Mean Streak

by Sandra Brown

  Speaking in an undertone, she said, “It might be a relief for her to find out. Keeping the secret has been torture.”

  “No one would doubt your loyalty to her, although you should have contacted me immediately after your conversation with her last night. I should have known about her suspicions regarding me.”

  “I chalked them up to exhaustion, medication, a residual fear after what she’d been through. Emotional upheaval and—”

  “I understand. But you should have told me, Alice. Had I known, things might have gone differently today.”

  “How so? What would you have done?”

  “For starters, I wouldn’t have been so eager to take her home. I would have recommended that she stay in the hospital and be kept under observation for another couple of days.”

  “Seen a psychiatrist, perhaps?”

  God bless Alice. He forgave her the previous banalities. She was saying all the right things now. “Yes. I blame myself for not suggesting a psychiatric evaluation yesterday when she seemed unable to remember specifics about how she sustained the concussion and the time she spent in that cabin. Of course, given what we know now, how were we to distinguish between faulty recollection and sheer fabrication?”

  “We must get help for her.”

  “We have to find her first. I only hope she survives this villain. Connell said he wasn’t a sexual predator, but…well, he’s already seduced her, hasn’t he?” He let his voice crack emotionally on the last two words, and Alice’s response to it was instantaneous.

  “It’s difficult to be angry with her and worried at the same time, isn’t it?”

  “That describes exactly what I’m feeling.”

  She was silent for a moment, then, “What does all this mean to us, Jeff? To our relationship?”

  “I’ve already told you. We can’t go on seeing each other. Emory has to be my sole concern now. I don’t say that to hurt you.”

  “Nevertheless, it does.”

  “I’m sorry. We both went into this with eyes wide open, neither predicting a happy ending.” Then, “I’d better go now, check in downstairs and see if any progress is being made.”

  “Should I keep this latest incident under my hat?”

  “Please. Let’s get through the night, see what tomorrow brings.”

  “All right.” Her good-bye was tearful and subdued.

  He disconnected and grinned at himself in the dresser mirror. “That went well.” Had he scripted Alice, he couldn’t have put better words in her mouth.

  If Emory survived this second misadventure with her criminal boyfriend, her mental stability would be brought into question. She would be denounced and ridiculed. Perhaps the end of her star-kissed life would bring too much pressure for her to bear. She might very well break under the strain of losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve, and, when she did, God knows what she would do to herself. Suicide would be credible.

  As he was leaving the bedroom, he glanced toward the bed where he’d tossed his ski jacket when he came upstairs. He had noticed yesterday that the trademark zipper pull was missing. He didn’t know how and when it had become detached, and a search among his belongings hadn’t produced it.

  It was a small thing. But wasn’t the devil in the details?

  * * *

  When Jeff excused himself to go upstairs to call Alice, Jack Connell asked the two detectives, “What’s that about?”

  Knight, who was halfway through a minibar can of cashews, said, “Dr. Alice Butler. OB-GYN.” He explained the three-way medical clinic partnership. “Also, she’s Emory’s best friend.”

  “Who’s committing adultery with him.” Grange tipped his head toward the top of the stairs.

  Jack divided a look between them. “Huh. Does Emory know?”

  “We don’t think so,” Grange replied. “She might. She might not care. Would you, if you were her?”

  Jack smiled, then asked, “When she went missing, you looked hard at him?”

  “Snug as a bug in a rug with Alice Butler from Friday evening till Sunday afternoon, when he became concerned about his wife,” Knight said.

  Grange expanded on that, recounting the interview he’d had with the other woman. “She confessed, crumbling beneath the weight of guilt. We thought for sure we had Jeff’s dual motive.”

  “Dual?”

  Grange told him about Emory’s legacy from Charbonneau Oil and Gas. “She’s worth a bundle and then some. We were on our way to apprehending him, but then Emory showed up at the filling station, alive.”

  Knight said, “The husband’s no longer a suspect. Your boy Hayes Bannock stole all his thunder.”

  “Bannock won’t hurt her.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “I’d stake my career on it,” Jack insisted. “Besides, she isn’t afraid of him or she wouldn’t have left with him tonight.”

  Grange said, “That’s the first thing that crossed my mind when Knight called me and said to get over here. There’s a big difference between being unafraid of someone and running off with him. Why’d she go? What did he say to her? What did he do to get her to take off without even getting her coat first?”

  Jack said, “I don’t know Emory Charbonneau well, but from my perspective, it’s just as puzzling. Always before, when Bannock was done somewhere, he split. Like in a matter of hours. After the incident with Norman and Will Floyd, I can’t figure why he’s sticking around.”

  “Maybe he’s not done with the Floyds. Maybe the beating was only a prelude leading up to a big finish.”

  Jack pulled the inside of his cheek between his teeth. “I hope not.”

  “Or maybe we’re overlooking the obvious. Maybe Emory’s ‘he treated me kindly’ refrain was euphemistic for…” Knight let his raised eyebrows speak for him, then shook the last of the cashews from the can and tossed them into his mouth. “But whatever he’s doing to, or with, or for her, we still want him for assault and battery. So my question to you, Agent Connell, is on behalf of all the men and women we’ve got out there looking for them. Just how dangerous is this guy?”

  “Officers should proceed with caution.”

  “That’s it? That’s your only word of advice?” Knight was frowning over the insufficiency. “Word’s spread through our department about the Floyd boys. Truth be told, their beating has been toasted by more than one six pack. They’re scumbags, and that was the opinion even before anybody knew about them raping their kid sister.”

  “Have they been charged?”

  “Not yet. It’s on the DA’s desk, but the girl is iffy about bringing it out in the open. You know how that goes.”

  Jack nodded, and Knight continued.

  “In the meantime, everybody’s just a tad spooked over the man who whipped the Floyds single-handedly. We found where he stored his weapons, but not the weapons themselves, meaning he could have a lot of firepower with him. Now a fed has shown up hot on his heels. Bannock’s taken on a…a…”

  “Aura,” Grange said.

  Knight acknowledged the supplied word with a nod, but he kept his attention on Jack. “I’m asking you as an officer of the law, same as you, to cut the double-talk and basic bullshit and tell us just who we’re dealing with here.”

  “You referenced a mass shooting in Virginia, but you weren’t specific.” Grange cast a quick upward glance at the closed bedroom door that would prevent Jeff from overhearing. Then, leaning toward Jack and speaking in an undertone, he asked, “Are we talking Westboro?”

  Jack looked at them in turn. “You know the story?” And when they nodded in unison, he said, “That was Bannock.”

  Grange whistled softly.

  Knight murmured, “Holy shit.”

  Chapter 35

  At the mention of the eight fatalities, Hayes abruptly got up and replaced the chair beneath the dining table. “You’d better turn in, Doc.”

  “Turn in?”

  “Tomorrow could be a long day.”

  “I d
emand an explanation for what Agent Connell told us about you.”

  “Bedroom’s down the hall. Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll bunk on the couch.”

  “Hayes?” When he came around to her, she said, “I assume that’s your real name. Hayes Bannock?”

  He hesitated before giving her a brusque nod.

  “I’m glad to finally know it.”

  “Don’t speak too soon.”

  “If I looked you up on the Internet, what would I find? Your army service record? Your degree in constructional engineering? Your sister and niece in Seattle?”

  “My, my. Connell was a fount of information, wasn’t he?”

  “He referenced a soccer coach. A priest. Others in addition to Norman and Will Floyd.”

  “I take that back. He was a babbling brook.”

  “All related to that shooting in Virginia.”

  His eyes turned cold and hostile. “You should go to bed, Doc. Get some sleep.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Okay then, I’ll turn in.”

  He made for the hallway, but she quickly placed herself in his path. “Tell me what all this is about.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find out, in time.”

  “I want to know now. I want to hear it from your own lips, not from someone else’s.”

  “Why?”

  “Because otherwise I’ll never believe you were involved in something so heinous.”

  “Well I was.” His tone was curt, matter of fact. “There. That’s all you need to know and all you’ll get from me. It has nothing to do with the here and now.”

  “Agent Connell thinks it does.”

  “Agent Connell can go fuck himself. What happened then doesn’t pertain to you.”

  “But it pertains to you.”

  “It’s not my life I’m trying to save! It’s yours.”

  “I don’t need you to save me,” she said, warming to the argument. “I can go to Connell myself, to Knight and Grange, and—”

  “What?”

  “Accuse Jeff.”

  He gave a stern shake of his head. “Not a good plan.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t have any evidence to support your allegations.”

  She opened her hand, showing him that she had the zipper pull, then quickly snatched her hand back.

  He shrugged with indifference. “Useless. Where you got it and when, your word against his, remember?”

  “But it and the rock together would—”

  “You don’t have the rock.”

  “But you do.”

  “That’s right. I do.”

  “You’d hold it hostage from me?”

  “To keep you from barging in and exposing yourself to that slimy son of a bitch you’re married to? Damn right, I would.”

  “Jeff couldn’t do anything to me while I’m surrounded by law enforcement officers.”

  “Which is the only reason I didn’t come and get you sooner. I waited outside the hospital last night until I saw Jeff leave and figured you were safe. You spent most of today in the company of men with badges.

  “But what happens when they pack up and go home for lack of evidence against him? You’ll have played your hand. You will have accused him. How do you think that will sit with him when he was already prepared to murder you?”

  It was a valid point. Even if Jeff were now to provide an iron-clad alibi, she would never trust him or feel comfortable alone with him. Ever again. “All right, my plan is flawed. Do you have one? What do you intend to do?”

  “With the rock?”

  “With all of it. With what you know about Jeff. With me.”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  She thought of the Floyds, suffering in their hospital beds. “But you’ll stay within the law, right?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Frustrated almost to the point of tears, she said, “Tell me about Virginia.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No!”

  “I want to know what you did!”

  “No, you don’t!” His shout echoed off the walls of the confined space. A few seconds passed, then he said in a low voice, “Trust me. You don’t.”

  His strained enunciation, his unyielding expression intimidated her. She backed away from him. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know.” Looking around frantically, she said, “In fact, why did I even come here with you?”

  “That, I will answer.” He took measured steps toward her. “I didn’t drag you off that balcony and force you to come with me. But I would have if necessary.” He let that sink in, then took a step nearer and kept closing in until his face hovered above hers.

  “If I’d had to, I would have wrapped you in bailing wire and carried you off. Because I’d rather see you shy away from me, rather see you cringing with fright and mistrust like you are now, rather see you any other way except dead.”

  It wasn’t poetry, but it was profound. Her heart expanded with emotion. She reached up to touch his cheek.

  But before it could make contact, he caught her wrist and held her hand away from him. When he finally let it go, he motioned down the hall and ordered gruffly, “Go to bed. Lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”

  * * *

  He waited.

  She didn’t move.

  She remained staring up at him with eyes that were calm, accepting, trusting. The opposite of what they should be.

  “Okay,” he growled, “you asked for this.”

  He clasped her around the waist and turned her to face the wall. He pulled her sweater over her head, then discarded her camisole in the same ungentle manner. Her bra strap fell victim to his jerky impatience. The garment fell forward from her chest. He pushed it off her, then took her hands, placed them flat against the wall, and covered them with his as he crowded in behind her.

  He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth, wanting to mark her as his, damn well knowing he had no right to her, no right even to want her. “Scared?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m not doing it right.”

  He charted a trail of biting kisses down her throat; she whimpered but with arousal, not fear. He thrust against her bottom, making certain she knew he meant business. “Now are you afraid?”

  Rather than recoil, she pushed back, adjusting the fit, increasing the pressure, causing him to hiss through his teeth.

  “You’re playing with fire, Doc.”

  When she did it again with a grinding motion, he removed his hands from hers, reached around, and blindly unfastened her jeans. With little finesse, he pushed his hand into her panties and between her thighs, finding her hot, wet, swollen with the same insistent desire that was throbbing through him.

  His fingers curled upward, into her. He stroked the magic spot and felt her quicken. Against her ear, he whispered roughly, “I want to be right there. Right now.”

  He turned her and lifted her against him, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He stood her beside the bed, and she began to take off the rest of her clothes as hastily as he began removing his.

  He was naked before she got off her second boot. Flinging back the bedspread, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her just as she stepped free of her underwear.

  Positioning her between his open thighs, he held her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, tugging at it with hunger, almost desperation, before folding his arms around her, drawing her closer and pressing his face into her giving middle, then lower into the sweet muskiness of her sex.

  Nuzzling there, he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then parted them with more mastery than necessary, because it was clear by now that, as baffling as it was, her trust in him was unshakable.

  He used his thumbs to spread her, expose her, prepare her for his mouth’s assault. He dipped his tongue into her, once, twice, three times, going deep, then applied it to the tender flesh in fleeting strokes, eliciting f
rom her choppy breaths that coalesced into a low moan when he sucked her tight little center into his mouth.

  But he didn’t want her to come until he was inside her. He guided her down onto the bed, stood on his knees between her raised thighs, and was about to lower himself onto her when she said, “Wait!”

  “I can’t.”

  Well, he could—he did—when she angled up, clasped his ass between her hands and took the head of his cock into her mouth. The pleasure was so immense, he clenched his teeth and wasn’t even aware of the pressure he was applying to his jaw until the tip of her tongue delved into the groove, found the sweet spot, and he tried to speak. He gasped and groaned and managed to strangle out, “Christ, I thought I’d dreamed the way you do that.” A few seconds more and he panted, “Doc, stop. Stop.”

  He eased her head away, but not before she got in one quick kiss on his tat.

  When she lay back, he followed her down and sank into her, pushing until they couldn’t possibly be any closer, then he settled his weight onto her and buried his face in her neck. “You’ll be the ruin of me. But fuck if I can help myself.”

  He levered himself up and, eyes focused on hers, began to thrust into her.

  And it was incredible, not only because she was so deliciously tight and silky. She was. Not only because she perfectly timed a corresponding motion for each short, quick jab and every long, smooth glide of his cock. She did.

  Not only because whenever he all but pulled out, she worked the tip of his penis with seductive belly-dance motions until he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to again sheathe himself completely.

  Not only because her hands caressed him with flawless intuition. And not only because, when she climaxed, he felt every convulsive squeeze, but also saw the tears in her eyes that attested to the overflowing emotion behind them.

  All that contributed. But what made him come harder, longer, and more meaningfully than he ever had in his life, was that in those moments when he lost himself in her, she closed her arms around his head, and held it close, and said on a sigh, as though it was the dearest word in her vocabulary, “Hayes.”