by Jianne Carlo
The peak hit him like a tsunami. Thundered through his groin and struck his balls like lightning. His cock erupted, spewing sperm in searing spurts. He shuddered through the convulsions, resting all his weight on twitching forearms.
Her pussy continued to milk him, contracting around his engorged dick, pulling every last drop of semen. His head grew too heavy for his neck, and he leaned his forehead on hers.
The aftershocks continued, and every time he thought she could wring no more from him, she did. His stones ached. His cock pulsed so hard he figured his heart had been sucked south by the powerful orgasm.
It took long moments before the roaring in his ears receded and the fire scorching his lungs cooled.
“Know what?”
His eyes were closed, but he heard the smile in her voice. “What?”
“Sex is addictive.” She drew a circle on his chest.
Joe opened one eye. “Sex? Ouch. It was sex to you? Damn, it was making love to me.”
Would he ever get his fill of her? He loved his mate like this. Wearing a dreamy, sated grin, eyes a tad glazed, relaxed to the max.
She shot him a lopsided smirk. “Whatever.”
“Come on, say it.” He gave her a little shake.
“I’m too boneless to argue. Making love is definitely addictive. Happy now?”
He rolled them over and tilted her chin. “Yes. I am totally, completely happy. And my happiness is you.”
“Oh, Joe.” Her dark eyes glistened. “You turn me to mush. I never cry, you know. And I’m not mushy normally.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re all mush underneath that blustery exterior. But no one else has to know that.” He traced the ridge of her cheekbone. “I want us married within the month.”
She raised both brows and worried her lower lip, and he could hear the wheels spinning. “You did propose, and I did say yes. I have the witnesses to prove it.”
The blow she dealt him stung.
“Ow. What’s that for?” Joe massaged his bicep.
“For making me propose.” She wore a devilish grin.
“Think how much our kids and grandkids are going to love hearing the tale of how you proposed.” He caught her fisted hand before she landed another punch. “A month?”
She crossed her eyes and then blew out a long sigh. “A month.”
* * * *
The clanging of Notre Dames bells yanked him out of a deep sleep. Cursing, Joe reached for the phone and realized it was the doorbell. The digital clock readout said ten. Frick.
He glanced at Susie, who gave him one of her cute snortles and eased off the mattress. Grabbing a pair of sweats from the hook in the bathroom, he sauntered out of the bedroom and donned the pants before heading to the front door.
Joe checked the peephole and opened up. “What’s up, Sam?”
“You’ve been busy.” Sam O’Reilly’s weariness showed in his mussed curls and reddened eyes.
“Some. Come in. Coffee?”
“Sure. Your nocturnal activities have attracted the attention of every single branch of law enforcement. The feds took over the Arnolds’ case last night.”
“Yeah? It wasn’t the fact that you had them all primed and ready to go that prompted such a speedy response and such definitive action?” Joe slung Sam an over-the-shoulder glance. “Hallie’s finest didn’t object to the Feds?”
They walked to the kitchen.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re all one happy family now.” Sarcasm poured from each word Sam uttered. “Besides, it’s out of their jurisdiction now.”
“Because Jeffrey Arnold operated across state lines?” Joe organized the coffee grinds, the filter, and the water.
“No, Gemma and Carmine Arnold did.”
Joe almost dropped the carafe. He stared at Sam. “Father and daughter? That’s a new one.”
“Let’s hope it’s not the beginning of a trend.” Sam stabbed a hand through his dark hair. “Fucking institutions that won’t work together. Turns out a federal profiler in Alabama had her eyes on the Arnolds for years. No one paid her any attention.”
“Let’s do this in the study.”
When he and Sam were settled in wide armchairs, Joe said, “Hit me.”
“Carmine Arnold ran moonshine actively until he came down with Alzheimer’s approximately six months ago. He had partners in Georgia and Alabama. Our fed profiler began tracking his Alabama cohort, Swampy Sauvé.” Sam paused and gave Joe a hard stare. “You don’t seem surprised.”
Joe explained what he’d learned from Fay Ward.
“Swampy and Carmine both got their jollies from kids. Swampy favored girls, Carmine boys. Early on, Carmine gave Gemma to Swampy.”
“Son of a bitch. That a father could do that to his own kid?” Joe shuddered. “When did they graduate to killing?”
“Not certain of the date yet, but we’re working on it. However it looks like they both used that cave on Hallelujah Mountain.”
“So they hitched up because of geographical convenience. Figures. Sickos.” Disgust soured Joe’s swallow of java.
“Gemma grew out of Swampy’s preferred age group. She lived with her father until she was sixteen, when she met and married an enlisted man from Tyndall Air Force Base. Around that time Swampy’s body was found in a marsh on the coast.”
“Gemma’s first kill.”
“The profiler’s convinced Gemma believed this would wipe the slate clean for her.”
“That’s why the bones on Hallelujah Mountain are so old, and why there were no killings after.” Joe sipped his coffee.
“The vats in the caves in Hallie Forest Preserve that you and the others found date back to the time the killings stopped in Alabama.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Gemma took her husband’s name, Wilson.”
Joe sat up. “The man who owned the house before Terri.”
“Mr. Wilson died shortly after buying and moving into the house. Heart attack’s the official cause. He was in his fifties, overweight, and smoked like the proverbial chimney. There was no reason to suspect it wasn’t a natural death, so there was no autopsy, and he was cremated.”
“Sam, how do you know so much detail? No profiler working from a distance could come up with this much.” Not even one who had once had the highest CIA authority and security clearances like Sam did.
“Gemma kept diaries. We raided the house around midnight, and these are the preliminary findings from a team of speed readers. I’m warning you of all of this because you’re mentioned in the diary in connection with Ritchie Henderson.”
“What the fuck? How could Ritchie and Gemma be connected?”
“Moonshine. Gemma used Dreaming Ground runners for the moonshine deliveries. Ritchie played there. We found proof in a safe in the Arnolds’ house. One of the ransom bags.”
“How’d you identify it?”
“Ritchie’s fingerprints. None of the money’s left, of course. But I wanted you to know there will be a press conference at noon. The news will be released then. Ritchie’s murder will be officially attributed to Gemma Arnold Wilson.”
“Weber’s going to have a hissy fit.”
“Weber tendered his resignation this morning.” O’Reilly grinned.
Joe sloshed the liquid in his mug. “Fuck a duck. This calls for a brandy.”
“Not for me, I’m afraid. I have a board meeting in an hour.” Sam rubbed his jaw.
“There’s more?” Joe studied Sam’s puffy eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture.
“Eric died early this morning. Probably a blessing in disguise as the doctors measured minimal brain activity. The other boy in the ditch was in the same foster home as Eric, tentatively identified as one Pedro Camacho. Far as we can make out, Gemma used her son, Jeffrey, to recruit boys for her. Jeffrey taught at an elementary school on the outskirts of Dreaming Ground.”
“Recruit for her?” Joe frowned, not ready to extrapolate to what Sam suggested.
“As in for pedophilia?”
“As far as we can tell right now, no. Gemma got off on torturing young males.”
Joe’s jaw sagged. Never in an eternity would he have suspected mild, matronly Gemma Arnold for such a role. He replayed all they’d learned to date. “Her first kill was Swampy, her second her husband. She was the one who built the hidden basement in Terri’s house.”
“We suspect so. We have Jeffrey in custody, but Gemma’s missing. Jeffrey’s talking, but he’s incoherent at best.”
“He didn’t take part in any of their activities?” What hell Jeffrey must’ve endured. No wonder the man barely talked, he’d probably been traumatized as a toddler.
“He’s borderline insane, according to the preliminary psych report. Jeffrey did what he was told to do on pain of death.” Sam sipped his coffee. “We’re presuming Jeffrey recruited both Eric and Pedro.”
“Why’d they dump Eric alive?”
“We think Jeffrey panicked. Apparently Ivan mentioned knowing about the vats in Hallie Preserve. Jeffrey cleared out the bodies that were left and dumped them in the ravine, counting on the spring rains to wash them into the gulf eventually.”
“So Jeffrey’s sane enough to be afraid of being caught and to plan the removal and eradication of the corpses. And he obviously knew what he was doing was wrong.” One way or another Joe intended Jeffrey would be incarcerated, forever.
“Don’t think that’s going to wash. There’s no way this guy’s lucid. Jeffrey has been alternately babbling and banging his head on walls. He’s in restraints at a local mental institution.” Sam leaned his head back on the chocolate leather and sighed audibly. “The fallout from all of this is going to end more than Weber’s career. I can see no way Vinters can avoid retiring early.”
Joe whistled. “The good ole boy network’s going to take a hit and then some. Back to Jeffrey—he was the one who burned Terri’s house?”
“On orders. After Gemma killed her husband, she threatened to go to the cops and tell them all about Hallelujah Mountain and the cave if Carmine didn’t fully support her and Jeffrey financially. Carmine, by the way, is a wealthy man. Carmine capitulated but began spying on Gemma. He found out about her basement activities and cut her off. That’s when she set about locking down the basement and then sold the house. They were at a classic Mexican standoff.”
“Hard to believe this all happened in such a normal-looking neighborhood,” Joe mused.
“I know what you mean. Gemma didn’t take things sitting down. She had a power-of-attorney document done up and tricked Carmine into signing it. That’s when she moved back in with him and systematically set about taking over his finances.”
“I don’t get it. Why burn down the house three years later?”
“Patience, grasshopper, patience. She started the rumors that Carmine had Alzheimer’s and even tried to get his doctor, who’s located in downtown Hallie, to declare him incompetent. The doctor insisted on examining Carmine and even went so far as to schedule a house call. When Gemma found out about that, she pushed Carmine down the stairs and he broke his hip.”
“Jesus. I guess she intended to get him back for all he’d done to her.”
“Jeffrey panicked and dialed 911. Carmine ended up in the hospital. Gemma watched him like a hawk. She even slept in his hospital room. The nurses were amazed at her devotion.”
“Fuck. Susie said she had to go to the hospital to get the key from Gemma.”
“Carmine was released but had to be under a nurse’s care for the first twenty-four hours. Gemma couldn’t watch Carmine all the time, not with a nurse in the house. Carmine told the nurse his daughter had bodies buried in the basement of her old house the Sunday after Susie moved in.”
“We were there. Saw the nurse quarreling with Gemma.”
“According to Jeffrey, Gemma then ordered him to burn down the house and even detailed how he was to do it. Switch out the stove’s full gas tank for a near-empty one.”
“So the new tenant would have to switch it out and the fire could be labeled accidental.” Joe knew he had done the gas tank change for Terri before his last mission.
“Exactly. If the accelerants and explosives had gone off first, then arson would’ve been hard to prove. They didn’t even have to break into Terri’s house. Gemma had a copy of the key made when Terri gave it to her to give to Susie.”
“Susie swears someone had been in and out of the house the day she moved in. Said she kept finding her purse in the wrong place. Wonder if Jeffrey didn’t inherit his parent’s sexual proclivities and was stalking her?”
Sam shrugged. “Who knows? Oh, one other disturbing and disgusting piece of news. Swampy and Carmine were avid hunters. Apparently they played games with their Hallelujah victims. They pretended to free them in what they called no man’s land—the bridge over Mudflat that’s the border between the two states. Then they hunted them. Carmine on the Florida side, Swampy on the Alabama. Kept a book tallying the kills for each side.”
No wonder the bridge had creeped out Susie. “Jesus. And I never picked up on any of this shit. Right below my nose.”
“You’ve been out of the country for most of the last seven years. On a different note, I understand Coach Ellison committed suicide last night.” Sam quirked a scraggy brow.
“When did the news break?” Joe hadn’t expected to hear anything until later in the day.
“Ellison didn’t show for dawn practice. One of the assistant coaches phoned his home. His wife discovered the body. A videotape was leaked on the Internet early this morning.”
Joe rolled a shoulder.
“Don’t give me that. I find it incredibly coincidental that not two days ago, Kieran had me analyze blood on a clump of pine needles. Strangely enough, Ellison’s blood type matched that on the pines—his medicals are on file at the university. On a hunch I asked the lab to do DNA tests on both.” Sam drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Imagine my surprise when they matched.”
Joe shrugged. “I’ll pass on the news to Kieran.”
Sam set his cup on the coffee table and stood. “I destroyed all evidence of the matching DNA. The suicide will stand, and there will be no investigation.”
“Thanks for taking the time to come by, Sam. I appreciate the heads-up.” Joe grabbed Sam’s mug and rose. “By the way, it looks like Susie and I will be tying the knot soon.”
Sam slapped him on the back. “About time you settled down. Heard you resigned.”
“It was time. Tate too.”
On the way to the front Joe told Sam about Barb’s news. The man was thrilled for the couple.
Joe shut the door and stared at the burnished panels for a few seconds. It was time to come clean with Susie about his last secret, his dyslexia. But first he had a punishment to administer. Joe grinned and headed to the kitchen, his mind filled with images of Susie’s tempting backside bent over his knees.
She stood in front of the counter, her long hair a tousled, sexy mess spilling around her shoulders and hanging down to her waist. Her mouth curved into a crooked smile, she knuckled one eye and pushed a hank of hair back from her cheek. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“Sam O’Reilly came by.” Joe drank in his mate. How he loved her like this, all soft and cuddly, her defenses down.
Susie opened her eyes wide and closed the distance between them, her forehead puckering. “Is something wrong?”
He covered her hands resting on his chest. “Nope. Everything’s okay, actually. Back to bed for you, gypsy woman.”
“But I just got up,” she protested.
Not giving her a chance to object, Joe swooped her off her feet, spun around, and ambled down the hallway. “It seems to me that we have unfinished business to take care of, and the place to do that is in bed.”
Shooting him a narrow-eyed glance, she tilted her head, and one brow lifted. “Unfinished business?”
“You made the penalty box again last night.” Joe halted in
front of the bed. He fisted his hands in her silky tresses and tugged, forcing her chin up and back. “No escaping the punishment this time, Susan Elizabeth White.”
With that he chucked her into the middle of the mattress and grinned when she bounced a couple of times. Not a trace of alarm showed in her features. Indeed her dark eyes gleamed, and her lips twitched as if she tried to suppress a grin.
“Another blowjob? I’m anxious to improve my grade.” She purred the sentence like a she cat that had cornered a tasty meal.
Joe shook his head and tsked. “Maybe later. This time, mate, I set the punishment.”
A part of him wanted to show off, so he used his wolf speed to grab the curtain pulls, bind her wrists at her navel, and get her in position over his thighs before she even managed a squeal.
“What’re you doing, Joe Huroq? Stop it. You can’t mean to…”
How he loved thongs. His cock drummed against the side of her waist, and the visual near did him in. Translucent strands of precum dampened her golden flesh as his erection twitched in anticipation and made wet smacking sounds against her skin. Unable to resist, he kissed first one, then the other firm, high mound.
A whiff of her growing arousal swamped his lungs, and the headiness of the sweet musk had him lust intoxicated. He bit one cheek right above her ass crack, not bothering to moderate the sharp nip.
A shudder rang through her. She grabbed his shin, her fingernails scoring his flesh.
He soothed the injured spot with his tongue and suckled his way to the other side, pausing to nuzzle the thin strip of lace separating the twin mounds.
She gasped, and her hold on him tightened to viselike proportions.
Joe blew a soft breath over the dampness, and she ceased inhaling. He stifled a chortle. Nothing, nothing more rewarding than Susie’s delicious anticipation. The way her muscles contracted, the way she kept her head rigid and turned slightly, the profile view of her nostrils flaring as her breasts pressed into his legs. Damn but she tested his control.
Knowing any hint, any warning, any more foreplay would serve to strengthen the Little Miss Prim in her, Joe raised his head and hand and delivered two hard spanks in quick succession. His dick engorged to a pain-pleasure peak the second he glimpsed the faint outline of his palm on each pinkened ass cheek.