“Now, Samantha, you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to,” Aurelia soothed. “Everything will be just fine.”
“My head hurts,” she whined. “Can’t they give me something?”
“I’ll see what I can do, dear.”
“And get everyone out of here,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at Sidney. “Can’t I recover in peace?”
While Mrs. Morrow hurried away to procure Samantha more drugs, the last thing she needed, everyone else shuffled out of the room. Sidney stood in the hallway, her slim shoulders shaking with emotion. Although Marc normally ran the other way when he saw a woman’s tears, he couldn’t stand the sight of her in pain.
But when he stepped forward to comfort her, Sidney walked past him, right into her father’s arms. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, pressing her face to the front of his shirt. Mr. Morrow patted her back gently, avoiding Marc’s eyes and pretending he hadn’t noticed Sidney had thrown him over.
Instead of relief, he felt an astonishingly sharp stab of pain at her rejection. Feeling like an unwanted intruder, and a fool, Marc turned and walked away.
After Samantha was released, against the doctor’s recommendation, she talked Sidney into sharing a cab with her from the hospital to Las Olas, a down-and-dirty beach bar less than a mile from Sidney’s house.
Samantha had parked her SUV there the previous evening.
“You walked to my house from here?” Sidney asked, relieved her sister hadn’t been driving last night, on top of everything else.
She shrugged, disengaging the car alarm and climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Who were you with?”
“Some guy. What’s it to you?”
“I’m afraid for you, Sam. If you keep doing this, you won’t have to worry about losing the girls. They’ll be losing you.”
Samantha groaned, looking both ways before she pulled out onto Pacific Coast Highway. “Give me a break, okay? I’m not exactly proud of myself.”
“Maybe you should think about rehab, like the doctor said.”
“Please, Sid. I have a splitting headache. I can’t think about anything right now.” She grabbed a pair of designer sunglasses from the visor to shade her bloodshot eyes.
“Let’s go to that place in Dana Point. I’ll drive. You won’t have to think, or worry, or punish yourself anymore.”
Samantha gritted her teeth and pressed her foot on the gas, a not-so-subtle hint for Sidney to shut up. Taking the threat seriously, Sidney waited until Samantha pulled over at a local convenience store to continue the conversation. “Did Marc tell you about the break-in?”
“I did not do that,” she defended hotly.
“Whoever did left a dead cat on my bed. Tied it up and tortured it first.”
“Are you serious?” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I think it was the same guy who’s out there killing women.” She cast Samantha a worried glance. “When I saw you lying there, bleeding…I thought he’d gotten to you, too.”
“Maybe he did,” she whispered.
Sidney’s stomach turned over. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t remember who I was with. I don’t remember anything.” Beneath her sunglasses, tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks. She stuck out a wavering hand. “Here, see for yourself.”
Sidney reached out to take it tentatively, afraid of what she might encounter, but just as when Samantha had been unconscious on her living room floor, she felt nothing. This time it wasn’t due to a lack of extrasensory perception. The drugs and alcohol had completely obliterated her sister’s psyche.
Her face must have revealed dismay, because Samantha jerked her hand back with a muted sob. Sidney hugged her fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Besides get so wasted I don’t remember who I screwed.”
“Whoever it was, he took advantage of you,” she said, smoothing her hand down her sister’s back, feeling more bones than flesh.
“Samantha, I love you. You need help, and you need protection. If you go out partying by yourself again, I’m afraid you’ll never come back.”
Samantha pulled away, her face showing an obstinate determination to do just as she pleased, the world, and herself, be damned. Then she rummaged through her leather purse, coming up with a few crumpled dollars instead of a vial of pills. “Will you go in and get me a Diet Coke, Siddie? I’ve got such a migraine.”
Unable to resist the pet name, or Samantha’s dulcet tones, Sidney unlatched her seat belt and went into the convenience store. She was standing in the parking lot, soda in hand, when she realized that Samantha had driven away without her.
“Damn it,” she whispered, feeling the hot sting of frustration. Around its edges, panic was creeping in. Slam-dunking the soda in a nearby trash can, she dug some coins out of her pocket and picked up the grimy receiver at the pay phone.
She dialed Marc’s cell phone number from memory, having stared at his business card for so long it was stamped on her brain.
“Cruz,” he answered tersely.
“It’s Sidney.”
“Where are you?”
“At the 7-Eleven on Oceanside Boulevard.”
“I’ll be right there.”
After he hung up, she stared at the receiver in annoyance. Couldn’t men ever say goodbye? When he pulled in the parking lot less than five minutes later, she forgave the impertinence.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Samantha ditched me.”
“Why didn’t you call me before you left the hospital? And what the hell were you doing here with her anyway? Scoring some smack?”
Anger flared inside her, and she grabbed onto it, desperate to feel something other than deep, all-consuming fear. “You didn’t check in with me before you left, either, honey. I thought maybe you’d given up surveillance.”
Without another word, he turned onto Oceanside Boulevard and headed west, toward the beach. It was another glorious day, sunny and hot, absent of the stifling mugginess that had been pervasive during the week. Perfect weather for swimming or sunbathing, what she’d planned to do this afternoon rather than chase down runaway sisters.
The tears she’d been fighting since she found Samantha this morning, or to be more accurate, since Marc’s scathing rejection of her, threatened to resurface, clogging the back of her throat. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What could possibly be wrong?” she said, the hysterical quality of her voice betraying her emotions. “You’re acting like a stranger. My sister’s sleeping with strangers. My mother blames me for Samantha’s drug problems and failed marriage…”
“Your sister is a grown woman,” he said. “Older than you. Her problems are her own.” He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you took off with her.”
She studied his tense mouth. “Were you worried?”
Across the console, his eyes met hers. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
Sidney fell silent, reading the hidden message in his words. She was a burden, a responsibility, a weight on his shoulders, nothing more.
When the case was over, he’d be gone.
At home, Sidney changed into the bikini Samantha had given her and padded downstairs in her bare feet. Marc was treating her like an invalid again, placating her by offering to spend the last few hours of the afternoon on the beach.
She found him in the kitchen, putting some snacks into a basket.
“You’re going to make some lucky woman an excellent wife,” she said, more annoyed than charmed by his domesticity.
“I certainly wouldn’t make a good husband,” he admitted.
She couldn’t argue with that. Instead she dug her beach bag out of the linen closet and found a clean white sheet to spread beneath them on the sand. When she turned around, she caught him staring at her backside.
He averted his eyes
, taking bottled water out of the refrigerator and giving her the chance to ogle him. Husband material or not, his bare chest was a beautiful sight. The tan shorts he wore rode low on his hips, exposing his flat abdomen almost to the point of indecency.
Or maybe it was just her dirty mind, stripping him naked.
“What happened to your other swimsuit?” he asked.
Her eyes jerked up to his face. “Hmm? Oh, that,” she said, remembering he’d seen her demure black Speedo, and everything underneath it, only a week before. “I thought you would make fun of it.”
After he checked the lock on her new kitchen window, they left, walking across a wide expanse of sand before staking claim to a free spot close to the water. “Why do you dress the way you do?” he asked as she unfurled the bed sheet on the sand. “Are you trying to hide your-” his eyes dropped to her breasts, pushed together by the triangle top of the bikini “-body?”
“Not really,” she said with a frown, looking down at herself. “I wash dogs and clean kennels for a living. There’s no need to be sexy.”
“Why didn’t you go on to vet school?”
She stretched out on her tummy, hating the way his seemingly unrelated questions painted an accurate, and not very flattering, picture of her. “Too much touching,” she replied honestly.
“Do you ever think about going back?”
“Yes,” she said, although she didn’t feel as though she was wasting her talents at the kennel. She took pride in caring for animals and running her own business. In her heart of hearts, what she truly longed for wasn’t more money or a better education, but the intangible rewards of a happy home and a loving family. “Do you ever think about having a long-term relationship?”
“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “But women tend to give up on me well before we get to that stage.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “And whose fault is that?”
“Theirs,” he said, meaning his. “Has Samantha met Greg’s girlfriend?”
Sighing, she rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, too weary to analyze his insinuation. “I imagine so. She’s his secretary.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”
She squinted up at him. “Why?”
“Because like it or not, you’re part of this investigation.”
“What does that have to do with Greg? He’s no prize as a husband, but he’s not a murderer.”
“Yes, well, as accurate as your perceptions are at times, they don’t work as well with people close to you.”
Incensed, she rolled over and sat up. “Just because I can’t always read you-”
“Or Samantha.”
“She was blacked out!”
“Greg has been in love with you for years. Did you know that?”
She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “He only thinks he’s in love with me because he’s a perverse asshole. He loves Samantha, he’s just too stupid to admit it.”
Marc smiled at her assessment. “Did he ever touch you, before they were married?”
Taking a deep breath, she stared out at the crashing waves, trying to channel the strength of the Pacific. “He was like a brother to me, at first. I was a tomboy, more interested in sports than dating, and he’s very athletic. We would pal around together. It was harmless.”
“Until when?”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Until I got breasts, okay? The same ones you’re always staring at. He would…tickle me and stuff. I finally figured out he was trying to cop a feel.”
“Is that all he did?” he asked in a low voice, although it appeared to be enough information for him to want to smash Greg’s face in.
“He grabbed me once, at the wedding reception. I struggled to get away from him, and he finally let go. After that, I made sure never to be alone with him again, or get close enough for him to touch.”
“Did you tell Samantha?”
“No. She was pregnant. They were young. I hoped they could work things out.”
Instead of criticizing her naiveté, as she expected, he remained silent. It didn’t matter, because she already blamed herself. Maybe if she’d been honest with Samantha from the beginning, her marriage could have ended more peacefully.
And maybe if Sidney weren’t so gullible, she wouldn’t have let her sister slip away this afternoon at the convenience store.
Disheartened and depressed, she lay on her stomach again. Emotionally drained from the day’s events, she let the rhythmic pounding of the waves breaking along the shore lull her into a troubled sleep.
Chapter 15
She awoke to the delicious sensation of Marc massaging sun-screen into her shoulders. All but purring her enjoyment, she arched her spine and stretched like a cat.
“I didn’t want you to burn,” he said, apologizing for waking her.
“Mmm,” was the only response she could muster. The sun was hot on her back, the breeze cool against her skin, and his masterful hands on her tense muscles…they were magnificent.
When he smoothed lotion down her arms, his fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts, and her lassitude morphed into sexual awareness. Then his hands were on her legs, caressing the sensitive skin behind her knees, stroking his way up the backs of her thighs.
By the time he reached her bottom, her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples were tight and a sweet, hot ache pulsed between her legs.
When his fingertips slid up and down the length of her spine, she closed her eyes, murmuring her pleasure. When they dipped below the waistband of her swimsuit to trace the crease of her buttocks, her eyes flew open.
“I don’t think I’m going to get burned there,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. Unless he didn’t stop, and then she would surely burst into flames.
His eyes traveled up to her face, then looked out at their surroundings. Over the crash of the waves, she could hear children playing. He jerked his hand out of her bikini bottoms, seeming to realize what he was doing, and where. “Sorry,” he muttered, rolling onto his stomach in an obvious attempt to hide his arousal.
The incongruity of his behavior baffled her. Last night, he’d brought her to orgasm with his mouth on the hood of her truck. Afterward, he’d pushed her legs apart and thrust inside her with so little forethought he hadn’t remembered to use a condom. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, he’d rather go unsatisfied than slake his lust in her again.
She inhaled sharply, feeling her throat close up and her chest grow tight with pain. Before she could make a bigger fool of herself by crying in front of him, she leaped to her feet and ran into the surf, letting the cold shock of the Pacific wash away her shame.
She didn’t know he’d followed her until she felt his hand clamp around her arm. With wild abandon, she wrenched away from him, falling headfirst into the waves and getting a mouthful of saltwater for her efforts. As he pulled her to her feet, she gasped and sputtered, pummeling his chest with her fists and making raw, animal sounds in the back of her throat.
“Stop,” he said, holding her by the forearms, his body flush against hers. “Stop,” he repeated, holding firm when she continued to struggle.
With no way to escape his embrace, or the deluge of emotions that assaulted her, she tucked her head into his chest and sobbed her frustration. In the periphery of her awareness, she felt his body tense. After a moment, he relaxed his grip on her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her gently while she cried.
In slow measures, she began to calm, aware of her hot, wet face against his chest, her labored breathing and the pounding of her own heartbeat. The waves crashed into them, breaking at hip level then receding, lapping around their knees.
Knowing she was unattractively teary-eyed and runny-nosed, she turned away from him, cupping handfuls of saltwater to wash her face. He watched with a mixture of humor and concern in his eyes, as if he found her lack of dignity amusing.
No wonder he didn’t want to go to bed with her-s
he was an absolute mess.
“Lacy put a ‘be on the lookout’ for your sister’s SUV. We’ll find her.”
Rather than admit she hadn’t spared a single thought for Samantha since awakening, she sank deeper into the water with a low groan, ducking her head under the curl and swimming away from him.
He caught up with her easily. “That’s not why you were crying?”
“Why don’t you want me anymore?” she asked, deciding to make her humiliation complete.
His eyes widened. “Not want you? Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” she murmured. “This morning, you didn’t…”
It took him a moment to get her meaning. “You said I hurt you.”
She frowned at him in confusion. “You thought I meant physically?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you haven’t touched me?”
“Of course. You were acting sore. Uncomfortable. I asked if I hurt you, and you said yes. What was I supposed to do, throw you down on your back like an animal again?”
When she thought about the pain relievers and the tea, the breakfast in bed and the cold pack she’d put on her forehead, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
Once she got started, she couldn’t stop. Holding her midsection, she doubled over with giggles, only to get knocked off balance by the incoming waves. She fell unceremoniously on her bottom in the shallow water, laughing harder.
He crossed his arms over his chest, finding no humor in the circumstances.
“You didn’t hurt me, Marc,” she said when she’d collected herself, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s not like I was a virgin.”
“You felt like one.”
Her amusement wilted. “Oh,” she said in a small voice, letting him help her up. “What did I do wrong?”
“What did you do wrong?” he repeated, as if the question were beyond his realm of comprehension. With a harsh laugh, he pulled her close, turning his back to the shore. “You were too hot,” he said, touching his lips to her collarbone. “Too tight,” he added, sliding his hands down her lower back, “and too wet,” he finished, cupping her buttocks.
Dangerous to Touch Page 17