by T. A. Grey
“There, there, little sis. I’m working on it. You know I’ll find whoever did this. I’m bringing Elizabeth in on it. You know she’s the best damn detective we got on the force, woman or not.” He laughed to ease the tension and Kaity laughed with him.
“Yeah, right. Better than you?”
He pulled back and grinned down at her. “All right, maybe not that good.”
Kaity laughed and hugged him around the waist. “You’ll find who did this. I trust you.”
The man named Hart wrapped his arm around his sister then swung his gaze straight to Alicia in her spot from the window. Suddenly, she felt like a deer in the headlights. Her eyes popped wide.
Alicia wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware that she was the only non-family member here and that she was creeping on a conversation from a window. She started to duck away when Hart spoke.
“Who’s that?”
Movement caught the corner of her eyes and she squinted as a figure came from the other side of the house. Then her eyes narrowed in surprise at the man in the deerskin coat. She recognized the way he walked, with just a kick to his legs like a horse rider. Where had he gone?
Gavin kept his back to the house, the damn coward. “Alicia Clarkson,” he answered Hart. “She’ll be here for at least another month. I’m considering her to be my mate. Everyone will give her all the respect of that position,” he said in that gravelly voice.
They nodded like good little soldiers, even Jo, which made Alicia grin. Jo caught the look and glared at her again. She reciprocated in kind.
While this was going on, Hart pulled Gavin to the side and a bit closer to the house. She struggled to hear the words.
“There’s been another murder.”
Gavin tensed, his body turning into stone. “Who?”
“Anthony Clipton.”
“Fuck,” Gavin cursed. “He’s only, what, fourteen?”
Hart nodded, grim.
“You tellin’ me we have a child killer in the pack?”
“That’s what it looks like. I’m looking into it. I’ll find out what happened.” He placed a big hand on Gavin’s shoulder in support.
“Where’d you find him?”
Hart looked down at the ground. “He was found on the north side, floating in the lake.”
She watched Gavin shake his head. “He drowned?”
Hart shook his head.
“How do you know he didn’t?” Gavin asked, anger lacing his words until he was spitting out nails with each word.
“He’s covered in bruises. He received a beating for sure. Broken bones. He was dropped in the lake afterward.”
Alicia flinched at the news and so did Gavin. “Find who did this, Hart. I don’t care who have to bring in, and get every volunteer out there. I want every square inch of the property guarded 24/7, you got me?”
Hart nodded. “Consider it done.”
Hart tucked his hand in his pocket as he strolled back to his truck and took off. Will took off with Kaity who’d fallen into another lapse of tears.
That left Gavin and Jo. They shared a few words together, much too low for her to hear. Then Jo lifted his big head and met her gaze.
He hollered out, his command aimed directly at her. “You will stay inside that house. You will not leave unless the damn thing is set on fire. I will be watchin’ you and if you so much as stick your head out a window to breathe in some fresh air, I’m tying you up, gagging you, and locking you in your room. Got that?”
She glared so hard her eyes hurt. She glanced at Gavin’s back, but apparently he supported everything the big oaf just said. Smiling coldly, she gave the big guy the finger, waving it at him for good measure. Then she ducked back into the house and looked at it for the first time.
Another truck roared to life, this one she recognized as Gavin’s. It pulled away and she had to resist going to the window to watch him leave.
Everything grew quiet again except for the small sounds of the house. The ticking of clocks here and there, the soft whirr of the refrigerator. This was the first time Alicia was out of her room without a blindfold.
She was not going to waste her time, she decided, and headed for the stairs going straight to Gavin MacKellen’s room.
CHAPTER 7
After an excruciatingly long and emotionally draining day, Gavin stepped inside his home and leaned his great weight back against the door.
A boy was dead. Fourteen-year-old Anthony Clipton. Gavin had spent all day talking to the family trying to ease the anxiety among pack members. No easy task. Everyone was keeping their children under tight wraps now, and more than a few women slapped him across the face today.
He rubbed the flesh. Even though the ache had vanished, he could still feel the imprint they’d left. That imprint went much deeper than skin deep. Two children were dead.
And both cases were related.
Related not because they were both children, but because, according to Anthony’s parents, Emma was his girlfriend. A little young to be a real ‘couple’, or at least he thought so. Then again, he remembered crushing hard on a girl back when he was only thirteen and full of hormones. Gavin could even remember his brother Hart dating a girl when he was that young. The dating aspect consisted of hand-holding, giggling, and maybe some dry-mouthed pecks on the lips.
The fact that the kids were close and both died within a day of each other was not lost on anybody especially him and Hart. Gavin had his own theories as to what happened and none of them were good. Either way, they’d find the killer. And he or she would face the wrath of the entire pack.
Right now though, they only had one lead and that was Marcus Graham. He’d found the body of Emma on his patrol which could very well be the truth. Or he could have killed her. Gavin knew firsthand the kind of sickness that wrestled inside Marcus.
A weight crouched on Gavin’s shoulders like a damn elephant. His muscles protested, contorted, and twisted in agony at the pressure. No amount of shoulder rolling would alleviate that kind of ache.
He took a deep breath and that’s when he smelled it—food. A vicious grumble came from his stomach and he looked down at it wondering when the last time he ate was. God, he couldn’t even remember. A day or two, maybe.
He followed the smell into the darkened kitchen. It was late and Alicia would be in bed by now. Jo had kept guard all day and he’d brought in his brother, Connor, to take watch at night. Gavin didn’t like wasting good manpower on making sure she stayed in the house, but he couldn’t risk losing her. No way, not yet. He definitely needed more time, like say, a few years maybe.
He followed the smells but didn’t find any golden plates of food lying about. After he popped open the fridge though he could have died. Leftover spaghetti and meatballs. She’d cooked.
He snatched it, tore off the lid and dug in the drawer for a fork. He didn’t even give a shit if she poisoned him. It smelled like heaven and his mouth watered. He dug in with big forkfuls, stuffing his gullet.
Delicious tastes exploded on his tongue and he slammed his eyes shut to take it all in. This wasn’t some jar sauce, she’d cooked it. Homemade. Homemade meatballs. Holy hell, he loved this woman.
He finished it, then chugged down a glass of milk with it all.
Finished, he cleaned his mess up. The pain in his shoulders didn’t feel as intense now, though his heart still hurt to think about the two dead pack members.
He stood in the quiet kitchen with nothing else to do but go upstairs. But he found himself lingering, unable to move forward. His heart started beating faster just in anticipation of hearing her voice, possibly seeing her.
Alicia had even more strength than he’d first given her credit for. She was a damn wildcat. Hell, she’d surprised the shit out of him when she’d leaped onto his back like a damn flying squirrel. His cock thickened at the thought. God, she’d turned him on and just remembering it brought back flashes of heat.
She weighed hardly nothing. The way she’d stra
ddled him and taken charge like that had made his cock beat against his zipper trying to get free. He’d ached to turn around so she could straddle his hips, so he could gaze up at her beautiful face and breasts. He wanted that image of what she looked like astride him to be a permanent memory in his mind. For when she said no. Then at least he’d have that memory to carry him on.
Why was he even doing this to himself? God, he knew it was going to kill him. Already, she was burrowing her way under his skin. He just hoped he’d be able to shake her out when the time came for it.
She was everything he could ever hope for in a good woman—all fire and intelligence and strength and creativity…and hell, she cooked. Fuck. He was screwed. Halfway in love with a woman who didn’t even know the horror of his face.
She’d say no to him at the end of the month. No doubt about it. He knew it; hell, everyone knew it. She was too beautiful. Everything he wasn’t.
But a man could dream, and he planned to use his time with her like he was getting a one-stop visit to heaven. He’d memorize everything and maybe, just maybe, she’d let him touch her. What a man would do for a kiss from those sexy little lips. She had the perfect little bow mouth with lips not too plump but naturally sexy.
Hands curling into fists, his eyes closed as his head fell back. The memory came. Oh god. He gulped over the stone-like lump in his throat. He’d lost control with her, never even seen it coming.
The way she stuck her hand in his hair had had his balls pulling tight and his teeth baring. He’d wanted to flip them over, shove their jeans down, and plant his cock deep inside her, taking her, shoving her face into the ground until she cried out his name and came around him.
But he couldn’t do that. She’d never accept him, and he’d never rut over her like an animal. Not a woman like her. A woman like her needed soft satin sheets, red candles and jazzy music.
He winced, thinking about his own bedroom. The cotton sheets were the same ones he’d used for probably eight years, maybe longer. His bed didn’t even have a frame, just a box spring and mattress sitting on top of it.
Fuck, and she’d been in there today. Seen his lifestyle. Wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to buy stuff, because he did. But he didn’t know what to buy, where to go to get it, and frankly, he didn’t give a shit. None of that stuff mattered to him. He lived his life just fine how it was. He lived alone and had been in this same house since his parents died more than twenty years ago.
He’d never given much thought to changing the place, fixin’ it up or some shit. Now it seemed like he could hardly get it out of his mind. His simple things made him feel inadequate.
Fuckin’ hell. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pictured the spare bedroom he had her in. It was probably more barren than his bedroom. He’d have to fix that. She deserved some color, some soft sheets, and anything else she could want. Soft soaps and sweet smelling shampoos, maybe. ’Course she already smelled so damned sweet. Like a hot, sexy woman. Did that even have a scent? It must, because it surrounded her, making him hard and hungry like he hadn’t fucked in years.
Just thinking about her scent brought it back to memory like a punch to the face, knocking him back with it. He’d buried his face in her hair. It’d been like smelling perfection. All sweet smelling woman lying beneath him, quivering.
Hell, had she really been trembling or had he just imagined that?
Yeah, she had.
Fuck. What did that mean?
He knew and it scared the shit out of him.
His hand trembled as he brushed his hat-flattened hair back to make it stand back up again.
It meant she’d responded to him. Or, at least, her body did. He’d tried to keep his errant cock from digging into her pert ass, but then she’d lifted herself up and done it. She’d ground that perfect ass against his cock and it’d taken every ounce of control he had not to take her there.
Not to give in.
She’d begged him to kiss her.
Fuck.
Aside from wanting to slam into her wet body, he couldn’t remember ever, ever wanting to do something so badly. He’d shaken with the need to answer her. Only one thing had kept him from doing just what they both wanted—his face.
No way could he kiss her and not show her his face. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment. Of course, he’d done it accidentally anyway by pissing her off.
Damn, but he was in some shit.
Maybe if she’d been blindfolded he could have kissed her. Still, he’d have to tie her up. She was too smart. She’d tried to work free the blindfold mid-kiss and ruin everything.
He bit his lip then ran his tongue over the spot wondering about her mouth, about the things he’d like to put in her mouth, about how those soft, wicked lips would feel kissing his body.
Fuuuuck.
She already had him by the balls. He was screwed.
His gaze flew to the clock and he winced. He couldn’t stay down here forever. With that in mind, he made his way upstairs. He’d made it halfway up when he heard water kick on. Arousal flooded his blood making it pump. She was in the shower and not the one in her bedroom but in his.
He went to the top of the landing and paused. All he could picture was wet, smooth skin and beautiful dips and curves. What would her breasts look like? Were her nipples little and pert or womanly?
Damn. His cock punched his zipper. He needed to spend some of his own time in a cold damn shower, let out some tension in his balls before he exploded.
Why was she in his shower?
Better question, what did he do now? He wanted to crash and pass the fuck out, but there was a sexy woman in his shower and he’d forgotten about the door. It hung half way open, the bottom half of it had a jagged hole large enough for a small person to climb through.
He’d have to get that fixed, ASAP. As in tomorrow morning, because no way could he sleeping knowing the curious Alicia Clarkson might worm her way through that hole just to see his face.
He checked the lighting in the hall to find it sufficiently dark to lurk. Maybe he should go for a quick run and come back. By then she should be done unless she was one of those women who showered until her skin pruned and skin turned as bright as a strawberry.
He licked his lips at the image of her in nothing but pink skin and almost groaned. Nothing he could do would make his cock go down. Fuck, but this was all her fault. He hadn’t been a hormonal disaster before. Not that he’d felt her body on his, been on hers, felt pleasure warm her skin. There was no forgetting it. Ever. The woman would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Then the shower shut off and he stiffened, backing into the corner of the hallway, the darkest part of it where she wouldn’t be able to spot him.
He heard movement and the creak from the bathroom door opening.
“Damn, it’s cold in here,” she whispered. Gavin made a mental note to fix that ASAP as well. He knew the house needed renovations but now he regretted never doing them. She didn’t deserve his cold house and ice-cold floor.
Her quick steps sounded like she was hopping on the tips of her feet. The bedroom door opened and it took everything in him not suck in a breath.
She stuck her head out of the bedroom door, looking left and right. He tensed, trying to appear invisible. Then her head jerked left again and she cried out.
Guess his hiding spot wasn’t as great as he thought.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, panicked. Wet hair was plastered to her skin and water dripped over round, finely-boned shoulders. So sweet.
“This is my house and that is my bedroom. Better question is, what are you doing in my bedroom showering?” She had one of his towels wrapped around her and disappointment slammed into him so hard he grimaced. He’d give his life savings away for her to show him her body, every luscious, warm inch.
Cock’s not going down with that attitude, idiot.
“Oh, yeah.” She ducked her head as a lovely blush covered her cheeks. “My shower sucks. It take
s forever for the water to heat up and by time it does, it’s like the tank’s empty or something. I get about five minutes of hot water. Yours is closer to the water heater so I thought I’d try it. Plus, I didn’t think you were coming home.”
“Why wouldn’t I come home?”
She shrugged, still blushing. God, she was so beautiful it made his chest ache. “You didn’t say goodbye today and after everything…I just didn’t think you’d want to see me anytime soon.”
Boy, she couldn’t be more wrong about that, he thought.
“You can use my shower whenever you want.”
She dipped her head, cinching the towel tighter around her chest. “Thanks. Well…” she stood there awkwardly for a moment before she stepped out from behind his broken door like she was taking a leap across an invisible boundary.
His eyes dipped down along the towel. It stopped above her knees. With their size difference, his towels looked like a damn robe on her, covering up way too much. He made a note to buy smaller ones. Yeah, he wanted to see her that bad.
Still, the sight he had wasn’t bad. She had tan skin like she had Hispanic blood in her and smooth legs, a petite figure. Small. Would that mean she was tighter too? His eyes slammed closed and he bit his lip to keep from cursing at the thought.
Dirty bastard, stop thinking with your dick.
Suddenly, feet sprinted across the floor. What the fuck? His eyes sprang open, but almost a moment too late. She ran at him and jumped.
The towel dropped in the commotion. He caught her naturally. Hands wrapped around wet, hot skin.
“What the hell…” he said.
He never got to finish what he was going to say because her hands flew to his face and he froze like a block of ice.
No way could she not feel the distortions. The shadows covered them in darkness, but still he could see her eyes, the shape of her face, and the frown at her lips.