Unspeakable

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “She didn’t die because of you. She died protecting you. There’s a very big difference.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure. And since he hadn’t planned to tell her nearly this much, he now just wanted to get it finished.

  “He panicked when he realized she was dead. I mean full-on, complete, meltdown panic. To the point where he pretty much forgot about me. I didn’t want him to start beating on me again, so I shifted behind the desk where he couldn’t see me and just lay there and went still like her, hoping he’d think I was dead too. I waited for him to leave, to get the hell out of there, but he just continued to panic and pace. At some point I heard him on the phone talking to someone, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness at that point, and I honestly have no idea how long that went on. Then I heard voices. Someone had come into the room. A man. They argued. I tried to open my eyes to see who he was, but the swelling was so bad I couldn’t make out anything more than fuzzy, dark shapes. Then a gunshot exploded in the room, and I heard a thud, and then the man’s voice saying Jordan, my stepfather, was a stupid motherfucker.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “It gets better.” This part he had no trouble getting through. Shifting against the cabinet, he said, “He crossed the room, checked my mother’s pulse, and when he realized she was dead, he lit a match and dropped it on the couch before leaving. The sofa immediately went up in flames. In seconds, the curtains, bookshelves, everything was on fire. I knew I was dead if I didn’t get myself out of there, so I struggled to my hands and knees and crawled toward the door. And that’s when I heard Jordan call my name. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. He was lying on the floor in the middle of that room, his head tipped my way, his arm reaching out to me, begging for me to help him, but I ignored him. I just stared at him as the flames inched their way across the carpet toward his body and ignited his clothing. He screamed, but I stayed and watched. I wanted to see him suffer after everything he’d done. I wanted it so much I didn’t even notice that the carpet under me was on fire as well.”

  “That’s what the scars on your arms and stomach are from, aren’t they?”

  He nodded. “Watching that fire eat him alive was the only thing that jolted me out of that trance. Somehow I made it out of that room, but that’s all I remember. The smoke was too thick. I think I collapsed in the foyer. I’m not sure. I remember coughing. Trying to breathe. And then the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the ER, and a woman in hospital scrubs and a white doctor coat was talking to me. She smelled like lilies. It’s the only reason I let her touch me. Her name was Hannah McClane.”

  Harper’s eyes slid closed for a second, but when she opened them and met his gaze he saw they were damp with emotion. “And you never found her? Lily?”

  “No. I looked for a long time. When I was old enough to hit the clubs, I looked in every one in the Portland area, hoping whoever her father had sold her to was making her work here. But I never saw her. And I know in my gut that I never will. She’s dead.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. She told me once, before all this happened, that she couldn’t take it anymore. If he kept making her do those things at those parties, she was going to kill herself. She would have followed through with that. I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Rusty.”

  “I didn’t tell you any of this because I wanted your sympathy. I told you so you’d understand. I’m not a normal guy. The shit I’ve done and seen and the things I’m still involved in are fucked up. You asked me why it’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman. It’s not because I hold out any hope that Lily’s still alive. Even if she were, she would not be anything close to the girl I remember. The truth is I haven’t been with anyone in a long-ass time because I’ve been so focused on making sure what happened to her didn’t happen to any other girls that I haven’t let myself feel anything for anyone else. But my brothers are right. It’s not healthy. It’s definitely not helping me. And the minute I saw you in that green dress tonight at that party, I knew I didn’t want to go on living like that.”

  He pressed his fingers against her thighs as he stared into her sexy hazel eyes. “I want you and a chance to see where this reckless, impulsive, superhot relationship can go.”

  Her eyes darkened with a heat he felt everywhere. And then her mouth was on his, her slick tongue sliding between his lips to kiss him deeply, her arms wrapping around his neck, and her sinful body pressing against him everywhere.

  He was absolutely breathless when she eased back just a touch and whispered, “I want you too.” Breathless and absolutely aching to taste her everywhere all over again.

  He pushed away from the cabinet at his back, wrapped his arms around her, and scooted forward on the floor with her on his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, glancing toward the floor at her side.

  “Getting you right where I want you most.” He laid back on the floor so the top of his head was only a few inches from the cabinets he’d just been reclined against, and tugged on her toward him. “Straddle my face, baby doll. I’m starving for you.”

  Lust flushed her cheeks, and a moan slipped from her lips. But she did as he said, climbing over him until her knees were braced on both sides of his head and his hands were hooked around her thighs, holding her still.

  He looked up her gorgeous body and smiled, loving that she was still here, that she hadn’t been horrified by what he’d told her. That she still wanted him just as much as he wanted her. “Hold on to that countertop so you don’t fall.”

  She bit her lip and stared down at him with wonder and excitement as she gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.

  And drawing in a deep whiff of her sultry scent, he finally let go of everything in his past that he’d been holding on tightly to for so very long. Then he parted her with his fingers, tasted her, and took them both straight to heaven.

  Every muscle in Harper’s body was sore as she rolled over in the watery light of morning and peered toward the clock on her nightstand.

  Eight thirty-two a.m.

  Groaning, glad it was a Saturday and not a workday, she rolled onto her back and tossed an arm over her eyes to block the light. The enticing scent of bacon frying wafted through the air, bringing her senses to life and her eyes wide open.

  She pushed up on her elbows, looked toward her open bedroom door, and listened. She could hear the sound of the bacon sizzling, of pans scraping the burner, and someone moving around downstairs in her kitchen.

  No, not someone. Russell McClane.

  Memories of the things he’d done to her last night—in this bed and downstairs in the kitchen—flooded her mind, bringing a rush of warmth to every inch of her body. She shifted her legs, then groaned at her stiff muscles all over again. But this was a good stiffness. The kind that came from a wild night she’d thoroughly enjoyed, and as the muffled sound of his voice—humming—drifted to her ears, she had an uncontrollable urge to go down there and do it all again with him.

  Holy hell, she was completely crazy about the man. And when she remembered the things he’d told her last night in the kitchen, she was also awed by his resilience. Awed and more than a little impressed that he hadn’t just lived through all that horror but dedicated his life to helping other young girls, right here in Portland.

  Ironically, that helping was the one thing that kept her from rushing right down to kiss him good morning. Sitting up slowly, she swiped the hair back from her face and realized . . . she’d crossed a line last night. Instead of reporting the entire ordeal to the cops, she’d participated in stealing from the Plague. And she’d also gotten personally involved with a client. Something that was not allowed in her firm.

  Her cell phone buzzed on the nightstand beside her. Holding the sheet to her breasts, she twisted to the side and grabbed it, then frowned when she looked at the screen.

  “How the hell did you know I was thinking about the office?
” she mumbled down at her phone as she read the text from Andy.

  I left four messages for you last night, and you didn’t answer any. I’m starting to worry. Call me.—A

  Knowing she couldn’t leave him hanging, she hit “Call.” He answered on the very first ring, which told her—wow—he really was worried.

  “You’ve been MIA for three days, Harper. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. You can stop stressing, Andy.”

  “Did you find anything on McClane?”

  And that was the real reason he was calling, she realized. Harper tried not to be irritated by that little fact as she tugged her knees up under the sheet and wrapped her arm around her legs. She liked Andy—they were friendly—and she really liked his wife, Maureen. And as far as jobs went outside the department, this was a good one. She needed to remember that and not let her irritation show.

  “Yeah, I did, actually.” Since the last time she’d spoken to Andy was on Monday when she’d left the office to run some leads on Rusty, she knew it was way past time to fill him in. But she had to be careful about not giving too much away. “I found Melony Strauss.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s alive and well.”

  He was silent on the other end of the phone, and the silence struck her as odd. “You’re not happy about that?”

  “No. Of course. I’m relieved. Where is she?”

  Something in his tone had the hairs on her nape standing to attention. “Safe,” she heard herself say, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she wasn’t telling him where she’d found the girl.

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yes, it is.” Then why didn’t he sound as if it were good news?

  “So what happened with McClane? How did she get away from him?”

  Harper didn’t like what he was insinuating. Or where her thoughts were leading as to why he was insinuating it. “Nothing,” she lied into the phone. “Nothing happened with McClane. She was never with him after leaving that club.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  He was definitely not happy with that answer. Something was going on. Something she was bound and determined to get to the bottom of.

  “Well,” Andy said. “I guess that’s that, then.”

  Now he was lying through his teeth.

  “Listen, Harper, I know today is a Saturday, but I need you to stop by the office and fill out some paperwork. You’ve been out of the office all week, and I need your signature on a few things.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “I’ll be here until about four.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop by early afternoon.”

  “Good. See you then.”

  The line clicked off in her ear. Drawing her phone away, she stared down at the screen, an odd feeling rolling through her stomach.

  Rusty’s humming drifted her way again, and she glanced through the open door toward the stairs. She should probably tell him about the weird conversation she’d just had, but she wasn’t sure what to say. And she wanted a little time to do some digging to find out what she could come up with. She also needed to find out more about his extracurricular activities, as he called them, namely how long he’d been doing this, how he’d first learned about the Plague, and who else might be targeting the two of them as well. Then—somehow—she needed to find a way to convince him to let her work with him, not just to rescue more of those girls but to bring down the entire organization so they stopped victimizing girls altogether.

  She bit her lip and pressed the end of her phone to her chin. She should also probably tell him about the deal she’d made with the commissioner. But she wasn’t sure how to do that and convince him to work with her and not make it look like what had happened between them last night had anything to do with trying to get her job back at the department.

  “One fine corner you’ve backed yourself into, Harper.” Shaking her head, she threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, then reached for Rusty’s dress shirt from the floor and tugged it on. “Better figure out fast how you’re going to get out of it.”

  She fluffed her hair, headed for the stairs, and moved quietly into the kitchen, only to still when she caught sight of Rusty wearing nothing but his boxers and her pink apron, flipping bacon in a pan at her stove.

  Her stomach pitched. And pressure—one she’d never felt before—compressed her chest until it felt as if an elephant were sitting right on top of her. A pink phantasmagoric elephant, like the one in her childhood VHS copy of Fantasia, dancing and singing around her, trying to reach inside her chest and steal something right from between her ribs.

  Her heart, she realized. This heffalump didn’t want honey. He was after the one thing she’d vowed long ago never to give away to anyone.

  Rusty’s stomach tightened as he reached for his coffee and eyed Harper next to him at the table. She had been oddly quiet through breakfast. Quiet and strangely detached. So detached, in fact, if Rusty didn’t know her better—which he honestly didn’t—he’d think she’d changed her mind about seeing where their relationship could go.

  He really hoped that wasn’t the case. Considering she was wearing his shirt again this morning, he didn’t think it really could be, but women were a mystery to him. The only woman—hell, she hadn’t even been a woman, she’d been a girl—he’d had any kind of relationship with was Lily. And that had been twenty years ago. He definitely wasn’t up to speed on female reactions and moods and what the heck their silences meant, especially in this situation.

  After fifteen minutes of her pushing the food around on her plate, barely eating any of it, he figured enough was enough.

  “It’s not going to magically jump into your mouth, you know.”

  “Sorry.” She set her fork down with a sigh and reached for her coffee. “I guess I’m not that hungry. It’s really good, though.”

  “Uh-huh.” He watched her carefully as she sipped, two hands wrapped around her mug, her face devoid of makeup, her hair messy but adorable. More than anything he wanted to kiss her like he had last night, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react in her current mood, and he didn’t want to do anything to set them back. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Why, don’t I look okay?”

  “You look . . .” Sexy as hell, gorgeous, like every guy’s wet dream. But he knew not to say any of those things right now. So he settled for, “Uneasy.”

  “Oh.” She glanced his way for a brief second and smiled. But it wasn’t the warm, flirty smile she’d given him last night. It was reserved. The kind of smile you flashed to a friend.

  His stomach tightened, and to keep from saying anything he’d regret, he reached for his own coffee and sipped. If she launched into a “we should just be friends” conversation, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, let alone sit here and listen.

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I was just thinking about the Plague.”

  A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding whooshed out of his lungs, easing the knot that had grown in his gut. Okay, yeah. He could see how thinking about the Plague could dampen any good mood. Letting go of his coffee, he slid his hand across the table and closed it over hers. “Are you worried they’ll figure out who you are?”

  Except . . . as soon as those words were out of his mouth that knot twisted right back together. Please don’t say you changed your mind about us because of my connection to the Plague.

  “No, of course not.”

  Again that pressure eased, allowing him to fill his lungs with sweet, blessed air.

  “Then what?”

  She looked down at their joined hands, then drew a breath and turned in her seat to face him. “I guess I’m curious. How did you stumble on the Plague, and what they were doing?”

  “Kinda by chance. Several years ago I was in a club with some buddies. They were all drinking and having a good time, flirting with the dancers, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t been in a strip club since I’d given up looking fo
r Lily in my midtwenties. Back then I’d spent a lot of time in clubs like that and online, searching for any sign of her. There have been rumors for years that black market groups use the web for human trafficking. That night I found myself searching the faces of all the girls in that club, looking for Lily again, even though in my head I knew she was never going to be there. When I realized what I was doing, I got up and left, told myself I wasn’t doing that again, and went back to working in my vineyard. A few days later, though, my curiosity got the best of me, and I ran a search on the dark net, looking for her once more. I didn’t find her, but I did come across a listing for a young girl I’d seen waiting tables at that club. I went back to that strip club to find her, only she was gone. Couple dancers I talked to said she was a street kid, that she’d only started working there recently, and that she’d up and vanished recently with no word. No one found that odd except for me. I went back to the website, tried to find that listing again, but it had disappeared as well. I don’t know what happened to her. The more I looked, the more I researched this online group that I later learned was the Plague, the more I realized whatever they did with her wasn’t good.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at their joined hands, liking her touch and the way she didn’t pull away from him.

  “And that spurred you on to helping other girls.”

  “The ones I could, yeah.”

  She stared at him for several seconds as he lifted his coffee with his free hand and sipped, a calculating expression he recognized brewing in her hazel eyes as she tipped her head. “What?”

  “I don’t know. Considering all that, I guess I’m just wondering what you’re really trying to accomplish with these extracurricular activities, as you call them.”