He wasn’t a fucking saint.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pulled herself against him, crushing her breasts to his chest. He trailed his fingers down her back, over the gentle curve of her backside, her skin like silk. She shivered beneath his touch, angling her head and opening her mouth to give his tongue better access.
God, he couldn’t get enough of her. Mindless need pounded at the base of his skull. His cock strained against his jeans. He tugged down the cups of her bra, baring her breasts, filling his hands with their fullness, grazing her pebbled nipples with his thumbs.
Her hands tugged frantically at his shirt, his jeans as if she were as desperate to feel him against her as he was. He tore his mouth away from hers long enough to help her yank his shirt over his head and shove down his jeans and underwear. Then he had her against him again, touching her, exploring every inch of exposed skin.
They stumbled onto her bed, a tangled pile of naked limbs. When he shifted to cover her body with his, she pressed her hand to his chest and pushed him onto his back, swung her leg over and straddled him.
Need spiked inside him. He gripped her hips, fingers sinking into her firm backside, and thrust up, grinding himself against the silky swatch of material covering her opening. She groaned, arched her back. Her breasts swung tantalizingly before his mouth. He lifted his head and sucked one hardened tip between his lips.
She gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, hips undulating against his aching cock; the sweet friction drove him half out of his head.
“Shit,” he hissed, releasing her nipple and dropping his head back onto the pillow. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
She dipped her head, brushed her mouth to his. “Some.”
Her lips trailed over his jaw, down his throat, while her fingers stroked his chest, his stomach, leaving him needy, hungry. Her teeth nipped his collarbone, mouth traveling the same path her hand had taken. She swept her tongue around his nipple before she caught it between her teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“You’re going to kill me at this rate,” he gritted out.
She lifted her dark gaze to his, her hand slipping lower. He tensed, every muscle in his body straining. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and sensation pulsed up his shaft. He closed his eyes. A groan tore from his throat. Then she sucked him into her mouth.
“Fuuuck.” His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Holy God, she really was going to kill him.
He tunneled his fingers through her hair, the strands soft and cool against his skin. His hips rose and fell in time with her clever mouth. Every sense he had was alive and filled with her.
Her sweet scent.
Her soft skin whispering over his.
Her tongue smoothing the underside of his cock.
It was a wonder he didn’t empty himself into her mouth right then. Instead, he held on, prolonging the exquisite torture.
His balls drew tight. He was so close.
“I have to get inside you.” His voice sounded weak, pleading.
She lifted her head and grinned, clearly delighted with herself. Were he not on the brink of exploding, he’d wipe that smug smile off her sweet mouth.
Next time.
“I need the condom from my jeans.” He stood on shaky legs and staggered to his clothes heaped in the middle of the floor. Damn, why hadn’t he yanked off his trousers closer to the bed?
Brynn watched Reece rifle through his things, her gaze moving over his sculpted body. Every part of him was lean, sinewy muscle. Need throbbed at her core in time with her pounding heart. She’d never get tired of looking at him.
Reece found the condom and tore open the package as he made his way back to the bed. With deft fingers, he unrolled the latex down his thick shaft. Brynn wrapped her hand around his girth and slid her palm down his length.
His eyes flared and something leaped low inside her. Wet heat gathered between her legs. She’d done this. She’d made him want as desperately as she did.
Reece cupped both sides of her face, capturing her mouth with his, hard flesh pressing against her. Every nerve ending lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Back to where we were.” He pulled her onto the bed so she was straddling his hips once more, his erection pressed to her damp core. She wanted him inside. She needed that delicious stretch; she needed release.
Her fingers tangled in his long hair and her hips rocked against his thick shaft. He shifted, the tip of his erection grazing her opening. She positioned herself over him, taking him in one lovely inch at a time.
He tilted his head back, eyes closed, cords in his neck straining. Raw feminine power surged through her. She rode him, taking him slow and deep, until familiar tension pulled taut within her. She hovered at the edge of climax, riding the brink like a wave before it crashed.
She cried out. Her orgasm ripped through her, pulling her in every direction.
Reece’s grip on her hips tightened. He quickened the pace, thrusting into her harder, faster. He groaned and stiffened, held himself rigid, pushing deep inside her, then sank back into the mattress.
Brynn collapsed on his chest, breath coming in ragged gasps. She had no idea how long she stayed like that, ear pressed to his chest, listening the to the rapid thud of his heart while his hand stroked her hair.
“Did it work?” Reece asked, voice quiet. “Did you forget?”
She knew what he meant. As much as she’d wanted him, as much as she loved the feel of his body moving in hers, she’d used him. And he knew it.
“For a while.” She risked a glance as his face. His eyes were heavy like hers, features relaxed. “Are you angry?”
He snorted. “Absolutely. I hated every moment. Couldn’t you tell?” He grinned and shook his head, smoothing her hair back with both hands. “You needed me, and I was there.”
Warmth swelled in her chest. He had been there, tonight and whenever she’d needed him since she’d arrived. She leaned in and kissed him, softly, sweetly. When she lifted her mouth, his expression turned serious.
“I wish things were different.”
“Me too.” She wished she met him in another time, another place. She wished they weren’t being stalked by a killer, that he wasn’t being blackmailed by a cop. But mostly she just wished they had more time.
After Reece disposed of the condom, they slid under the covers. He clicked off the lamp and darkness settled over them. Brynn stiffened, opened her mouth to ask him to turn the light back on, but snapped it shut again. What was the point? Whatever that shadow ghost was, he didn’t seem to come out if Reece was there.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.
“Do you smell that?” Reece’s deep voice gave her a start.
She inhaled deeply. Sour rot flooded her nasal passage, thick and familiar. She jerked upright, gaze scanning the black. In the far corner the darkness squirmed and writhed until the outline of a man emerged. His red glare fixed on her.
The shadow slunk close, wet snuffling filling the silence.
“Do you see it?” Brynn squeaked, her heart lodged in her throat.
He nodded and nudged her toward the far side of the bed. “Go wait by the light switch.”
She whipped her head sideways, but it was too dark for her to make out his expression. “What about you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll tell you when to switch on the lights.”
She slid from the bed and scurried to the far side of the room. Reece edged closer to the shadow.
“Can you hear me?” he asked. It didn’t acknowledge him, its red gaze trailing Brynn. Immediately, it changed course and lumbered toward her.
Her pulse thudded in her ears, hand trembling over the switch.
Reece scrambled between her and the shadow. “What do you want here?”
It ignored him, fixed on Brynn. Black menace radiated from it like an invisible pulse. The closer it drew, the stronger the hate and rage and fear sizzling in the air.
“Switch on the lights,” Reece said.
Brynn pressed the button and electric light split the dark. The shadow vanished. Only the rotted stink remained.
“What is it?” Brynn asked, barely above a whisper.
Reece raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.”
* * *
Brynn woke slowly, vaguely aware of someone smoothing the covers over her shoulders. Her heavy eyes flickered open, lids scraping her stinging eyeballs, and squinted against the lamp’s yellow glow.
Reece leaned over her, straightening the blankets. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.” She rubbed her eyes, then glanced around the room. The fire had burned down through the night, but there was no light seeping in from behind the drapes.
“What time is it?”
“Early. I need to slip out before the rest of the house wakes up.” He sat on the edge of her bed and absently brushed her hair back from her forehead. His voice was soft, his expression impossible to read. “Warlow caught me coming down the back stairs yesterday morning, and I made an excuse that I had been in fixing your light switch. He was the one who tampered with them.”
Brynn sat up, sleepiness dissolving like morning mist under the sun’s glare. “He admitted it?”
He shook his head. “Not in so many words.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He wants you to go.”
“Why not just ask me to leave?” Sneaking into her room and stealing her lightbulbs so a shadow ghost would attack her through the night was a rather convoluted means to send the message. “He has my father’s ear, and God knows Arthur wants me gone.”
Reece’s brows pulled together in a thoughtful frown. “Maybe not. Arthur could have told you to leave at any time. Why hasn’t he?”
“Eleri brought me here to remember what happened. Maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he’s hoping I can tell him his older daughter’s innocent.” Arthur had struck her as cold, but surely he didn’t want to see Eleri go to prison, especially if there was a chance she was innocent.
“So Arthur and Eleri want you to remember, maybe Warlow wants you gone before you do.”
Brynn’s stomach shriveled. Could Warlow have been the one who tried to drown her? Could he have been responsible for the murdered men? Eleri a convenient scapegoat. Where did that put Ruth? Maybe she was innocent, her connection to Hazelwood a coincidence like the residents’ deaths.
“I should never have said those things about Ruth last night.”
He shrugged. “You were desperate to help your sister, and Harding didn’t take anything you said seriously anyway.”
As much as she appreciated Reece’s assurances, they did little to ease the slick knots tangling her insides. “What if she loses her job because of me?”
He smirked. “I doubt Hugh Warlow will make decisions on his staff based on anything you said.”
Especially if he was the one killing people.
“I’m going to see my uncle today,” Reece said.
Brynn stiffened. “Why would you have anything to do with him?”
“If anyone can tell us what those shadows are, it’s him. I want you to come with me. I don’t want you here by yourself.”
“Eleri—”
“Warlow and your father will see her attorney. There’s nothing you can do for her.”
He was right, and she wanted to know what that thing in her room was, what it wanted. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, she was curious about the man who’d raised Reece—exploited him.
Brynn showered and dressed quickly. The sky was barely light by the time they started downstairs. In the utility room, Reece turned the bolt, pulled open the back door and stepped aside for Brynn to go out ahead of him, but she froze in the opening.
Thick mist hovered above the driveway, blotting out the woods and the sea, but not the woman lying facedown in the gravel. Pale, red-streaked hands stretched toward Brynn, as though the woman had been crawling for the door before she’d given up. The wind kicked up and the tangy scent of the sea mixed with something meaty and metallic. Something dead.
Chapter Seventeen
Funny how so many things in his life could change, but this drab little cottage in the middle of nowhere always looked the same. Reece stood in the drive, hands jammed in his pockets. Cold wind whipped across the field, and dull nausea swam in his stomach.
“This is where you grew up?” Brynn asked, climbing out of the Land Rover.
He nodded, but didn’t look away from the house. White protective paint over stone walls, cracked and chipped, had yellowed with dirt and age. What lawn there might have been had long since given way to dirt and weeds. The only change Reece could see from when he’d last been here nearly fifteen years ago was a thin wooden panel mounted in one of the front windows where the glass must have broken and never been replaced.
Damp wind gusted over the fields, bowing the long, yellowed grass and biting at his flesh even through his clothes. Dark clouds hung low over the brown fields surrounding the house, adding to the overall melancholy. He still remembered when he’d been brought here, to this uncle whom he had no memory of meeting. His mother was gone, and he was alone without another person in the world. Fear had knotted his belly, tempered with a pathetic sort of hope that everything would be all right.
God, he still couldn’t believe he’d brought Brynn here. But after their grisly discovery he wasn’t letting Brynn out of his sight.
The dead woman had been Olivia Dodd, one of the women from the village who cleaned Stonecliff three days a week. But there’d been no reason for her to be at the house that morning. She didn’t work on Wednesdays and certainly never that early.
They spent most of the morning being interviewed by Harding and Miller. Brynn had pointed out to the detectives that he’d have to release Eleri. Her sister was the only person who couldn’t have killed Olivia Dodd. Once Harding had Reece alone, he’d ripped into him blaming Reece for Olivia’s murder. If he’d been paying attention to what was going on at Stonecliff instead of sniffing around Brynn, a good woman might still be alive.
Despite the ridiculousness of the detective’s claims, Reece bore some responsibility. The ghost following Harding had warned him, but Reece had been wrong about who “she” was and focused his attention on the wrong woman. Although, focusing on Olivia would have left Brynn vulnerable.
As gifts went, his was bloody useless.
“Are you okay?” Brynn asked, dragging him from his dark thoughts. Concern marred her features, and he fought the urge to smooth away the frown line between her brows.
He nodded, even though he was as far from okay as he could get. The idea of letting her see this ugly side to his life churned his stomach.
She laced her fingers with his and together they started to the cottage, past a red Prius—too new and clean to be his uncle’s. A client’s, obviously.
Anger simmered beneath his skin. Everything he’d gone through these past months and his uncle was just as he’d always been.
Reece shouldn’t be surprised, really. The old adage was true—you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, and Kendrick Conway was a creature of habit. He’d been making his living ripping off the desperate for far too long to let a little thing like the possibility of prison stop him. Besides, after their last run-in, it was Reece who’d had to pay, not Kendrick.
Never Kendrick.
He didn’t bother to knock. Instead, he entered quietly through the front, hoping to catch the old man off guard. He’d get more out of him for less if his uncle was frazzled.
Once Brynn followed him in, he closed the door, cutting out what little natural light there’d been, turning the small foyer dark. Smells of his childhood filled the air. Dust and mildew combined with the greasy stink of last night’s dinner. The odors were imbedded in the faded red carpet and yellowed walls. Not surprising, really. He couldn’t remember the last time the carpet had seen a hoov
er, or the walls a fresh tin of paint.
Doing his best to avoid Brynn’s gaze, Reece led her deeper into the house. Past the dim lounge where only the endless flicker from the telly cast a gray glow over newspapers scattered on the settee and across the floor. A collection of unwashed teacups and mugs littered the tables.
The only time Kendrick bothered with the washing up was when he ran out of clean dishes. It probably took even longer now that he was the only one dirtying them, and he didn’t have Reece to do the tidying like when he was a boy.
What must Brynn think of all this? He imagined her own childhood to be clean and pleasant, all Sunday luncheon and family teas. This must bloody repulse her.
Reece risked a glance into the kitchen as they passed. His suspicions were correct. The room was worse than he remembered it. Old food and grime caked the counter and cooker. Or at least what was visible between the mounds of dirty dishes.
Shaking his head, Reece made his way to the back room. The one room that Kendrick made any effort to tidy. As they drew closer, his uncle’s low voice drifted through the open door. He was well into another fine performance.
“He says that he was the one who moved the plate from the counter to the table.”
“Why? What does he want?” A woman’s tearful plea caught Reece like a fist to the stomach.
The smells, the mess, the quiet desperation from within this room sucked him back through time. He was eleven years old again. Kendrick’s dancing monkey. By then Reece had realized what he was doing was wrong, but the constant threat of being sent into care along with his uncle’s assurances that he would never be able to survive there kept him in line. Kept him obedient.
“In foster care, they’ll watch you all the time,” his uncle had told him. “Eventually, they’ll see what you are. You won’t be able to hide it. They’ll think you’re mad. You’ll wind up institutionalized with the other nutters and they’ll never let you out.”
The threat had iced Reece’s blood. Haunted his nightmares.
“He says he must move on now,” Kendrick’s voice dragged him back to the present. “But he’s afraid to leave you as you are. He wants you to move on as well. He wants you to keep living.”
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