by Deanna Chase
“Maybe a fifty square mile area,” he said. “That’s not small enough.”
Damn it, Isabelle thought. I should have talked to him longer before I talked to Esme. Maybe he would have quoted more scripture. Maybe–
She felt the phone in her hand move and looked down to see Mac taking it, nearly having to pry her fingers away.
“Good work,” Mac said quietly, as the people around them began to move again.
“But we didn’t get the trace,” Isabelle said.
“But we know she’s alive,” Anita said from across the room. Tears were running down her face as Ben held her with an arm around her shoulders. “At least we know she’s alive.”
Mac’s gut had been right.
“No ransom,” he said, standing.
“What?” Isabelle said, taking his hand as he helped her up from the couch.
“No ransom request,” Ben said from behind Mac. “What are you thinking, Mac?”
“It’s a true outlier,” Mac said, measuring his words. “By this time in a case, nearly thirty-six hours, there’s usually an outcome. It doesn’t happen often but it happens. But no ransom request?” He looked at Ben. “He’s not a kidnapper. That’s the wrong profile. It never did fit.” He turned to Sharon. “I want the analysis of the tape from DC, ASAP. Text the transcript of it to every member on the team.”
“Background noise?” Ben asked.
Mac shook his head.
“I’d have to say it was pretty clean,” Mac said. He looked at Sharon who nodded in agreement. “There won’t be much help there. But speech patterns, accents, even the lack of background noise or echo, that might tell us something, even the type of phone. We’ll have to let DC work it over.” He looked around the room to each face in turn, finally ending with Isabelle. “Good work, everybody.”
Before the girl could start crying again or yelling, Prentiss gagged her, despite that rapid head shaking she could do. Then, he whooped and pumped his fist. That had been, by far, his finest performance to date.
Damn, he was good!
News of it would have to be on TV. He’d have to rush home and watch. This was turning out to be much better than the usual killing. He glanced at the girl tied to the chair. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mac followed Isabelle up the dark stairs for the second time this night.
“Maybe I should have asked him about the Bible,” Isabelle said. She’d been second-guessing herself ever since they’d left the house, even through the blinding gauntlet of camera lights and flashes. “Or maybe Satan.” She reached the front door and unlocked the deadbolt and the knob. His hand gently rested on the small of her back. “Even if I’d just said that I’ve never read the Bible it might have taken more time,” she said turning to him, the door open behind her.
His hands slipped easily around her waist as he stood close, looking down into her stunning eyes as they searched his.
“He had a timer,” Mac said. “Probably on his phone. There was nothing you were going to say or do that would have kept him on the line any longer. Too many people have seen crime dramas.”
He drew her closer.
“Really?” she asked, sounding relieved. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she realized he was holding her, and then her hands found his waist as well. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Now why would I do that?” he said lowly, as he bent to kiss her.
Isabelle felt Mac walk her backward through the door, heard him kick it shut with his foot, and lock the knob behind his back. His kiss was hard on her mouth, insistent this time, as though he were finishing something he’d started. The sudden fierceness of it was like fire, hot and wet, capturing her lips in a heated fusion of flesh. She ran her gloved fingers into his hair, desperately longing to feel it against her skin and yet knowing that was impossible.
But what she could feel was his body. Even as his arms wrapped around her and he continued to move her backward, she slipped her hands up his torso and under his jacket. Though his lips never left hers, he quickly peeled off the coat, stripped the tie, and unbuttoned the shirt as though her hands on his body had been a signal. Her hands dove under the open shirt, as she continued to back into the bedroom and he flicked on the light.
Pressing her palms against the curves of his pecs was like touching a statue. She quickly rubbed her hands down the six-pack abs and, in moments, her fingers had undone his belt and pants and he had unzipped the back of her dress. Their mouths wrestled for dominance, their breathing harsh and uneven. In her mouth, his tongue danced and curled, finding hers, twining with it, and then releasing it. As his pants and boxers fell, he undid her thin white belt and lifted her dress over her head. And for the first time since they’d arrived, his lips left hers. She dragged in a lungful of air and, as the dress hit the floor, she saw Mac’s body.
His powerful muscular frame was incredible, everything her fingers had said and more. The wonderfully broad chest was dusted with dark hair that, down the middle of his corrugated abdomen, gathered into a near perfect line. Tight, corded muscle flexed at his hips and, as he came toward her, the long muscles of his thick thighs rippled smoothly under the taut, hairy skin. And between the hips and thighs, his aroused flesh stood rigid and erect.
He must have seen her gaze because he suddenly picked up his pants, dug in one of the pockets, and produced a condom.
“From my luggage,” he said, tearing it open. “From…” He paused just as he was about to put it on. “From before,” he finished, smoothing the tight latex over his shaft.
She’d been so caught up in the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to use protection. Though Mac’s movements were quick she was mesmerized. The smooth muscles of his arms rippled and his pecs bunched as well. But more than anything, she watched his bare fingers, touching himself in a way that she couldn’t.
In moments he was done and closing the short distance between them. But instead of reaching for her bra or panties, his hands lightly grasped one of hers and he began to unbutton the glove.
“No,” she gasped, tugging it away. He stopped, his eyebrows furrowed, gazing down at her hands before she hid them behind her back. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s always a reading. I can’t control it.”
She waited for the protest that she knew would come–because it always did. In many ways, it was the end of the relationship even if it wasn’t the end of the evening.
“Leave the gloves on?” he said, looking into her eyes.
“I have to,” she breathed. “Always.”
As Isabelle stood, hands behind her back, it wasn’t her beautiful body that riveted him, suddenly it was her face. As she waited for his reaction, one emotion after another flitted across it: apprehension, worry and even fear alternated with the desire she clearly felt for him. Then the corner of her mouth crooked upward ever so slightly as she searched his eyes. In that moment, she was transparent to him, vulnerable and utterly irresistible.
“Then leave them on,” he said lowly, reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. “It’s sexy.”
But as the lacy, blue bra fell away and Isabelle let it slip from her arms, sexy hardly seemed the right word. Sexy was the way she looked in a dress. Sexy was the swivel of her hips when she walked. In the flesh, her silky nakedness was gorgeous. The creamy pink nipples matched her lips and the honey colored skin of her bare shoulders and breasts matched that of her face and neck. Tiny lace panties that matched the bra barely covered her, stretching from one rounded hip to the other. Nor had she yet stepped out of her heels.
When she’d told him to stop, he’d thought for a moment she’d changed her mind. But now, with her hands settling on his hips and his drifting to the nape of her neck, there would be no stopping. Despite the aching of his arousal, he kissed her tenderly and slowly, aware of how she’d feared his reaction. Something in her past had taught her to dread that moment. And, as if to confirm it, her lips trembled against his. He ran h
is fingers into her long, silky hair and caressed her mouth with his, urging her to open to him again. And when she did, his tongue stroked her lips instead of penetrating into her.
Lightly, he captured her lower lip, drew it completely into his mouth, and let his tongue fondle it. He stroked her one way and then the other, moving the soft flesh and sucking on it, until the quaking finally stopped. Slowly, her arms wound around his waist and, as she stepped closer, he felt his arousal jab into her abdomen. The press of it into her was like a jolt of electricity. His entire body tensed, as did hers. He let one hand drift downward, lightly grazing the front of her throat, skimming over her collar bone, until his fingers found her plump breast and he palmed it.
Isabelle moaned into his mouth as he lightly squeezed the tender mound. Smooth and lush in his hand, he felt the dimpled center of her nipple stiffen. Gently, he molded the ripe flesh in his hand as her arms tightened around his waist and his arousal was pinned between them. The feel of her pressing along the length of him was nearly shocking, the engorged tip already sensitive. The entire shaft swelled now and his hips pulsed with the need to thrust. He immediately took her other breast, equally warm and soft, and cupped it.
Her mouth seemed to pause in shock and, as his tongue speared into her, he kneaded and stroked each breast simultaneously. He plumped them, squeezed them and let his hands explore their round fullness. Suddenly, she pressed herself to him, the swelling flesh thrusting into his hands, her hips doing a sensual gyration against his. His arousal throbbed in aching response and in the next moment, his hands had pushed her panties down and he was lowering her to the bed.
Isabelle didn’t bother stepping out of her shoes as the panties finally pulled free of them. Mac’s mouth on hers was like a drug: hypnotic and consuming, soft and yet possessive, owning hers to the point that her lungs screamed for air.
But his hands were just the opposite. When he finally released her breasts to guide her hips to the bed, her nipples instantly ached for his touch. Suddenly, his mouth released hers and her lungs heaved like a bellows, pulling in one lungful of air after another. Slowly, he lowered himself over her, the hard slabs of chest muscle grazing maddeningly across the stiffened peaks of her breasts. As she lay back, though, his hand found her again. Even as his hair roughened thighs squeezed between hers, spreading them, his lips found the skin behind her ear and his fingers delicately plucked one nipple.
“Yes,” she gasped as her back arched wildly in response.
Her hips tilted hard against his, his engorged arousal pressing at her entrance, as her nipple tightened in response. His thumb rode across it, rubbing it, as he bit gently into her neck. Her hips lifted to him and her abdomen contracted as the tug on her sensitive nub made the other nipple harden in empathy. And as Mac’s arousal nudged against her sweet spot, warmth flooded between her legs.
Her hands flew to his chest, her palms over his nipples, squeezing the thick pecs. Mac hissed into her neck, driving her to squeeze harder, but the material of her gloves frustrated her. She was dying to know what those nipples felt like, how the hair on his chest would feel running under her fingers, but the gloves would not permit that. Instead, she quickly slid her hands down his incredibly taut waist, onto his hips, and tugged them to her.
But as she tilted her hips up to his and pulled, Isabelle realized that was the last thing she needed to do. Mac’s thrusting arousal sank into her immediately, the hot distended flesh spreading her as he drove up inside. She’d wanted it, needed it, urged him on, and yet the sudden fullness and stretch made her cry out involuntarily.
Mac suddenly freed her breast and raised up on both elbows. She opened her eyes to see his face just in front of hers, looking down at her. His blue-green eyes were fevered, his breathing hard, and his lips parted as though in question. But there was no answer that she could give. Instead, she let her legs and knees lift higher, her high heels riding along the outside of his hips. He glanced back at them, his chiseled torso twisting, the muscles rippling under the taut skin as he reached backward. Slowly his hand caressed the top of her foot. He smoothed his warm palm under her calf, outside her knee, and then up her thigh. The large hand was tender as he rubbed back down her thigh and then her knee. But at his hip, he paused. Gently, his fingers wound around her hand and slowly but firmly he raised it above her head. His weight pinned it to the mattress as he grasped her other hand and did the same.
As their fingers entwined, he smoothly and steadily pushed into her. The rigid part of him glided upward, deep inside her, as her hips rocked with his, her ankles crossed in the small of his back. The penetration of his hot flesh seemed endless, filling her inch by inch as he completely imbedded himself. Her hips wriggled with the mounting pressure and, above her head, her fingers tightened around his. Her lungs fought for more oxygen as Mac’s breathing grew heavy and harsh.
But as the weight of his hips settled on hers and his groin finally connected with her, her back arched. He ground into her then, his distended shaft pushing at the walls of her body, his hips crushing her sweet spot. But just as the tiny center began to pulse, he drew back and then thrust again. Her hips tucked up under his, trying not to let him go. Her hands tugged at his with the impulse to hang on to his waist. But there was no way she was going to move his hands or arms and, as he plunged upward into her, she had no choice but to writhe.
He lowered his chest to hers and his mouth found her neck again, even as her hips bucked upward and her torso jerked against his.
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely into her throat.
Quickly, he drew back and thrust again, moving hard into her, as her sweet spot throbbed against his weight and her hips struggled to satisfy themselves. She bucked again, completely involuntarily, her chest meeting his as her back arched away from the bed.
“God, yes,” he hissed.
Again, he plunged into her as her hips moved to accept him, trying to take all of him. He connected with a soft thud, the vibration of their bodies racing to her sweet spot and it thrummed in response. A convulsion spread through her abdomen, taking her breath away and, as he tried to rear back again, her legs gripped his waist tightly and hung on.
But there was no stopping the primal rhythm that had taken over. His hips deftly swiveled below her legs and pumped his hot flesh into her yet again. She raised herself against him, pressing upward to meet his every thrust, as his increasing rhythm fed the growing yearning in her and a familiar coil of tension began to build in her depths.
She lifted her hips to his thrusting body as he drove into her. The rock hard length of him surged upward, again and again, filling her completely only to withdraw. Her torso struggled to keep up, undulating against his, as he rocked her with each new penetration. But as the tempo increased, she thrashed against him, her body writhing, aching for fulfillment. Mac panted as he pounded into her harder and faster and air was forced from her lungs in breathless urgent gasps. His strokes crescendoed, his hips pumping at a frenetic pace, his thrusts possessing her and penetrating to her very core. Her sweet spot buzzed with the pounding, and a sudden convulsion rocked her body.
“Mac,” she managed to gasp between breaths.
Suddenly, he buried himself in her.
Her hips rocketed to life, gyrating wildly as a wave of clenches exploded in her abdomen. Inside, she felt him thicken and his fingers tightened around hers.
“Isabelle,” he breathed, just as his arousal jerked within her.
He grunted heavily with the release of it and her body convulsed around him. Over and over she spasmed, the dazzling waves of passion sweeping through her. Mac’s arousal jerked again, and she felt his climax ripple along its length, molten and spewing. His massive chest flexed into her, their bodies joined at the hips.
As the clenching deep inside her continued to milk him, she shuddered uncontrollably. A deep groan welled up from his chest as he convulsed, bucking deep inside. Together they rode the surge and ebb of pleasure, rocking in unconscious time unti
l, slowly, the waves began to fade. Though tiny tremors of ecstasy continued to reverberate in her abdomen, her climax had finally passed. His hips pulsed a few more times but eventually they grew still.
Mindless oblivion began to take over as a rush of relief washed through her. Mac’s warm body lay on hers now, his breathing harsh behind her ear, their bodies slick with sweat. She felt him slowly withdraw and his hands release hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes or even move her arms. Deep peace settled on her and she gave herself to it completely, lulled by the rhythm of Mac’s breaths.
Eventually, she felt him move to the bed beside her and gently guide her arms down to her sides. She wanted to turn to him, say something, see his face, but as he put a pillow under her head, she realized she was utterly exhausted. He draped his giant arm over her midriff and nuzzled behind her ear. Though she had no idea if he saw, she smiled. Then, as a deep sigh of male satisfaction washed down her skin, she drifted into blackness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Nothing useful,” Sharon confirmed, holding out the report to him as Mac entered the living room. “As you suspected.”
“Okay,” he said, taking it from her as well as the offered cup of coffee.
Isabelle left his side, headed to the kitchen, and glanced back at him with a little smile just before she disappeared behind the swinging door.
The morning had been a strange series of little rituals. Though they’d slept late and needed to get going quickly, she’d unwrapped a new bar of soap for him. She’d made breakfast while he was in the shower and, while she was showering, he realized that she used paper plates, styrofoam cups, and plastic utensils. Everything was disposable. He’d had a few minutes to look around her apartment as well. Though he’d tried to turn off his profiler’s brain, that wasn’t really possible. Despite the rundown neighborhood and the lack of a car, the furniture all looked new. Nor were there any knick-knacks. Or photos. When she’d finished and entered the living room, she was wearing a particularly form fitting dress of dark green, a neckline that dipped a little deeper, and delicate light green gloves to match. She’d actually blushed when she realized he was staring.