by Abbie Roads
“What do you mean she’s out there?” Dolan made a sound halfway between a groan and a growl. “Please tell me you mean she’s out in the waiting room.”
Cain’s heart pressed against his sternum, trying to propel him into action. His legs twitched with the urge to run out the door looking for her, but he forced himself to stillness. She might not want to be frightened of him, but on a level deeper than her conscious mind, she was terrified of him. All he had to do was look down at that bandage covering his bicep to see just how deep her fear went. “She left about fifteen minutes ago.” His voice came out steady and even, containing none of the urgency his body felt.
“She just left?” Dolan’s voice screeched like a pubescent boy’s. “She fucking shot you. Payne tried to kill her. And she just strolled out of here?”
“None of it’s Mercy’s fault. Shooting me. Leaving. It’s all on me.” He could elaborate about the exact reason she left, but didn’t. He shouldn’t have been such a shit to her. Should’ve just kept his mouth closed. Didn’t this just shove the blade of truth deeper? Even when he was trying to protect her, he was hurting her. “You’ve gotta find her. She couldn’t have gone far.”
“I’ll get everyone—even the damned dog warden—on it.” Dolan put his hand on Cain’s shoulder, a level of familiarity they didn’t normally share. “You should know that Mac came around for a moment before his surgery.”
Cain’s gaze snapped to Dolan’s face.
“The only thing he had to say was: Tell Dolan to let Cain do his job.” Dolan then moved away and tapped on his phone’s screen a few times, seemingly looking for something. “I need you at 703 Bunkirk. The scene has been cleared, and the blood came back clean.”
“That’s Liz’s address,” Cain heard himself say stupidly. Of course that’s what Mac had meant when he’d said to let Cain do his job. But this was too much to ask. And too much to refuse. If he could see something from the blood that would help capture Payne, it’d be worth it. Right? He’d deal with the mental fallout later. Yeah, right. He’d do what he always did. Draw it.
Cain nabbed his keys off the stand next to the bed and looked around the room for a shirt. Nothing. At least he’d refused to remove his pants. “I’ll be in contact.” He and Dolan headed toward the door.
“I’ve got a few more asses to kiss here with the hospital administration and the local lawmen, and then I’ll meet you there.”
Cain walked out of the room. A red EXIT sign over a pair of exterior doors spelled out both his salvation and destruction.
A nurse approached, taking in his appearance. Her eyes widened. Her steps faltered and then slowed as she stared at him, her face a mixture of fear and desire. Yep. She was a dirty girl—fascinated by the fear he instilled just by resembling his father. The kind of girl who wanted to lie down with a killer and get kissed.
“You haven’t been…discharged.” Her voice was airy and distracted, as if it was hard for her to speak and think and look at him all at the same time.
“Go on ahead. I’ll take care of this.” Dolan’s tone screamed irritation at the nurse, but the woman seemed too far gone to notice.
“Thanks, man.” Cain didn’t have the time or energy for bullshit. He needed focus. To do his work with Liz’s blood, not go searching for Mercy Ledger. No, he wouldn’t search for her. No. He. Wouldn’t.
* * *
The rain came down gray and thick as a shroud, blurring his vision of the world. He flipped on the wipers and pulled out of the hospital parking lot onto the road. Fat blobs smacked the windshield loud as marbles being tossed against the glass. Was that hail? As if it mattered. His car was trashed.
Cain had covered the passenger seat and all Mac’s blood with a blanket he kept in the trunk. Even though his view of all that crimson was blocked, his mind knew it was there and his eyes kept wandering to the blanket, calling up the image of the dark stickiness coating the seat and the floor. All that blood was playing touchy-feely with his sanity. And he wasn’t in the mood for games.
He drove past a gas station, a fast-food restaurant, a person walking alongside the road. His foot hit the brake before his brain had a chance to talk him out of it.
Mercy.
Her hair was slicked to her skull, and her clothes—his clothes—were sucked to her body, doing a shitty job of hiding her curves. At least the T-shirt she wore was black, not white. He pulled over to the berm and watched her in the rearview mirror.
She stopped walking, stared at the car—knew it was him—but didn’t move. Could he blame her for not wanting to be around him after what he’d said to her? Not really. And yet he couldn’t leave her alone and walking in the rain with Payne still out there. Not to mention that she didn’t have anyone or anywhere to go.
She still hadn’t moved from her spot. He left the car running, opened his door, and got out. The rain slapped him—frigid, bordering on icy, soaking his clothes and dripping in his eyes. The pressure of it hitting the wounds in his bicep and shoulder made him wince. But that was all the attention he’d give to the pain.
“Get in the car.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.
Mercy crossed her arms in front of her chest, lifted her head, and somehow managed to stare down her nose at him, even though she was almost a foot shorter. “No.” She said the word as if it didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of a downpour.
“Get in the goddamned car.” This time the words came out loud and angry sounding. Like that was going to win her over. What was his problem?
“Fuck you.” She looked miserable—all wet and shivery, and yet feisty and taking none of his crap.
He should soften his tone. He should try to be nicer. He should, but his inner asshole seemed attracted to her inner bitch. “You don’t have anywhere to go. You don’t have any money. You don’t have friends.” His voice softened and filled with some emotion he couldn’t name. “You don’t have anyone looking out for you, caring for you, able to help you in a pinch. You got no one.” He sucked in a breath, and when he spoke next, his voice was soft and pleading. “Except me.”
The moment he finished speaking, he wanted to retract every goddamned one of those words he’d spoken. “I’m… Shit…” He ran a hand through his soaking hair. “Goddamn it. I’m a dick. Okay?” He softened his tone. “Now, will you please get in the car?”
Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and she walked forward without looking at him. He expected her to stomp past the car, but she yanked open the passenger door and got in. Seconds passed while he just stood there, getting even wetter and staring at the back of her head poking above the headrest.
“Now what?” he asked himself. Just what was he going to do with her? Drop her on Dolan? Yes. No. Yes. No. No. No. The last time he tried dropping her on someone, she’d almost gotten hurt. If Mac hadn’t been able to keep her safe, Cain sure as shit wasn’t going to trust Dolan with her.
He got back in the car. Every inch of him was soaked. He brushed his hair back off his face and wiped the water from his eyes.
Mercy stared out the passenger window, refusing to look at him. He reached over and touched her shoulder. Underneath his hand, her body tensed, then trembled. Shit. Was he scaring her?
He wrenched his hand off her and wanted to use the damned thing to slap himself around a little. Maybe then he’d get it through his stupid brain that she was fucking frightened of him. Too many words flooded his mind, and he didn’t know which ones to say. The I’m-sorry ones. The I-won’t-hurt-you ones. The I’m-an-asshole ones. The I-don’t-know-what-to-do ones.
She turned to him. Rain slicked her cheeks. Or was that tears? Her beautiful eyes were the color of tropical waters—deep and fathomless. He held up his hands in a show of surrender, and she flew across the console at him.
He closed his eyes and braced for the blows, but none came.
In
stead, slender arms wrapped around him. Her hair, cold and wet, dripped against his chest, but her cheek over his heart was warm—so warm.
Maybe he’d had a stroke or something, because this felt like she was hugging him. And that couldn’t be. Could it? He opened his eyes and looked down at her.
Yep. She was wound tight around the front of him. And suddenly his brain let him feel the total sensation of it. Of being held tight as if he mattered to her. He let his arms fall around her and squeezed, pressing her tighter to him. Damn, this felt good. She felt good. It was oddly comforting to have her clinging to him so tightly.
He closed his eyes and memorized the pressure of her arms around him and the way her hands pressed into his back. The subtle ripple of her spine and ribs underneath his fingers, the way her skin felt warm against his when every other part of him was cold.
If he’d been given a stop-time button, this was the moment he would’ve used it. Here, holding her, the gentle lullaby of rain playing in the background, was the only perfect moment of his entire life.
Chapter 9
It takes a certain type of man to kill with a knife. It takes strength and stamina. Knife work is personal. Intimate. Messy. It lacks the safety and distance that someone using a gun has.
—Inmate at Petesville Super Max interviewed by Peanch Renell, PhD, forensic psychologist
Cain held her tighter than a straitjacket, and she loved it. Loved the way she felt protected and powerful at the same time. Loved the way his scent filled her nose with the aromas of rain, woodsmoke, and something warm, comforting, and uniquely him. She inhaled the essence of him, the scent traveling beyond her lungs and down to that spot between her legs where she suddenly felt squirmy and in desperate need of satisfaction. What was up with that?
Maybe she was having a weird reaction from all the drugs she’d been on. Maybe the shock treatments had fried her hormones. Maybe she was just horny.
Not that he would do anything about it. He was so damned worried about her being afraid of him that he’d never think she’d want him—as in want to have humping, hot, screaming sex with him.
“I need to tell you something.” She spoke the words softly, her lips brushing his chest.
He made a sound in his throat that was half moan, half groan.
“Dr. Payne did something to me in the cabin.” Tension gripped Cain’s body, transforming him from merely strong and solid to feeling like she was hugging steel and his arms around her were iron bars. “He didn’t physically hurt me. He…” How to explain what happened? “It’s like he made the day my family died real for me again.” Those memories tasted foul in her mouth. She swallowed them down. She needed to make Cain understand why she’d shot him.
“Somehow, he knew all the details of what your father did and used them against me. He made me kneel in the same position. Did everything the same. Said the same words. Touched the same places. He wanted me to lose my grip on reality and go back there to the moment when…” Her voice sounded weak and fragile—just as she’d felt back then. “…Killion cut me. And it worked. I didn’t see you. I saw Killion because that’s what Dr. Payne wanted me to see.”
Silence stretched between them like one long string of taffy. Did he understand? Did he get that she’d really thought she saw Killion because that’s what Dr. Payne had triggered her to see?
“If I ever see that asshole, motherfucking son of a…”
She lifted her head from his chest and met his gaze, hoping he would recognize the truth shining in her eyes. “I need you to understand. It wasn’t you. It’ll never be you that causes me fear. To me, you look different from your father. On the surface, your face looks similar to his”—she reached up and touched the cleft in his chin, then the wrinkle line that ran across his forehead—“but you carry emotion in your features. Your father’s face is empty and blank. Like how a shark doesn’t have facial expression.”
Cain didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even breathing. She leaned into him, placing her cheek over the slashing scar on his heart, and let him absorb everything she’d said. The guy was over six feet of hard-muscled male and yet skittish as an abused kitten around her. “Does this feel as good to you as it does to me?” She finished her sentence with a light kiss over his heart.
“Best moment of my life.” His tone carried no hesitation and was heavy with certainty.
Her head whipped off his chest to look at him. His eyes captured her attention. They were the color of a summer sky and just as sincere. His skin was damp from the rain, and she supposed she was wet too, but it was hard to feel anything except his gaze on her, heating her from the inside out.
He loosened his hold on her and started to back away.
“No. Don’t you dare move away from me now. I’m not done. I need more.”
His brows jacked skyward. “What do you need?” His voice was rough as gravel and heavy as stone.
Being parked alongside a busy street wasn’t the ideal location for this, but she was going to show him exactly what she needed from him.
She leaned toward him slowly, oh so slowly. Was she really going to do this? Her body answered by continuing closer, closer, closer. He tracked her movement, wariness hardening his features. He braced as if he expected a blow, and then his tension morphed into eyes-wide-open surprise when her lips touched his.
The way his features were cut so sharply, she had expected his lips to be hard, but they were soft and smoother than satin. A hot streak of yearning bolted to the junction of her thighs. Her eyes slid shut, unable to bear sight and sensation at the same time.
His hands cupped her face as if he held something fragile in his palms, and then his tongue was in her mouth and she was lost. She didn’t know where she was. Didn’t have a past or future. All that existed was this moment where every muscle and bone, every breath and heartbeat, every working brain cell tuned in to Cain and his tongue in her mouth filling her with the warm, sweet taste of him and the feeling that for the first time in her life, she’d found perfect harmony.
The sound of a car horn nearby barely registered, but Cain jerked away from her as if kissing her was some sort of vehicular violation. He glanced in the rearview at the same time his cell phone started buzzing. “Damn it.” He yanked the thing out of his pants pocket and stared at the screen hard enough the plastic should’ve melted. “I have to answer this.”
It wasn’t like he was asking her permission, but she nodded anyway and pushed herself back over to her side of the car. The absence of his closeness—his body’s warmth—gave her chills. Goose bumps erupted over her skin.
“What?” Cain practically yelled into the phone. The word was an explosion packed with fragments of anger and maybe—just maybe—sexual frustration. Or was she just hearing what she wanted to hear?
“Are you sucking face with Mercy Ledger?” The guy on the other end of the phone line had a voice that not only carried, but was filled with shock and humor and a hint of attaboy.
Suck face—such crude, adolescent words to describe the way he’d enthralled her with just a kiss. It made her seem all teenage girl, but Mercy giggled.
A smile fired across Cain’s lips, lighting his whole face as if a beacon inside him had just been turned on. In that moment, she saw past his outward appearance to the little boy he kept hidden inside. A boy who wanted so much to be a part of the world, but who’d been hurt so badly he hid inside the man.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached out to him, settling her palm against his cheek, feeling the scrape of stubble against her fingertips. His eyes blazed with intensity and intimacy. They were so much alike. He had a damaged boy inside him, and she had a damaged girl inside her.
“Hello? Cain? Are you there?” The voice on the other end of the line broke the trance.
Cain cleared his throat. “Who I suck face with is none of your business.” His tone was light and distr
acted. His gaze slipped down to her lips, with a future promise that warmed her girlie parts, before traveling back up to her eyes.
“That is Mercy Ledger.” The voice on the other end exclaimed like Cain had just answered the game-winning question. “And yeah, it kinda is my business. I need to call off the search for her. Save the taxpayers money and such. Oh, and just in case you forgot, she shot you.”
The words slapped her as solidly as a palm across the cheek. Even Cain flinched and gripped the steering wheel as if he were either trying to go all Incredible Hulk and break it into pieces or he was holding on for dear life. “Seriously, Dolan? I don’t think you realize how loud you are talking. She can hear every word, and you’re not on speakerphone.”
“Have you checked her for weapons?” The guy on the other end of the line sounded sincerely concerned for Cain’s safety. Which she supposed was only logical. As he’d pointed out, she had shot him.
But two years of having to monitor every word, every tone, every facial expression led to the desire to be honest. To put the truth out there—and the consequences could go roast on a spit in hell. “Put it on speakerphone. I’ve got some things to say.”
Cain tapped a button on his phone, then held it out between them. “Mercy, this is Dolan Watts. He’s going to be taking over for Mac, and he’s parked right behind us.”
Oh…that meeping noise hadn’t been some random honk. She turned in her seat to see the black sedan behind them. The guy behind the wheel wore a pair of sunglasses—the cool aviator kind. They fit his features well, but it was raining. Cloudy skies with no hope of sunshine. What was up with the sunglasses?
“Hi, Dolan. It’s nice to meet you, I think.” She raised her hand and waved at him through the back window.
“Oh. Uh…” Dolan raised his hand and waved back as if it were a foreign gesture, one he’d never done before. “Yeah. Uh… Back at ya.”