Epiphany: Part Two

by Gemma James

  “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Alcohol isn’t—”

  He shut me up with his mouth, his kiss frantic. Fire ignited in my belly, spreading lower until it burned between my thighs. I crawled onto his lap and straddled him.

  “You make me crazy,” he said.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Bad”—he removed my T-shirt in one fluid motion—“good. All of the above.” His hands warmed my breasts, thumbs whisking across sensitive peaks, and my breath came quicker, escaping in small bursts. I rose on my knees, reached down, and freed his erection from his boxers before closing my fingers around him.

  “Definitely good,” he moaned.

  He was silky smooth against my palm, and as I slid my hand up and down his length, my gaze pinned to his, his desire leaked all over my fist.

  He covered my hand with his. “Stop. I want inside you.” He hooked a finger along the edge of my panties, sweeping them aside, and pushed in with a groan. His hands commanded my hips, drawing me closer and guiding the pace as we started our dance. I was drowning, completely possessed as he strengthened his hold on my heart.

  Arching my spine, I flung my head back and purred as his mouth left a wet trail down my throat. My pulse throbbed under the heat of his tongue, and I held on tighter as every part of him speared through me like lightning.

  “Aidan…” I buried my face in his hair, inhaling as I dug my fingers into his dampened shoulders. My hips took on the rhythm of desperation. “Aidan!”

  Anything I might’ve said after that became inaudible cries. I thrust down hard on his lap, impaling myself to the hilt, and his ragged breathing drowned out the beat of my heart. I cried out again as he swept me up in the tide of intoxication that had nothing to do with whiskey and everything to do with the man.

  A search of Aidan’s kitchen produced three bottles of whiskey. I upended the last one into the sink and stared as it splashed down the drain. I was so entranced by the swirling amber that I failed to hear him enter. He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “I missed you in bed.”

  I nibbled on my lip. “I couldn’t sleep.” That wasn’t entirely true. I’d fallen asleep after we’d made love, but then a dream had awakened me, and I’d tossed and turned next to him for an hour. “Are you mad?” I asked, holding onto his arms. Not that it would change anything. I still would have poured the alcohol down the drain.

  “No.” He held me tighter, almost crushing me in his embrace. “I’m still a little drunk, probably headed for a wicked hangover, but all I want is to sleep with you by my side.” He exhaled against my neck. “Safe by my side. Thanks for dumping it, but you can come back to bed now.”

  I turned in his arms, and every memory from the night before assaulted me. The good and the bad. “Promise me you won’t drink anymore.”

  “I promise.” He kissed along my jaw, feathery teases until his mouth captured mine. I sighed, loving the simple act of kissing him too much. Loving him too much.

  “You’re too agreeable,” I moaned against his lips. “I’m serious. Please…promise me and mean it. Don’t drink anymore.”

  “I’ll try.” He kissed me again, and when we finally broke apart, he gave me a perplexed look. “Do I smell food?” His eyes veered toward the stove.

  I hid a smile. “I figured it was my turn. It’s nothing complicated, just eggs and toast.” I ran my fingers down his chest toward the waistband of his sweats, enjoying how his stomach muscles tightened under my touch. “I couldn’t remember where you kept your plates.”

  “Well, if you’re cooking, I can’t go back to bed now. Have a seat. I’ll dish up.”

  I sat at the center island and thumbed through my sketchbook.

  “Drawing again?” he asked.

  “I had another dream about the cabin.”

  “Anything new?”

  “No, but I can see it more clearly now. I don’t know what it means, or even if it’s important.” I drew a few lines and smudged the charcoal with my thumb. “Maybe it doesn’t exist.”

  He pulled down two plates from the cupboard next to where I’d found his stash of Jack. “It exists.”

  He didn’t need to explain his certainty. I knew what he was getting at. I’d dreamed of this strange cabin for the last couple of weeks, and the dreams had only intensified. If I was dreaming about it, then it was out there somewhere, foundation and wood, surrounded by trees and water.

  Oregon had a lot of lakes.

  Growing restless, I slid from the stool. “I’m gonna grab the paper.” I wondered what the media had to say about Dee’s attempted murder. I’d called the sheriff earlier that morning and learned that she was in a coma. Would she come out of it and name her kidnapper?

  The sky was its usual dreary gray when I pulled the door open. Nothing seemed out of place except for the Bible that accompanied the newspaper on his porch. It wasn’t your everyday standard Bible. Not like the ones the Gideons distributed. This particular tome had been handled frequently, the brown leather cover worn and the gold-tipped pages faded to dull brass.

  What really caught my attention was the bookmark placed between the pages. I reached for the book and opened it to the marked spot. As I skimmed the text, noting the highlighted bits, my instincts screamed that something was off. The story, a timeless tale of ultimate betrayal, was a familiar one; the story of Cain and Abel. Good brother killed by bad brother. Bad brother banished for his crime.

  How odd. Didn’t church people usually leave pamphlets or knock on the door? They didn’t leave Bibles with bookmarks in them. A chill traveled down my arms and legs as my fingers brushed over the worn leather. I bent down and picked up the paper before returning to the kitchen. “Someone left a Bible on your porch.”

  He dropped the spoon, paying no attention to the eggs that covered the counter. “Let me see.” He set the newspaper aside and flipped through the Bible, his expression growing tense. “We need to tell the sheriff about this.”

  I gulped. “You think the killer left it?”

  “I don’t think, I know. He left a Bible once before, right after Deb was killed.” His brows narrowed. “Though this one has obviously been handled a lot.”

  I shivered at the thought that the Hangman had been on the other side of the door, just a few feet from me while Aidan slept downstairs. “Was it bookmarked too?”

  “Yeah, the same story of Cain and Abel.”

  “What about the other victims in Boise? Did he leave a Bible in those cases too?”

  Aidan’s expression was grim. “No.”

  His answer only reinforced my earlier theory that a copycat was responsible for his wife’s murder, as well as the murders in Watcher’s Point.

  “What do you think it means?” I asked, shaking my head. “I mean…what would the story of Cain and Abel have to do with you, with these murders? Is he a religious nut or something?” I began pacing, as if I could simply walk away the feeling of being stalked. I turned and bumped into Aidan. “He was right on the other side of that door. He could’ve…could’ve…”

  “He didn’t.” He folded his arms around me, and we both held on. “He didn’t. I won’t let him hurt you.”

  I wanted to melt into him, hide from the world and all the turmoil in it. The threat of the Hangman, the impending visit with my mom.

  “He won’t get anywhere near you, Mackenzie.”

  The days leading up to Thanksgiving passed in a state of madness. The Feds sent agent Victoria Kipp to town shortly after Aidan and I found the Bible on his doorstep. She’d subjected us both to a long line of questioning. Aidan especially, since he’d talked to Chloe Sanders the day before she was murdered.

  Of course, a chaotic week wouldn’t be complete without several calls from Joe. He’d called every day, but so far I’d been too chickenshit to answer. Mom had also called, freaking out as only a mother could when reports of Dee’s kidnapping and attempted murder hit the news. Third victim in three weeks, and the media was hav
ing a field day with speculation.

  “Pumpkin is done.” Aidan set the pie on the counter to cool. “I’m gonna make another one. What do you think? Chocolate or banana?”

  He’d been up since the crack of dawn acting utterly domestic and pretending to need my help with baking pies—from scratch, of course—because going to my mother’s house empty handed on Thanksgiving would be a travesty.

  “Doesn’t matter. Either is fine.”

  We’d spent endless days running errands and doing simple things like laundry, not to mention the slow shifts we shared at work—shifts he found ways to fill with busy work, despite a lack of customers.

  Anything to keep me so preoccupied that I wouldn’t dwell on seeing my mom again. The day loomed in front of me like an emotional root canal. I wasn’t looking forward to facing the past, but not going meant Aidan would continue this absurd state of normalcy. As if anything was normal. Dee had come out of her coma, but she didn’t remember a thing about the night the Hangman had taken her. Somewhere in her subconscious lay the answer to the killer’s identity, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted her to remember or not. Who’d want to live with that kind of horrific experience coloring their every step?

  “I changed my mind.”

  “About what?” He grabbed a saucepan and began pouring sugar and cocoa into it.

  “About going.” I wandered to the counter and peeked at the cooling pumpkin pie before ambling to Aidan’s side again. “I don’t want to deal with my mom right now.”

  “It’ll be good to get away.” He added a can of evaporated milk to the mix, and the sight of him doing something as simple as making a pie ebbed at my irritation.

  “Do you have any idea how sexy you are when you do that?”

  He arched a dark brow. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  I laughed. “The only distraction in this kitchen is you.” I eyed the stovetop and caught a whiff of what he was cooking. “And maybe the smell of that.”

  He grinned as he cracked open an egg. “No more distractions. So why the one-eighty?”

  Shit. His ability to exude nonchalance before striking at the heart of the matter was annoying. “I’ve barely talked to my mom since I moved here.” I tapped my fingernails on the granite countertop. “I never told her what Joe’s dad did. I guess in the back of my mind, I’m worried she won’t believe me.”

  Though Aidan didn’t say anything at first, I didn’t miss the tick in his jaw. If he ever came face to face with my rapist, I knew he’d lose it and probably take another trip to jail while he was at it. I wondered how many “get out of jail free” cards he had left.

  “Of course she’ll believe you. She’s your mother.” He lifted the spoon and blew on the filling before bringing it to my lips. “Try this.”

  I rolled my eyes but complied. Damn, he was good.

  “You’re not gonna let two perfectly good pies go to waste, are you?” he asked, all innocence.

  I was an idiot to think he’d let me get away with changing my mind. “No, that would be criminal.”

  “Good.” He set the spoon down and pulled me against him. One hand cradled the back of my head as he brought his mouth down on mine in a lingering union that ignited a fire in my veins.

  “Now who’s being a distraction?” I breathed between kisses.

  “Mmm, you definitely are.” He buried his face in my hair. “That cherry-vanilla weapon you call shampoo gets me every time.”

  Pressed so close to him, I’d have to be brain-dead not to get his meaning. “Want me to stop using it?”

  “Don’t you dare.” His words whispered against my ear. “Don’t let this rift ruin your relationship with your mother. Take it from someone who’s lived with a lot of regret.”

  I tilted my head. “Was this your intention all along? Fluster me with your sex appeal and then hit me with a dose of reasonable Aidan?”

  “I’m feeling far from reasonable.” He hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. “I’m thinking we have enough time to use the counter for something other than cooking.”

  “Well by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

  He was definitely unstoppable. It didn’t matter when or where, but whenever we came together, I never failed to lose myself. Raindrops drummed against the dining room window, and when we moved to the couch, falling onto it in a tumble of limbs, time ceased to exist as I screamed his name, my nails gouging his skin.

  We left for my mother’s house shortly after, and the storm was in full swing. Aidan slowed the car to ten under the speed limit due to the curtain of rain that pounded the road. During the two-hour drive to Eugene, my insecurities rose to the surface again.

  “You’re obsessing.” His voice broke the thick silence.

  “We should have stayed home.”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. Leave the past at the door and spend some time with your family. It’ll be fun.”

  The closer we got to my childhood home, the more the edgy feeling intensified. Aidan turned into the driveway, tires crunching over gravel, and parked behind my brother’s minivan.

  “Nice place,” he said. “Hard to believe we’re so close to town.” The yellow farmhouse was the only house in sight; acres of farmland separated neighboring homes.

  “That’s what I loved most about growing up here. It’s close enough to town, but we never had to worry about privacy.”

  “You’ve got two eager fans waiting to greet you.” He gestured behind me.

  I turned around and found my nephews staring at me from the other side of the passenger window, their faces pressed against the glass. Both were drenched from the downpour, though neither seemed to care.

  “My nephews, Michael and Mason.” I grabbed the two pies Aidan had baked that morning and gently eased the door open. They pounced the minute I was out of the car.

  “You brought pie!” Two identical voices screeched at me.

  Aidan came around the hood. “They’re twins.” Water dripped from his hair and into the collar of his jacket as he swerved his gaze back and forth between the boys. Other than their clothes, there was little difference in appearance. Both had the same curly, dark hair and blue eyes. A newcomer like Aidan would have a hard time telling them apart.

  “Identical,” I said. “And they have energy in spades.” I smiled as the boys jumped up and down, paying no attention to the rain. “Come on, guys. We’re getting soaked.” The boys scurried to the wraparound porch before Aidan and I had taken three steps. They disappeared into the house, and an instant later my mom appeared in the doorway. She engulfed me in a hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Kenz.”

  I laughed as some of the hurt disappeared. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her. “Hi, Mom. Don’t smash the pies.”

  She pulled away and eyed them. “They look homemade,” she said, throwing me a suspicious look as she ushered us inside.

  I bit back a grin. “That’s because they are. Aidan made them.”

  She took the pies from me and scrutinized Aidan with a tight smile. “I’m Jane. You must be the friend Mackenzie mentioned.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Aidan.” Even in the face of her less-than-welcoming smile, his never wavered. I could have kissed him for the way he handled my prickly mother. Hopefully she’d warm up to him by the time we left, though considering her bias for Joe, I wasn’t about to hold my breath.

  “Kenz!” I barely had time to prepare for another hug, this one bone-crushing. “I’m so glad you made it. Mom wasn’t sure you would.” My sister gave me a once-over. “You look great.” Her eyes landed on Aidan, and she lowered her voice. “He looks even better. Who’s the hottie?”

  I stifled a groan. Leaving my mom’s house sans-embarrassment wasn’t going to happen. “Aidan, this is my sister Mackayla.”

  The following half hour was filled with more introductions, more questions. How did I like my job? When was I coming home? How long had I known Aidan? I was grateful when my brot
her Micah saved him from a brewing inquisition from my oldest brother Marcus. I cringed to think of what my mom had in store for him.

  “I like him,” Micah said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Any guy who can talk football like that has my vote. It’s about time Joe had some competition.”

  Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, and my mom reappeared a moment later. Her hair, nearly as dark as my own, fell below her ears in the simple bob she’d worn for the past decade. All four of us kids had inherited her smoky gray eyes.

  “Dinner will be done soon, but we need more Cool Whip.” She glanced down at the brown turtleneck she wore and picked off a piece of lint. “Aidan, would you mind driving Micah into town? I’m afraid he’s already hit the beer.”

  “I’ll go with him,” I said, reaching for my jacket.

  “Actually, Kenz, I could use your help in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind.” She disappeared into the other room before I had a chance to reply.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go.” Aidan leaned down and kissed my cheek. “We’ve got everyone blocked in anyway. I’m sure your mom wants a moment to grill you without me around.” His eyes twinkled as he pulled away. “Good luck.”

  I grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him down for a real kiss. “Don’t be gone long.”

  “I won’t.” He and Micah left, keeping their heads bowed against the continuous downpour.

  “Don’t worry,” Mackayla said as she closed the door behind them, “I’ll play mediator so Mom won’t steamroll you.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Delaying the inevitable confrontation with my mom, I wandered around the living room, and Mackayla followed. The room hadn’t changed much over the years. Same fireplace in the corner, same well-used leather furniture. Only the pictures above the mantle had morphed with time. Weddings and graduations replaced the photos of adolescence, and the twins’ portraits were now accompanied by their baby sister’s in the montage. I ran my finger along my graduation photo, unsurprised to find it free of dust. “Where’s Alicia?” I asked, referring to Marcus’s wife.