by Karen Rose
I should have stripped them nude. He always stripped them nude. Why didn’t I do that?
Because he’d been in a hurry to get back to the city and kill Faith. Damn her to hell. Why wouldn’t she just die already?
Relax. Nobody’s reported them. The bodies were still here and there were no police around. The Earl Power guy was a known missing person. Some curious passer-by probably saw the mound of fill dirt he’d left on the floor and—
Shit. The girl. Roza was gone.
He ran around the back and his stomach started to heave. The doors to the storm shelter had been thrown wide open. He shone his light down into the cellar, fighting back sheer panic.
Because Corinne Longstreet was gone too.
He stumbled down the stairs, swinging the beam of his flashlight around the cellar, dazed. His mind reeling. He’d left her here for a day. Only a day. He’d expected to find Corinne half frozen, or maybe even dead. But not gone.
His light hit two small piles of rope. His rope. He picked up the pieces and studied the ends. They’d been sawn with a very dull knife. The Longstreet bitch had had a knife.
Where had she gotten it? He’d searched her thoroughly when he’d shackled her to the cot. She’d been carrying a can of pepper spray in her backpack, but he’d found that right away.
I should never have taken her. If he hadn’t, he never would have had to take Arianna. Who wouldn’t have gotten away, and no one would have invaded his home and taken his things.
He drew a deep breath through his nose, determined to stay calm. Do not think about it. Do not think about them in my house, touching my things.
Think about getting Corinne back and making her pay.
Hell, think about getting Roza back before she told the world what he looked like.
He took the stairs in a few leaps, running back into the cabin. She’d uncovered the bodies. The Longstreet woman. The pile of dirt and the shovel he’d left behind had piqued her curiosity, no doubt. Well, all right then. That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like anyone else knew. This could still be contained – if he found her. How hard could that be?
Considering she’d hidden a knife and managed to free herself and the girl? Maybe hard.
Still, she was one woman, and a sick one at that. She’d be needing her medicine soon. And she’d be slowed down by the child. How far could she have gotten?
He swung his flashlight around the room, noting the open drawers and cabinets. She was smart, he thought reluctantly. She’d taken supplies. But it was also extra weight she had to carry that would slow her down.
The beam of his flashlight landed on the closet, and his gut twisted. My things. He’d put the trunk in there the night before. Slowly he approached, almost afraid to look. Then he let out a relieved breath. The old steamer trunk was still there.
He lifted the lid, scanned the contents anxiously. The jars on top had rolled around in the trunk as he’d moved them into the closet, but none had been broken. And in the smaller box next to the jars, his collection of their things, the items each victim had carried on the day he’d taken her – credit cards, cash, jewelry . . . and now cell phones, of course.
Briefly he weighed the danger of keeping the box and trunk with him in a stolen truck versus leaving them in the closet while he looked for Corinne and the child. If they had managed to find help, the cops would storm this place. He was not going to allow his belongings to be taken, especially by the police.
He grabbed the wheelbarrow, loaded the trunk into it, then moved his collection to the dead equestrian’s truck. Then he loaded the woman into the wheelbarrow for the trip back into the cabin so he could bury her with the others.
He looked around for the shovel, but it was gone too. The Longstreet bitch again, he thought angrily. She’s stolen my shovel.
With his hands, he pushed the soil away, once again glad that he’d picked a skinny victim. Once he’d stripped her naked, she slid right between the Earl Power tech and the locksmith. He pushed the dirt back over them and replaced the floorboards. This time he’d get rid of the dirt, dumping it down the storm cellar and closing the cellar doors.
When he got back to the truck, he looked both ways, shining his flashlight in the dirt along the road. And there was a footprint. She’d gone back the way he’d just come. Depending on how long she’d been free, and how heavy her pack was . . . she might have made it ten miles. Which was just fine, because there was no civilization for at least that far.
But why hadn’t he seen her? Maybe she’d hidden. And I was driving faster than normal.
Damn truck. He’d had too much fun driving it. He’d have to slow down. He got into the vehicle and headed back toward town, searching for Corinne.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 7.45 A.M.
Faith woke to feathers tickling her nose. No, she realized. Not feathers. The soft hair that covered Deacon Novak’s chest. At some point she’d rolled over and now lay sprawled across him, her legs tangled with his, his chest her pillow.
Lightly she petted him. His chest hair was solid white too. She wondered how far down the white went. Her fingers followed the trail down his chest, over his very nice abs. The backs of her fingers brushed silk. And then steel. He was hard.
Her body clenched, wanting him. Wanting him now. For her own. She slipped her hand under his waistband and curled her fingers around him, his erection jerking in her hand.
A hum vibrated through his chest. ‘Don’t stop,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t ever stop.’
Stroking him softly with one hand, she lifted up on the opposite elbow. ‘You were awake.’
‘Just now.’ He arched, his eyes closed. ‘I want you. I want to be inside you.’
A shiver rippled over her skin. ‘Then what are you waiting for?’ His eyes snapped open and Faith was lost. Brown and blue clashed and swirled. ‘So beautiful,’ she whispered.
He exploded into action, yanking her panties down her legs, pushing his boxers out of the way, rolling her to her back. He straddled her again, but this time the view was much better. On his knees, he towered over her, jutting out, begging to be touched.
She traced a finger down the trail of hair, over his abs, petting the hair around his cock, making it jump and throb. All while those eyes of his remained fixed on her hands. He met her eyes and she felt scorched.
‘I wondered,’ she whispered, ‘if your hair was white all over.’
‘Not all. There are still a few black ones in there.’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘You’d have to get very close to find them though.’
She licked her lips and he groaned. ‘But not now,’ he said gruffly. ‘I need to be inside you.’ He leaned to one side, opening the nightstand drawer, heaving a sign of relief. ‘There’s only one,’ he said, handing her the square packet. ‘You said you wanted to do it next time. Hurry or I’ll do it myself.’
Faith ripped open the condom and slowly slid it down the length of him. ‘All dressed,’ she said, her voice coming out strangely deep and husky. ‘Got someplace to go?’
‘Yes.’ He slid down the bed until his mouth was level with her breasts and took his time, laving each with his tongue, teasing with his teeth until she was bucking beneath him. He sucked and nipped and made her go crazy.
‘Deacon, please.’ She gripped his shoulders, digging in with her nails. ‘Please.’
He slid lower. ‘Just a little taste. Just a little.’ And then his mouth was on her, his tongue doing wicked, wonderful things. She squirmed, working herself against his mouth, almost there.
And then he pulled his mouth away, replacing it with the smooth slide of his erection, filling her up. He held himself still, his eyes drifting closed.
‘So good. You feel so good.’ His eyes opened, holding her gaze as he started to move, long, sumptuous strokes that had her trembling beneath him. ‘Do you like this?’
‘Yes. But faster. Harder.’
He went still, then pulled all the way out, sitting back on his haunches. ‘On y
our knees. Please.’ She scrambled up, obeying him, sucking in a breath when his hands spanned her waist and turned her so that her back pressed against his chest and she was sitting in his lap. Then he drew her close, sliding her down, impaling her, his hands sweeping up her ribcage to close over her breasts. ‘Ride, fast and hard.’
She did, hoarding the pleasure, his and her own, not even realizing he’d turned them to face the opposite wall until he whispered, ‘Open your eyes, Faith.’
She did, and gasped. He’d turned them to face the mirror. ‘Watch us,’ he said in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered again and watched them. Watched herself riding him, her face flushed, her breasts bouncing. He lifted her arms around his neck, arching her back, displaying her breasts for him to see and touch. He filled his hands with them, plucking at her nipples, his face growing more intensely focused.
‘Faster,’ he growled, ‘or I’ll do it myself.’
She picked up the pace, her heart beating hard, until with a low roar he came, taking her with him. They knelt together as the seconds turned to minutes, catching their breath, their trembles subsiding. Deacon kissed her shoulder. ‘I have to be the luckiest man alive right now.’
Faith laughed breathlessly. ‘I can’t move. Ever again. We have to stay here.’
‘If only we could. Someday we will. When this is over, we’re going away, just the two of us, and we’ll stay in bed for a week, doing this.’
Reality intruded, and with it, the sadness with which she’d gone to sleep. Roxie Dupree. I’m so sorry, baby. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone. Roxie and all the others, dead because he wants me.’
Deacon’s arms tightened around her waist and he kissed her temple. ‘We’ll stop him.’
‘I know you will.’ The alarm clock on the nightstand began to ring and Deacon silenced it. ‘I guess it’s time to get at it,’ she said, and reluctantly slid off the bed, turning to kiss his mouth softly. ‘When do we need to leave?’
‘I have a team meeting at nine, so eight thirty at the latest. We have plenty of time.’
‘Says the man who can wash his hair in three seconds flat.’ Shaking her head, she headed for the bathroom, finding it well stocked, as Adam Kimble had indicated the night before.
She indulged in a long, hot shower, feeling the aches in her body fade. Some of them were from her wreck and Deacon’s life-saving tackle at the hotel. Others were from their lovemaking. She hadn’t used those muscles in far too long.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater, she found Deacon in the kitchen. An iPad in one hand, phone in the other, he was shirtless and shoeless, his hair neat for the first time. ‘Deacon, you combed your hair!’
He turned around, his very talented mouth quirking up. ‘I comb my hair every day, several times. It just gets messy fast.’ He held up his phone. ‘Your uncle Jordan texted me. He wants to meet us this morning. He says he went through some of your grandmother’s papers last night and has some thoughts about who else might have access to the house.’
‘He might know about that maintenance company Bishop was talking about. Gran would have signed all the checks and the contracts.’
‘Maguire and Sons, with its mystery lady. Jordan wanted to meet at a coffee shop in Mount Adams, but I can’t guarantee your safety there. We can meet him in the CPD cafeteria at nine. I’ll move my status meeting to nine thirty.’
‘Sounds fine to me.’ She ran a finger over the tattoo circling his upper arm as he texted his reply to Jordan. ‘I keep meaning to ask you about the tats.’
His shoulders stiffened. ‘Nothing special, truly.’
Now she was curious. She leaned in to examine it, giving him a quick warning glare when he started to pull away. ‘I’ve seen you naked, Deacon. Don’t be shy about this.’
‘I’m not shy.’
No, she realized. He was upset. And once she got a better look at the tat, she thought she might understand why. Within the complicated swirls of the Celtic chain around his biceps, patches of white broke up the bronze of his skin. She pressed her lips to the lighter skin. ‘This is from the syndrome that Greg told me about – Waardenburg with two a’s, right? I read that it can cause pigmentation loss in hair, eyes and skin.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why did you ask Greg?’
‘Because I tried asking you and you went all mysterious on me. Look, you may hate this genetic thing you have, but if you’re worried how I see you, then stop. I don’t have any issues with the way you look on any level. I think your eyes are frickin’ amazing. Your hair is cool. When I first saw you get out of your SUV, I thought you looked like some sort of superhero who’d stepped out of an action movie. I don’t think you need the tattoos, although they are very well done. So stop getting all upset about it and let me look at them.’
He frowned at first, then his brows shot up. ‘Superhero?’
She smiled up at him. ‘Yeah. With the leather coat and the shades you look— Oh, crap.’ Leather coat. ‘I almost forgot. Put your clothes on. I’ll be right back.’
She hurried to her room to get the FedEx box from Daphne Montgomery that Adam had left next to her Hello Kitty overnight bag. By the time she came back, Deacon had put on a shirt and was snugging his tie to his collar. His eyes grew wide when she put the box on the counter.
‘The package from Daphne,’ he said. ‘But it’s open. Who did that?’
‘Adam said he would open it in Tanaka’s office to be sure it wasn’t a bomb or something. By the way, your cousin signed for this when it would have been smarter from a career standpoint to let it be taken into evidence. Just so you know.’
Wordlessly he pulled the box flaps back, and his jaw literally dropped. ‘Oh my God,’ he breathed. Slowly he lifted the black leather coat from the box and held it in the air, and Faith wished she’d thought to have a camera ready. His expression brought tears to her eyes. ‘Where did Daphne get it? How did she get it so fast?’
‘She said she bought it for her husband as a gag gift for his birthday. I can’t imagine spending that kind of money on a gag gift.’
‘They’re richer than God,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t believe she did this.’ His throat worked as he visibly fought to regain his composure. Then he grinned. ‘I almost wish she’d given it to Joseph, just to see his face. I always knew he envied the leather, but he’d never admit it.’
‘There’s something else in here.’ Faith shook it loose from the foam peanuts and chuckled. ‘It’s another Kevlar vest. The note says, “Don’t get shot again.”’
Deacon’s grin softened to a wistful smile. ‘That’s Joseph’s handwriting.’
‘His way of saying you scared him to death because he cares?’
‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat and put on the coat. ‘A little tight in the shoulders.’ Another grin, this one cheeky. ‘I’ll have to let Joseph know.’
Utterly charmed, Faith fastened the coat’s buttons. ‘I was going to hide the box from the Feds because I didn’t want you to lose another coat, but Adam insisted he’d handle it. I told him he’d get in trouble, but he said he owed you a debt. I hope he keeps the peace between you.’
‘I hope so too.’ But then Deacon frowned. ‘I can forget about all the things he said to me, but one of the things he did might impact you. He called your boss yesterday morning to verify your employment and told him that you were a person of interest in an investigation. I had no idea he was going to do that. I never expected him to make that kind of decision on his own.’
Faith’s initial shock was obliterated by a flash of anger. But then years of training kicked in, providing her insight into Adam Kimble whether she wanted it or not. ‘He thought he knew me. What I was. He didn’t have the benefit of knowing the truth. Neither did you, but you still treated me with respect. Your behavior must have rattled him.’
‘What if you lose your job? Will you be so understanding then?’
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a boss fired me
on the basis of an allegation. But they haven’t fired me yet.’ At least the lack of reply to the email she’d sent yesterday made more sense. ‘And if they do, even after I’m cleared I wouldn’t want to work there anyway.’
Unease rippled across his face. ‘You’d leave Ohio?’
‘I never said that. At this moment in time, standing here with you? Not on your life.’
His smile made her knees go rubbery. ‘Good. Come on, let’s go meet your uncle.’
Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 7.45 A.M.
Corinne woke with a start, her heart racing, her breathing hard and heavy. Where the hell . . . Oh. Right. Deer blind in the woods, running from a madman. Jars of eyes.
She blinked, bringing the ceiling into focus. The little room was no longer pitch dark, but it wasn’t quite light yet. Sunrise. She’d slept for nearly twelve hours. I needed it. She turned her head to the empty space beside her. Roza. Corinne sat up like a shot.
And pressed her hand to her pounding heart in relief. Roza sat in the corner of the small shelter, drinking cold soup from a can. A second empty can sat next to her foot. Warily the child watched Corinne’s every move.
‘I thought you were gone,’ Corinne said, her voice rusty, her throat dry as the desert wind.
Roza looked at her like she was crazy. ‘Where would I go?’
‘Good point.’ Corinne looked at the pile of supplies. ‘We don’t have much left.’
‘I didn’t eat all the soup,’ Roza said defensively. ‘I saved you two cans.’
‘That’s fine, honey. I was more marveling that a pile that small weighed so much when I was carrying it. How are your feet?’
‘I have sores.’ Roza had taken off her shoes, revealing nasty blisters that oozed.
‘Me too. I hate to tell you to put your shoes back on, but we have to walk some more.’
‘No,’ Roza moaned. ‘Please, no.’
‘You know he’s looking for us. And you know what he looks like.’
Fear filled Roza’s eyes. ‘He’ll kill me for helping your friend.’
‘I won’t let that happen. But you’ll have to walk, even with hurt feet. All good soldiers do.’