by Leigh, Lora
Hell, he’d never stressed over having sex with a woman before. He just fucked all night long when the need burned inside him and pushed back the desires he had restrained for so long.
He’d never given a lover all of himself, so those desires had never tormented him for long.
How much of himself was he giving Rogue though? Because for the first time since he had moved back to Kentucky, those needs were slicing into him like the sharpest blade. And for Zeke, that was damned unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to give a woman that much of himself. He’d been self-contained for too long. He’d restrained too much of himself for too many years; realizing how much was slipping free was enough to send a spark of sensation racing up his spine.
It also had the power to leave his cock fully erect and throbbing as well. He was harder than he had been the night before, so damned eager to fuck her again that he could barely force himself to remain in the shower.
God, he wanted her. Right here, right now. However he could have her. He wanted her in his arms, he wanted her warmth and he wanted the taste of her, her heat and softness surrounding him so damned bad he could almost feel her against his flesh.
He ached for her.
She was so damned young though, and so innocent. The innocence was killing him. That dark lust inside him was pushing him, urging him to replace the innocence in her eyes with all the feminine knowledge of the pleasure he could give her. The extremities of passion. The dark lines between pleasure and pain that could fill her with sensations she couldn’t imagine.
It wasn’t quite BDSM. What he needed didn’t cross those lines. It was a driven lust. A dark infusion of extreme pleasure and control-shattering hunger. It was hearing her scream his name because she needed to come so badly she was shaking apart from the tension. It was watching her eyes as he took her as she pleasured herself, or as he fucked that sweet little ass and filled her with a pleasure/pain that left her screaming.
It was leaving control behind and taking her against the wall, on a table, or better yet, his back deck while nature looked on. It was doing all the things with her that he had never allowed himself to do with a woman when he was involved in a relationship with them. It was being who and what he was when he had never allowed himself to do that with any other woman. And now, pulling back from Rogue was next to impossible.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the washcloth he had hung on the inside rack, soaped it, and put himself to showering rather than driving himself insane over a problem he couldn’t fix at the moment.
He had enough to keep him busy; he didn’t need to add to his problems. He had a meeting with the coroner and with Alex later in the afternoon, and his own reports to file. He didn’t need the additional headache of wondering if his lover was too innocent for the dominant sex his tastes ran to.
He wanted to own her. That was his problem. Own her emotions, her heated response, and the fiery depths of her heart. And owning those parts of Rogue would never be easy. She would steal his soul. And the thought of that was enough to leave him stumbling amid his own emotions. It was enough to assure him he was getting in deep, perhaps too deep, and that walking away later may be next to impossible.
Rogue was pouring her first cup of coffee when Zeke strode from the bedroom, fully dressed in clean clothes. The sight of that official uniform conforming to his body sent a shiver up her spine. It wasn’t just the effect of the clothes on his hard body, but the effect his masculine expression had on her insides. It made her heart pound, made her flesh feel too sensitive.
Her brow arched at the uniform he was wearing. “You came prepared.”
“I keep an extra uniform in the Tahoe. I went down earlier and got it.” He shrugged as he moved for the coffee cup. “I have to be on duty in an hour. Are you working at the restaurant this evening?”
She shook her head. “I have two more days off from the restaurant. I have some things to clear away here.”
“Things like Jonesy?” he pressed.
Jonesy worried her, but she wouldn’t tell Zeke that. There was something in the other man’s attitude last night that warned her that her bartender was close to stepping over the line. He wanted Rogue away from Zeke, and she couldn’t figure out why.
“I told you, Zeke, Jonesy is my business,” she warned him as she stared into his fierce, demanding gaze.
He was staring back at her as though he could force her to do as he wanted with nothing more than his eyes. And she had to admit, she almost wished she could give in to him. But she knew Jonesy, loved him like a brother. He had helped her when Nadine Grace and Dayle Mackay had tried to destroy her life. He had taught her how to fight; he had taught her how to be who she had always been meant to be.
“Zeke, keep your nose out of my business,” she warned him as his gaze flickered with a dangerous glitter. She didn’t doubt he was planning to confront Jonesy himself. “I know how to handle things fine all by my little lonesome.”
Rogue almost laughed at the frustration and the hint of arousal in his expression. Her defiance was turning him on. She loved it.
“I’m sure you do.” He appeared to agree. Somehow she doubted he was as agreeable as he sounded. He looked damned pissed.
She watched him suspiciously.
“Poke your nose in my business and I’ll get pissed,” she warned him. “I’m not very nice when I’m pissed, Zeke.”
He snorted at that. “Yeah, I’m the one your casualties run crying to,” he reminded her. “How many attempted lawsuits have you had this year so far for wrecking men in your bar?”
She almost blushed. She was a bit prone to using her knee rather than cool reason. But in her own defense, cool reason didn’t always work when a man was filled with drink and bravado.
“Not a single one this year I’ll have you know.” She glared back at him. “And if their mothers had taught them how to behave, then I wouldn’t have to spank them, now would I?”
His lips almost twitched into a smile. She could see him holding back his amusement, but it was there. She would have been offended if she didn’t often find it funny herself.
He lifted his cup to his lips and sipped at the coffee; as he lowered it, the phone at his side rang imperatively. Rogue’s gaze jerked to his hip, then to his thighs as she felt her breath tighten. Damn, he really was aroused, and the pants of his uniform did nothing to hide it.
Frowning, Zeke pulled the cell phone from its hip holster, checked the number, then flipped it open with a terse, “Hello.”
Something was wrong. Rogue felt it the moment his expression went hard, emotionless. His gaze became flat, distant, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes as he listened to whatever was being said.
“Secure the scene, I’m on my way,” he ordered.
His frown deepened. “I don’t give a damn what you think, Gene,” he snapped. “Secure the fucking scene and try not to compromise it any more than you can help.”
Danger seemed to radiate from him. Somehow his body seemed harder now, almost more muscular, definitely ready for action.
Rogue watched as he flipped the phone closed, his gaze locking on hers as she felt her heart begin to race in her chest.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He moved to her, staring down at her with those hard, furious brown eyes.
“It’s Grandmother Walker, Rogue,” he said, his voice incredibly gentle as he reached out for her. “Lisa found her this morning. She’s dead.”
Grandmother Walker, it appeared, had known her granddaughter was gone from the house on an errand, freed herself from her oxygen tank, moved from the bed, and attempted to take a bath. It appeared she had slipped while getting into the tub, fallen, and hit her head before sinking into the water.
Zeke watched as the coroner loaded the body into the official vehicle and drove away. Forensics had dusted the house, but Zeke doubted they would find anything. There was nothing there to point to foul play, but still, the back
of his neck was itching.
Rogue was with Lisa and Janey in Lisa’s small living room, attempting to comfort her. Lisa had taken her boys to their father again that morning. While she was gone, her grandmother had died.
He shook his head as he moved back into the house, silent, watchful as Gene talked to the forensics team as they packed up.
His deputy hadn’t agreed with the forensic team’s involvement, but this time, it had been Alex’s call. The Walker home was within the Somerset city limits and Grandmother Walker had been a friend of Janey Mackay as well as Chief Alex Jansen.
The detective Alex had sent was a good one. Robert Leeson was no one’s fool. With his dark hair and suspicious eyes, he was a damned fine detective. He’d already talked to Lisa, collected the information he needed, and promised to keep Zeke apprised of anything they found.
Rogue and Janey had taken Lisa to her home after the detective had questioned her. She had been in shock, grieving, and confused. Her grandmother didn’t even like baths, Lisa had stated. She showered. She couldn’t imagine how or why the old woman would have decided to try to take a bath. Grandmother Walker had been ill, weak, but she hadn’t been delusional or incapable of making a rational decision. The old woman had been stubborn as hell, but she wasn’t stupid. So why had she decided to disconnect her oxygen and attempt to take a bath before her granddaughter returned?
First the Walker twins and now their grandmother. The back of his neck was itching like hell.
Zeke moved back to the small bedroom, stared around it slowly with narrowed eyes, and tried to figure out the knife edge of warning prodding at his guts.
There was no evidence of foul play, nothing to suggest that murder had been committed, other than the fact that Zeke’s stomach was rioting and his neck was itching.
“Zeke, I’m heading out unless you need me to stay longer.”
Zeke turned to see Gene watching him somberly.
“Go ahead.” Zeke nodded. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“I’ll leave my report on your desk before I go off duty.” Gene nodded. “Too damned bad about old lady Walker. She was a good woman.”
“Yeah, she was.” Zeke sighed as he turned and stared around the room.
Hell. Just like Joe and Jaime, this didn’t look right; it didn’t feel right.
Behind him, Gene sighed heavily and asked, “Did you know Lisa had life insurance on her brothers and grandmother?”
Zeke turned around slowly. “Where did you hear that?”
“She took out the insurance here in town,” Gene answered him. “Aubry Riley’s agency. It’s not a huge amount, but there’ll still be cash left over from the burials.”
“When did you find this out?”
“Yesterday evening Aubry came in after you left the office. He was telling me about the policies on the brothers then, and mentioned the one on the grandmother. Joe and Jaime took out their policies. They had survivorship on theirs. In the event of both their deaths though, Lisa was beneficiary. She’s also the beneficiary on the policy her grandmother took out ’bout twenty years ago, after her husband’s death.”
Zeke rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ll talk to Lisa and see if she’ll turn over the policies.”
Would Lisa have killed her brothers and grandmother for the insurance? Zeke had seen it happen before.
“I’ll head out then,” Gene told him. “See you later, Zeke.”
Zeke rubbed at his jaw as he turned back to the bedroom and focused his gaze on the oxygen tank, its lines hanging forlornly to the pillows of the bed.
Lisa didn’t kill her brothers. She didn’t kill her grandmother. Zeke could feel it, despite the evidence of the insurance policies and the attempts to make it look as though each death had an explanation. Someone had killed with such perfect precision that not even a trace of an intruder had been left behind.
As he stared around the room the cell phone at his belt beeped demandingly.
“Sheriff Mayes,” he answered.
“Sheriff?” Lisa Walker’s voice came through the line, timid, husky with tears. “I wanted to ask. Grandma mentioned calling you last night; she said she might have known who the girl was that Joe and Jaime were seeing. I wondered if you would tell me who it was?”
Click. He felt it now. Like a piece of the puzzle falling into place.
“She didn’t call me, Lisa,” he said calmly. “She didn’t tell you who the girl was?”
Lisa sighed. “She said she wanted to talk to you first, to be sure about something before she said anything more. You know how Grandma was about gossip.”
She had hated gossip. She didn’t gossip, and she didn’t hesitate to berate anyone who came to her with idle talk. This time, Zeke wished she had gone back on those principles.
“She didn’t mention anything?” he asked.
“She said Joe had come to see her a few days before he was killed. He was laughing, said he and Jaime had a date Saturday night. Grandma was giving him hell over it and Joe told her that sharing what they loved was better than fighting over it and neither of them having it. It was the first time he’d ever mentioned love in regard to a woman, she said. When she asked who it was, she said he wouldn’t give her name, but he said something that made her suspect who it might be. She wouldn’t tell me what he said.”
She hadn’t tried to call him, Zeke knew, but she might have called the office.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff.” She sighed. “I should have pushed her.”
“Don’t worry about it, Lisa,” he said. “If you can though, could you bring the insurance policies you had on your grandma and brothers into my office? I’ll need to go over this to make sure everything’s taken care of on my end.”
“I can bring them in tomorrow.” There was no hesitation in her voice or her attitude. “I need to get that taken care of anyway for the funerals.” Her voice broke.
“Yes, you do, Lisa.” He sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow whenever you’re ready. Just give me a call and let me know when you’re coming in.”
“I will. Good-bye, Sheriff.” She disconnected and Zeke folded the phone before placing it back in its holster and moving for the front door.
Lisa didn’t kill her family for the insurance. Zeke had a feeling whoever had killed Joe and Jaime had done so because of a woman they were sharing, and now their grandmother was dead because she suspected who it was. Now Zeke had to figure out who it was before anyone else died.
THIRTEEN
Jonesy was back behind the long counter serving drinks when Rogue stepped into the bar that evening. A scowl was etched into his face as he glared at her, but his brown eyes weren’t filled with fury. She thanked God for that, because she didn’t have the nerves to deal with another of his snits. He had never become rough with her in all the years she had known him, but she admitted he had spooked her a little the night before.
She gave him a sharp nod but kept her gaze cool before moving around the dance floor and checking with the bouncers. She’d just spent the evening on the phone with her parents and grandparents to let them know about Grandmother Walker’s death.
Her father had been saddened, but Rogue knew he wouldn’t grieve for the woman he had once known. He worried more about her and the rash of Walker deaths now than he did anything else. He had begged, bribed, and ordered her to return to Boston. She had declined sweetly. At least as sweetly as possible as they screamed and yelled at each other over the phone.
It was how she got along with her father. Calvin Walker wasn’t the most diplomatic of men. Tact wasn’t a word in his vocabulary outside a courtroom. And Rogue admitted, she was too much like her father some days rather than her soft-spoken Bostonian mother.
It had put her in the perfect mood to make a meeting that a friend had called for after her discussion with her father though.
Timothy Cranston wasn’t really a friend, she corrected herself. More of a friendly adversary. He didn’t seem to really like anyone except Janey Mackay and
Alex Jansen. He more often seemed to only tolerate others. The Homeland Security suspended agent was a thorn in everyone else’s side. But Rogue liked him. He was snarly and grouchy and rarely seemed to smile when it was appropriate. When he did smile, he tended to cause others to shudder in wariness.
Rogue didn’t shudder; privately, she was usually laughing at others’ reactions. Until now. Now she felt that little shiver of wariness herself.
She made her rounds of the bar, stopped, talked, and laughed with the customers. She bumped hips with the accountant from Virginia, shimmied around the mechanic that worked for Natches Mackay, and flashed a smile at Deputy Gene Maynard as he lifted his hand in hello from the bar.
Jonesy was still scowling, but he was serving beer as he was supposed to be and keeping his hands to himself. She contented herself with that for the moment, though she knew she was going to have to discuss the night before with him.
Breathing out tiredly at the thought, she caught sight of Agent Cranston at a back table, hidden in a corner just off to the side of the pool tables that were set up in the large open room back from the dance floor.
He was nursing a beer; he wasn’t really drinking it. His expression was composed, almost innocent. God, she wished she could perfect that expression herself. She had been trying for years and hadn’t quite managed it.
Maybe it had something to do with the ill-fitting wrinkled suit or the thin hair falling over his brow. She knew there was something both compassionate and dangerous that lurked in his eyes. Something that warned a person not to consider crossing him, and yet invited trust. He was an odd little man, that was for damned sure.
“Cranston, you’re going to make me nervous if you keep lurking in corners in my bar,” she told him as she moved into the other side of the booth and motioned one of the waitresses for a beer.