by Dee Davis
"No," he said, shaking his head. "That was Reggie. You saw him."
"And that's why you're chasing me."
His smile was more like a caricature than a real expression, making his face seem slightly demonic. Which was certainly fitting under the circumstances. Jenny realized he’d dropped her arm, and she took a step backward, her hands out in front of her as if she could ward off the bullet. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, her brain trying to convince her to run, her body frozen to the spot.
Magazine man lifted his thumb and a bullet slid into the chamber of his gun.
This time, it seemed like the deer was going to lose.
Jenny moved again, her back pressed against the balustrade. There was no way out. None at all. At least she would see Connor again. There was something positive in that. Hysteria filled her throat, and she swallowed a bubble of laughter.
Death, it seemed, was not without humor.
A hiss of a bullet signaled the beginning of the end, and Jenny waited for the pain. But there was nothing—only a look of surprise on magazine man's face as he sank to the ground, a bloody flower blossoming on his forehead.
Jenny spun around, hands still raised in defense, but the eyes that met hers were familiar. Intimately familiar.
"Connor?"
She fought for breath, her mind spinning, his arms closing around her just before she hit the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jenny opened her eyes, half expecting to see the wallpaper in her bedroom. A dream was about the only thing she could come up with to explain the past few hours. Instead, what she saw were the concerned dark green irises of her husband's Irish eyes.
"You're dead." As statements went it was certainly to the point, but considering the man leaning over her was very much alive, it seemed a bit on the absurd side.
His left eyebrow rose in amusement, and Jenny felt tears as she reached up to trace the line of his face. "Oh, my God," she whispered, awe combining with emotion so powerful it threatened to overwhelm her.
"It's not that amazing," Connor said, his deep voice enfolding her like a well-worn blanket. "Just a little matter of properly placed DNA evidence."
Leave it to her husband to reduce resurrection to some kind of CSI hijinks. "I was at your memorial service."
"Where there wasn't a body." His right eyebrow rose to join the left.
Body. The word brought back a flash of memory. "Magazine man ." She struggled to a sitting position, her head reeling. "Is he dead?"
"Very." Connor helped her up, his arm warm around her waist. "Are you all right?"
It was a stupid question. Or maybe just an automatic one. "I'm okay. Just a little surprised." There was an understatement. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might spin right out of her body.
"We need to get out of here."
Jenny's gaze met Connor's, a myriad of questions ripping through her brain, but he shook his head. "There'll be time for that later," he said.
She pulled in a breath, steadying her nerves. After all, she'd made it this far. "What about the police? Shouldn't we contact them?"
"Not yet." Connor reached for her hands. "For right now, you're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that, Jen?"
It should have been harder. She should have at least needed time to think. Considering everything that had happened, he wasn't exactly trustworthy. But apparently her heart didn't agree, and her brain wasn't really up to the protest. "All right." She nodded to underscore the words. "What do we do?"
"We get the hell out of here."
"What about him?" She angled her head toward the body.
"Leave him. If they send someone else, it'll be a warning."
"English teacher packs a piece?" Jenny quashed a bubble of laughter with a sigh. "They're not going to believe I did this."
"I don't see why not. You were married to a cop."
His use of the past tense hit her hard. Not that it mattered at the moment. "Let me get my purse." It was a stupid, feminine thing to say, as if her purse could protect her in some way from the madness that had become her life. But there was sanity in normalcy, and at the moment she needed all she could get.
Connor nodded, turning to the balustrade, and carefully wiped off any fingerprints.
Covering his tracks. Jenny shivered despite herself, Andy's accusations echoing through her head. But still, she couldn't bring herself to run. After all, Connor had saved her life. If nothing else, that bought him the chance for explanation.
She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed her purse, surprised to find that the room looked normal. No broken glass, no upset furniture— there was nothing at all to indicate that magazine man had broken in.
Returning to the living room, she found Connor standing by the door, holding Andy's coat. His brows were drawn together in a ferocious frown. "What are you doing with this?"
"Andy loaned it to me." She shrugged, not yet willing to share anything more. "I'll take mine." She reached around him, ignoring the sparks that danced along her skin when her hand brushed his, and pulled a parka down off the hook.
It was gaily festooned with a Santa Clause pin, her grandmother's. Christmas seemed a long way from this place—this time—the little pin twinkling absurdly in the light.
"You ready?" Connor was standing at the window now, peering out through the blinds at the street. His face looked hard in the light. A stranger. Jenny shivered again.
"Yeah." She slid into her coat and hitched her purse onto her shoulder. "You want to take my car?"
Connor shook his head. "Too obvious. There's no telling who's watching. I've got a rental parked around the corner. We'll go through the kitchen."
Jenny followed him through the house, watching his back, lines of tension radiating through his shoulders. Whatever was happening, the game was real and the stakes were obviously lethal.
They slipped out the back door and into the yard, Connor being careful to walk in the dead man's footprints through the snow.
"He didn't break in." Jenny frowned as the realization hit her.
Connor stopped walking. "Maybe you left the door unlocked."
"Or maybe you did." She stopped, hands on hips. "Maybe this is exactly the way you wanted things to play out."
"Come on, Jen, you really think I set this up so that you'd have to run away with me?" Irritation flashed across his face. "Think about it. It doesn't even make sense."
She supposed in some ways it didn't. But, still... "Maybe you didn't set it up, but you had to get into the house somehow."
"I have a key" He held up the silver key ring she'd given him Christmas before last.
"So maybe you forgot to lock it."
"No." He reached for her arm, urging her onward. "I came through the front and went upstairs. I just wanted to be certain you were all right."
She thought about Asa as she allowed Connor to pull her along. "You put the cat in the bathroom."
"She's too damn noisy."
"So, what—you were just going to watch over me and then leave?"
"Something like that." He sounded so nonchalant, she wanted to scream.
"But you let me think you were dead." Her voice rose, and Connor lifted a finger to his lips.
"Keep it down. The last thing we need right now is nosy neighbors."
"Right," she mumbled, lowering her voice. "They might do something terrible, like contact the police."
He yanked her around to face him. "Jen, you have no idea what you're involved in here." His anger met hers, then diminished, regret coloring his expression. "Look, I told you I'd explain things once we're safely out of here. But right now we're sitting ducks, and I don't know about you, but I don't fancy getting my ass shot off standing in the driveway arguing."
It was a valid point. Jenny started to move again, her hands jammed into her pockets, her mind spinning through a million different possibilities. Surprisingly, though, none of them involved Connor on the wrong side of the law. Whate
ver was happening, she was certain that he wasn't to blame.
An odd feeling, surely, to have for a man who'd left her for another woman.
But then again, Jenny was beginning to wonder if anything was really as it had seemed. Everything had turned decidedly topsy-turvy. Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Only, Jenny hadn't landed in Wonderland. This was much more like A Nightmare on Elm Street. To survive, she had to trust someone.
And despite everything, that person was her husband. Ex-husband. Whatever.
*****
The place wasn't much more than a flophouse, a studio apartment that rented by the week, but it granted the anonymity Connor had needed. And, truth be told, he had never intended to bring Jen here. Unfortunately, he hadn't had a choice. He'd needed to get her out of Cold Spring, and the city was the best place to disappear.
It wouldn't be long before someone put two and two together and realized Jen had had help disposing of Sammy Lacuzo. And from there, the leap might be made to him. It wasn't a sure thing, but it seemed a signal that time was running out.
Jen had been amazing—following him almost without question. Allowing him to take control of the situation in a way she'd never have done before. She'd also managed to give Sammy Lacuzo the slip at least once. That was something not too many people could brag about.
He felt an absurd sense of pride and reached out to touch her, only to withdraw his hand. She'd fallen asleep in the car, and roused only briefly when they'd arrived. He'd carried her up the stairs and laid her on his bed, his body celebrating the familiar smell and feel of her.
But now wasn't the time for a reunion. Hell, considering the water under the bridge, there might never again be a time. His heart twisted at the thought. He'd loved her as long as he could remember. She was a part of him. But that very fact had made it imperative that he leave her behind.
Not that it had done much good. They'd found her anyway.
He clenched a fist. His killing Lacuzo had been motivated by his need to protect Jen, but there'd been a certain sense of pleasure as well. A sense of wrong righted. But Lacuzo was just the tip of the iceberg, and before this was over, Connor intended to melt the lot. By whatever means necessary.
"Connor?" Sleepy blue eyes met his, a faint look of wonder spreading across Jen's face. "Is it really you?" She reached up to touch him, the same way she had before. Only, this time, there was no fear in her face. Only joy, and something else, something he was almost afraid to give a name.
"It's me," he said, covering her hand with his own. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you."
She shook her head, her gaze soft. "You wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been absolutely necessary."
Her faith in him was humbling.
His gaze locked with hers, desire coloring every part of his being. It had been so long. He leaned down, cupping her chin, lifting her face to meet his kiss. Her eyes widened a little in surprise, but she didn't pull away, and he reveled in the feel of her mouth.
Her hands closed around his head, her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. There was an urgency in her touch, as if she was afraid he'd disappear. He felt a moment's guilt at all that he'd put her through, but his need for her was stronger, so he took what she offered, his tongue tangling with hers, their movements choreographed by years of familiarity.
The kiss deepened as he stroked the side of her face. This was home, in the soul-deep sense of things. It was the place he belonged. He shifted so that he could kiss the soft spot beneath her ear, felt her shiver in response, then trailed kisses down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat.
She moved beneath him and he lifted his head, his gaze locking with hers. Maybe she was having second thoughts. Not only was there the marital gulf between them; there were the events of the last few hours. Two people dead.
Connor was more than aware of the fact that people reacted to death in different ways. Sometimes they sought proof of life in intimacy. And he couldn't stand the idea of taking advantage of Jen in any way.
He searched her face for signs of regret, but saw none. Instead, her eyes had darkened with need, and her smile was tentative but true. With a groan he bent his head, taking possession of her lips again, his hands hungrily roaming the contours of her body, the touch of her skin against his beyond enticing.
He had wanted this woman for as long as he could remember. And despite the things that stood between them, he wanted her now. There would be truths to face. Perhaps things that ultimately could never be put right. But all that mattered now was that she was here and that she wanted him, too.
It was an elemental reaction, probably not wise, and certainly not based on logic. But passion was dictated by headier things than intellect, and just for the moment he wanted only to lose himself inside Jenny, to escape from the world that surrounded him day in and day out, to lose himself in the one thing he knew was pure.
Her love.
He stroked the curve of her breast, popping buttons and pushing away her sweater so that he could feel the soft texture of her nipple beading at his touch. He rolled it between his fingers, then brushed it with the pad of his thumb, loving the way she pushed against him, urging him on, begging for more, his name uttered with guttural abandon. Joy in its purest form.
He took her other breast in his mouth, sucking, drinking. Refilling the part of him that was parched and dry. He stroked her with his tongue, the taste of her sweet against his lips; then, with a groan, he crushed her to him, his mouth seeking hers, their dueling, thrusting tongues a promise of things to come.
Giddy with passion, they undressed each other, feasting with their hands and eyes, delighting in each revelation as if they were first-time lovers. But, then again, perhaps in some way they were. A rebirth of sorts. A second chance.
He shook his head at his own folly, knowing that there was no such thing.
Choices were made, and one had to live by them. Still, for just this moment, he allowed himself to pretend, to lose his heart to the magic of her hands and lips. Her fingers circled his penis, and he groaned with pleasure as she stroked him, squeezing gently as she moved. Following her rhythm, his fingers found her soft pulsing heat, their joint pleasure threatening to shatter him.
In and out, up and down, stroking, kissing, building and building until he reached the point of no return. And, certain that he could take no more, he pulled away, his gaze meeting hers, his heart reflected there as surely as if he had handed it to her. She rolled onto her back, her legs open, waiting. With a groan of anticipation and desire, he slid inside her, her moist heat surrounding him, urging him onward.
Together they began to move, each knowing the dance by heart. They rocked slowly at first, savoring the moment—the connection—then gradually began to move faster, each stroke bringing them tantalizingly closer to the edge of the precipice.
Tension built between them like a delicately strung wire, pulling tighter and tighter, pleasure and pain mixing as one, need driving every movement. Jen reached up to grab the railings of the headboard, arching her back, pulling him deeper. Balanced on his elbows, he yielded to her demand, the pounding of his heart echoing the motion.
Higher and higher they climbed, locked into a cataclysmic spiral that threatened to unman him. With one last plunge they fell from the edge, their bodies linked, their spirits fusing as one, the explosion rocking through Connor with an intensity that satiated and starved him all at one time.
And then Jen smiled, and his world filled with light.
At least for a moment, Connor Fitzgerald had come home.
CHAPTER SIX
Jenny stood by the window, looking out onto the quiet street below. Even in the middle of the night, there were always people out in the city. A couple, the woman of questionable profession, stood arguing on the corner, and a homeless man shifted in his pile of boxes on the shadowed stoop of a boarded-up building.
The ugly side of New York.
Still, even here there was hope. The colored lights of a Chr
istmas tree blinked on and off behind the gauzy curtains of an apartment across the way. The windows of another were decorated with cutouts of Santa and his sleigh.
A half-forgotten memory filled her head. Her first Christmas with Connor. No money. And a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. She'd made the ornaments, painting and glittering cardboard renditions of snowmen, candy canes, and stars. It had seemed so easy then. Simple. One step at a time—never a look ahead, and never a look behind. Believing that love would be enough to carry them through.
But it hadn't worked that way. Instead, they were here. Separated by betrayal and lies, and yet connected by so much more.
Somewhere in the darkness, a bell rang. A Christmas bell. Because no matter the state of the world, or her own personal crisis, Christmas was coming. Soon the world would wake up and rejoice.
No one cared that she and Connor were lost in some sort of nightmarish hell. That her best friend was dead. That the world had twisted in on itself, leaving nothing behind that made any sense.
She leaned against the icy windowpane, feeling the wind that whistled around the edges. What kind of joy was she supposed to be feeling? She was alone in a fleabag apartment with a man who for all his familiarity was a total stranger.
And she'd slept with him. Reconnected in a way that couldn't be healthy.
She glanced at the bed, at the man sleeping there, his hand thrown above his head, his hair flopped across his face, and her heart swelled. She loved him. God help her, despite everything she still loved him. He was so much a part of her that anything less would surely destroy her.
And yet, he had left her. Walked away without looking back. Found solace in another woman's arms, and if Andy was to be believed ...
She turned back to the window, watching as the snow swirled through the air. The arguing couple was gone, the homeless man quiet in his lair. The Christmas tree had gone dark, and Jenny shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle, feeling suddenly alone.