Morgan was thinking of leaving forever.
And if he did, if he left her alone on this earth again, she didn’t think she would ever forgive him.
Although he’d been the man who captured the swamp killer, as the night wore on, Derek found himself fading into the background. That was just fine with him. He in no way wanted to be in the thick of that clusterfuck.
Everything had gone about as badly as he had thought it would when he took out his phone and called the police earlier tonight. After telling the 911 dispatcher there had been a murder, he’d half-led, half-dragged Slate along the path until they reached the school. Kate brought up the rear and watched the killer’s every move. Once they reached the driveway, Derek had pushed the murderer onto his butt on the ground. He and the strong woman he’d fallen hard for waited for help to arrive.
It had come quickly. As the blue strobes hit the windows, lights started going on within. On cue, pompous, sputtering Richard Fenton had marched outside in his bathrobe, demanding to know what was going on.
He’d shut up when Derek informed him the dismembered remains of one of his teachers were sitting in a cart a quarter-mile away.
When they’d seen the blood all over Slate, and heard his crazed mutterings, the responding officers realized this was no joke. Within minutes, every cop in town was on site.
The guys were in over their heads from minute one. They were unable to decide among themselves whether to take the still-tied-up Slate to their station, put him in a car, force him to lead them to the bodies of the missing kids, or lock him in a room in the school. It was a clown-car of uncertainty and arguing, and it did nothing except waste time and give him a headache.
Eventually, Derek had convinced them it was time to call in Savannah-Chatham. The minute the local chief agreed, Derek had called Gabe directly, asking for help.
That had been two hours ago. Since then, he’d never been gladder Olivia had married a Savannah detective. They were doubly lucky that Julia had tagged along and joined the fray, backing up Gabe until more detectives from his precinct arrived.
The minute Cooper had shown up, order had come over the place. A team was sent out to secure the crime scene. The headmaster was told to inform the staff and make plans for what to do about the students. Off-site faculty were being called in.
In the meantime, Slate, the cause of all this misery, had devolved into a strange, unmoving catatonia. His hair was bloodstained, gore was splattered on his coat and his hat, his body reeked of sweat and grime. But he just sat there, silent and motionless, looking like the statue of an old man. Not the monster he really was.
Because every officer from the town station was now on site, and there was not one armed person back at the jail to watch him, the decision was made to lock him in the headmaster’s office until they decided what to do with him. He should be in a psych ward, but there was blood in the water and everybody wanted answers from the man. They weren’t in a hurry to let him out of here.
Derek didn’t blame him. He hoped Slate would have one more moment of lucidity and could provide the answers Kate and so many other grieving family members would desperately want.
At around two a.m., Cooper came into the quiet, empty administrative lounge to check on them. Derek had been sitting on a lumpy leather couch with Kate while the action went on down the hall and outside. He hadn’t even considered leaving her alone. Holding her in the darkness, he’d urged her to try to get some rest, glad when she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Tomorrow, the world would learn what had been happening here. Her brother’s name would be on every news channel in the country. Tonight might be the last night of peace she had for a long time.
“How’s it going?” he whispered.
“About like you’d expect when the Mayberry police find out there’s a serial killer lurking in their midst.”
“Mayberry my ass,” he muttered.
If they’d been doing their damn jobs when the disappearances were originally reported, a lot more boys might be alive today. Not to mention Sam Andrews.
“Everything all right with you two?”
“We’re fine. Glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s a good thing you called me,” Gabe said. “Forensics is on the job. Jesus, what a mess. That sum’bitch is downright evil.”
Kate moaned and shifted. Derek pulled her closer.
“Listen, why don’t you two get outta here?” the detective said. “The focus tonight is on the Andrews crime scene. There won’t be any searches for, uh, other victims until daylight.”
Julia must have told Gabe about Kate’s connection to this case. He didn’t say anything more, nothing about chopped up bodies being dumped in gator-infested waters.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Derek said. He was exhausted, sore and bruised from the short fight with Slate. Heartsick and saddened for Kate.
“I’ll call you and fill you in tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, just get her home.”
“I will.”
Gabe opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, a loud shriek echoed from somewhere in the school. The cop went on alert, sprinting out the door. Kate lurched up, her hand clutching her heart.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
They got up together and walked out of the room. Cops were running, shouting, all of them talking about something that had happened in the headmaster’s office, which was close to where they stood.
“Slate,” Derek said.
“Oh my God, did he escape?” Kate looked around frantically. “The boys! Someone has to go up and protect them.”
As another cop went running by, Derek barked, “What is it? What’s going on?”
The guy skidded to a stop. Apparently recognizing Derek, he said, “It’s the swamp killer. He offed himself.”
“What?”
“They’re saying he stuck a pen in his neck. Bled out.” The uniformed officer took off again, joining the crowd surrounding the entrance to the administrative offices.
Derek was stunned into silence. Looking at her, he realized Kate was as well.
How the fuck could that man have managed to commit suicide? After the detectives had untwined his wrists, they’d slapped cuffs on him. Gabe had said they’d ankle-cuffed him to a heavy metal radiator. Slate shouldn’t have been able to move more than a few inches, so how could he have stabbed himself in the throat, with a pen no less?
“Derek? Did he really say what I think he said?”
He braced her elbows. “Yes. It sounds like that sick bastard took the easy way out, rather than face up to what he did.”
She blinked a few times, whether in shock, in loss, or in exhaustion, he didn’t know. He only knew that when she looked at him and calmly said, “I think I’d like to go home now,” he was damn well going to take her. And nobody in this place had better dare try to stop him.
CHAPTER 13
Kate didn’t remember another time in her life when she’d been so exhausted, physically and emotionally.
The past several hours had been a long sequence of questions and answers, of searches and arguments, of hopes and hopes dashed. With Chester Slate’s suicide, the answers Kate had been seeking would go to the grave with him. She couldn’t stop thinking of his mad rhymes, of the stewpot. Kate knew, deep inside, that despite what the man had said about Isaac being nice, and deserving to go on sleeping in peace, his body had been dumped in a bog somewhere deep in the evil woods surrounding the academy. He and the other boys were lost forever. Although she had become accustomed to that loss in the past six months, the finality of it still pierced her heart.
Kate’s car was still parked where she’d left it, at least a mile away, and Derek drove her out there on his motorcycle to retrieve it. He steered carefully on the rough road but the rushing wind still helped revive her. She told herself the tears stinging her eyes and blowing off her face were a product of that breeze. She was only half-lying.
“I’m driving you home,” he said when they reached her car.
“Your motorcycle….”
“It’ll be all right here overnight. Well, considering it’s almost three a.m., not even a full night.” He cut the engine and thrust at the kickstand with his booted heel, and helped her off. With the faintest of smiles, he wiped something off her face—dirt, bugs, tears, she didn’t know.
“You really don’t have to drive me.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re exhausted. I don’t want you going home alone. What’s your address?”
Mumbling it, she crawled into the passenger seat. Despite not wanting to put him to the trouble, she really was grateful he’d made the offer. Her tears had been blown away, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t return…tonight, and long into the future.
They drove away, and as they reached the main road, leaving Fenton in the rearview, she had only one thought. Goodbye, Isaac.
Reaching the small apartment she’d rented for her stay in Savannah, Kate led him to the door, not sure if he would come inside or not. Derek would need to drive her car home if he left. If he didn’t leave, she could take him back out there to get his bike tomorrow.
She didn’t ask, though. Neither did he. He simply followed her inside, waiting while she turned on a light.
“God, I need a shower,” she said, seeing the dirt on her own hands, under her nails, and all the way up her bare arms.
Derek stared at her face. “You are a mess, beautiful Kate,” he murmured. “But the key word is beautiful.”
Brushing her tangled hair back, his warm hands gentle against her skin, he slowly moved forward and touched her lips with his, not caring what a mess she was.
Kate sighed against his mouth and leaned into him, seeking his warmth and his strong, hard body. Their kiss was soft and slow, moist lips sliding together, parting a little as they shared each breath. He didn’t even really end it when he asked, “Where’s that shower?”
She pointed toward a door leading into the bedroom. Still kissing her, Derek lifted her by the hips. Kate instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He’d carried her before, but not like this. Not with this intimate a connection of their bodies.
The kiss changed, his tongue stroking harder against hers. Kate’s tension segued into something else. Something not about loss, grief, fear, and anger.
This was about connection. About life.
She felt herself relax as their kiss deepened, exploring his hot mouth, meeting every hungry thrust of his tongue. He walked through the darkened bedroom toward the bath. Inside, Kate reached for the light switch and flicked it on.
“How hot do you want it?” he asked as he lowered her to stand in front of him.
So hot. So damned hot. “Steamy.”
“You got it.”
He reached into the shower stall and turned on the water, and then looked back at her. His dark eyes glittered, his expression was wolfish. The want dripped from the man.
Feeling entirely feminine—powerful—Kate reached for the bottom of her tank top and tugged it out of her waistband. Brushing her hands away, Derek took over, slowly peeling the tight fabric up and off.
She heard his tiny groan when he looked down at her breasts pushing up over the black bra. But he didn’t reach for the front fastener, instead gliding his hands down her bare stomach to undo the button of her pants. The slow stroke made her quiver, and the weakness in her legs had nothing to do with fatigue.
Before he unfastened her zipper, Derek moved down, lowering himself to his knees, his mouth following the same path of his hands. She had to grab the counter behind her when she felt his hot breaths reach her belly button and his tongue dip just below her waistband.
“Foot,” he whispered once he was on his knees. He wrapped a hand around her ankle.
Leaning against the counter, she watched as he unlaced her mud-caked boot. He pulled it off and tossed it aside, taking her thick hiking sock with it. The other one followed.
Then he was back to business. Her pants came down as his mouth went up.
Derek scraped his lips and his tongue against the hollow just above her boy-cut underwear, that hot breath again hitting her body but heating her blood. She was panting by the time he reached her waist. Gasping when he arrived at her chest. Whimpering when he took the clasp of her bra beneath his teeth and snapped it open.
“Christ,” he said as he moved to one breast and tasted the bottom curve.
Kate arched toward him, needing his mouth. He took his time getting where she wanted him, moving in circles as he neared the tip. When he finally stroked it with his tongue, she grabbed his hair and twined her fingers in it. With a gruff laugh, he finally gave her what she demanded, taking her nipple into his mouth and drawing it deep.
If she hadn’t been leaning against the counter, Kate would have fallen. Her muscles melted away as he palmed her breast and continued sucking. “I’ve wanted that since the minute I saw your mouth.”
“Ditto,” he growled as he moved to pay the same attention to her other aching breast. He went back and forth, sampling one side while rubbing his thumb over the other. He didn’t even stop as he reached for his shirt and started pulling it up, only stepping away when it came as high as his face.
Kate didn’t know if her hands would stop shaking enough to help, so she simply watched.
Every inch he revealed of his body revealed more about the man. His abdomen rippled with rows of muscle made more delicious by his musky sweat. A thin line of hair rose from his middle, spreading up over a chest that went on for days and days. When he tossed the shirt aside, his arms bulged and flexed, the sheer power of him a sight to behold. Even with dried blood on his arm from where Slate’s knife had skidded by, he looked unbreakable.
But there was more about his body that told Derek’s story.
A jagged scar, longer than the one on his head, extended from his left clavicle toward the center of his chest. It stopped life-changingly short of his heart.
There was another rough line on his ribcage. And a small, round scar down on his hip.
It hadn’t merely been shrapnel that had left its mark. He’d been shot.
She pulled her lips into her mouth and blinked hard to hide her emotions. Any one of those injuries could have removed him from her life before she even knew he existed. That would have been a tragedy of epic proportions.
Because Kate had fallen in love with him. She might have initially wanted him for his looks. Her heart had now gotten involved, though. She loved his inner strength, loved that he always endured, that he was kind despite his gruffness. She loved that he still cared about every person whose death he saw…that he stood sentry for them. That he prayed for them.
He was the best man she’d ever known. And she loved him. That was all.
“Kate? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. Leaning close, she kissed the ragged, three-inch long line on his chest. Wanting to hold onto him tightly, Kate wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her head into his chin.
Derek allowed it, but only for a few seconds. Then he stepped away and reached for his belt, slowly drawing it free of its loops. Kate still mourned over what must have caused those stark reminders of his past that marked his body, but she also breathed harder in anticipation as he unfastened his top button. This was, after all, about the future. About life. Not darkness, and not the past. Not the might-have-beens, but the will-soon-bes.
Soon couldn’t come fast enough for her.
Knowing he would have the same problem she did, she stilled his hand before he pushed the trousers off his hips. Gliding her tongue down his body, liking the salty, earthy taste of his skin, she dropped to her knees and reached for his boots. Knowing how much his breath had affected her, she moved her lips against the fabric at his groin, exhaling.
He groaned. “You’re evil.”
“Right back at you.”
When she reached for
his waistband, Derek stopped her, pulling her to her feet. “Huh-uh. You do that and this shower isn’t going to be nearly as interesting as I know we both want it to be.”
Smiling, she murmured, “Then let’s take it.”
Kate held her breath and watched as he flicked open every button of the military-style camo pants. It was torturously slow, and she was gulping by the time the last button popped free and the trousers slid down his lean hips on their own.
He wore nothing underneath.
“You really are a commando.”
A brief tug of his hands, and he was naked. The sight of him made her weak.
Handsome didn’t describe the man. He was simply delicious. The perfect face, powerful torso, lean hips, and solid, muscular legs were a depiction of what every woman wanted and what every man wanted to be. The scars didn’t matter; in fact, they enhanced Derek’s rugged appeal.
Oh, then there was the huge erection waiting to be taken in and savored.
Kate swallowed hard, a little stunned, a lot excited. Unable to resist, she moved her fingers to its tip, stroking lightly, loving the feel of softness that encased pure steel.
“You’re overdressed,” he growled, grabbing the cotton material at her own hips and yanking it hard. Her panties split. He tore them away, tossing them over his shoulder.
“He-man.”
He grabbed her by the waist and buried his face in the nape of her neck, nuzzling her. “Devil-woman. I knew there was a reason you have that wickedly-sexy red hair.”
Kate backed toward the shower. He lifted her over the bottom edge and followed her in.
As she’d wanted, the water was steamy hot, and she closed her eyes as it hit her sore muscles. Derek groaned with pleasure, too. For a solid minute, the two of them stood there, letting the hard stream wash away the night’s grime.
He finally moved, reaching for a bottle of shampoo on a corner rack. Kate watched him squeeze a large dollop into his hand, but was surprised when he put it in her hair, not his own. His strong hands worked it through the long, tangled strands, the strokes gentle but sensuous. She’d never imagined the pleasure to be found in having a powerful man do something as simple as this. Every stroke was a caress, even the ones that caused tiny leaves and bits of moss to fall from his fingers.
Cold Image (Extrasensory Agents Book 4) Page 28