“Much.” Frazer heard the relief in the other man’s voice. “But she says I’m driving her crazy so a little field trip wouldn’t be a problem.”
It was tempting.
“I don’t want him spooked and then warning Denker. Did you see the news?”
“That smarmy sleaze-ball lawyer? Yeah, I saw him. You think he’s going to try and play on the governor’s sympathies?” asked Parker.
“On the families’ sympathies. They’ll work on the governor for him, and it’ll be a hell of a lot more effective.” Frazer pinched the bridge of his nose. A sure sign he needed a break, and he knew who he wanted to see when he took one. It wasn’t Randall, and it wasn’t Tyson.
“The governor wouldn’t let him out to find the bodies, would he?”
Frazer pressed his lips together. “He might if he thought Denker would follow through on his promise and not make him look like an ass.”
“Yeah, God forbid a politician ever looks like an ass,” Parker said dryly. “Those families need closure, Linc.”
The same way Rooney and her parents had needed it only a short time ago. Hell.
“Keep your eyes on that cell phone. I want to know who he’s phoning. I want to know if Duncan Cromwell is our guy or not.”
“Cromwell and Denker both attended NC State.”
“Same time?”
“They crossed over by one year.”
“Good. Keep checking. There has to be something solid we can pin down.”
“I’m on it.”
Frazer hung up and headed out, through the thankfully thinning crowd of press. He ignored their questions and drove straight to Isadora’s house.
* * *
“WHAT ARE WE supposed to be looking for?” Izzy was stretched out on the couch, her head resting on Frazer’s thigh. He’d brought over the cardboard box he’d carried home last night. Made them both coffee and told her he needed her help. As she was bored out of her skull with not even the view to look at thanks to the storm shutters, she was grateful for the distraction. She was wearing a knee-length button-up stripy pale blue and white nightshirt, panties, and thick woolen socks. Not exactly seductive. Not even cute. She hadn’t thought she’d be having visitors, much less this particular visitor.
Sexy she wasn’t. Happy to see him she was.
“Any photographs dated from the late seventies or early eighties, with boys in the shot. Thankfully, Mrs. Mildred Houch wrote the dates on the back.”
She frowned. “Is this to do with the current case? Does this mean Cromwell isn’t the murderer? Even though he attacked me?” She didn’t know why that idea upset her so much. Maybe because she’d been no more to blame for Helena and Kit’s deception than he’d been.
Frazer smoothed his hand over her hair. “I have many current cases.” His beautiful blue eyes darkened and he bent down to kiss her lips.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She mumbled, catching him with her good hand and keeping him there when he tried to pull back.
“I’m always working.” There was such bleakness in his eyes when he said that, she kissed him deeper.
All the terror from the morning meshed with all the burning need from last night.
“What time is Kit coming home?” he asked roughly.
“She’s working until five and then visiting Damien for a couple of hours. Said she’d be back in time for supper.”
“Good.” He placed the box on the floor and the stack of photographs in his hand on the coffee table. Then he stood and lifted her into his arms. He was gentle, but her ribs were still sore, and she winced. She’d taken another dose of painkillers, but they hadn’t taken effect yet.
“Don’t worry,” he kissed her forehead. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I think we might end up hurting each other.”
Rather than explore that terrible truth, Frazer fused his mouth to hers and walked to her bedroom. He closed the door on Barney who whined at being shut out.
“My poor dog.” Izzy chuckled.
“He sleeps with you every night, I only—” He cut himself off.
They both knew this couldn’t go anywhere. They’d just met. They both had important work to do. And even if the little voice inside her head insisted she could work anywhere, the sensible, practical Isadora knew it was foolish to follow a man anywhere. But it took the soft vulnerable part of her heart to remind her that he hadn’t asked her for anything more than this.
He stood her next to her bed and strode over to make sure the drapes were tightly closed over the shutters. Neither of them wanted their sex life on the NBC evening news, although why anyone would be interested was beyond Izzy.
He came back to stand in front of her, crouching down to undo her nightshirt one button at a time, revealing a pale, vertical strip of flesh. He ran his finger gently down her middle, all the way to her bright pink panties. His finger skimmed the edge of lace and she jolted. He leaned in to nuzzle her neck and gently eased the brushed cotton from her shoulders.
His eyes took in her bruises and uncertainty creased his brow. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.” But they didn’t have much time left. He’d be leaving soon. They both knew it.
She took his hand in hers and bit the fleshy part of his palm, then licked it better. “We’ll figure it out.”
She toed off her socks and then realized she was naked except for her panties and her cast. “As much as I’d like to strip you with my teeth, it’s going to be a little tricky.”
A smile tugged a corner of that beautiful mouth. But he looked serious as he removed his holster and gun and laid them on the dresser. He’d returned her Glock, which was back in the bedside table, much good it had done her earlier. Still, carrying a deadly weapon did bolster her courage although she was going to have to go to the gun range and practice with her weaker hand now.
She watched him undo the buttons on his shirt and then realized he was going slowly, very slowly, enjoying the way her eyes followed every move with avid hunger.
She licked her bottom lip and he paused. Two could play at that game.
He wasn’t bulky, which was why he looked so good in a suit. But he was muscled and lean, golden hair sprinkled sparingly over his chest. He shucked his pants and hung them over the back of the chair—ever the federal agent. His legs were solid and strong, an impressive erection tenting the front of his boxers in a way that made her insides clench. The image of him, pinning her to the wall and fucking her blind flashed through her brain.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked carefully.
She smiled. “Sex. Against the wall.”
“Put it on the wish list.”
“Wish list?”
“Your wish list. Today we’re working on my wish list.”
It sounded like he thought they had a chance of a future, which they didn’t. But Izzy didn’t have the heart or the courage right now to tell him the truth.
He made her lie down on the mattress with her feet still touching the floor. He lay down beside her.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
She did as he asked. It was easier when she didn’t have to look at his face, knowing that she wanted this man more than was sensible. He traced his fingers carefully over her body, starting at her brow, over her eyelids, her nose, her mouth. She caught his finger with her lips and sucked. He tasted of paper and ink. She felt his lips touch the corner of her mouth, the stupid mole he seemed to like. Then his hands drifted lower while his lips lingered on hers. He caressed and stroked her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were tight and aching. Only then did his mouth move lower, following his clever hands.
His fingers skimmed her stomach, around her navel, down the crease of her leg, brushing over her labia as he moved to the crease of the other leg. Round and round, brushing her sensitive flesh fleetingly on each pass by. His mouth sucked on her breasts, making the sharp pleasure shoot down to her sex. Her hips started to move, rotate, following his hand, those fingers, he
r thighs parting, practically begging for him to touch her there.
Finally, he did. He slid his hand over her panties, rubbing the smooth material against her flesh until it was damp with desire.
She reached out to touch him but the angle was wrong for her good arm. She growled in frustration. He kissed her mouth again. Smoothed her hair off her forehead, staring deep into her eyes. “This is about you.” Then he sank three fingers inside her all at once and she came on a shuddering breath.
He kissed her again and smiled, dropping off the bed, moving between her legs, shouldering her knees wider apart as his breath blew over the damp fabric of her lingerie. His tongue touched her through the material and her knees started to shake. He rubbed the flat of his tongue over and over her until she couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Please,” she begged. “I want you inside me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“The narcotics just kicked in. You’re hurting me by not being inside me.”
“So now you’re high? No.”
“Not high. Happy.” She gripped his shoulder. “Trust me, the only pain I’m feeling is unsatisfied lust for your exceptional body.”
He planted his hands on either side of her head. “Unsatisfied?” he queried.
“Unsatisfied-ish,” she qualified before pulling him down for a kiss and tasting herself on his lips.
He pulled back, and one side of his mouth quirked. “Exceptional, huh?”
She traced his features with a fingertip. “Magnificent.”
He smoothed her hair back with one hand, his expression uncertain. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
She reached out to the bedside table and opened the drawer so he could grab the box of condoms. “I want you, Linc. Inside me. While we still have the chance…” Her voice cracked. “Don’t make me beg.”
His cold eyes sparked with molten heat. “My terms.”
The rustle of a wrapper made her sigh with relief. Then he dragged her panties down her legs and positioned himself at her core, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with an odd expression on his face. “What is it?”
He moved forward an inch.
“Oh, God. More.” Her back wanted to arch, but her ribs were too sore.
His smile got bigger. “Only if you promise not to move.”
“What?”
“I’ll do all the work. You just lie back and think happy thoughts.”
“I can do that.” Her eyes crossed as he pushed inside a fraction more. Her hand grasped the bedspread and gripped tight. “I will get my revenge on you, you know.”
“I hope so.” The smile reached his eyes when he grinned this time. He leaned back, holding her hips gently as he slowly and inexorably pushed inside her. Her inner muscles gave in to his invasion, stretching, clenching, wanting. Izzy lay there, burning up with sensation when he started to move, his hands keeping her absolutely steady as he moved relentlessly inside her. The wonderful sensation of him slowly, carefully, sliding in and out of her slick wetness made her feel like she could do this all day. Just lie here with him filling her so deliciously. Her orgasm felt as if it was a million miles away, but then it hit her like a hurricane that blew up out of nowhere and she was panting and crying out with desperate little sobs. He kissed her on the mouth as she spun into the stratosphere.
“Think you can lie on your front?” he asked when she returned to Earth.
He helped her roll over and moved her gently down the bed.
“I feel like a geriatric sex fiend,” she complained.
“You any less unsatisfied?” he asked, sounding unaffected, but she wasn’t fooled.
“Three orgasms or go home, that’s what I always say.” She laughed, but inside a little piece of her wept. He would go home, and she wasn’t sure why the idea left her so bereft.
She felt him behind her then and for a moment remembered Duncan Cromwell beating her as she lay cowering on the ground. But Frazer’s touch was feather light, barely grazing her skin as he smoothed the blackening bruises on her torso. With no warning he slid inside her, curling his body protectively over her back, but giving her none of his weight.
It felt amazing. She felt wrapped up in him, filled by him, mesmerized by his strong body, his clean fresh scent, his healing heat.
Then he held her hips again, moving slowly, gently, but going deep, touching her just there and that feeling of wonder spiraled tighter and tighter inside her, contracting down until all that mattered was the friction of his flesh dragging against hers. His hand slipped down between her folds to touch her and she was spinning again, out of control, extraterrestrial, outer space, flying and cartwheeling all the way to Mars. He joined her, shuddered, and cried out.
She pressed her face into the pillow as he withdrew, and he shifted her on the bed and then cradled her to him.
As battered and sore as she was, she’d never had sex that good before. She doubted she’d ever have sex that good again, because it wasn’t just about technique or size of the equipment. It was about the human connection. The person you were with. About how you felt about them. What they meant to you. And Izzy had the horrible feeling that Lincoln Frazer could mean everything to her.
His phone rang, and he rolled over to answer it. “Frazer. Yes. In the clearing? You mean directly beneath the other body? This is no copycat. It has to be an accomplice.” Frazer’s voice faded as he left the room and headed into the bathroom. She heard the shower turn on and the words were lost, but not the level of urgency. She rolled onto her side and slowly eased into a sitting position. She found some fresh underwear and loose sweats and pulled them on, one-handed. Forgoing a bra, she dug out a large t-shirt from her drawer, and then a fleece-lined zipped hoodie.
She didn’t know what had Frazer all riled up, but she feared the murder investigation wasn’t over yet. She went into the living room and sat on the couch, dragging the box toward her. She quickly sorted the photographs into stacks of different years. What had been an unmanageable mess was turning into something much more doable. Organizing was one of the things she did best. Keeping busy kept her sane. Especially when she realized she’d fallen in love with a man who was going to hate her, just as soon as she worked up the courage to tell him the truth about her past.
Chapter Twenty-Two
FRAZER NEVER USUALLY spent more than a couple of nights away from the office. The work was piling up, his agents needed his attention, and yet he wasn’t done here. He had a horrible feeling he’d never be done.
He went to check on Isadora sorting the photographs into piles with military efficiency. All composed on the outside, battered and bruised beneath. He went back to the bedroom to get dressed. She’d withdrawn a little—she knew he was leaving soon. Even though they’d agreed it was just sex, neither of them actually believed it. And neither believed they had a future.
She still had secrets he wanted to delve into. Hell, he had secrets, darker than anyone would ever imagine. As much as he wanted to know what made her tick, he couldn’t afford that level of honesty.
The phone call he’d received had been Hanrahan. They’d found the body Denker had told them about, not just in the clearing but buried directly below where Elaine Patterson had been found. Not only that, Elaine had been placed in the exact same orientation as the skeleton. It was extremely unlikely this was the work of a copycat or a disciple. The killer had to be someone who’d actually seen the first woman buried. Participated. Ferris Denker had had a partner.
Hanrahan was furious with himself for missing it, but how could he have known? They hadn’t even heard about this victim until Denker told them. How many other women were out there somewhere? Lying in unmarked graves; some serial killer’s twisted little secret?
It tied his gut in knots that no matter how hard he worked, how diligently he fought them, there was always another predator out there, biding his time.
Frazer didn’t think Denker had always worked with someone,
but Denker said this victim was his first kill, the first victim probably for both killers—so they could easily have messed up and left some damning evidence at the scene. Frazer felt certain both killers had attended the school where they’d buried the body.
Was Duncan Cromwell the man who’d honed his killing skills with a young Ferris Denker? Frazer didn’t know, but he intended to find out.
Dressed, he headed back into the living room. While he’d been brooding, Isadora had stacked the entire box worth of photographs into about twenty different piles and was now sub-sorting the years he’d mentioned into those images with boys’ faces, and those without.
Her efficiency snapped him out of his lethargy.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, sitting back on her heels. She’d put her sling on, so her wrist must be hurting. He hoped that wasn’t his fault. If it was, he hoped it had been worth it.
“I’m hoping to find a photograph of a young Duncan Cromwell.”
“Really?” She looked surprised.
She pulled out a series of photographs of boys. Then hit the jackpot with a photograph of several hundred kids in the official school portrait for 1979. The problem was he didn’t have time to get everyone in the picture age-progressed and he didn’t recognize Denker or Cromwell straight off.
“Do you have a scanner?” he asked.
She nodded. “In the office. Go ahead and help yourself.” She pointed down the hallway.
“Thanks.” He hesitated, trying to remember the manners his mother had tried so hard to instill. “I really appreciate your help.”
Isadora smiled but there was a distance there now, one he didn’t have time to breach. Later. Later he’d make time. When the case was over and they managed to talk about something other than murder.
Sure. When hell froze over.
God, he needed a life.
The office contained a stack of packing boxes. He flipped open the top of one and realized they were Isadora’s belongings, as if she hadn’t quite convinced herself she was staying. Did she love it here? Was this where she intended to spend the rest of her life? Or did she resent being forced to stay here and look after a teen who was more than a handful?
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