Cold Case Reunion

by Kimberly VanMeter

  She smiled as they walked wordlessly to the car. An easy silence floated between them—as if they were accustomed to each other’s presence and comfortable with the space they inhabited with one another—and as they went off to find food, Mya accepted the stark truth staring her in the face.

  If tonight were to be the only time with him, she’d take it—even knowing that his leaving would hurt just as much as it had the first time and his departure would likely leave an even bigger hole. She didn’t care because she wanted to soak up every minute with Angelo. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, taste the sweat on his body and brand her soul with his touch—this way, she reasoned, when he left the second time, she’d have fresh memories to visit when the sadness and grief washed over her.

  Iris would say she was nuts. Maybe she was. All she knew was that tonight would end the way she wanted it to.

  Even if Angelo didn’t know it yet.

  Angelo tried to tell himself that a hotel room was simply more sensible than driving all the way back to the reservation, but all it took was one look from those smoldering brown eyes to know that to cling to such an obvious lie was an exercise in futility.

  He wanted her. Plain and simple.

  Except there was nothing simple about it.

  If sleeping together the other night was a bad call, what was doing it a second time? He knew the answer but it wasn’t going to matter.

  The knowledge that Grace was standing guard over Darrick freed his mind to wander, to propose all kinds of sultry and sinful acts he wanted to do to Mya. Was he a bastard for wanting her so desperately, for going after her with the single-minded focus he usually reserved for chasing criminals? What was in it for Mya, aside from a good romp in the sack? She deserved better than that—particularly from him—but even that didn’t stop him from pushing open that hotel door and eagerly following her inside, practically tripping over himself in his haste.

  His heart rate was so elevated he thought he might have some kind of cardiac event. As soon as the door opened and Mya saw the single king-size bed, he held his breath, waiting for her to object, but she simply put her purse on the small bedside table and announced she was going to use the bathroom.

  Just like that…as if this was completely normal. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting, not quite sure what the hell they were doing—what they were doing to each other.

  Mya wasn’t the sort to have a short-term, no-strings-attached love affair. And he wasn’t in the market for a soul-stirring, emotional cataclysm. But he wanted her with a ferocity that shook him.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face and fell back onto the bed. “This is lunacy,” he muttered to himself. There was no way he could go through with this knowing he wasn’t offering her anything beyond the physical. He wasn’t that big a jerk. It was bad enough he’d abandoned her when she’d needed him the most. An ache that had nothing to do with sexual need spread through his gut. He’d do anything to go back in time to rewrite that single moment. She hadn’t deserved that kind of pain. She’d never been anything but good to him. Angelo ground his eyes with the flats of his palms, a heavy sigh escaping as he prepared to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself.

  The door opened and he sat up only to stare at Mya framed in the doorway, wearing nothing but the skin Creator had given her.

  “Wha— Mya!” How could he follow through with the gentleman act when she was standing there like an Indian princess, teasing him with everything he shouldn’t touch? “Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, trying his damndest to affect a stern tone, but it was difficult to pull off when all the spit had deserted his mouth, making speech nearly impossible.

  She walked toward him, her eyes shining in the dim light, a hungry smile on her lips. She straddled him and his arms instinctively wrapped around her lithe body. The heat of her core seemed to sear through his pants, urging him to divest himself of the barrier between them. She pressed little, sweet kisses along his jawline, rubbing her beautiful, perfect breasts against his chest, and uttered a low, throaty laugh when he palmed the soft, plump flesh of her behind. He groaned, trying to remember why he wasn’t going to do this, but he was only human and she felt like heaven in his arms.

  “Are you sure about this?” he managed to ask, his voice shallow and raspy as she plucked the buttons from his shirt, spreading it open to bare his chest and shoulders to her view. She nodded in answer, more intent on his body than on his attempts to keep them both from doing something they might regret later. “It’s probably not a—”

  “Shhh.” She placed her fingers against his lips, following the soft admonition with a drugging kiss. What the hell? he thought muzzily, allowing her to push him to a prone position with her on top. Let’s do this…

  He rolled her to her back, pinning her to the bed with his body. She grinned and wrapped her legs around his trunk. His erection strained against his zipper, demanding to be sprung. He liked to think of himself as an elegant lover in most circumstances, but at the moment he had about as much finesse as a man with six thumbs. It took every ounce of willpower to slow himself down and take his time. Her skin, soft and sweet, tasted like fine wine on his tongue. He delighted in the soft cries she made as he teased each nipple in his mouth, playing and sucking, nipping and laving. And when he reached down between her curls he found her slick and ready, so he slid a finger, followed by another, rubbing the spots that he knew drove her wild.

  He withdrew his fingers and quickly shucked off his pants, but before he could plunge inside her, she turned the tables on him and her hot, wet mouth was on him, sucking greedily, gripping him to her with strong fingers.

  He groaned, his hands buried in her hair, nearly delirious with pleasure as Mya tortured him with her clever mouth. He couldn’t take any more without fear of exploding, and he didn’t want things to end like that. He wanted to come inside her, to feel her clench her body all around him. He pulled away and climbed onto her body, fitting himself to her hot core. She gasped as he slowly slid inside, burying himself deep.

  “Oh, God,” he said tightly, the words wrenched from his mouth. Everything felt right, felt so good. He drove into her body with ruthless abandon, losing himself to the sensation, to the wild sounds of their lovemaking, and as he came, he dimly wondered how on earth he thought he could live without this woman when she turned his heart inside out and teased his body to a fever pitch with a touch.

  Collapsing, he rolled to his back, panting from the exertion, and it was a long moment before either could speak.

  The sweat glistened on their bodies, the low light from the single bedside lamp caressing the hills and valleys of Mya’s body, and even as scattered as his thoughts were after a mind-blowing orgasm, he realized Mya was quite possibly the most gorgeous woman on earth.

  And once, he’d been blessed enough to call her his own.

  Could she love him again? After all this time? After all she’d been through at his hands?

  It was a cruel fantasy—one he pushed away before it started to sting too badly. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.

  Was that too much to ask?

  Hell, yes.

  But he was going to do it anyway.

  Chapter 21

  Mya rested on her side, gazing at Angelo while he slept. She loved this man. Perhaps she’d never stopped loving him. Was that why she’d failed to find another man to fill the hole he’d left behind? Was it possible to watch him leave without dying inside? She sighed softly and the sound caused Angelo’s eyelids to flutter.

  A sleepy smile followed and he instinctively reached for her, fitting her to him so that her bare breasts tickled his chest. She rested her leg over his and they locked together like puzzle pieces.

  “I’ve been very irresponsible with you,” she admitted in a husky whisper. The sleep cleared from his gaze and she smoothed the gathering frown from his face. “But I can’t seem to help myself.”

  He remained quiet for a moment, then he nodded. “Me, too.”

/>   She smiled. “I don’t mean just sexually. I mean emotionally, too.”

  “I know.”

  He felt the same? She tackled the first issue because somehow, it was easier. “I’m not in the habit of falling into bed with people. Usually, I require a full medical work-up before I decide to get physical with someone. And I always use a condom.”

  “A full medical work-up,” he repeated, his tone faintly amused. “Sounds romantic.”

  “It isn’t, but it’s necessary these days,” she said. “However, I wanted to assure you that I’m on the pill so there’s no worries there.” She expected him to sigh in relief, since they’d overlooked that detail in their lust-induced haze, but instead she saw something else flicker in his gaze. “Angelo? You’re relieved, right?”

  He pulled away, his expression openly conflicted. “I should be.”

  “You’re not?” she asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Me, neither,” he admitted, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know, Mya. My head’s still not screwed on straight after what you told me yesterday.” He returned to his side to gently palm her belly, making the breath catch in her throat at his reverent touch. “When I think that our baby had been here…I…”

  She blinked back sudden tears. She understood how he felt, but she was shocked that he was feeling it now, too. “It was for the best,” she said, nearly choking on the sentiment because, although she trusted in Great Spirit’s guidance, she still couldn’t understand why her child hadn’t been given the gift of life. “Neither of us was ready to be a parent.”

  He nodded as if he agreed, but the pinch of his mouth told a different story. “You would make a wonderful mother,” he said softly, following his hand with his mouth, pressing a sweet kiss on her belly. “Strong. Resilient. Kind.” He punctuated each word with a kiss. “A mother who would shape fine sons and smart, capable daughters.”

  “And what about you? What kind of father would you make?” she asked, barely able to speak.

  He met her gaze and she saw so much pain she wanted to cry out. “I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to find out.”

  “Angelo,” she whispered, pulling him to her. “You will. And when you do, you’ll be an amazing father who is kind yet firm, loving and supportive because that’s what Papa taught you about being a man.”

  “What if I turn out like my father?”

  “You don’t even drink. It’s hard to turn into an alcoholic when you don’t touch a drop of liquor,” she answered, smiling through a wash of tears. “Don’t let a ghost influence your decisions for the future. You’re more like Papa than you let yourself remember. Someday…you’ll remember and everything will fall into place.”

  He buried his face against her skin, as if hiding from the world, and she gladly sheltered him.

  In a blinding moment of clarity she realized she wished she’d been off the pill so that perhaps she and Angelo could tempt fate twice, but that was a selfish yearning, born to breed heartache and she knew she couldn’t do that. But it didn’t stop her from being a little sad at what would never be.

  Grace called as they were checking out of the hotel.

  “He’s awake—sort of. You might want to get down here,” she said, her tone ominous.

  “What’s going on?” Angelo asked, shrugging into his coat and heading for the car with Mya in tow.

  “Well, the drug he’d been given caused some kind of reaction in his already failing liver. He crashed early this morning and he’s not doing so good. Any questions you might need to ask him…you’re running out of time to ask them.”

  Angelo pursed his mouth in agitation and frustration. “We’re on our way.” He clicked off and met Mya’s wide-eyed stare of concern. “Darrick crashed this morning. The drug affected his damaged liver…he’s in bad shape.”

  “Oh, God, I was worried about that,” she said. “Poor Darrick. I hope he can pull through, not just for the case, but because I want to help him get into a rehab facility.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” he said. He’d even pay for it if he had to. It seemed the least he could do to make amends.

  They walked into the hospital and met Grace in the lobby. “He was finally pulling out of the drug-induced stupor and just as he started to breathe on his own, he began convulsing,” Grace explained, shaking her head. “I’m not sure he’s going to pull out of this.”

  “He has to,” Angelo said, feeling as if his one true chance at getting answers was dying along with Darrick. “Damn it,” he muttered.

  “His liver was teetering on the edge of acute failure before the drug overdose,” Mya said. “It’s a wonder he’s lasted this long with the kind of abuse he’s subjected his body to.” She laid a hand on his back, her touch gentle. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

  He nodded, wishing he had Mya’s determined optimism. Right now, he felt as if he was back to square one with very little to show for his efforts aside from a head and heart warring with one another.

  A doctor emerged, wearing a solemn expression. Angelo knew, just as Mya did, that the news wasn’t good.

  “Are you friends of Mr. Willets?” he asked.

  Mya stepped forward, extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Mya Jonson. I’m the one who had Darrick transferred here from the mental health facility where he’d been given an overdose of sedative. This is special agent Angelo Tucker and his partner, Grace Kelly. What is the prognosis?”

  “Not good,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “I wouldn’t say that it’s impossible, as miracles happen, but his liver is far too damaged to sustain that kind of blow. If you’d like to see him, to pay your respects, I’d advise you to do it now. But I should warn you, it’s unlikely he’ll even know you’re there.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she murmured, glancing at Angelo, who nodded his appreciation for the doctor’s attention, then he and Mya went into Darrick’s room. Machines keeping the man alive beeped and hissed, while the smells of death and sickness floated on the cold, sterile hospital air. Angelo hated hospitals. They reminded him of all the people he’d lost in his life: his parents, Waylon, Papa. Hospitals were a place of sadness and despair. Today was no different.

  They flanked Darrick’s bedside, each nearly at a loss for words. A pall had settled on the room as if the specter of death was hovering at the foot of Darrick’s bed, waiting for his moment to collect the troubled man’s soul. Angelo’s throat closed and he wished Waylon were here. It shouldn’t end like this. Hadn’t the tribe suffered enough? As he stared at the ravaged face of Darrick Willets, he wondered if he could have made a difference if he’d stuck around, maybe taken the kid under his wing when Waylon had died. He’d been so damn selfish, only thinking of himself and acting on his deeply entrenched anger against everyone and everything when, in fact, he’d been angry with himself for not rising to everyone’s expectations, especially those of his loved ones.

  He was supposed to be the tribal chief—the last of his line. He’d thrown it all away. Damn, he was drowning in regrets. He looked to Mya, whose focus remained on Darrick. Compassion softened her expression and his heart contracted. Her heart was big enough to encompass the entire tribe, yet she’d given it to him exclusively.

  And he’d stomped on it.

  Was there any way to make amends for that kind of injustice? He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

  Mya knew Darrick was struggling to hold on; she’d seen enough instances in the emergency room when a patient clung to life against all odds. Darrick was a fighter, even if his body wanted to give out on him. However, she also knew his strength would only last so long before his body simply lost its grip on the rope tethering him to this world.

  She wanted to console Angelo. He looked broken, almost as if Darrick’s decline were his fault, when, in fact, Darrick had been actively trying to kill himself since his early twenties. This moment had been inevitable.

  “Darrick…it’s Mya,” she said softly, hoping to reach
Darrick’s buried consciousness. “You’re not alone. Don’t be afraid.” She slipped her hand into his still one and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Angelo is here. You need to get better so you can see him. He’s come a long way to talk to you.” It was a small lie but honesty was overrated when standing next to a dying man.

  There was no response, no change, not that she expected one, but if she were going to hope for a miracle, she figured she ought to dream big.

  “Darrick,” Angelo said. “I’m going to catch who did this to you. I promise. But I need your help. Only you can help us find who killed Waylon. I know you know. Help us find that person and bring them to justice.”

  Darrick’s eyelids twitched and Mya held her breath. She looked to Angelo, and shook her head, not wanting him to get his hopes up. “It’s probably just a reflex,” she said. “This happens when—”

  “A-ang-elo,” Darrick wheezed, his eyelids seeming weighted in cement for the effort it took to raise them. Angelo leaned closer to catch the words barely making it past Darrick’s lips.

  “I’m here, Darrick,” Angelo said. “Tell me who killed Waylon. I’m here to listen. I’ll believe you.”

  “S-so sorry…m-my fault,” Darrick gasped, a lone tear tracking down his yellowed skin. “M-my f-fault.”

  “It’s not your fault. You were a kid, too. Tell me who did it so I can bring them in. Someone is killing people to keep something secret. What is it?” He couldn’t soften the urgency in his tone and Mya found herself hanging on every word, hoping against hope that Darrick could tell them something of importance.