He lowered the side rail on the bed and leaned back next to her. Wrapping her in his arms, he let Mickey cry herself out. He imagined she’d been holding it in all day long. And it was all his fault.
Molly awakened to find herself pressed against Dean’s side with his arm around her. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel in the least awkward or surprised this time. Sleeping next to Dean, even though they had issues, felt natural. In some ways their conflicts bound them even more tightly to one another.
It was completely dark. She lifted her head and looked at the clock. It was nearly six-thirty and the baby continued to snooze in his crib. From the sound of Dean’s regular deep breathing, he was asleep too.
Gently she put her head back on his shoulder, happy to bask in a false sense of togetherness. Her, Dean, and Nicholas. Deep inside there was a whisper of hope that it actually could be.
As she lay there, she tried to sort out her emotions. Was her love for Nicholas coloring the way she looked at Dean—a complete family package? Was she only thinking of Dean this way in order to hang onto Nicholas?
She tried to tell herself they were separate feelings; she had been strongly attracted to Dean before she knew he was Sarah’s brother. Those kisses she’d accepted in ignorance of his identity had been unlike any she’d ever shared with anyone. If anything, his relationship to the baby should dash her ardor, not fan the flames. And, with his body beside hers, she couldn’t deny the smoldering embers that remained from their last encounter.
He stirred beside her and she looked at his face.
In the darkness, she could make out his eyes and the fact that he was smiling. Could he tell what was going through her mind?
Without a word, she eased closer and brushed her lips lightly against his, teasing, testing. She rubbed her forehead against his chin, breathing in the mingling of their sleep scents. He’d said the two of them together were a dangerous mix and she couldn’t deny it. There was something about their chemistry when they came close that defied logic and thwarted control. Something that drew them together like oppositely charged particles.
Seeking more of him, she kissed his throat. He hadn’t shaved; she liked the rough play of his skin against hers.
For a moment he didn’t react, but she realized he was holding his breath.
Her tongue dipped into the hollow at the base of his throat and he sucked in a breath that could easily have been either surprise or arousal. It became blindingly clear which one as he slid a hand into her hair and cascaded kisses along her forehead, her temples, her neck.
His breath against her ear sent shivers coursing through her like earthquake tremors; erasing all doubt that this had anything to do with Nicholas. When he did these things to her, there was nothing in the universe except the two of them.
His lips found hers. For a moment he teased gently, then it was as if something inside him gave way and his mouth possessed hers completely, with an intense desire that rocked her to her very soul. A muffled sound came from deep in his throat, as if in surrender.
Molly could hardly draw in air as her body responded, fast, hot and explosive. My God, if they set this kind of fire when they were at odds with one another, what would it be like if they were in complete agreement?
He shifted onto his side, never breaking the kiss. His hand slid underneath her shirt and she thought she’d burst into flame. She finally understood: this was what drove sane people to irrational acts. She’d never experienced anything so volatile, so completely beyond her control, so amazing.
Without thought, she worked the buttons of his shirt. The need to feel his skin against hers eclipsed all else.
When she felt him unfasten her bra, her mind and body tumbled into a dark place where only physical sensations registered.
Suddenly his hands stilled and his lips left her wanting.
He whispered, “I promised not to take advantage.” His voice was strained.
She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to feel.
Her body was so prepossessed with desire, she couldn’t form words. She sat up and in one quick motion stripped to the waist. Then she rolled him onto his back and straddled him, spreading his shirt open by running her palms over his chest. It was as if she’d never laid her hands on another man before, the exploration of muscle and skin totally new and electrifying.
While she enjoyed the feel of his flesh, his hands knotted in the comforter beside them as he struggled to keep his word.
Holding his gaze, she reached down and untangled his fingers from the fabric. Interlacing their fingers, she picked up his hand and brought it to her lips. After kissing it suggestively, she placed it on her breast.
Leaning close, her mouth captured the low moan that he couldn’t contain. Then she whispered, her lips brushing his as she did, “I’m the one taking advantage.”
He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest and kissing her with a passion that took both her breath and her strength away. At last they were skin against skin and Molly trembled from her skin to the marrow of her bones. She felt as if she flowed into him, that their sensations became one.
There was nothing left to her but a driving need, an urgency to meld closer to him in body and soul. It was startling and new and frightening—and inescapable.
The feel of his hands on her was like a dream, something she’d been yearning for all of her life and yet could never define. They were strong and capable and protective. She’d never wanted to surrender herself so totally.
In an instant, he switched their positions. She lay beneath him, his mouth exploring her throat, her collar bone. Arching her back, she urged him where she longed for him to go.
Instead of her breast, he returned his attention to her lips. Bracing himself on his elbows, he used both of his hands to push her hair away from her face. Then he looked into her eyes and said, “You’re killing me.”
“Then do something about it.” She wasn’t sure where she found the air to speak.
His forehead touched hers. “I can’t.”
Molly stifled a low laugh as she moved her thigh against his jeans. “It doesn’t feel that way to me.”
He sighed. It was a mix of exasperation and unfulfilled need.
“I take full responsibility,” she said. “You’re not taking advantage—although I do admit, my brain is definitely disengaged.”
“Obviously.” He kissed her again. “But I don’t have anything. . . .” Then he lifted his head and looked at her again. “I don’t suppose you—”
Molly gritted her teeth and groaned. “Hardly. I hadn’t planned on . . . .” She hadn’t planned on him. Never in a million years had she thought she’d feel like this. She blew a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”
Raising up, he nibbled her neck.
“Stop teasing!” She squirmed. “That’s just mean.”
“I don’t have a mean bone in my body. In fact, I’m a very generous man.” His mouth moved slowly down her body and he proceeded to show her exactly how generous he could be.
They managed to ignore the reality of their situation until after they’d eaten a pizza; had fed and bathed Nicholas; had spent twenty minutes marveling at his tiny perfection as the three of them lay on the bed; and a full hour of bathroom sauna when he began acting colicky. This time Dean insisted on relieving Molly and took a thirty minute turn in the steamy bathroom.
Once the baby was down for the night, a somber silence fell over them. For a long while, neither one seemed inclined to break it.
“Maybe I should borrow some more firewood and make a fire,” Dean said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Molly said, even as she calculated how long that activity could put off having to deal with the real issue. “Not tonight, anyway. We’ve got too much to discuss.”
He nodded and sat back down at the kitchen table. Since he remained silent, she assumed he thought she should go first.
“Have you given thought to how you’re going to handle a ba
by?” she asked.
“Except when I was in bed with you, I haven’t thought of anything else.”
Molly felt her ears burn, quickly tucking that particular memory away for when she could relive it in private. “Have you come up with a plan?” She thought she’d let him reveal how completely unprepared he was before she presented her case.
He looked at her as if he could see the inner workings of her mind. For a long moment, he fiddled with the salt shaker, rotating it on the table but keeping his gaze on her. She shifted her own gaze to a place she felt would be safer, his fingers. It turned out to be as dangerous as looking in his eyes. Their time in bed together slid underneath the crack in the door she’d closed on it. She’d always thought he had nice hands; now she knew they were incredible.
He finally said, “I thought I’d leave him with you.”
Molly blinked twice before she allowed herself to believe her ears. All of her mental organization flew out the window. She wasn’t going to have to strong arm him after all.
“That’s wonderful!” Her heart danced on air. “I know it’s hard for you. But really, he’ll be so much better off here in the long run.” Her words were coming in a rush of happiness. “Of course, you’ll come often. And I promise to keep you informed of his every development.”
Dean silently cursed his lack of forethought. Of course she was thinking he meant forever. “Molly.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I meant for a few days. I need to go back east and make some arrangements.”
She looked as if he’d taken a two-by-four to the back of her head. For a moment, she was frozen. Then she blinked. Her mouth opened slightly and closed.
Then he saw the storm gathering in her eyes.
Chapter 21
Molly jerked her hand free of his and jumped to her feet. She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. Instead she spun around, leaving Dean to stare at her shoulders rising and falling on her rapid breaths.
He got up and stood behind her, wanting to put his hands on her shoulders, but knowing she would just pull away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . . I should have made myself clear—”
She turned to face him, her movement jerky with agitation. Her voice quivered with fury when she said, “Do these ‘arrangements’ have to do with preparing a home for Nicholas? Or are you hunting down his father?”
Dean had braced himself for an attack, but not of this nature. He was quickly formulating words for the argument of why he could not give up his nephew, his only family. Not this.
For a moment, he nearly weakened and told her of his conversation with Detective McMurray. But he knew she would not view it in the vein of a breakthrough in the case as he did. She would think it added credence to her argument that the murderer should be left untouched.
He looked into her eyes, trying not to see the fear there. “I need to go through Julie’s things; her super has them in storage.”
“Looking for clues?” The challenge in her voice was cutting.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. This was a damned difficult situation. He spun around, hiding himself from her scrutinizing glare. “There are a hundred things I have to do to get things cleared up and a place for Nicholas. I live in a single rented room.”
She took a step closer and launched her assault. “What are you going to do about working? Are you going back to the Middle East? You can’t seriously think you should take a baby there. Don’t you think he’d be better with me than some nanny you hire? He needs a family—I can give him that! What if you get yourself killed? You’ve already been shot once! Who will take care of him then? With no relatives, he’ll become a ward of the state—believe me, you don’t want that to happen. Have you really thought these things all the way through? And what do you mean, ‘cleared up’? Don’t you know how dangerous it will be for Nicholas if you try to hunt down this man?”
“Do you want the answers in the same order as the questions?” he asked in as calm a tone as he could manage.
Molly set her jaw; Dean could see it was to keep her chin from quivering. There were unspilled tears in her eyes. He was sure nothing more than her iron determination kept them from falling. He felt like a jerk, but he knew he could not rest until this killer had been punished. The baby would be safe here with her until he got that job done.
He said, “I’m going to do my best to take care of him. I swear it.” He paused and cast a glance at the ceiling. He wanted to hold her in his arms while he explained. But he could tell by the set of her shoulders that was not going to happen. “I know both Julie and I are indebted to you beyond repayment. And I don’t want to hurt you. But can’t you see? Nicholas is all I have. I can’t just walk away from him.” He looked deep in her eyes. “I need a family, too.”
Why did it have to be that to get what he needed, he was going to have to hurt the only woman he’d cared about in a very long time? He hated the pain in her eyes. But he couldn’t see a way around it.
She didn’t say anything.
“Will you help me?” he asked. “Will you keep him for a few more days?”
A single tear slid down her face. “I’ll keep him as long as you’ll let me.”
Riley held Mickey until she went to sleep. With the falling of every one of her tears, his resolve to protect her had become stronger. He just had to figure out a way to do it. A part of his anger was directed at himself. He had hurt her and tried to make himself think it didn’t matter. He’d let her go because it had been easier for him.
After slipping carefully from the bed, he paused before he left the room. Mickey was strong because she had to be. No one ever put her first—and she knew it. Today had only proved that to her again. She had tried to do something for Riley and ended up not only with a broken ankle, but humiliated at the hands of her own mother.
Something deep in his chest felt tight as he looked at her and he found it hard to swallow.
As he left her room, he vowed he would never take the easy road again.
Dean spent Thursday night in Indianapolis. His flight left for New York at seven-thirty on Friday morning. As he sat on the plane watching the clouds pass beneath him, he once again mulled over Detective McMurray’s leading questions. Which federal agency had shown an interest in Julie’s death? CIA? The detective suggested someone in Rome, or the airport. Someone international?
When he landed at LaGuardia, he called Harry. The investigator was supposed to have arrived in New York yesterday.
Amazingly, Harry actually picked up.
“Dean. I was just about to call you.”
“Making headway already?” Dean had mixed emotions; he wanted answers, but if Harry got them in twenty-four hours and Dean had missed them himself . . .
Harry said, “Your sister cancelled her New Year’s Eve plans at the last minute.”
“She made a point of being home by New Year’s Eve.”
“Yeah, apparently she and her friend, Annie from college, have spent New Year’s Eve together for the past few years. Seems Annie got married last year. She said Julie called and cancelled that morning. Annie said she thought it was because of her marriage—Julie felt like a fifth wheel or some girl crap like that. But the more we talked, she said that just didn’t seem right. Inevitably, someone was single in that group every year and Julie had come alone at least once.”
Again, Dean felt negligent. Shouldn’t he have known about something like a long-standing New Year’s Eve tradition? Then he said, “I talked to Annie. She said she didn’t have a clue why Julie left—said she didn’t think Julie was dating anyone.”
“You weren’t asking the right questions, my man. New Year’s Eve was over two months before Julie disappeared. Annie wasn’t thinking of New Year’s Eve when you spoke to her; in fact I had to probe around a little before it shook loose.”
“All right. Julie cancelled. Do you have any leads as to why?”
“Not yet. Hey, I’ve only been here a day. Her work turned out to be a dead end.”
Dean decided to offer Harry his own newest development. “I had an interesting conversation with a detective at BPD. She’s making noises like there’s federal interest in this case.”
Harry whistled. “Now that opens up some possibilities. Let me work on that. She say FBI?”
“No. She didn’t say anything. She brought up Julie’s trip to Rome at Christmas, though.”
“CIA . . . that might take a little longer. Things have gotten more complicated since 9/11.”
“She made a point of mentioning my work in the Middle East.”
Harry moaned. “Even more complicated. I’ll poke around and be in touch tomorrow. I know some people who know some people.”
“That’s why I hire you, Harry. You’re a man of many acquaintances. I’m going to the office and see if there are any leads I missed—plus I happen to know some people, too. With this information, I think it’s time to use them.”
“Tomorrow then.”
Dean disconnected the call. For the first time since he’d identified Julie’s body in Boston, he felt like he had a direction, even if the destination was still obscured by a thick bank of fog. Unfortunately that compass pointed east, across the Atlantic.
Molly took Nicholas for a long walk in his stroller on Friday morning. She was still tussling with her conscience. She wanted to do everything in her power to fight for this baby. And yet, the sad truth was, she had no power. If she made it too difficult for Dean, all he had to do was call the police and it was bye-bye medical license, hello jail.
Her heart told her he would never do that to her. But she had to think, if she held that power, would she use it to gain guardianship of this child? Would she sacrifice Dean’s career to keep Nicholas with her?
The fact that she couldn’t answer that question immediately and unequivocally told her she could be in trouble. She hoped he took her questions to heart and perhaps would return with a revised view of taking the baby with him. Surely he could see how much better it would be for Nicholas to be with a parent who was going to live on a single continent.
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