by Misty Dietz
She took both plates to the table. “Eat, then we talk.”
He looked carefully at her. “Okay.” He filled her cup with milk, his with coffee, and then slid into a chair beside her. “Amazing what a couple hours of sleep, a decent meal, and…you can do.”
A trickle of water from his hair streamed down the side of his face, and even as ravished as she was, she wanted to lick it off, climb on top of his wicked body, and find nirvana again.
She got up from her chair, bustling over to the pantry, pretending to look for something until she got her hormones under control. The man was a sexual warrior. He undid her. Completely. As in, no control. Her hand stilled on a box of cereal.
Lord, it was glorious.
He burst into delighted laugher behind her. She swiveled, then smacked at the arms that encircled her waist. “Stop that! You can’t just jump into my head whenever you feel like it!”
“How can I help it when you think so loud?” He laughed again when she pushed past him to the table and sat down. A smile of her own threatened to break surface at hearing him laugh so freely. He rejoined her at the table. “This psychic business sure gives me an edge. I like it.” He winked at her, and her heart turned over.
“I’m supposed to be the kook here. I don’t understand why you can hear me whenever you want, but I can only hear you when you’re under duress.”
“You can usually see what happens to me.”
“Yeah, but I can’t always hear you—your thoughts—like you can hear mine,” she said, puzzled.
He studied his coffee for a moment, then looked up and brushed a strand of her hair back from her eye. “I’ve heard you bit by bit since yesterday morning. The longer I’ve been around you, grown to trust you, and I suppose the more you trust me, the more I’ve been able to hear.” He paused. “I guess I’m open to it. And… I’m beginning to listen for you.” His lips curved.
Seriously, she wanted to crawl in his lap. His smile grew wider, and he patted his thighs. “Come here, I’m all for it. See? This telepathy’s good shit.”
She wadded a napkin and threw it at him. “Get over yourself. I’m not sitting in your dang lap. What if you don’t always like what you hear?”
He shrugged. “I can take it. As long as you’re always honest.”
“Can’t sensor one’s thoughts,” she said.
“You’d be surprised.” He leaned back, tilting the chair onto its rear legs. She couldn’t take her eyes off his magnificent abs and chest. She started to feel warm again. He cleared his throat. When she finally managed to look him in the eyes, he was smirking. “With thoughts like those, however, don’t worry about censorship.”
“For the love of God, Zack. Give me some privacy. I’d think you of all people would understand.” She grabbed their plates, clinking them together as she set them in the sink. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, but it was unsettling to know someone shared your mind. She swung around to return for the mugs only to bump into him. When she tried to grab the cups from his hands, he managed to turn it into an intimate exchange. The teasing light had gone from his eyes.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t intrude. I’m sorry.” She could see that he meant it. She nodded. Things were happening so fast.
She turned back to the sink to busy herself with the dishwasher. She could feel him standing behind her, probably wondering what to do or say next. She wondered the same. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw him reach out a hand to touch her shoulder, but before it got there, he pulled it back and jammed it in his jeans pocket. “As far as you not being able to hear me all the time, maybe you should try trusting your abilities as much as I do.”
She turned around. “Okay, maybe I’ll try. Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Her girly parts tingled when he smiled again. How had she never noticed the tempting hint of dimple in his chin before? That, paired with his sculpted lips…wow. Her gaze went back to his, but he gave no indication that he’d heard her that time. Perhaps he was going to honor her request and stay out of her thoughts.
She frowned.
By the time she’d started the dishwasher, he’d left the room and returned with a zippered pouch, a CD, and a notebook. He slid back into a chair. “I’ll be out of here before the cops come with a search warrant.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ve only been here three hours. You had to sleep, you know.”
When his lips tilted up, she didn’t have to read his mind to know they were both remembering—vividly—what had come before and after their sleep.
“Mind if I use your phone? Archie hasn’t been able to get one to me yet.”
Phone.
Phone!
“Crap! I almost forgot!” She went to the coat closet and pulled Zack’s phone out her purse. “On my way back to my car after giving my report, I spotted this halfway under a bush. It was in the established police perimeter, but they obviously hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
“Sloane—”
“Don’t worry, I took the battery out right away so they couldn’t trace it. At least I think that’s how it works.”
He stood up and a cold wind blew through her. She put a careful hand on his chest. “It’s okay. Okay? If you won’t go to the police, I want you here.” So I know you’re safe. “I need to go into the store for a bit today. Without Tori—”
For a while, she’d forgotten.
His eyes were intent on hers. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Do what? I told you—”
“I don’t have to be in your head to know you’re beating yourself up. It’s all over your face.”
His words released the choke hold on her throat. “But she was murdered, and I was—”
“Living.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to find Ann and avenge Tori, but we’ve got to be tough. Your body—what we shared—was a balm I can’t begin to explain. You needed it, too, so stop feeling guilty and let’s get to work.”
She watched him for a moment. She felt more than saw the torment in him. Subtle waves of energy that brushed against her skin, whisper-soft, as though they were holding back echoes of pain. There was so much to this man. What forces had shaped him to be so guarded, yet so tender? He was so warm when he let down his defenses.
When she realized he was waiting for her to respond, she nodded, and he led her over to the table. He sat down and opened the zippered pouch. Absently, she picked up the CD and immediately dropped it again, her fingers tingling painfully.
Zack looked up from a piece of paper. “What’s wrong?”
“What is that?” She pointed at the CD.
“No idea. John never shared any of this stuff with me, though he did say one day he’d fill me in on his past. Guess we both thought we’d have more time.”
She squeezed his arm. “I hope someday you’ll tell me more about him.”
He nodded. “This was in a box I found in the office vault. Twenty years’ worth of bodyguard and home security invoices, along with this.” He handed her a newspaper clipping.
The resemblance between Ann and the woman in the photo—Serena Galasso—was uncanny. “There’s no denying she’s her mother, is there? How come Ann never knew her?”
“It’s a mystery,” he said.
“Maybe she was psychotic and all the security was John’s way of protecting Ann from her mother.”
He cracked his knuckles. “I don’t think so. Even though John wouldn’t talk about Ann’s mother, I never got the impression he hated her or was afraid of her. Quite the opposite. The only thing he ever told Ann was that her mother was a beautiful woman who could sing like an angel.”
“Ann never even knew her name?” It was mind-boggling. Zack nodded. “And she was okay with that?”
“Ann may have tried to press him, but I doubt it. Besides, there was no moving John once he made up his mind,” he said.
Sloane backed away from the table. “Why do you think this stuff is important right now?”
> He waited until her eyes met his. “Why do you?” He spoke in hushed tones, almost as if he were talking to a frightened child.
“Apparently you don’t need to ask.”
He smiled slightly. “You make it so easy for me.”
“I don’t understand all this.” Her arms gestured vaguely.
How could she begin to encompass everything that had happened to and between them in the last couple of days?
He pulled out a chair for her next to his, and she reluctantly sat down. “Don’t try so hard,” he said. “Your response to the CD only confirms that there’s something to be learned from it.”
“Like what?”
“John clearly wanted to protect Ann from someone. Why else would he have these?” He looked at the invoices. “Why else would he have made only one request before he died?”
She didn’t want to see the guilt spilling shadows in his eyes. “No. You’re the one who told me not to—”
“He said, ‘Look after her, Zack. She’s young and maybe too soft for this world. Not like you and me. After I’m gone, she’ll need your guidance.’” Zack got up and walked into the living room.
She followed him. “You can’t possibly blame yourself for her disappearance.”
His back was to her as he observed the slow moving fish in her aquarium. “Really? He gave me the chance to re-earn my self-respect. He gave so much—so damn much—and asked only that one thing in return.”
“What were you supposed to do? Live with her? Be her chauffer? Hold her hand when she crossed the street? She’s an adult for heaven’s sake!”
“She was so sad, and I left her to fend for herself. After everything her father had done for me.”
“Maybe you didn’t know all the gory details of her life, but you still called to check on her the night of the storm. What else were you supposed to do?” She moved to pull on his arm, and he swung around, jaw tight. Her breath caught. This was her Zack.
But different.
More dangerous.
“Yeah, what? Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m good for fucking nothing.” He backed her into the wall, sending a framed print swinging on its wire.
An electrifying heat clawed through her. “No pity parties, Zack. You’re the one who said we had to be strong.”
“I am strong.” A potent whisper.
Oh, Lord, she felt it. Felt that strength in the coiled power of his thighs, spread to box her in, his jeans lightly abrading her bare skin.
Felt it in the solid wall of his chest that made her simultaneously weak and aware of her own power.
Felt it in the calloused hands that flattened on the wall on either side of her head.
In his eyes.
His eyes.
Her nostrils flared with the effort to keep oxygen pumping to her brain. “You don’t scare me.”
He leaned in to sniff her neck. “I could.”
She shivered, unable to prevent her head from listing to the side. “No.” His breath feathered warm torture along her clavicle. Her fingernails curled into the hem of her shorts. “You…you won’t win this one. Take it back.”
“Take…what…back?” He punctuated each word with a graze of his lips against the line of her jaw.
She was well and truly on fire now. A keen yearning that transcended anything she’d ever known. Her palms came up, dying to touch him, but not. Not yet. “That good-for-nothing BS. Take it back.”
“Why does it matter?”
In the green depths of his eyes she saw her future. “Because you matter. To me. You’re good for me.”
She felt the stillness in him, the turning over of her words, the weighing, assessing.
She swallowed hard.
“Okay. For you, Goldie, anything.”
His lips were a phantom moving across her skin. She wondered at his restraint.
Passion. Tenderness. So often exclusive.
Not with him.
His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she felt it like a physical caress. Her lips parted in response. When he looked into her eyes, they smoldered with a question.
Yes. Oh, yes.
She thought she’d spoken aloud, but then, it wouldn’t have mattered.
This time, he would’ve heard her either way.
Chapter Twenty-five
Zack watched Sloane as she prepared tea at the stove. Her tousled hair made her seem a mythical forest nymph. Sensual, exotic. The stuff of fantasy.
And, man. His emotions were getting carried away.
Still, when she set a delicate tea cup in front of him, he pulled her down onto his lap. Her warm laughter tugged at his heart. Tugged at other parts, too.
“Careful or that tea will scorch areas of your body I’ve come to appreciate,” she said.
He pushed the saucer to the far side of the table. “Screw the tea, then. I’ll take milk.”
She swatted his hands away when he tried to keep her in his lap. “Drink the tea. I’ll bring you some milk, too, you big baby.” When she returned with another glass, he saw her frown at the CD that sat on the table like a silent elephant. She’s afraid of it.
He loved her expressive nature, but fear didn’t belong in those eyes. He rubbed his knuckles on the softness of her cheek. “I’m going to make a few calls. Any chance you have a CD player?”
“No, but I’ll see if my neighbor still has hers. Use my cell phone and save yours for emergencies. Have you received any messages yet?”
“Nothing other than calls from my foreman.”
“Okay. I’ll try to round up a CD player before I freshen up for work.”
“Maybe you should nap first.”
“The store opens in an hour. I have to be there for the girls.” She rubbed the back of her head, tangling her hair even more. He wanted to pick her up, tuck her into bed, and climb in beside her. He’d smooth her hair away from her face and protect her as she drifted away from the ugliness of the world.
Half an hour later, Zack looked up when she walked into the kitchen all gussied up for work. She carried a portable CD player and stopped mid-stride when she looked at him. “What is it?”
He tapped his fingers on this thighs. “I spoke with both the security system and bodyguard companies.”
“And?”
“They weren’t protecting Ann.”
“What? Who then?”
“Serena. They were arranged for Ann’s mother.”
Sloane pulled out a chair across from him and leaned her elbows on the table. “Both companies?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But why? Who is she?”
“They wouldn’t give me a lot of information since I don’t have the right passwords. But apparently my name and social security number are on file as an emergency contact so they were at least able to confirm the name of the client.” He looked at the clipping of Serena. “They wouldn’t tell me where she lives, but one of the customer service reps eventually gave me the name of one of her bodyguards.”
“Let me guess. The customer service rep was female, right?” she asked, drolly.
In spite of wanting to pull his hair out, he smiled. “Your point is?”
“Wipe that grin off your face, caveman, your knuckles are dragging.”
His smile widened until he felt his eyes crinkle. “Until I can give the right passwords, I can’t get more information from either company. The only other thing the lady told me is that the bodyguard services have been arranged until Serena dies.”
“John arranged to have her protected for life?”
“Yep. He even set up a trust for her. I’m guessing the documents are in the office vault. A place I’ve tried to avoid for the past year. Big mistake in more ways than one.”
“Wow. He must’ve really had a thing for her. So neither of the companies said anything about Ann?”
“No, but thanks to one of my buddies I was able to track down the number for Gunther Smith, Serena’s previous bodyguard of about four years. When I told him I’d gotten his
name from his previous employer, I suppose he figured it was okay to talk to me. The story he told me rivals anything in the literature books.”
“Tell me.”
“Ann’s neighbor Agnes had the gist of it. John met Serena when she was a guest professor at NDSU in the music department about twenty years ago. A big star, with ardent admirers in many countries. Heaps of fan mail—proposals, sonnets, shit like that. John fell hard, apparently. She preyed on his lavish generosity for a while, then she dumped him and moved on. The end.” The more it sank in, the more it pissed him off.
Sloane blinked at him for a second before responding in a flat tone. “If that’s your idea of a literary masterpiece, you make a crappy storyteller. Though a secret admirer angle has possibilities.”
She made him smile at the worst of times. “Consider me Cliffs Notes,” he said. “Besides, did I say secret?”
She rolled her eyes with a faint smile. “No, but I refuse to believe that all of that fan mail had return addresses or people using their real names.” She tilted her head. “Maybe Agnes would remember a few other details that might help us understand why John would go to the trouble of arranging security for Serena when she was such a femme fatale.”
“I think I already know why. Serena got pregnant. Gunther said John was over the moon because at forty-eight he thought he’d never father a child. But he was also terrified because Serena wanted to have an abortion.”
“Really? No wonder John treated Ann like a princess.”
“On top of that, one of Serena’s long-time anonymous admirers started sending hate mail instead of his usual love poems. So yeah, you were right about the secret-thing.”
“Sounds like John had probable cause for protecting Serena then.” She looked at the picture again. “I wonder why she didn’t get the abortion.”
Zack felt his face twist into an ugly smile. “According to Gunther, she was getting nervous about the nasty letters. So in exchange for giving birth and handing over the baby, John offered her a fortress in a tropical paradise, bodyguard services for life, and a cool ten million dollars. Pretty small sacrifice.”