by Ranae Rose
After a few moments, it came again, even easier to hear than before – a knock at the door.
Hastily, she rinsed her hair, climbed out of the tub and lifted the drain. The jeans and sweater she’d worn earlier would just have to do for now; she put them back on, towel-drying her hair just enough that it wouldn’t soak the shoulders of her top.
Dressed but still damp, she hurried downstairs. Her heart rate was still elevated, as were her senses. Grabbing her purse off the tabletop with thoughts of the pepper spray she’d stored there, she approached the door.
When she reached it, she paused. The door was solid wood; there was no window to look through, no peephole like she’d had at her apartment back in New York. In a town like Willow Heights, that wouldn’t have concerned most people. But Donovan’s words were still ringing in her ears, and the heavy suspicion that had filled her during her talk with her mother hadn’t ebbed. Chances were slim that Robert stood on the other side of the door, but just in case…
She retreated to the kitchen window, pulled back the lace-trimmed ivory curtain and pressed her cheek to the glass, straining to see who was at the door.
Whoever it was stood too close to the house for her to tell, but she had a clear view of a strange car parked in the driveway – a black mustang, clearly an older model, but clean and well-maintained.
Definitely not a car Robert Grier would drive. Breathing a sigh of relief, she approached the door, still wary. Hugh Jeffries hadn’t driven a black mustang when he’d visited before, and it obviously wasn’t a police vehicle – who was there?
She slipped her feet into her shoes so it looked like she was heading out – wet hair and all – and kept her purse slung over her shoulder, unzipped, just in case.
CHAPTER 17
“Mike?” she said when she opened the door, revealing the unexpected visitor.
“Hey, Clementine.” His expression was unusually sober, his green eyes half-hidden beneath downcast lids.
Now that she thought about it, she’d seen the black mustang parked by Donovan’s garage.
“Is something wrong?” Donovan instantly came to mind, though Mike had no reason to know more about his present situation than she did.
“I’ve gotta talk to you. Can I come in?”
A weight shifted inside her, settling into her heart, and she moved aside, holding the door open for him.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked when he’d settled in a seat at the kitchen table. “There’s Dr. Pepper, water, orange juice and milk.”
“No thanks.” He sat with a rigid spine and bowed shoulders, a complete contradiction.
“What is it?” she asked, taking the chair across from him. The clock above the stove was digital, but she could practically hear it ticking – that was how on edge he had her. Did he know something about the tire iron – who had taken it, maybe?
“That tire iron,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “I know who took it.”
Her heart leapt so hard and high it hurt. “Who?”
“I did.” His mouth twisted in a grimace, and he wiped at his face like he meant to smooth the frown lines away with his palm.
“You?”
He nodded.
Oh, God… Did he have something to do with the murder? Had he taken the tire iron for Robert, maybe in exchange for pay? Sickening possibilities whirled through her mind, dizzying.
“I’ve been trying to work up the guts to tell you for days. I never meant to let it get this far. Never thought they’d lock up Donovan, let alone keep him there. I…”
“Why did you take it?” She was leaning over the tabletop, practically drilling a hole through him with her gaze.
He looked up, green eyes hollow, haunted. “It was just … there. First thing I grabbed when I saw him.”
A new dread filled her, deeper and darker. “Saw who?”
“That son of a bitch Trevor Grier.”
Suddenly, her mouth was dry. She spoke anyway. “You killed Trevor?” It felt strange to even say it.
He nodded. “I came into the shop late Saturday. Had a migraine in the morning, didn’t go into the garage until about four, but I figured it didn’t matter, since I was the only one working. Stayed late to make up for it. I took a break to grab a drink out of the fridge and he came walking down the sidewalk while I was still there, passed right in front of the shop. Got so mad I walked out there and gave him what he deserved.
“I – I didn’t mean to kill him. Not really, I guess. I just saw him and I…”
Mike shrugged, the gesture doing little to illuminate the painful silence. “Knew he was dead when he fell down on the sidewalk and his eyes were open, even though he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing.
“Nobody saw. No one. You know how Willow Heights is after dark, but still, I could hardly believe it. Threw him in the trunk of my mustang, dumped him in that ditch outside of town. I’d been wearing gloves, like I always do when I paint, so there were no prints. There was a little blood on the sidewalk, but I hosed it off.”
“Why?” She’d spent so many years of her life seething because of Trevor, hating him. But why would Mike of all people hate him more, enough to take his life in a fit of rage?
Mike’s eyes flashed, displaying the first real sign of anger she’d ever seen on his face. For a split second, she could see the man who’d raised a tire iron against another person. “My little sister, Becca. She’s only fifteen and she’s…” He made a face like he was choking, head turned to the side, then met her eyes again. “Pregnant. He did it to her.”
A wave of nausea washed over Clementine, thrusting her into the past with memories of unwanted hands on her body, beer breath in her face. “Was it rape?”
Anger darkened Mike’s face again, and he threw up a hand. “It’s always rape when a girl’s fifteen and a man’s pushing thirty. But… I don’t know exactly how it happened. She was scared to talk about it, scared just to tell me. It was hell getting the information out of her in the first place. She cried and cried…”
Either way, Mike was right – a fifteen year old didn’t have any consent to give to a grown man, in the eyes of the law. And that was how it should be. Whether Trevor had forced Becca or manipulated her non-physically, just thinking about it was sickening.
“So what now?” Clementine asked, suddenly aware of a gaping hole in her chest, hollow and dark, swirling with feelings she couldn’t quite identify. “You’re going to confess to the police?”
“I feel bad. Real bad. Couldn’t believe it when they arrested Donovan. I just grabbed the iron, didn’t think… It’s been eating away at me ever since I found out, especially since I talked to you. I kept telling myself they’d let him go, but…” He shrugged and shook his head.
“There’s blood in the trunk of my car. Figure once the police see that, they’ll let Donovan go.”
Clementine was looking at a killer, but pity softened her heart, exposing the frayed edges of her overworked emotions. “I’m sorry about what Trevor did to your sister, Mike.”
Another twinge of memory and she was sure – Trevor had violated other girls, not just her. What he’d done to her hadn’t been a one-time thing. It had been something he’d done again and was probably something he’d done before he’d targeted her. Maybe he’d preyed specifically on teens – there was no knowing now. However he’d operated, he’d been a predator. “And I’m so glad you’re coming forward. This means…”
She swallowed a knot that had formed in her throat, thinking of Donovan in his yellow jumpsuit. When she’d imagined discovering the identity of the true killer, she’d imagined hating him, imagined being furious at the man who’d gotten Donovan into trouble he didn’t deserve. “There are plenty of people who would’ve let Donovan take the fall.”
Mike shook his head. “Maybe I’ve done something terrible … but I couldn’t do that. Donovan was always good to me. A friend.” He pushed back his chair and rose, already looking toward the door.
Another one
of those strange pangs of sympathy hit her, causing her to rise, too. For a second, she thought of offering him a drink again. After all, his life as he’d known it was over, his remaining freedom measured in miserable, guilt-ridden minutes. But that would mean delaying him, would mean Donovan spending more time in jail. And she couldn’t willfully do anything to cause that.
“Thanks again,” she said, “for coming forward with the truth.”
Mike nodded, exited through the front door and climbed into his blood-stained car.
* * * * *
“You’re telling me Mike Nicholls showed up at your doorstep two hours ago and confessed to the murder?” Detective Wagner raised a brow at Clementine, perhaps the clearest display of emotion she’d ever seen him give.
“Yes.” She’d counted every minute since then, had sat at the kitchen table sipping a glass of water, a nervous wreck as she’d waited for a phone call – from the police, Donovan … anyone. But no one had called, and so she’d left the house behind for her original seven o’clock appointment with Detective Wagner. “He hasn’t been in contact with you – with anyone in the police department?”
Detective Wagner didn’t reply, but his expression of disbelief made the answer painfully clear. “If this happened two hours ago, why did you call me before then wanting to meet?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the case. I had a theory… Never mind what I thought then; I was wrong. Mike killed Trevor out of anger, in retaliation for Trevor impregnating his fifteen year old sister.”
Detective Wagner swore under his breath and stood, exiting his office.
Clementine followed, her footsteps echoing against the tile. “You’re going to talk to Mike, right?”
He stopped. “That’s right. Unless this is some kind of joke?”
Affronted, she did her best not to let her offense show. “Of course it’s not. He said – he said there were blood stains in the trunk of his car.”
* * * * *
“How does it feel to be home?” Clementine asked, unable to repress a smile. Donovan stood in front of her, in the kitchen. No jumpsuit, no dividing glass – this was for real.
“Like taking my first breath in days,” he said, turning to face her, to lay a hand on her shoulder, half-caressing and half-squeezing. “Almost forgot what it felt like to breathe.”
Her smile widened as heat stole through her body, a consequence of his touch.
“Damn, I want to—” He came closer, his hip bumping hers, then took a step backward. “I’ve gotta take a shower before I let myself get my hands on you. Don’t want any trace of that place on your skin.”
“Don’t you mean hand?” she teased, her body temperature skyrocketing at the idea of his bare body against hers.
He still had one arm in a sling and wore bandages on his hand. “Fine, I’ll keep one hand off of you, but that’s it. Everything else—” he traced the contour of her shoulder before pulling his hand away “—is fair game.”
“They took care of your hand while you were in there, didn’t they?” she asked, suddenly sober as her gaze was drawn back to the white of his bandages. “Changed your bandages and let you wear your sling?”
He nodded. “They’ve got nurses at the jail. They took care of me, but I’ve gotta admit – after a few days in there, I missed you squirting alcohol on my foot.”
“Anytime. Now why don’t you get in the shower? I’ve waited about as long as I can stand, and don’t forget, we have a wedding date to set tonight.”
It was already late, but it didn’t matter – Ann’s was open 24/7. Dinner was low on the list of her priorities right now, but after she and Donovan had a chance to really reunite, she had her heart set on the pie, if only because of what they’d be discussing while they ate it.
With a last long look at her, he turned and climbed the stairs.
Moments later, she followed, retreating to the bedroom while the sound of rushing water came from beyond the bathroom door. Rummaging through her suitcase, she chose the sexiest thing she could find – a black lace bra and matching panties. By the time the white noise coming from the bathroom stopped, she’d stripped off her clothing and donned the fresh lingerie.
He showed up in the doorway with a towel slung around his shoulders and nothing else. Not even his sling or bandages. Body glistening from his shower, he was everything she’d imagined her first day back in Willow Heights, when the sight of him wet with rainwater had jolted her libido back to the sort of life it hadn’t known in seven years. Now, there was no teasing t-shirt, no clothing at all – nothing to hide him from her. Just water drops shining against his naked skin, highlighting the lines and hard planes of his body.
She’d seen it all before, but she couldn’t get enough; she devoured him with her gaze, letting it wander from his broad shoulders to his lean hips, lingering on his half-hard cock. She’d barely opened her mouth to speak when he crossed the room, dropping the towel and leaning over where she sat on the edge of the bed. Before she could say a word, he pressed his mouth to hers.
It was a hard kiss – hard enough to hurt in a way that felt good, to convince her body of what her mind already knew: he was back. He was hers.
When he finally straightened, she was breathless and he was fully hard.
“Do you want me to redo your bandages?” she gasped. “Before we—”
“No. That can wait. Everything can wait.” He sank onto the bed, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close.
It felt good to have absolutely nothing between them, and his hand was looking a lot better. Breathing a sigh, she gave in, softening against him, liking the way his hard body supported her. The nights spent without him had been lonely, cold, and she never wanted to feel that way again. “I missed you so much.”
She’d gone seven years without him, and the several recent days he’d been kept from her had been too much – she wasn’t ready to be separated from him again. She never would be – that fact was as solid in her mind as his ring was on her finger.
“Missed you too, Detective Lettvin.” He flashed her a half-grin that lit up the strong planes of his face in a way so sexy her heart skipped a beat. “Soon to be Kemp.”
She shook her head, suppressing a laugh even as pressure welled behind her eyes, stinging. “The fact that you’re free has nothing to do with my pathetic detective work and everything to do with Mike coming forward. He—”
She paused, not wanting to ruin the moment but unable to fight off the wave of regret that washed over her, the guilt and shock that hadn’t begun to fade yet. “I had no idea what he was planning to do, Donovan. I would’ve tried to stop him, would’ve gone to the police sooner.”
At the thought of what Detective Wagner had discovered that evening at Mike’s house, her stomach lurched, killing the butterflies Donovan’s return had planted there.
“He’d done what he’d done,” Donovan said, still holding her close, “and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life behind bars because of it. Can’t say I blame him – it was his choice.”
Maybe, but…
“Suicide? It’s just…”
She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting themselves, had all but lost it when she’d seen Donovan burn his hand. “I feel bad. I was the last person to talk to him, and I didn’t realize what he was planning. He must’ve been in hell, and I didn’t do anything to… I don’t know, make it less hellish. I was so shortsighted – all I could think about was that his confession meant I’d get to see you again.”
After confessing to Clementine, Mike had gone straight home and taken his own life, leaving behind a note including the same confession he’d made to her.
The police had discovered his body and that the trunk of his car had been bloodstained, just like he’d said.
She’d been his last point of human contact on earth. It was a sobering thought, and she couldn’t help but feel that she’d wasted an opportunity to somehow make a difference, however terrible the circumstan
ces had been.
“If I knew I was going to die, your face would be the last one I’d want to see. Just looking at you would make it less hellish,” Donovan said.
She aimed for a dry tone, trying not to cringe inwardly at even the mention of Donovan dying. “Somehow I doubt Mike felt the same way.”
“Don’t think about it, Clementine. The past doesn’t change, no matter how much you think about it.”
It was a truth, although not one that was particularly helpful. Still, he ought to know – his dreams, his sleepwalking, proved that his mind was full of things he’d learned not to dwell on. At least, not all the time. Closing her eyes, she focused on the bliss of his touch, the heat of his skin against hers.
“I love you, Clementine. I thought about this every day I spent locked up away from you. About went crazy, and I wasn’t even there a week – good thing they didn’t keep me any longer.” His voice was somehow soothing and exciting at the same time.
“I thought about it too.” She had, though it had been more about her desire to be close to him than sexual desire. Her nerves had been too shot to leave room for that.
He ran a hand slowly over the front of her bra, caressing her breasts and stroking her nipples through the lace before moving his hand to her back. “You’ll have to help with this,” he said, his fingers fluttering over the clasp. “Not sure I can handle it one-handed.”
She unhooked the clasp and removed the bra, then her panties, baring all of herself to him. Feeling his gaze on her body was a thrill – one that sent heat crackling over her skin like electricity. She barely moved as he ran a hand over her hip and up her body, slowly caressing her everywhere, eventually cupping her breasts.
In return, she ran a hand up his thigh, smoothing her fingers over solid muscle before letting them delve into his lap, curling around the shaft of his cock. He was firmer and hotter there, pulsing against her palm. As she ran her hand from root to tip, he groaned, causing her core to draw tight in anticipation.