He came to her before reversing their position. Shiloh lay on his back, smiling up at his wife. This night was to become hers, then his.
A low, guttural groan came from his constricted throat when she lowered herself over his erection. It was only the second time they’d made love without the barrier of latex, and he struggled not to release the passion straining for a quick escape.
Gwen closed her eyes rather than watch Shiloh staring up at her. She set the pace, sliding up and down, around and around, until she wasn’t certain who she was or where she was. All she knew was that the man she straddled was the one she would love with her dying breath. His hands tightened on her waist, urging her to go faster, and she felt her breath inching up in her lungs—higher and higher as she fought against waves of ecstasy sucking her into an abyss from which there was no escape.
Shiloh’s hands moved from his wife’s waist to her breasts. A keening sound penetrated their harsh breathing as he increased the pressure until they swelled, the nipples pebbling. He felt the burning at the base of his spine as blood rushed to his sex and his head. Having Gwen straddle him hadn’t drawn out the dizzying pleasure rushing headlong for escape. She gasped again, this time in shock when, still joined, he flipped her over on her back.
Shiloh loved Gwen, hard, long and deep until he felt his heart beating outside his chest. Gripping the pillow beneath her head, he quickened his thrusts until the dam broke and all and everything he felt for the woman who now bore his name erupted in a turbulent maelstrom of ecstasy deeper than any he’d ever experienced in his life at the same time Gwen cried out his name in a fevered whisper of awe.
He pressed his mouth to the base of her throat, feeling the runaway pulse beating there. He’d climaxed, but he hadn’t had enough of his wife. Sliding along the length of her body, his tongue surveyed an expanse of silken flesh and tasted salt in his downward journey.
Pushing his face against the moist curls, Shiloh revived her passion at the same time he was aroused to a fervor that made him want to lie between her legs until hunger and thirst forced him from her bed.
Reversing his direction, his mouth retracing his journey, he covered Gwen’s mouth, permitting her to taste their flesh, and joined their bodies, then began the dance of desire all over again.
Gwen welcomed him into her body and as the real world spun and careened on its axis she was transported to one where only she and the man in her embrace existed. And they found a rhythm that bound their bodies, hearts and minds in a coming together that lingered beyond their lovemaking.
Shiloh waited until his respiration slowed and his heart resumed its normal cadence, then gathered Gwen to his side, one leg holding her fast. He smiled when she melted against him like a trusting child.
She was perfect.
His world was perfect.
* * *
Gwen walked into the SMPD station house, smiling at the red-haired uniformed officer at the desk. “Good morning, Deputy Lincoln.”
Frank Lincoln stood up when he recognized his boss’s wife. “Good morning, Mrs. Harper. Are you here to see your husband?”
“No. I have an appointment with Deputy Jameson.”
Frank caught the gaze of several officers and civilian employees before he took a quick glance at the telephone console. “Deputy Jameson is on a call, but if you want you can wait for him in your husband’s office.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait here for Deputy Jameson.” She sat on a wooden bench, unaware of the grumblings from those participating in the station-house pool. Each time she came in and didn’t enter Shiloh’s office they were forced to add to the pot.
“What’s going on here?” asked a deep, drawling voice. Gwen and the others turned to find Shiloh standing outside his office, arms crossed over his chest. “Not everyone speak at the same time. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” he asked when the others resumed whatever it was they were doing before Gwen walked in.
“No, sir. Your wife…I mean Mrs. Harper is here to see Deputy Jameson.”
“Does he know she’s waiting?”
“Not yet, sir. As soon as he completes his call I’ll let him know.”
Shiloh smiled at his wife as he struggled to keep a straight face. He’d heard about the office pool and knew the police and civilian staff were taking bets on whether he would cross the line with his personal and professional relationship with her. The last thing he wanted was for Gwen to become the brunt of a station-house prank.
“Have a good day, Ms. Taylor.” She’d decided to keep her maiden name as her byline.
She returned his smile. “Thank you, Sheriff Harper.”
Shiloh waited until Gwen sat back down on a wooden bench before returning to his office. Their honeymoon of one day was much too short. He’d surprised her Sunday morning with breakfast in bed when he made buttermilk pancakes, spicy sausage links, sliced melon and coffee. They’d spent the day listening to music, and talking about what they wanted for their futures.
He’d told her of his professional goal to attain a judgeship by his fortieth birthday, but since falling in love with her that wasn’t as important as making her happy, while she confessed to shortening her wish list to one entry: to live happily ever after. Right now he was a happily married man for all of ten days.
Leaning back in his chair, Shiloh stared at the bound report on the corner of his desk. It was a list of initiatives drafted by the sheriffs of Southern Louisiana, of which he was one of three vice presidents, that would be submitted to the state’s Police Jury Association.
He opened the cover, then went completely still when he heard loud voices, then a gunshot.
His stomach muscles contracted. Gwen was in the waiting area!
Pushing back his chair, he vaulted over the desk and flung open the door, heart pounding. The scene unfolding before his eyes made the blood run cold in his veins. Gwen lay facedown on the floor under the bench; the other civilians were also on the floor, and Frank, gun in a two-hand grip, trained it on a disheveled gray-haired man whose own gun was pressed to the head of a scantily dressed young woman. Both were on their knees.
“Gwen, baby,” Shiloh whispered harshly, “are you all right?”
“Yes-s-s,” came her strangled cry.
“Don’t move.”
Knowing she was unharmed made what he planned to do easier. Holding his arms away from his body, he approached the elderly man, motioning to Frank to holster his firearm.
“Put down the gun, Wesley.”
Red-rimmed rheumy eyes shifted to Shiloh. Wesley Gibson had begun drinking heavily after his wife of more than forty years left the parish with his best friend.
“I’m going to kill this bitch for stealing my money.”
Shiloh did not drop his gaze as he closed the distance between him and the retired fisherman. “If she took your money, then I’ll arrest her. But, first you have to put the gun down.”
A dozen pairs of eyes were trained on Shiloh, the crazed man with a loaded gun, and the trembling young woman who cried silently.
Wesley’s lower lip quivered. “I can’t, Shiloh. She took all my money.”
Squatting so he wouldn’t appear threatening, Shiloh stared directly at Wesley. “What did she do?”
It took several attempts before Wesley disclosed how the young woman had approached him and offered to show him a good time. But it was going to cost him.
“How much did she charge you?” Shiloh asked.
“She said I had to give her fifty dollars.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have sex with her?” Wesley nodded. “I have to hear you say it, Wesley, so I can charge her with solicitation and prostitution.”
Wesley blinked rapidly, trying to focus his gaze. “Yes, I gave her money for sex. I gave her the fifty, and she took all the money I had in a drawer next to the bed. And when I woke up this morning I went looking for her. When I asked her for my money she told me she didn’
t have it because she gave it to her boyfriend.”
“How much did she steal from you?” Shiloh asked.
“Three hundred dollars. It was all I had left from my social security check.”
“Give me the gun, Wesley, so I can arrest her.”
“Are you really going to arrest her?”
Shiloh extended his hand. “Give me the gun. Butt first.”
Wesley’s hand shook as he lowered the automatic and handed it to Shiloh. A chorus of sighs filled the waiting room as the woman scrambled to her feet and headed toward the door.
Shiloh stood up. “Where do you think you’re going, miss?” he shouted at her. Teetering on a pair of five-inch heels, she turned around. Smudges from her damp mascara left black streaks on her pale face.
“He told me to take the money,” she said quickly.
Shiloh gestured to Frank Lincoln. “Read her her rights, book her, then find out who her pimp is.”
Jimmie, who’d come out of his office to watch the tense interchange, ran a hand over his shaved head. “What do you want to do with Wesley?”
Shiloh expelled a breath. “Put him in a cell until he sobers up.” He handed Jimmie Wesley’s handgun. “Please put this away, too.” He leaned closer to his deputy. “Get my wife out of here, and she’s never to come back again. I want you to either fax or e-mail her whatever she needs for her column to the Tribune.”
Jimmie Jameson stared at his superior officer. “I don’t think that’s going to sit too well with her. I’ve been helping her with a cold case and—”
“I just gave you a direct order, Deputy Jameson,” Shiloh said between clenched teeth.
Jimmie nodded, dropping his gaze. “Yes, sir.”
Turning on his heel, Shiloh went over to Gwen, helping her to her feet. “Jimmie’s going to show you out.” Dipping his head, he kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later on tonight.”
Gwen’s chest hurt. It felt as if she’d held her breath during the entire time Shiloh was negotiating with the man he’d called Wesley, not releasing it until the older man handed over his gun.
“I can’t leave now, Shiloh.”
He stiffened as though she had struck him. “It is not an option.” He’d stressed each word. “Either you leave now, or I’ll make a public announcement that you’re never to come in here again.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t do that.”
His grip tightened on her elbow. “I can and I will.”
Gwen’s temper flared. She’d been scared witless when Wesley fired the gun at the ceiling, but defiance and boldness had returned with her husband’s impertinent directive.
“I’m a taxpayer in this parish…” She was never given the opportunity to finish whatever it was she intended to say when Shiloh’s fingers, tightening like a vise around her wrist, led her toward his office. He closed the door so hard the vibration rattled windows.
Shiloh’s anger with Gwen had become a red-hot scalding fury. Did she not know how much he loved her, that during the short time he’d negotiated with Wesley he prayed that Wesley wouldn’t lose it, shoot the young woman, then shoot up the station house? He hadn’t married Gwen only to bury her.
“Don’t give me the speech about the freedom of information act, Gwendolyn, because right about now I don’t give a damn about your column. I cooperated with Nash when he came to me about creating the Blotter because he wanted to hire you. But it ends today, now. I’m going to call Nash McGraw and let him know that there will be no more information coming out of this department.”
Shiloh’s tone and words infuriated Gwen. “How dare you try and interfere with my career!”
“I dare, Gwendolyn Harper,” he countered. “I dare because I love you and want to protect you. But I can’t do that if you expose yourself to what just happened here today.”
“And you think you’re less vulnerable than I am? That old man could’ve shot and killed you like that kid killed your father.”
“You’re wrong. Wesley is harmless,” Shiloh lied smoothly. Drunk, depressed, penniless, and threatening to shoot someone, Wesley Gibson had become a living, breathing time bomb primed to detonate with the slightest provocation. His hand moved to her upper arm. “Either you leave here with Jimmie, or I’ll lock your ass up in the back until my shift is over. The choice is yours, Gwendolyn.”
Gwen was so furious she could hardly speak. Her breath burned in her throat like an out-of-control fire. How dare he threaten her as if he were an avenging demigod. “Take your hand off me.”
Shiloh released her, watching as she opened the door and closed it quietly behind her. He felt no victory in bullying or intimidating her the way he had, but what his obstinate, head-strong wife failed to understand was that he had to keep her safe, and that he would willingly sacrifice his own life to accomplish that pledge.
CHAPTER 19
Shiloh’s directive that he would no longer provide the editor of the Teche Tribune with information from his office impacted readers, crime victims, perpetrators, and Gwendolyn Taylor-Harper’s marriage to the sheriff of St. Martin Parish.
She hadn’t been married a month and she and Shiloh had become polite strangers despite the fact that they still shared a bed. They hadn’t made love since the incident at the station house. They went to bed, their backs to each other and woke with their limbs entangled. The first time Shiloh demonstrated an overture that he wanted to make love to her she gave him the excuse that she was too tired.
And Gwen hadn’t lied to him. Waves of fatigue attacked her when she least expected it. She would’ve blamed it on working too hard, but the fact remained that she was hardly working. Nash had reassigned her to write copy and proofread, and this arrangement suited her needs because she was in the office all the time, which left more time for her to work on the prom queen murder.
She’d also suspected that maybe she could’ve been pregnant, but dismissed that notion when her menses came on time. Again, it was scant, but it wasn’t the first time her menstrual cycle went a little awry. She was due for her annual gyn exam at the end of October, and she planned to ask Natalee for a referral.
Gwen didn’t get to see as much of her sister-in-law as she would’ve liked because of the jewelry designer’s busy schedule. At a moment’s notice she would fly off to Los Angeles, New York, Miami or Europe to confer with her select group of clients who’d commissioned her to design a new bauble. Her name had been touted as a designer on the move and one to watch when she collaborated with Danish jewelry house Georg Jensen.
“Aren’t you ready to come to bed?”
Gwen’s head came up and she turned to find Shiloh standing under the entrance to the room they’d set up as an office. Her gaze lingered on his face rather than his bare chest and the white drawstring pajama pants riding low on his hips. Cocoa, who’d fallen asleep next to her chair got up when she heard his voice, and trotted over to Shiloh.
“Not yet.”
“What are you working on?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
Shiloh’s expression did not change. It’d been three weeks since the incident at the station house, and it was apparent Gwen wasn’t going to let go of her anger because he’d banished her.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at her. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
Gwen turned back to the photographs in the yearbook. “Wasn’t it you that said we would keep our personal life separate from our careers?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Yes, I did. But right now we don’t have a personal life, Gwen.”
She closed her eyes for several seconds. “And I don’t have a career,” she countered.
“You have a career. You’re working for the Tribune.”
She swiveled on the chair, her gaze filled with resentment. “That may be true, but I’m doing the work of an intern, not someone with their own byline. I may as well not be working.”
“Why don’t you quit?”
“And do what?
” she spat out.
“Aren’t you involved with the Genteel Magnolia Society and the book you’re going to write for them?” Once she’d become a member of the group she’d told him about the book.
“We don’t meet during the summer months.”
The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. Shiloh was the first to break the impasse. “I have to turn in now because I’m scheduled to work a four-to-noon tomorrow.”
Gwen nodded, but as he turned to leave she said, “What year did your mother graduate from high school?”
Shiloh halted his retreat, but did not turn around. “1964. Why?”
“Did she go to St. Martin Parish High School?”
Lines furrowing his smooth forehead, Shiloh turned and stared at his wife. “No. She went to a parochial school. Why the interest in my mother?”
“I came across an article about a girl who was murdered a week before she was scheduled to graduate from the high school.”
“What about her?”
“The Shelby Carruthers case was closed two months after her decomposing body was discovered in a shallow grave with a single gunshot to the back of her head. I read the coroner’s report which stated she was shot with a .22. What bothers me is that no one in forty-two years has tried to find out who murdered her. And another thing that bothers me is that if a search had been conducted when she didn’t come home or when her mother reported her missing, couldn’t a search dog have found her body?”
Shiloh entered the room and sat down in an office chair near the antique desk where photocopied articles about the unsolved murder littered the surface.
“Let it go, darling.”
She ignored the first endearment he’d uttered since the tense confrontation in the stationhouse. “Why is it everyone’s telling me to let it go?”
“What do you mean everyone?”
“Nash McGraw told me the same thing. And now I’m beginning to wonder why.”
“The answer is an easy one.”
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