No other woman before or after Eden had stirred his gut with thoughts of love and all that other stuff he didn’t have the vocabulary to name.
“I’m not canceling. I refuse to allow a bunch of what ifs to rule my life.” She straightened and met his gaze. The fierce determination in her eyes made him take a step back and give her space. “I have the security system, my animals and my date to protect me. If I need anything else, I’ll give you a call.”
She moved to sidestep him and he grabbed her arm. Unable to resist her tempting scent and equally tempting body, or the jealousy raging through him, he drew her close until his lips were inches from hers. “I still remember everything. How you felt. How you reacted to my touch.” He shoved a hand into her thick, black hair and gripped her scalp. “How you cried out my name when you came.”
A slow, sexy smile curved her lip. “If your memory’s so good then you should also remember what an asshole you were, too.” She pushed past him and moved toward the front door, grabbing his jacket along the way. “Time for you to go,” she said and tossed him his coat.
*
“Good afternoon, I have an appointment with Dr. Westly.”
“Your name?”
“Jim Robinson.” The lie rolled smoothly off Michael Morrison’s tongue as he looked around the dental office. He’d stolen a blueprint of the building eighteen months ago, when some of the offices were being remodeled, and he knew there were two exits from this particular office. One through the reception area and another from the hallway flanked with several rooms used by either the dental hygienists or the dentist himself. That exit had a security camera watching the employees as they’d come and go.
After searching for dental equipment for his personal use, he understood why the dentist had added the extra security. A used, refurbished dental drill sold for nearly fifteen hundred dollars, which was why Michael decided to stick with his old Black & Decker. After all, he was concerned with results, not his patient’s comfort.
“Have you been here before, Mr. Robinson?”
His daughter had...too many times. “No. This is my first visit. A family member recommended Dr. Westly.” He shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the dentist.”
“Before I started working here, I used to avoid the dentist, too,” the receptionist returned with a smile of her own.
“Can you hear the drill from your desk?” he asked and, using his acting skills, shivered. “That’s gotta be like nails on a chalkboard.”
“You get used to it.” She laughed and looked at her schedule. “Okay, Mr. Robinson, I have you down for a cleaning, x-rays, and exam.”
“I won’t be doing any x-rays today. If Dr. Westly finds something, then maybe.” Leaving dental records behind would be suicide. Once the authorities realized the dentist was missing they’d likely look at Westly’s patients, connect the dots, and discover his true identity.
“Well, that’ll save you a pretty penny. I see you don’t have dental insurance.”
“No.” Another lie, but another way to avoid leaving behind a paper trail. “I’d still like to discuss cosmetic options with Dr. Westly, though. Veneers in particular.”
The receptionist raised a brow. She looked over her shoulder, then back to him. Lowering her voice she said, “But you have such lovely teeth.”
“Thank you, ma’am. But they’re not for me.” Michael paused when a sharp bark of laughter caught his attention. He peered around the corner and immediately recognized Dr. Brian Westly from his website photo.
Dressed in a lab coat, button down shirt and corduroy trousers, Dr. Westly escorted a patient toward them. The dentist nodded to the receptionist. “Linda, Mr. Bailey got off easy today. Two fillings. I still want to see him in six months. Got it, Frank?” he asked his patient and softened the harshness of his tone with a wink.
When Frank Bailey leaned over the receptionist desk and peered at her calendar, Dr. Westly turned to Michael. “New patient?” He offered his hand, then a conspiratorial grin. “Or latest victim?”
The irony of the dentist’s words made him laugh out loud. Michael wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans, then shook the man’s hand. “I’ll stick with patient, Dr. Westly.”
And leave being the victim up to you.
Chapter 6
“WHAT THE HELL are you doing here?” Hudson asked Owen Malcolm as he entered CORE headquarters.
“Good to see you, too, bro,” the former Secret Service agent replied with the hint of a smile. “Haven’t seen you in months, but I’m glad to see you haven’t lost that sparkling personality I’ve always admired.”
Hudson brushed past him and headed to the evidence and evaluation room. “Whatever.”
Owen caught up with him and fell into step. “You’re being a serious dick here.”
“Not just a dick, but a serious one? Interesting.”
Owen chuckled. “Annoying, more like it. What’s with the attitude?”
Hudson pushed open the door and immediately noticed Rachel, perched over a computer keyboard and gnawing on a pencil. “Why aren’t you in California?” he asked with more vehemence than he’d intended. Everyone who worked at CORE knew Ian Scott was a calculating son of a bitch. Hudson knew it wasn’t Owen’s fault that Ian had lied about the other man’s current case or whereabouts. Still chapped his ass anyway. Owen could have been assigned to babysit Eden and deal with the sick bastard making DVDs. Instead, Ian, once again, manipulated the situation knowing he and Eden had had a relationship with a bad ending. Why? He hadn’t a clue. Since he’d joined CORE, Hudson hadn’t been able to gain a good read on his boss.
“Just got back. But I won’t be staying long.” Owen looked to Rachel as he started to follow him into the room. “Hey, Beav, that pencil taste good? I think I’ve got a wooden ruler in my desk drawer if you’re interested. Better yet, I’ll just pry off the leg of a chair and—”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Owen looked between Hudson and Rachel. “I’m starting to get a complex.”
Rachel dropped her chewed pencil on the desk and stood. She shot her lower lip out in a pout. “So sorry if I hurt your widdle feewings,” she mocked Owen, then gave him the finger.
“A serious complex,” Owen said. “You two mind explaining the problem? Hopefully it won’t take too long. I’m leaving for Nevada in about four hours.”
“What happened to California?” Hudson asked.
“Slight detour. Guy I’m investigating is heading for Vegas. I needed to lie low and go in a different direction.”
Hudson realized he’d been wrong to jump to conclusions about Ian. At least this time. “Thought I’d head here,” Owen continued. “Gather a few things—”
“Like the plane?”
Owen smiled at Rachel. “Yes, Sunshine, I wanted to use CORE’s plane because I didn’t think O’Hare’s airport security would appreciate the small arsenal of weapons I’d planned on stowing in my carryon.”
“How thoughtful,” she said and looked to Hudson. “Now that we know why the golden boy is here, what about you? Because if you dropped by to see if I have any leads for you…wait a sec, where’s Eden?”
“Eden, who?” Owen asked.
“Risk,” Rachel responded. “You know, the TV chick who does the investigative reports for Channel 5 News.”
Owen released a low whistle and looked to him. “Now I know why you’re pissed.”
“What’s G.B. talking about?” Rachel asked him.
“G.B.?” Hudson echoed.
“Golden Boy,” Owen answered for her. “It’s better than her last nickname, D.B.”
“D.B.?” Hudson repeated, not able to keep up with their nonsense.
“Douche Bag,” Rachel said as she sat on the edge of the desk. “My personal favorite, but apparently Owen’s ego couldn’t handle it so…anyway, where’s Eden?”
Hudson shook his head and now wished he’d gone to his apartment instead of CORE. H
e’d hoped to maybe bounce some ideas off Rachel, take another look at what she’d found earlier, anything to keep his mind off Eden and her date. Not deal with Owen and Rachel’s grade school crap.
“She’s at home.”
“Who’s watching her? I thought Ian said you were to provide her with twenty-four/seven protection.”
“She…ah.” Hudson fumbled with his words. Now he really wished he’d gone home. To admit that Eden had kicked him out so she could screw another guy, plain sucked. Especially in front of Owen, who knew the entire story behind the original Eden Risk fiasco.
“She kicked your ass to the curb again,” Owen said with a shake of his head. “Sucks, man.”
“What do you mean by again?” Rachel asked.
“Me first,” Owen said. “Why are you supposed to be watching Eden in the first place?”
Hudson filled him in on the details. Rachel helped by showing Owen bits and pieces from the DVD. When they’d concluded, Owen no longer wore his trademark grin that usually had the ladies slipping off their panties, well, except for Rachel. Somehow she was the only woman Hudson knew who was immune to Owen’s charms. Instead, Owen’s California tan had momentarily paled and he held his lips in a grim line.
“I guess I shouldn’t bitch about having to go to Vegas tonight, huh?” Owen finally responded as he turned away from the TV screens on the wall. “I hate to see what that doc does to the next vic. ‘Cause you know there’s going to be another.”
Hudson nodded. “That’s what my gut’s telling me. But without any more leads, we wait.”
Rachel cleared her throat and gained both he and Owen’s attention. “Now that the G.B. has been informed, don’t leave me hanging. What did Owen mean by Eden kicking your ass to the curb…again? And don’t you dare try to get out of telling me, because if you don’t, I’ll do some serious snooping, which means I won’t be able to worry about your case. You know how I get when I’m on a mission of discovery.”
“You mean when you’re clearly being nosey,” Owen said with sarcasm.
“Hey, being nosey is what makes me excellent at my job.” She looked to him. “Well, Hud, gonna spill it?”
Hudson glanced to Owen, then back to Rachel and shrugged. “I used Eden as bait to catch a serial rapist.”
*
“Bastard,” Eden muttered and tossed the throw pillow across the room. Hudson’s scent still lingered on her couch, though. She should light some candles to remove the enticing odor. But Fabio hated fire.
She leaned into the sofa and reached for the remote, then decided she wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. Resting her head on the arm of the sofa, she closed her eyes and instead of denying herself the pleasure, she gave in and relished the comfort Hudson’s scent brought her. After not seeing him for over two years, then spending last night and most of today with him, she couldn’t help herself. Her body hummed with the memories of his touch.
But comfort wasn’t the right word. His lingering presence reminded her body of more than comfort, it reminded her of skin on skin, hot kisses, slow kisses, wet kisses. With sex suddenly on the brain, she almost regretted making him leave earlier. Actually, when he’d run his hands through her hair, brought their lips close together, and told her how he’d remembered how she’d felt, how she’d reacted to him, how she’d cried out his name as she came…
She pressed her legs together and curled them to her chest. Making him leave had been a good decision. If she hadn’t, she’d probably end up with his scent on her body rather than the couch or throw pillow. Like him, she remembered everything, too. His touch, the way his hard muscles bunched beneath her hands as she gripped his chest and rode him. Yes, and the way she’d scream his name as she came.
A wave of lust caused her face to heat, and the dull ache between her legs became a full throb. She still wanted him. Bad. Just for sex, of course.
“Of course,” she echoed out loud. Sex had never been an issue. In fact, the sex had been beyond excellent. Unfortunately, the sex had morphed her emotions beyond her comprehension. Before Hudson, she’d never been in love. Not that she’d been in love with him. She’d liked him a lot. A very strong like. But would she want to marry a man like him? Raise babies?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, and launched off the couch. Fabio and Brutal both raised their heads, and stared at her as she paced.
“I never wanted to marry him,” she announced to her cat and dog. “And babies…I’ll leave that up to my sister. I mean, I’m lucky I can take care of you two. Right?”
Not really expecting an answer from her animals, she stomped to the kitchen, then opened the fridge. Hudson was right. She didn’t have anything good to eat. As she was about to slam the door shut, she reached back inside and pulled out a beer.
“Screw the calories,” she mumbled as she opened the beer and took a long swallow. The carbonation tickled her throat. She released a sigh, then took another sip, then another, and another until she drained the bottle.
“Damn, that was good.” She reached into the fridge and pulled out another beer. This time she decided not to chug it like a kid at a fraternity party, but savor the empty calories. As she sat on the couch though, slightly buzzed, surrounded by her animals and the scent of her former lover, she couldn’t help think that maybe she’d handled the Hudson situation all wrong.
Two beers later she decided she’d definitely handled things with Hudson just fine.
“The rat bastard,” she hiccupped, and looked to Brutal and Fabio. “Do you know what he did to me? Well, it wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright ugly.”
She took another swig and leaned closer to the animals. “He used me to get to my source.” She nodded. “That’s right. He used me. And get this, the guy, ya know, the source, he was a friggin’ rapist. My darling lover allowed me to cavort with a rapist so that he could nail the bastard. And he didn’t even bother to tell me. I mean, I was gang raped when I was a kid and he didn’t think I should know who I was dealing with?”
You never told him.
“Oh my God.” The bottle hit the floor with a thud, and she quickly bent to retrieve it. Thankfully she’d swallowed the last drop of beer, because she didn’t have it in her to clean up the mess. Four beers on an empty stomach had been a stupid idea. Being angry with Hudson was foolish as well. How could she be mad at him for using her as bait—for a serial rapist—when she hadn’t bothered to open up to him about her past?
But he could have at least told her that she’d become part of his plan to catch Mason Winters. They’d been partners in bed, hadn’t they? Why couldn’t they have been partners for life?
No. That’s the beer talking.
Was it? She’d fallen hard for Hudson, and honestly believed he’d cared about her, too. Other than the whole Winters debacle, he’d treated her with respect, compassion and love? Maybe?
Officially drunk, her head hurting from too many beers and too many thoughts about the past, she decided to go to bed. But as she lay on the mattress, fully clothed and her head spinning in time with the ceiling fan, she wondered if maybe she should…try. Hudson had made it crystal clear that he still wanted her. In what capacity her muddled, mushy, beer-filled head couldn’t decipher. All day he’d kept trying to bring up the past, so maybe—
She bolted upright, and gripped the comforter. Did she set the alarm? Did she even know how to set the alarm? She glanced at the clock. Only half past eight, she could call Hudson and ask him.
But she was drunk.
Shit. She couldn’t call him. He’d find out she’d lied about her date.
Plus, she was horny.
“Damn it,” she muttered, and reached for the cell phone she’d left on the nightstand.
*
Dressed in his scrubs, Michael Morrison stepped back to admire his handiwork. No sense of satisfaction ensued, though. The sight before him caused his hands to shake and his mouth to turn dry.
What the hell was he doing?
Knowing his patie
nt would remain immobile, due to the drug he’d used to knock him out, he rushed from his OR and didn’t stop until he’d reached the solitude of his office. He grabbed the open bottle of Wild Turkey and took several long swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he blinked his watery eyes.
“This is wrong,” he whispered. “All wrong.”
Did Dr. Westly deserve the punishment for his crime against Eliza? The man had been his daughter’s dentist. He’d pulled a bunch of teeth out of her head, given her veneers…all of which Michael had thought unnecessary. Eliza’s smile had been beautiful before the dentist had even touched her. She’d worn braces for two years while in high school, and the orthodontist had said her teeth were perfect. Not Dr. Westly, though. He’d convinced Eliza and her bitch of a mother that investing twenty grand for veneers was necessary if Eliza was to have a perfect smile.
Michael clenched his jaw as he remembered how Eliza had told him what the dentist had said about the veneers. The bastard had told his beautiful daughter that her smile, her teeth, were “just okay.” Just okay hadn’t settled well with his daughter, who had obvious self-confidence issues. Thanks to her mother, Eliza had become convinced she needed to take any measure, no matter how extreme, to make herself perfect. Or rather her mother’s perception of perfect.
He brought the Wild Turkey to his lips again, and drank. As the whiskey traveled down his throat he looked to the still shot on the old TV. Michael had decided watching the DVD he’d created of Eliza would become part of each operation. The string of old home movies fueled his anger and grief. Especially this final still shot of Eliza lying on her bed, the razor wounds to her fragile wrists open and weeping with blood.
He then looked to the final letter she’d written to him before she’d taken her life.
Make them pay, Daddy.
After taking a final swig, he slammed the bottle of whiskey onto the desk. He would make them pay. Elliot paid for the botched up breast implants he’d given his daughter. He’d paid severely. Now, Dr. Brian Westly would pay. Yes, he might have simply been Eliza’s dentist, but Westly had been involved with the group of plastic surgeons who had manipulated and mutilated his daughter. After Eliza had died, and he’d investigated the surgeons, Michael had learned that Westly enjoyed fat kickbacks for every patient he’d sent to the group.
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