She cried out and her hands flew to the comforter, frantically bunching it. He pushed up onto his hands and drove his manhood into her. He claimed her, over and over, flexing his body, pivoting his hips, burying himself to the hilt. Possessive thrusting took over, faster and harder. Isabelle grunted below him, her eyes closed, and he didn’t even know if she was moving, except that her body quaked with each plunging thrust and her breath came in short, panting bursts.
He needed to slow down but his hips flew forward and back, pounding, the tempo increasing. He swelled inside her, heaving against her, his hips gyrating of their own accord.
He was going to come but Isabelle–
Suddenly, her hands landed on his chest. He’d only just realized what had happened when her lower body erupted in a frenzied writhing that matched his own. She lifted her hips to his thrusting body in perfect time, her grunts now high-pitched, rasping whimpers. Her fingernails bit into his pecs and then her fingers closed on his nipples.
“Oh god,” he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.
His entire body convulsed and he immediately lost control. With a loud cry, he exploded inside her. He felt his hot seed shoot into her and groaned in blissful agony. Isabelle’s center clenched on him and he knew she was climaxing but then she began to shake violently. He tried to say her name but her fingers squeezed his stiff nipples and his release shattered something inside. He fell to his elbows, his hips erratic, whipping to and fro and finally her fingers released him.
“Isabelle,” he gasped as he fell to her chest and his head landed on the comforter next to hers.
Underneath him, her body undulated, moving his weight with a jarring and pulsing climax. Her moan was breathless, pained, spiraling ever higher until a scream was torn from her throat.
He quickly wrapped his arms underneath her body, clutching her, holding on as she spent herself and took him with her. In one final, glorious moment, her hot center bore down on him and his flesh jerked deep inside. The final moment of ecstasy was like an eternity. They both held their breath and, when the climax released, Mac sucked in air as though he were drowning and Isabelle’s chest heaved beneath him. Finally, they both lay still, fighting for air, their breathing harsh and uneven.
Though relief flooded through him, it was cut short as he realized his entire weight was on her. Quickly, he released her and propped himself on his elbows. Though he looked down at her face, her eyes never opened. Her ragged breaths nearly sucked her lips in and out.
He pushed to his hands, still breathing hard himself. It’d been too much. He should have stopped but…
“Isabelle?” he breathed. Her eyebrows moved up just a fraction. At least she could hear him. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to–”
Her eyebrows furrowed and slowly her eyes opened and looked up into his.
“I know,” she whispered between gasps.
But before he could answer, her eyes closed and she was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
THOUGH THE DIM light from the bedroom window said it was early morning, Isabelle was awake. Frankly, it was a relief. All night she’d dreamed of the commune. Images from her reading had flowed one after another through her subconscious, as they always did at night. Though she was tired, she’d had enough. It was time to get up.
Though she was curled up next to Mac’s side, his arm was on the bed behind her. Carefully and quietly, she tried not to wake him but it was impossible. He stirred and took in a deep breath but as she scooted away, he slowly rolled away from her and settled down on his side.
Isabelle crept out of bed, slipped on her white, terry cloth robe, and tip-toed out of the bedroom and into the hallway bathroom. Her feet felt something. She flipped on the light and saw their clothes on the floor. For a moment, images of how they’d got there flashed through her mind. As she bent to them, she slipped her hands underneath and lifted. But just as she became aware of something heavy, it started to fall, directly over her foot. Without thinking and not able to see it, she grabbed. It felt like–
The reading started immediately. A loud shot rang in her ears and the muzzle flash lit up the firing range like a beacon. Suddenly, she was running, ducking down behind a car. Someone squeezed the trigger, three times in quick succession. In the street, only five yards away, a man’s chest seemed to open up in front of her eyes and he stared down at his own blood just as she screamed.
Mac’s pistol clattered loudly as it hit the tile floor.
“Isabelle!” she heard Mac yell. “Isabelle!” His hands were on her, his arms yanking her back into the hallway. “Oh my god,” he muttered. He must have seen the gun but her vision was still gray and, as he dragged her backward, she couldn’t make her throat work, a scream stuck midway.
Suddenly, she was on her back on the floor.
“Did it go off?” he said. “Oh my god Isabelle, are you hit?”
His hands were all over her. The gray haze started to fade and she finally was able to get a breath. She gasped, dragging in air as fast as she could and then she coughed.
“I don’t see anything,” Mac said as the ceiling swam into view. “I don’t think you’re hit,” he breathed. “Let me see your back.” He helped her to sit up. He ran his hand over her skin. “No,” he said, his voice nearly normal. “Nothing.”
He hugged her tightly to his chest and she realized that, although she was sitting on the living room floor wearing the white bath robe, open in the front, Mac was naked. He must have jumped out of bed when she’d screamed.
“Never drop a gun,” he said over the top of her head. “I don’t leave a round chambered but never drop a gun. What were you doing?”
•••••
“Me?” Mac heard Isabelle say. Though she was shaking, she took his arms from around her. “Me?” she said again, louder as she backed away from him and got to her feet. “What was a gun doing in the middle of your clothes?”
For a moment, he could only stare at her.
Was she angry?
He ought to be the one who was angry. Her blood-curdling scream and the clatter of the gun must have woken neighbors in the entire building.
“It wasn’t in the middle of my clothes,” he said, standing and realizing he was naked, though he didn’t care. “It was in the holster. What were you doing with it?”
“I was picking up your clothes from the floor and the gun fell.”
“It was in the holster,” he repeated. “You dropped them both. Next time, don’t touch it.”
“You think I wanted to?” she yelled. “Next time, don’t leave it where I’ll touch it!”
This was ridiculous.
“I didn’t exactly leave it,” he said, getting irritated. “If you remember.”
“I don’t care how it was left!” she yelled. Her face was getting red. “God, maybe I should just start wearing gloves all the time.”
“Hey,” Mac said. “Just calm down. There’s no need to get upset.”
“What?” she said, glaring at him.
“So you dropped it,” he said. “It didn’t go off and it didn’t land on your foot. It–”
“I read it,” she yelled. “For god’s sake, I read the damn thing!”
Mac blinked at her.
“You what?”
She raised her bare hands to him showing him her palms.
“I,” she said, pausing for each word. “Read. It.”
Oh god. That would mean…
“Who is Special Agent Sinestra?” she demanded.
He shook his head.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t always my–”
“He shot someone,” Isabelle said, staring at him. “A man. In the chest.”
Mac took a step toward her.
“Isabelle,” he said, reaching to her. “It won’t happen–”
She backed away.
“I’m not done,” she said, fixing him with a glare.
He stopped mid-stride.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
&n
bsp; “He shot that man in the chest,” Isabelle said, her voice just barely in control, strained and too high. “And he enjoyed it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just like the practice range.” She pointed exactly to her own heart without looking. “Right there.” Her face suddenly paled. “He…enjoyed it,” she whispered. “I’m going to throw up,” she gasped and staggered past him to the bathroom.
All he could do was watch her go.
“Isabelle,” he whispered as the door to the bathroom slammed closed.
As she retched, he quickly went back to the bedroom, found a pair of pants in his luggage, and pulled them on. The toilet flushed and then he heard water running in the sink.
Maybe coffee would help. Or tea.
In the kitchen, he’d been reaching for the coffee carafe when he saw his phone on the counter. He’d left it there and wouldn’t have heard any messages.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “What next?”
As Mac hit the power button and read the text message that Tim had sent him in the middle of the night, he heard the bathroom door open. Isabelle appeared at the corner of the hallway, her hair brushed, the robe pulled closed and belt tightened, her face grim. He showed her the phone.
“They found Daniel.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS SHE GOT out of Mac’s SUV at the top of the driveway, Isabelle could hardly believe the view. Down below them, at the end of the long, sloped driveway, was the house they’d seen from Pacific Coast Highway and, beyond it, the glittering, dark, blue ocean.
“Are you sure?” she asked again.
Mac had quickly strode around the front of the vehicle and now blocked her view. She looked up at him.
“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure you should go.” He gently slipped his hands around her waist. “You could wait in the car. I’m not sure you’re up to this after…this morning.”
The gun reading had been hard. She’d thrown up again when she was getting dressed. The sight of that man’s blood, spurting… She closed her eyes and willed it from her mind, yet again. Mac had apologized over and over but, other than that, he’d been quiet–too quiet. She’d sensed him watching her but he never reached out, didn’t try to hold her hand. Before he could change his mind about standing so near, she quickly wrapped her arms around him and laid her face against his chest. For a few moments, they just stood there. The ocean breeze was brisk and the sun bright. But despite that, she wished they were back in downtown L.A. and that the day could just start over.
Mac let her go and she looked up into his face, the blue-green eyes concerned, his square jaw set.
“I’d like to see him,” she said. “I feel like I owe it to Kayla to see with him my own eyes.”
Mac smiled a little at her.
“I know,” he said, but then the smile vanished.
He stepped back and she had to let go of him.
“Ground rules,” he said. “As much as possible, let me do the talking. I’m looking for specific behaviors from him.”
“Specific behaviors?”
“Profiling,” he said. “Something’s not right.”
•••••
Holy shit, Daniel thought. Both hands on the wall, face only inches from the security monitor, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Isabelle?” he muttered. She turned her face up to the camera. “Holy shit.”
It is her.
Quickly, he jammed his thumb down on the entry button, pulled on his sweat pants, grabbed a t-shirt, and ran down the stairs. The front door was opening as he jumped in bare feet from one flight to the next. He reversed direction on the bottom flight.
“Isabelle?” he said grinning, as she looked up.
“Daniel!” she gasped.
He’d just been about to jump down the last few steps when the man in the suit appeared behind her–a big man. Daniel stopped short of leaping to the ground in front of her by grabbing the metal handrail to stop himself with a jolt. He hadn’t bothered to switch security camera views for a wider angle. But as the guy turned to close the door, Daniel trotted down the last few stairs and wrapped Isabelle up in a hug. She hadn’t changed, not one single bit.
“Daniel,” she said into his shoulder, belatedly hugging him back.
He shut his eyes and inhaled, felt the press of her body against him. God, he remembered exactly how that felt. The front door closed loudly and Daniel started and opened his eyes. Isabelle pulled back from him and for a moment he tried to hang on to her when he realized the guy in the suit had locked gazes with him.
What the hell?
Suddenly, Daniel realized he was still holding his t-shirt and quickly pulled it on. He had just decided to ignore the man when he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black leather billfold. He flipped it open to reveal a gold badge.
“Special Agent Gavin MacMillan, FBI,” he said, his voice deep. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
•••••
Mac watched Daniel’s reaction. Instead of the curiosity that often characterized innocent interviewees when they saw the badge, Daniel’s face went sour: the corners of his mouth dropped, his eyes flicked to the left and narrowed, and his lips pressed into two thin lines.
“FBI?” Daniel asked, glancing at Isabelle as Mac put away the badge. “I don’t understand.”
Isabelle looked like she was about to burst, staring at Daniel. But the minute the badge had come out, Daniel’s focus had shifted.
Daniel was up to something–in a room somewhere to the left. Mac kept his own eyes front and center.
“Kayla Massen,” Mac said. “She reported you dead on the birth certificate of your son.”
Daniel froze and then, of all things, looked at Isabelle to see her reaction.
Mac had to cock his head at the obvious tell. Daniel wasn’t surprised. In fact, in the instant he’d comprehended what Mac had said, he was more worried what Isabelle would think.
“She thought you were dead,” Isabelle said.
“I don’t understand,” Daniel said, looking from Isabelle to Mac.
“Someone told her you were dead,” Mac said. “And she believed it.”
“But,” Daniel said, pausing, the gears turning behind his eyes. “Why would someone do that?”
“We were hoping you’d tell us,” Mac said.
“I have no idea,” Daniel said, shaking his head and running a hand through his unkempt hair. He took in a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “I think I need coffee.”
Coffee, thought Mac. He’s just heard he has a son.
As Daniel turned and presumably headed to the kitchen, Mac and Isabelle exchanged looks. Her brow furrowed and her mouth formed a soundless “what the…” Mac nodded after Daniel. Without a word, Isabelle turned to follow him. They passed through an immaculate sunken living room, white, berber carpet, white leather couches, and an enormous wall of glass on the opposite side that took full advantage of the ocean view. Daniel headed to the left and they followed.
The kitchen was equally impressive, an entire wall devoted to glass.
Daniel grabbed a small, plastic container cup from a dispenser and popped it into a single-serve coffee maker, took a glass mug from the frosted glass cabinet above it, and set it into the coffee maker. As Isabelle looked briefly at the view, Mac watched Daniel, as his shoulders lifted and then settled back down. Daniel pressed a button on the coffee machine When he turned around, his eyes immediately went to Isabelle but he’d seen Mac in his peripheral vision.
“Look,” he said. “Honestly, I never wanted the baby.” Isabelle turned to look at him. “I mean, you know,” he said looking at Mac. “It was her idea. I didn’t even know she was off the pill.”
Daniel had switched gears, the surprise of an FBI agent at his door gone. He’d never asked why the FBI had an interest.
Because he knows why.
“She thought you were dead,” Isabelle said. “For god’s sake, Daniel, she’s been mourning yo
u for months.”
“That I did not know about,” he said quickly, looking at the floor. “I swear it.”
That was a lie–the lack of contractions a clear giveaway.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Mac asked.
There were two wine glasses on the counter, one with lipstick. The coffee maker was sputtering the last drops of coffee into the mug.
“I don’t know,” Daniel said, turning back to the counter and taking the cup. “I have no idea.”
That was true.
Daniel’s rumpled t-shirt hung loosely on him, except at the stomach, where his gut bulged a little. His sweat pants dragged on the floor but were snug at the waist. He’s been putting on weight. Mac looked quickly at the cupboards, the cooktop island, the stools on the other side of it. Everything was new. Though Daniel hadn’t been here long, he’d managed to put on weight. Isabelle had said he was a computer guy. He probably sat in front of it all the time.
“You guys want coffee?” Daniel asked.
“No, thanks,” Isabelle said, putting her purse on the island counter.
Daniel was watching her hands.
He knows full well she could do a reading.
“So you left the commune,” Mac said.
Daniel didn’t look at him, sipping his coffee. When he’d finished, he nodded.
“I never wanted to go there,” he said. “It was really not my style.” That was the truest thing he’d said yet. “That was her idea.” He’d never once asked about ‘her.’ Or the baby. “I finally had to bail on the whole thing.”
Isabelle shook her head.
“But she mourned you,” Isabelle said quietly. “She needed you.”
“She had Geoffrey,” Daniel said, leaning back against the counter.
Is that anger in his voice? No. Not quite. Something else.
At Geoffrey’s name, Isabelle made a face.
There was silence for a few moments.
“Kayla wants to see you,” Mac said.
Charmed (Second Sight) Page 4