This, she thought as she arched beneath him and ran her hands up his back. This was what she needed, what she wanted. Nick had saved her, protected her, come clean to her, and now he was loving her the best he could. And that was magic.
“Ah, Jenny,” he said in a voice rough with passion. He nuzzled the side of her neck, kissed the soft spot that made her shiver. “I never stopped thinking about this. I tried, but I couldn’t do it.”
“You don’t have to.” And she wouldn’t think about the inevitable ending.
Instead, she thought about the way her legs curved around his hips, aligning their bodies through the clothes they had slept in—yoga pants and a scoop-neck sleep shirt for her, boxers and a Miami P.D. T-shirt for him. She took in the warmth of his breath against her ear, the gentle, inciting play of his fingers along the side of one breast and then inward, to send spirals of pleasure racing through her. She tasted him, loved the way he surrounded her and filled her senses, the way her fingers trembled as she pulled his shirt up and off, then splayed her fingers across his strong muscular back. She reveled in his rough impatience as he shucked off his boxers and went to work on her clothes.
And then, thank God, she couldn’t think at all, because they were both naked, pressed skin to skin, with his mouth on hers, their hands racing to find and claim flesh and sensation and their bodies trapping the thick length of his erection between them.
She arched against him, riding that hard ridge of flesh and the pounding ache deep inside her. He groaned and surged against her, his breathing hard, his kisses ardent.
There was no need for more foreplay—in a way, all of yesterday and the weeks before had been leading them up to this point, this moment. The knowledge warmed her as he rolled away and reached for the nightstand, where she’d taken to keeping condoms when he’d been living there.
A pang of sweet pain came from the sound of the drawer, which she hadn’t opened since their breakup. She banished the sadness, though. Not now. Not today.
Instead, she reveled in the hot press of his body next to hers, the exciting crinkle-snap of the condom and the burn of desire as he rolled back to her, into her arms and up against her body. He paused there, looking down at her with such intensity that she almost looked away, afraid he would see too much in her, or that she would see too much in him. She met his eyes, met his stare, and forced her lips to curve. “Hey,” she said softly. “Welcome back.”
It wasn’t what she really wanted to say, wasn’t half of what was in her heart, but it seemed safest that way.
“Jenny,” he rasped again, and the passion in his face punched a fist of heat through her body.
She reached up to draw him closer, to kiss him and whisper in his ear, “I’m here, Detective. Right here with you.”
His groan was rough with need but his hands were gentle on her hips, her center, as he positioned himself at the entrance to her body and then slid gently, oh, so gently, home. He filled her, pressing into her and surrounding her with his big body, his kisses, the touch of his forehead against hers.
Tears stung her eyelids but she didn’t let them free. Instead, she wrapped herself around him, tucked her face into the crook of his neck and held on tight as he began to move, slowly at first, but with building intensity.
They’d had sex before, made love before, and everything in between. This time was different, though. There was a new intensity, a new poignancy and a deep, burning heat that said yes, this was right. This was how things were supposed to be between them.
Jenn closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations. Her body moved beneath his, against his, taking his thrusts and driving him onward, urging him faster, harder. He said her name, over and over again like an exultant chant that went straight to her heart and sent the heat ever higher, until it spiraled up to a sharp, bright orgasm that caught her by surprise.
She cried out and arched against him, felt him shudder as her body closed around him with sensuous intent. He held out two more strokes and then a third, and then stiffened against her and groaned deep within his chest as his hips jerked against her, into her.
He held himself still, braced with the pleasure of their joining, his face etched with his release. Then, when it was over, he eased down atop her and kissed her deeply, never leaving her body. In fact, he remained semi-hard, as if they had only taken the edge off the desire he’d been repressing for so long. “Again,” he said, voice thick. “More.”
She didn’t say anything; she didn’t have the words. She just rose over him, kissed him and made love to him. Again, her body said for her. More. They couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t leave each other, could only kiss and twine together, and find over and over again the things they had left behind. And somewhere in the middle of it all, the sense of a ticking clock fell away from her, leaving her spent, relaxed and excited all at once.
Here and now was all that mattered. All that could matter.
But then, later, as she lay there, replete and boneless, and wishing she could pretend the world outside didn’t exist, it intruded rudely.
Her cell phone rang. Then Nick’s.
Their eyes met and the warmth fell away, lost in a quick chill.
“Something’s happened with the case,” she said, reaching for her cell as he made a grab for his pants. “This is Jenn,” she said into the receiver.
“It’s Alyssa. There’s been another murder…and I think you and Nick should see this.”
Chapter Ten
Jerome Bentley—street name Axe, a former Ghost Militiaman who had slipped through the police crackdown several months earlier and gone into hiding—hadn’t died easily. He’d gone down fighting, in fact, as evidenced by the spatter on the walls, the busted-up chair and the tipped-over desk.
He’d gone down eventually, though. And that was when the Investor had gotten to work on him, slicing and prodding, burning and slivering until he’d wrung out whatever information he’d been seeking. Then he’d made the final, fatal wound, a ghastly slow one that left Bentley bleeding out and utterly helpless, watching his killer clean his borrowed tools—kitchen knives, needle-nose pliers and screwdrivers—and meticulously arrange them on a set of torn-down curtains.
The Investor had wiped the weapons down with bleach and hadn’t taken anything from the apartment. Hadn’t left anything behind, either, at least not as far as the cops could tell.
Forty-eight hours after she and Nick had first been called to the Bentley scene, as Jenn bent over a stereomicroscope, looking at the contents of the victim’s pockets, she couldn’t stop thinking that the Investor was too good at this, too meticulous. How could they catch a man who didn’t make a mistake?
What went wrong inside someone’s brain, allowing them to do something like this?
And, more, what would it come down to, when she was the only thing keeping him in the city? Slider had said the Investor wouldn’t leave without taking care of her. What if he had found what he was looking for? What if she was next on his list?
“You’re safe in here,” she reminded herself. “There are cops watching the stairs and teams watching the apartment.” It wasn’t as if she was going home alone, either. Nick would be with her, just like he’d gone with her the past two nights, protecting her, keeping watch over her, chatting with her as they ate takeout. And, when the lights went out, making love to her long into the night.
Lips curving, she said, “Note to self—get more burgers.” Takeout was getting old, and she thought they could handle cooking together without it feeling too homey this time. They were sticking to the rules, after all, and enjoying the ride while it lasted. And if she remembered to buy burgers, she would remember to get more condoms, too.
“Talking to yourself?” Gigi asked from the other side of the room, where she was working on the bloodstained curtain, checking to see if all of the blood had come from the victim, or if they had gotten lucky with a second donor, possibly their killer.
“Reminding myself n
ot to freak out,” Jenn said, going with a partial truth. “I need to keep telling myself that I’m as safe here as I’d be anywhere.” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t true—she could’ve been up at the safe house in the woods, or away on an island somewhere. So she added, “Anywhere that I can be involved in the case, that is.”
Whether or not she had needed the reminder, it drained the warmth that had come from thoughts of Nick, replacing it with the chill of knowing that outside the walls of the P.D. there was a man who wanted her dead, who had already killed at least five people himself and who had gained a taste for bloody, vicious torture.
She shivered and reached for the fleece jacket she had slung over the back of her chair.
“You could bail,” Gigi said. “Seriously.”
“No, I can’t. Seriously.” She wanted this—not just the job, but a part in nailing the Investor. Glancing over at Gigi, she asked, “You getting anywhere over there?”
“Nada. The little DNA that wasn’t degraded beyond recovery by the bleach has all come back as belonging to Bentley. This guy is a damned ghost.”
“No, he’s most definitely not,” Jenn said sharply. “Trust me, I had the bruises to prove it.”
Gigi looked contrite. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, I’m just frustrated.” She paused. “Angry, too. And scared.”
It was the first time she’d really said it out loud. Always before, she’d put on the tough face in front of the others. Even with Nick, she needed to be strong, knowing that he would just as soon send her back up into the mountains until the case was over. More, she didn’t dare bring up the idea of using herself as bait again, even though it was getting increasingly obvious that needed to be their next move. Which scared the hell out of her, though she thought she was hiding it well.
With Gigi, though, she could say it and know it wouldn’t go any further. The other woman knew what it meant to persevere in the face of danger. She had done it when the Investor first appeared on the scene, back when the Militia had been strong and its members had targeted her. She’d made it through with Matt’s help, and his love. Jenn hoped she could do the same with Nick’s help, though not his love.
What they had was enough. He was giving her his strength, the illusion of safety and a break from being alone. More, she was finally letting go of Terry—not the memory or the grief, but the anger and shame that had come after. That was gone now, in the past, and she was starting a new life in a new city that she loved, with good friends who cared about her.
That would be enough for her. It needed to be enough.
“You’d be an idiot not to be scared,” Gigi said bluntly. “Fear is going to keep you careful, and that’s going to keep you alive.” She paused, lips curving slightly. “That, and Nick. Things seem to be going well between you two…not that I’m prying or anything.”
“Sure you are.” And she was also changing the subject, which Jenn appreciated. Not because her safety wasn’t important, but there wasn’t anything more they could do about it just now. They were doing everything they could to solve the case…they just needed that aha moment, the key puzzle piece that brought everything falling into place.
“We’re just enjoying each other,” she said after a moment. “It’s like before, but with better communication.” And even better sex, though that shouldn’t have been possible. But where what they’d had before had been blazing hot, what they had now came with an added layer of tenderness that was new, and thoroughly addictive.
She didn’t mention that, though. First, because that was getting into TMI territory, and second because it would only encourage her friend, who thoroughly approved of the way Nick had moved back in and taken over Jenn’s nighttime protection. Gigi had also sighed over the way he walked her down to the lab in the morning and kissed her goodbye, then came back down for her at the end of the day to kiss her hello once more.
Not that Jenn was complaining. She just wasn’t reading anything into it this time.
“You know,” Gigi said as she returned her attention to the bloodstained curtain, “I wasn’t planning on staying in Bear Claw when I first got here. I was just in it for the experience, and to impress my bosses enough to get me into the SWAT program. If anyone had hinted that I’d be making this my home base, I would’ve laughed my butt off.”
“Gigi…” Jenn began, but then trailed off, because what was there to say? There were parallels, it was true. Matt had been entrenched in his job as head ranger high up in the mountains, Gigi on the fast track to an exciting new job, and they had both wound up changing their tangents to meet halfway. Which was great for them, but didn’t mean it would work for everyone, or even that she should try. “Look, seriously, what Nick and I have going right now is working for us. We’re having fun—no strings, no guilt, just two people who enjoy the hell out of each other.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I really am. Not every relationship is meant to last forever.”
“What if this one is, and you’re both just being stubborn?”
“It’s not about being stubborn, it’s about being honest. He does what he does, and I do what I do, and the two really can’t meet in the middle.”
“But—”
“Just let it go, okay?” Jenn asked quietly when her throat tightened. “Please?” The sudden emotion didn’t come from grief. It came from knowing that what she wanted—what she thought they both wanted, on some level—just wasn’t possible.
“Of course. I’m sorry. I said I wasn’t going to pry and I did it, anyway, didn’t I?”
Jenn summoned a smile. “What are friends for?”
“Still. Not cool. Buy you lunch to make up for it?”
“Only if we can get it delivered.” Sigh. More takeout. But if an overdose of MSG was the worst thing that happened to her while she was on lab-and-house arrest, she would count herself very lucky.
They went back to their tasks. Jenn was going through the contents of a dead man’s pockets. She had already fingerprinted the coins and tested them for trace, had earmarked a used napkin for DNA and other chemical analyses, and now was working on the last item: a wadded, fibrous mess that had looked like another napkin at first, but had turned out to be a piece of paper that had been through the laundry at least once.
It was probably nothing, of course—at least ninety percent of the so-called evidence they collected turned out to be useless—but she enjoyed the challenge of reconstructing printed pieces almost as much as she got turned-on by soil samples. She loved the tricky stuff, the puzzles that needed the human factor to solve it, rather than expensive machines.
So far, she had teased the wad flat, keeping it aligned when the fragile pink paper wanted to break along the weakened folds, and used a variety of filters to photograph it under the stereoscope, hoping the indirect lighting and a couple of nifty computer programs she had on hand would help clarify what was left of the ink. The printed lines had remained indistinct, though, which meant it was time to move on to using chemicals to bring out the words on the page.
She thought it was a receipt—the kind that was preprinted, then filled out by hand, though there wasn’t any sign of ballpoint ink.
“Probably from a Laundromat,” she said to herself, though from his apartment, Bentley hadn’t exactly seemed like a dry-clean kind of guy. It was more a reminder not to get her hopes up as she slid the fragile piece of paper into a shallow tray filled with the proper chemicals.
At the same time, though, this was what she loved about the job—that lottery-ticket feeling that came with each new piece of evidence, each bit of progress that made her think this could be the one.
“Got something?” Gigi asked without looking up.
“I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing, but maybe we’ll get lucky for a change.” Jenn checked her digital lab timer. “I’ll let you know in three…two…one…darn it. Nothing. I’ll have to try—” She broke off as shadows darke
ned on the page, turning into wavy lines, maybe even some words. “Hang on. Hold that thought.”
Pulse kicking up a notch, she leaned in, focusing the optics of the stereoscope more precisely and then, when that didn’t do much, going back through the filters she’d tried before. It took a frustrating few minutes for the images to load and the analysis program to do its thing, predicting missing pixels from the surrounding patterns.
When the image came up on her screen, though, it was worth it. “Aha,” she breathed. Because this looked as if it might be exactly the sort of break they’d been searching for.
* * *
AN HOUR AFTER HE’D GOTTEN Jenn’s call of “I think you’re going to want to see this,” Nick pulled up at the Lazy Joe Ranch in an unmarked and unremarkable pickup truck. He was carrying concealed with Tucker riding shotgun, and they had a dozen good men and women just waiting for the signal to swoop in and take charge of the scene.
Still, though, Nick’s blood was pumping as he dropped
down from the truck, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took a look around, playing the part of a local guy looking to rent a storage bay, just like the unit listed on the receipt Jenn had found in Bentley’s personal effects.
The Lazy Joe Ranch had probably been lovely at one point, but that would’ve been a few years ago, and those intervening years hadn’t been kind. The main ranch house, which was visible in the middle distance, was missing shingles and had a serious sag to its porch. The outbuildings had weathered from barn-red to a dispirited pinkish color, and one roof wore ragged blue tarps here and there, no doubt covering holes that had been on the “to be repaired” list for a long time.
Nick had parked in an open lot near a row of parallel steel buildings with accordion doors and “For Rent” painted on the short ends. A trailer parked at an angle in the lot had a fat hound sleeping beside the steps and “Office” painted on the door. On the other side of the trailer were a half-dozen round pens, where three winter-fluffed horses picked at wisps of hay and poked at saddles slung over the rails. A sign offered trail rides by the hour.
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