn’s reputation for being a jealous, resentful brother? Not to mention his lack of alibi and love of booze.

  “Are you coming back to bed?” Kylie called from the bedroom.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Chase headed in that direction. She was going to hate this, but he had to tell her. They’d just found each other again, and he wasn’t about to risk it by keeping secrets.

  She sat up the second he walked into the bedroom, the playful expression on her face falling away. “What’s wrong? Who was that?”

  “Sylvia Jensen, the—”

  “Forensics expert, sure. I remember.”

  “The tests on Quinn’s gym shirt came back. It is your blood.”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows cinched together as she processed that. “So that was the bat, then.”

  He nodded as he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. “This won’t be good for Quinn, Ky.”

  Her widened eyes met his. “But you said you believe—”

  “I do believe you, Ky. But I also have to follow the evidence, and the evidence is pointing very confidently at your brother.”

  “He didn’t do it, Chase. He couldn’t have.”

  “I’ll do my best to prove that, but it isn’t up to me to decide.”

  “So in the meantime, you’ll be building a case against him.”

  “I’m a cop, Ky. That’s what I do.”

  She sat back against the pillow. “I see.”

  He sensed the shutdown in her emotions before he saw it in her expression. “Ky, come on. You know I’ll do everything I—”

  He broke off as she shoved aside the covers and slid out of bed. She was beautifully naked as she walked to the door, but he didn’t get to appreciate it as the game face slammed him in the temple in all its Kylie McKay glory. Anger quickly followed. Thirty minutes after talking out the past and fucking each other into a stupor, and she whipped out the game strategy the instant they hit a bump in the road? What the fuck?

  “Ky,” he said, struggling to control his tone. “Don’t walk out on me.”

  She paused at the door and turned, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Don’t railroad my brother.”

  “I don’t railroad anybody.”

  “You know what I mean.”


  “Do you think I’m a bad cop?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question. Do. You. Think. I’m a bad cop?” So much for keeping his voice from betraying his anger.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what kind of cop you are.”

  That hurt. It shouldn’t have, because she was just lobbing shots, but it still hurt more than it should have. “Good cops don’t put innocent people in jail without a damn good reason. I’ve got three damn good reasons to throw your brother’s ass in jail. They’re called means, motive and opportunity. I’ve got his shirt with your blood on it connecting him to the weapon. He has no alibi for the time of the attack. If you weren’t his sister, you’d be shaking your head and tsking right now about how that boy’s going to spend the next five at Everglades Correctional Institution. So don’t give me that railroading crap.”

  Turning away, he jammed a hand through his hair and shook his head. Shit. He shouldn’t have gone off on her like that. But, hell, she should know he would do the right thing. Where the hell was the trust?

  “Are you finished?”

  At the soft question, he glanced over his shoulder at her and nearly groaned aloud at the flat expression and dead eyes. Was it possible that she was even colder than before or did it just seem that way because of the heat they’d just shared? Two steps forward, thirty-two steps back? Hell, with Kylie, it was more like a hundred and thirty-two steps back.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m finished.”

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  Surprised, he turned fully as she walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  He picked up the nearest object—a pillow—and whipped it at the door.

  THREE HOURS LATER, WHILE ANOTHER THUNDERING storm shook the small house, Chase tossed fitfully, unable to get Kylie out of his head, naked and bucking under him, clamped around him, so hot and tight and open. In thirty minutes or less, like a damn pizza delivery, she’d shut him down and walked out on him—again—and now he couldn’t decide what he was more: angry, hurt or disappointed.

  But the more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder how open she had really been. Sure, they’d talked about the past. They’d apologized to each other, and all seemed like water under the bridge. Yet, their exchange just before his phone rang began to bother him.

  “It was never you. It was me.”

  “That’s what women say when they want to dump a guy.”

  “But in this case, it’s true. I couldn’t . . . deal.”

  “I know. I wish I knew how to help.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could do. It was up to me to get over it.”

  “You can’t just get over what happened to you, Ky. It’s part of who you are.”

  “I just want it all to be over.”

  When you got right down to it, she hadn’t said much of anything in that conversation. She was still saying what was expected of her, still holding everything at bay. He’d thought they’d shared a breakthrough, but all they’d really shared was platitudes and sex. Maybe that worked for other people, but it ticked him off. He didn’t want platitudes. He wanted Kylie, naked in more ways than one, sharing what she really felt rather than what she wanted everyone to think she felt.

  Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Christ, his fucking divorce hadn’t been this much work or hurt nearly as much. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Didn’t know what to say, how to act. Should he corner her or leave her alone? Should he walk away and never look back? Could he? Had he even tried hard enough yet? Or the right way?

  Frustration made his head begin to throb. He needed a plan, a different approach. Maybe it was ironic, but he needed a strategy to strip away her strategy. If she wanted to play life like it was a game, then he had to figure out a way to outplay her until she had no defenses.

  And in the meantime, he needed to solve the damn case. Maybe if he did that, closure would help drag her out of her emotional quicksand. Or, considering how guilty Quinn looked and acted, it could drag her under . . .

  He needed other suspects.

  He knew the police at the time interviewed fellow tennis competitors, amateur and professional, but hadn’t come up with anyone viable. Maybe she’d had an obsessive fan no one knew about. Except obsessed fans didn’t work in twos. Hell, maybe the attack had had nothing to do with tennis. Maybe she’d had a rival at school, someone whose boy-friend decided he had a crush on Kylie instead. Maybe she’d blown the curve on a chemistry exam. Maybe she’d spurned the advances of a boy. Any one of those scenarios could have led to a teen boy, or girl, employing the help of a friend to teach her a lesson. But surely she would have remembered something like that and brought it up after the attack. Unless she hadn’t realized anything like that had happened.

  And finding anyone who looked as logical as a suspect as Quinn depended heavily on several key variables coming together. Whoever did it knew when and where to catch Kylie alone. That meant they had to know her workout schedule and her workout path. Considering how often Chase trained with her, they also had to know his schedule and that on that day at that particular time, he would be occupied by English class at Kendall Falls Community College.

  And then a truly awful thought struck him. What if the attack had been about him? Some twisted kid got angry at him for some perceived slight and took it out on his girlfriend. And, fuck, that line of thinking opened up a whole new slew of possibilities. He hadn’t been the only one close to Kylie. Someone pissed at Quinn or Jane or either of her parents could have cornered her. And that didn’t take into account the group of girls she’d hung around with. Kylie was known for sticking up for her friends. Had she ticked off someone that way?

  Jesus, the list was endless. It didn’t help that T.J. had struck out with the mug books. Having a suspect in the present would sure help in trying to figure out the past.

  All he could hope was that Sylvia got a hit on the other blood on Quinn’s shirt that sent him in a workable, new direction.

  37

  JANE STEERED HER LEXUS THROUGH THE GATED entrance of her neighborhood, appreciating, even in the rain, the majesty of the towering palm trees that lined both sides of the street at precise intervals. Her cell phone began to ring, and she checked the caller ID screen before eagerly flipping it open. “Hi, Tiger.”

  “I need to see you now.”

  The urgency in his voice sent a rush of pleasure flowing over her. “I thought you wanted a late dinner.”

  “No. I need to see you now.”

  Realizing she’d mistaken anxiety for urgency, she frowned. “What is it?”

  “Just . . . where are you?”

  “I’m almost home.”

  “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  “Wait! Do you think that’s a good idea?” But he’d already hung up.

  Determined to not let concern put creases in her brow just yet, Jane pressed the button that opened the door of her two-car garage and pulled in.

  In the house, she deposited her briefcase and bag in her office then continued on into her bedroom, unbuttoning her dress along the way. The three-month-old house was cool and smelled like a meadow, the quiet disturbed only by the low hum of the air filter next to her bed.

  She changed into a pink sundress and let her hair down before walking barefoot into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of iced tea. By the time Wade’s BMW pulled into her driveway, she was standing in the living room waiting for him, her toes sinking into plush new carpet while the ceiling fan spun lazily above her head. Sipping tea, she watched him get out of the car and run for the door as if the rain would melt him. He was frowning so hard that lines appeared engraved on either side of his mouth.

  She’d never seen him angry before, and a thrill of anticipation zipped through her. Maybe he would earn his tiger stripes, so to speak, in bed later. It shocked her that she could want him again so soon after their morning together. Kylie
had been an absolute fool to let this man go. Well, Jane thought, one woman’s trash was another woman’s pleasure.

  She opened the front door before he rang the bell, and instead of the smile he’d been giving her lately when he saw her, he brushed by her into the foyer.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Jane said wryly.

  “She’s going to find out,” he said.

  Jane knew who he meant, and what, and struggled to keep her expression from reflecting the sudden wild pounding of her heart. “How? We’ve been discreet. Well, before you parked in my driveway just now, anyway.” She tried to smile to temper the criticism.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Detective Chase Manning questioned me.”

  Her attempt to smile turned to bafflement. “About what?”

  He walked into the living room, raking a hand through damp, normally perfect hair. Jane followed, refraining from asking him to remove his shoes. What he’d said was more upsetting than the thought of a dirty carpet anyway.

  “He thinks I could have had something to do with Kylie’s attack,” Wade said.

  Jane stopped, stunned. “What? That’s impossible.”

  “Chase Manning doesn’t seem to think so. Can you imagine what it would do to my practice if the newspaper gets a hold of such bullshit? I’d be ruined.”

  “I don’t understand where this is coming from. What could possibly have given him the idea you had anything to do with something that happened ten years ago?”

  Wade dropped onto the yellow floral loveseat. “He doesn’t buy that it was a coincidence that I was in the ER when she was brought in.” He cradled his head in his hands briefly before looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Hell, for Kylie, it was pure luck that I was there. Those idiots had no clue what they were dealing with.”

  Jane eased down next to him on the loveseat. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Wade. He can’t prove anything.”

  “You said your brother didn’t do anything wrong and look what’s happening to him. If my name gets dragged through the news like his has, I’m fucked.” He lowered his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Goddammit, Jane.”