Stone Cold Heart

by Laura Griffin

  Slowly, he kissed his way down her body, sliding his hand between her legs as she pressed against him. She’d missed him, and he knew it. There was no point in pretending otherwise as he stroked his palms over her. He knew just how to touch her, just how to make her hot and needy. She writhed under him as he brought her right to the edge. But then he backed away, and she whimpered with frustration as he moved off the bed and rummaged through his jeans on the floor.

  “Hurry.”

  He tore open the condom with his teeth and got it on, and then he knelt between her thighs. She looked into his eyes as he shifted her hips and pushed inside her.

  He felt so good, so amazingly right, and she couldn’t believe she’d been hiding from him all week. She clutched him to her, and their bodies moved together. The metal bedframe squeaked and squealed, and she had a fleeting worry about her downstairs neighbors.

  Nolan pushed up on his hands. “Damn, that’s loud.”

  “Sorry,” she gasped. “I haven’t done this here.”

  He laughed. “What, in bed?”

  “This bed, this apartment.”

  He froze.

  “Nolan, please don’t stop.”

  He moved his hips again, thrusting into her over and over, until her entire body burned and quaked and felt like it would come apart. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his arms, his rippling back. She pulled him in tight, tipping her head back as he drove into her.

  “Nolan . . . that’s so good. Oh, my God.”

  He moved faster, harder, and she felt his muscles bunching under her hands.

  “Babe, come on.”

  She opened her eyes, and the look on his face as he struggled for control magnified everything she was feeling. She clutched him against her and shattered. He gripped her leg and gave a powerful thrust that smacked the headboard against the wall as he came, too.

  He collapsed on top of her, and she lay flattened beneath him, limp and sated. She couldn’t breathe, though, and she was about to mention it when he rolled onto his back.

  “Holy shit.” He looked at her, his eyes wary. “Are you okay?”

  Instead of answering, she scooted against him and rested her head on his damp chest.

  “Sara?”

  She sighed and fell asleep.

  • • •

  The lobby of APD headquarters was busy with plainclothes cops, uniforms, and a good number of desperate-looking people here either for questioning or to bail someone out. Talia walked to the directory on the wall and scanned the list of departments.

  “Talia?”

  She turned around to see Dax Harper standing behind her. He wore a black Spurs jersey and ripped jeans, and his hair was sticking up like he’d just crawled out of bed. His badge dangled from a lanyard around his neck.

  “You’re a hard man to get hold of,” she said.

  “I meant to call you.”

  She crossed her arms and stared up at him.

  “I’ve been busy all day,” he added.

  “Well, hey, if you’re not busy now, how about I catch you up on a few things about your case?”

  Dax shook his head, smiling slightly. “I knew you’d bust my chops when I didn’t call you back.”

  “I’m not busting anything. Let’s talk.”

  He looked her over for a moment and glanced around. “This way.”

  He walked to a door and tapped a code into a keypad. He held the door open and then led her down a long corridor and into a break room. It had a table and chairs, a vending machine, and an ancient-looking Mr. Coffee.

  “Want anything?” he asked, taking out his wallet.

  “I’m fine.”

  Dax fed a bill into the machine and tapped a selection. “I was working undercover all day.”

  “That explains the hair gel.”

  He patted his hair self-consciously as she leaned back against the counter.

  “The Grace Murray case?”

  He retrieved his drink and twisted off the top. “Nah, this was something else, something top priority.”

  Talia couldn’t imagine working in a department where a recent kidnapping wasn’t considered top priority. But then, she’d never worked for a big urban department.

  He took a swig of his Mountain Dew.

  “You know that has, like, eighty grams of sugar, right?”

  “Still busting my chops.” He set the bottle on the counter beside him. “Tell me what’s up.”

  “I think we’ve got a witness.”

  His eyebrows tipped up.

  “Chevy Tahoe, description matches up. One of our investigators spotted it leaving a local gas station. She followed him and tried to take a picture of his plate, and the driver flipped out. First he tried to lose her, and then he ran her off the road. Next morning, her vehicle was burglarized, and the camera was stolen.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “That’s a little suspicious.”

  “No joke.” Talia didn’t mention that the “investigator” wasn’t exactly a police officer. Talia knew Sara Lockhart was credible, but Dax didn’t.

  “I interviewed the gas-station clerk,” Talia continued. “He said this guy comes in from time to time, always pays cash. We’ve got a bilingual sketch artist lined up to do a drawing tomorrow morning. Once we have a sketch, I thought you could flash it around here, see if anyone recognizes this guy from the area where Grace Murray disappeared. We’ll show it around our area, see if anyone knows him.”

  Dax didn’t say anything. He rubbed his hand over his plastered hair, seeming to think about it.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” he asked.

  “Well, what do you think? You told us a white Tahoe was spotted near the bar where Grace was around the time of her abduction. You think it might be worth showing a sketch around, see if anyone got a look at the driver?”

  “Yeah, and we’re a step ahead of you.” Dax checked his watch.

  “How are you a step ahead of me?”

  “You have some time right now?”

  “Time for what?”

  “Come with me.”

  CHAPTER 23

  It was dark when Sara opened her eyes. She glanced at the clock. Ten twenty. She lay there for a moment, disoriented, and then reality snapped back. She got up and found Nolan—jeans, no shirt—standing in the light of her open refrigerator, and she felt a pang of yearning so strong it made her breath catch.

  He glanced up.

  “You hungry?” she asked, tying the sash of her robe.

  He looked her over, and his gaze lingered on the thin white silk.

  “Starving,” he said. “Thirsty, too.”

  She walked over and opened the door wider. “I’ve got beer, Diet Coke, hard lemonade.”

  He winced.

  “Water?”

  “I’ll have a beer.”

  She grabbed a Corona for each of them and popped off the tops. She noticed his phone on the bar beside a notepad filled with scrawled handwriting. So while she’d been in a sex-induced slumber, he’d been working. He worked a lot, she’d noticed. Possibly as much as she did.

  Sara handed him the beer. “I see you’ve been busy. Any developments?”

  “Just checking in with Agent Santos. He’s following up on those background checks.”

  “Park employees?”

  “Yeah.” He swigged the beer. “Texas and Tennessee, mostly. We may expand it tomorrow if the leads he’s got so far don’t pan out. He has something on a guy near Big Bend.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “Maybe.” He combed a hand through his mussed hair. “I feel like he’s closer. Like right in my backyard.”

  “What does Santos think?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll talk later.”

  As in tonight? Tomorrow? Sara didn’t want to ask.

  The paper bag of carryout sat right where they’d left it when they came in, and Sara reached inside to feel the cardboard containers. Room temp
erature.

  “We can microwave this,” she said, opening a cabinet. She took out some plates as Nolan unpacked the food.

  “You had ravioli,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “They mixed up our order. This is two fettuccine alfredos.”

  She stepped over to look. “Can you deal with fettuccine? If you want to go back, I can throw on some clothes.”

  “Please don’t.” He gave her a heated look as he took the plates from her hands. “I’m good with fettuccine.”

  Nolan took over serving the food, and Sara pulled out a bar stool and sat. She sipped her beer, enjoying the view as he moved around her kitchen, randomly opening drawers. He had muscular shoulders and defined abs. He was tan, too, so she could tell he must run with his shirt off sometimes.

  There was no denying it. Nolan was amazingly hot and amazingly nice, and she couldn’t believe he was in her kitchen, shirtless, making dinner.

  He got the microwave going and looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He watched her as he took a sip of beer. Then he nodded at the photo taped to her fridge. It was a shot of her excavation team in front of their tent.

  “Where was this?”

  “Guatemala. That was our ‘mobile housing unit,’ ” she said.

  “You lived in a tent for a year? I’m impressed.”

  “It was pretty nice, actually. Kind of like M*A*S*H.”

  He leaned back against the counter. “Were you running to something or away from something when you went down there?”

  “Who says I was running?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Away from something.” She sipped her beer. “My engagement ended abruptly, and I needed a change of scenery.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like there’s a story to that.”

  “Not a very interesting one.”

  The microwave dinged, and he set his beer down to get the food. “This ‘abrupt end.’ Did you leave him at the altar?”

  She bristled. “Why would you assume I left him?”

  Nolan scooped pasta onto a plate. “Otherwise, he would have been the one running to Guatemala.” He put a fork on the plate and slid it over.

  Sara turned her bottle on the counter. It was time to get this conversation out of the way. He leaned back and watched her, waiting patiently for her to open up.

  “It was two months before the wedding,” she said. “I got cold feet and started to panic. So we broke up. I canceled all the plans and paid everyone back their security deposits. It was a mess. And then three weeks later, I got on a plane.”

  Mess was an understatement. The invitations hadn’t gone out yet, but they were printed. Her mom’s friends had already given her a bridal shower, so she had returned all the gifts and written notes. It was awful. If she ever decided to get married again, she was going to a courthouse.

  The bigger mess was Patrick. He’d been furious and humiliated. And his anger wasn’t the worst part, because underneath all that, she knew he was badly hurt.

  Nolan brought his plate over and took the stool beside her. She tried to read his expression.

  “Sounds like a rough time for you.”

  “Me?” She laughed. “What about him? I’m the bitch who hurt and embarrassed him in front of everyone he knows.”

  “You’re not a bitch.”

  She let the words hang there, not sure how much more she wanted to share. She didn’t talk about this a lot, but she felt obligated to tell Nolan. After all, he’d told her about Michelle, even though the topic clearly made him uncomfortable.

  “My dad called me a flake,” she said, surprised the word still stung after two years. “My mom said I’m shortsighted—which is basically code for ‘You’re going to regret it one day that you didn’t snag a husband.’ My brother said I have a mean streak.” She twirled pasta around her fork. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he took Patrick’s side. They were friends from college. That’s how we met in the first place.”

  “Is your brother married?” Nolan asked.

  “Yeah. Why?” Sara scooped up a bite.

  “I’m trying to understand where he’s coming from. Why would he want you to go through with it when you weren’t sure?”

  She watched Nolan as he twirled pasta. They had the same fork-spinning method, only his bites were bigger.

  “He’s been married six years and has two kids,” she said. “He seems happy, but we’re not all that close, so who knows? His wife’s a life coach.” She rolled her eyes. “She actually gave me her business card after I called off the wedding. Like I need a card if I want to call my sister-in-law.” Sara shook her head. “Why are we talking about this, anyway?”

  “Because I want to get to know you.”

  She met his gaze. Those brown eyes were so serious, and she felt a flutter of nerves.

  “Nolan . . . this thing with us . . .” She trailed off, not sure what she wanted to say.

  “We don’t need to label it.”

  “I tried to warn you, I’m bad at relationships.”

  He laughed. “Says who?”

  “My ex-fiancé, for one.”

  “Yeah, well, he may be biased.”

  “The same thing happened in college when I had a two-year boyfriend. I’m not good at commitments. I start to feel . . . trapped.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Claustrophobic, maybe?”

  “You’re making light of it, but I’m bad at follow-through.”

  “Bullshit.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “How can you say ‘bullshit’ when you don’t know me that well?”

  “I know enough.” He sipped his beer, watching her. He placed the bottle on the counter. “I know you spent six years getting a PhD. That takes follow-through. You spent a year on a humanitarian dig, when most people would have lasted a week. You applied for and landed a job at one of the top crime labs in the freaking world. You follow up on cold cases and victims everyone else has forgotten about. You work like a maniac, giving up most of your weekends.” He paused. “When something matters to you, you commit.”

  His words filled her with a tingling sense of disbelief.

  He got up and carried his plate to the sink, then turned and leaned back against the counter, smiling.

  “I bet Patrick was all wrong for you, anyway.”

  She shook her head. “You never even met him.”

  “Don’t need to. I bet I could guess what he’s like.”

  “Now your arrogance is showing.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Let me take a stab at it.” He rubbed his chin and looked at her. “Private college. Maybe grad school but no doctorate. You’re more educated than he is, so he’s probably threatened by you.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m guessing he’s a rules type. Law and order. And you were living near Washington, so . . .” He gave her a squinty look. “FBI agent, D.C. office.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Am I right?”

  “No.” She cleared her throat. “U.S. Attorney’s Office, Alexandria, Virginia.”

  “Sorry, I’m way off.”

  No, he’d pretty much nailed it. Sara just stared at him, too shocked to speak.

  “I bet he’s pretty shrewd, too,” Nolan said, “so when he realized you weren’t going to marry him, he said a bunch of shitty things to you to give you a complex and keep you from moving on.”

  That hit a little too close to home. Every word Patrick had said to her had been stuck in her head for two years on a continuous loop.

  You’re a selfish bitch, Sara.

  I’m a bitch because I want to talk about this?

  You think you can just jerk people around? If you do this now, that’s it. We’re done, and I can tell you right now, you’re going to end up alone.

  Sara took her plate to the sink. “You don’t need to be my shrink.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. But you brought this topic up twice now, trying to scare me off.
I’m just pointing out you’ve got a hang-up about something, and I don’t think you should.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you off.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  What was she trying to do? She wasn’t sure, and that was part of the problem. She’d been involved in two long-term relationships, and both had failed. She didn’t want to go there again, at least not right now. Now was supposed to be her time to focus on herself and her career, to be the strong, independent woman she’d always wanted to be.

  She turned to look at Nolan, and he smiled slightly as he gazed down at her with those deep brown eyes. How had this happened? She’d taken so many precautions, and still she could feel herself being pulled in. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to give in to this intoxicating feeling of being with him, even though she’d perfected being alone. She had it down to a science, really—going through her life without letting people close. She had her job, her friends. But she didn’t have intimacy. She was terrified of it.

  Nolan watched her with that perceptive look of his, and she felt like he could read her thoughts.

  His phone beeped with a text, and he stepped over to check it. He was probably getting a callout, meaning he would have to leave after this weirdly open conversation.

  But he read the message and put the phone down. He came back and stood beside her as she rinsed the plates.

  Was he getting ready to leave? Nerves flitted through her stomach. She didn’t want him to go yet. She wanted him to spend the night, but he obviously still had his head wrapped up in his case. He might even be waiting for a call from Santos. Maybe he was looking forward to ducking out of here, just to even the score from the other night. Although a move like that seemed too vindictive for him.

  She shut off the faucet and turned to face him, bracing herself for a tactful departure.

  Nolan eased closer, resting his hand at her waist, and she felt the warmth of his fingers through the thin silk. Sara’s pulse started to thrum. He was gazing down at her with that simmering look she recognized.

  “I don’t want to be your shrink, Sara.” He brushed his hand over her shoulder, dipping his finger under the fabric behind her neck and making her shiver. “I don’t want to be your life coach, either.” He pulled her close.