Faceless

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You look troubled,” he murmured, his voice raspy from sleep. “Is something wrong?”

  She blinked at the ridiculous question. “Do you want a list?”

  “Anything wrong between us?” he clarified.

  Ah. Was he worried she might have regrets about taking their relationship to a new level? It didn’t seem possible, considering the number of times she kissed him awake to sate her hunger for his touch.

  Of course, Noah was that kind of guy. He would always be concerned that his partner was happy. That was only one of the reasons she loved him.

  Her heart skidded and crashed against her ribs. Oh crap. Had she just allowed the L word to form in her head? She braced herself for a sense of panic. She’d never let herself become emotionally attached to her lovers. A part of her had assumed she was incapable of a lasting relationship. Not after she’d suffered such a traumatic incident in her childhood.

  But even as she expected her stomach to clench and her breath to squeeze from her lungs, she felt nothing more than a sense of peace. Maybe Noah had been right, she silently acknowledged. Maybe she hadn’t fallen in love with anyone because she’d always known she was destined to be with Noah.

  She reached up to thread her fingers in his disheveled curls. “No, I would say everything is right.”

  A tension eased from his body at her teasing words, a smile playing around his lips. “Just right? You’re sure it’s not perfect?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Overachiever.”

  “That’s true,” he readily agreed. “Erika warned me that losing both my parents at such a young age would either give me the attitude that nothing mattered or that everything mattered, and I would spend my days trying to please ghosts.”

  The words struck a chord in Wynter. She, better than anyone, understood the need to live up to the expectations of a phantom.

  “Is that why you finished college in three years instead of four, and built this cabin with your bare hands?” she asked, genuinely interested in his answer.

  He chuckled, his hands running down her back to cup her butt. “They weren’t bare.” He gave her a light squeeze. “This is bare.”

  She brushed her lips along his jaw. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. If something’s important to me, I have to do it to the very best of my ability,” he admitted. “But I’ve managed to strike a bargain with myself.”

  “What kind of bargain?”

  “To let the other things slide.” He grimaced. “Don’t peek into my laundry room. It will give you nightmares.”

  She nodded. It was all about balance. That was what they’d learned during group therapy.

  “We were lucky to have Erika,” she said, the furrow returning to her brows. She’d gone over her conversation with the older woman more than once and she couldn’t deny a strange sense of frustration. As if there was something she was missing. “Although . . .”

  “What?”

  “When I think back to my conversation with her at the hospital, I have a feeling she wasn’t telling me everything.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, unable to pinpoint the source of her angst. “Maybe something about one of Mom’s lovers. Or her relationship with Mom. I think they were a lot closer than I ever realized.”

  Leaning forward, Noah grazed his lips over her cheek to nuzzle at the corner of her mouth. “It’s easy to read too much into every conversation. I do it myself.” He nibbled her bottom lip. “I’m just anxious to find out who the hell is threatening you.”

  “You’re probably right.” Warmth spread through her, easing the icy knot of fear in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t get rid of it. Nothing would. Not until the truth of her mom’s murder was revealed. But when she was in Noah’s arms, she felt safe. “Besides, I don’t want to discuss Erika. Or the past.”

  His eyes smoldered with desire. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “What else do I need to know about you beyond your scary laundry room?”

  “I work crazy hours,” he warned.

  “Good.”

  She could never be with a man who worked nine to five and expected dinner on the table when he walked through the door. She was obsessed with building her business and she needed a partner who had an equally intense love for his own career.

  “I have a habit of taking in dogs that no one else wants.”

  “I’m becoming attached to the Hounds of the Baskervilles.”

  “I never turn on the TV and I wouldn’t know a current trend if it hit me in the face,” he continued.

  “What do you do for entertainment?”

  “Fish.”

  She wrinkled her nose. She possessed a full appreciation for a well-cooked trout with chive butter over fresh spinach, but she wasn’t fond of sitting for hours next to a lake or river, waiting for one to grab her bait. “Hmm.”

  Noah pressed a line of kisses along her jaw. “I’m always open to trying new hobbies.”

  She wiggled closer to his hard body, smiling at his low groan of approval. “What kind of hobbies?”

  It took him a second to respond, as if she’d stolen his ability to think clearly. “Gardening,” he finally said. “Waiting tables. Mopping kitchen floors.”

  She arched a brow. “Mopping is a hobby?”

  “Anything to spend time with you.”

  The words were simple, but they wiggled to the very center of her soul. Like a seed being planted that would bind them together for an eternity.

  She reached up to lightly touch his cheek, careful to avoid the wounds that were beginning to heal. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” he growled, pressing the hard thrust of his erection against her lower stomach. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn for what?”

  “Any secret vices?”

  Wynter considered the question. It wasn’t that she didn’t have vices. She just didn’t know where to start. “I talk to myself.”

  “When?”

  “All the time,” she admitted. He might as well get used to coming home and to find her chatting away as if she was hosting a dinner party. “I think it comes from being an only child. I didn’t invent imaginary friends, I just had conversations with myself.”

  He smiled. “Which proves you’re good company.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I work crazy hours.”

  “Good.”

  She pressed her lips against his chest, directly over his heart. “I have no fun hobbies.”

  “What about the fishing? That could be a fun hobby.”

  She chuckled. “You’re going to insist on this, aren’t you?”

  “Just imagine us in the fresh air, sitting beside a lake with a pack of dogs and a cooler of cold beer.” He sighed. “Heaven.”

  “I suppose I could develop a hankering to learn how to fish. With the proper encouragement.”

  “A hankering?” His voice thickened as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her butt. “Is that like a yearning? A longing?”

  “More like a rueful acceptance,” she conceded. She might not enjoy fishing, but if it meant spending time with Noah, she would pull on her waders and grab her pole any time he invited her.

  “Ah.”

  Her lips moved to tease his flat nipple, savoring the shudder of pleasure she could feel race through his body. “This, however, is a yearning.”

  He sighed in pleasure. “And a longing?”

  She chuckled, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his thick cock. “Lots of longing.”

  Chapter 20

  Noah and Wynter had just finished a late lunch when a concussion of barks splintered the silence.

  Wynter winced, placing the last glass in the dishwasher. “Your doorbell is howling.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  Noah moved to open the back door. He didn’t know who was coming, but he intend
ed to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Yes, there was danger looming just out of sight. And a thousand questions that nagged at the back of his mind. But that could all wait.

  He had big plans for the night. Plans that included a bottle of wine, a hot bath, and a naked Wynter. They most certainly didn’t include any unwelcome intruder.

  Stepping onto the porch, he ignored the sharp breeze that tugged at his loose running shorts. They were the only thing he was wearing and they left too much skin exposed to the late-afternoon chill.

  Pursing his lips, he released a long whistle. Instantly his pack of dogs scrambled toward the nearby barn and he turned his attention toward the long drive.

  “Damn.” The word was wrenched from his lips.

  There was a soft sound of footsteps before Wynter appeared beside him. She was wearing her short robe with her hair tumbled over her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  He nodded toward the approaching police car. “Chelle.”

  Wynter heaved a sigh. “I wish she wouldn’t make a habit of this.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It could be good news.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Noah grimaced. “Not really.”

  “Me either.”

  In silence they watched Chelle park the car before she was slipping out and heading up the steps of the porch. She was wearing her uniform and there was slump to her shoulders that revealed it’d already been a long day. Noah felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he caught sight of his friend’s tense expression. This wasn’t a social visit.

  He nodded toward the door as Chelle joined them. “Do you want to come in for coffee?”

  Social visit or not, his nana had instilled good manners. Usually with the whack of a ruler across his ass.

  Chelle shook her head. “No, I have to get back to the station.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We found Drake Shelton.”

  Wynter made a sound of shock, tilting back her head to send him a startled glance. “You were right. It is good news.”

  Noah remained wary. The past few days had been one disturbing surprise after another. It seemed highly unlikely their luck was about to change now.

  “Do you have him in custody?” he asked.

  “He’s dead.” Chelle’s voice was flat, her expression unreadable.

  Wynter gasped in shock. “When?”

  “Last night.” Chelle held up her hand as Noah’s lips parted. “I don’t have an exact time.”

  “How?” Wynter asked.

  “A bullet to the head.”

  Wynter leaned against Noah as if her knees had gone weak. Noah didn’t blame her. They’d spent the past twenty-four hours convincing themselves that Drake Shelton had not only murdered her mother, but that he was now in Larkin, stalking Wynter with the intent to kill her.

  Should they be relieved that the threat was gone? Or terrified that it was still lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike?

  “He was murdered?” Noah asked the obvious question.

  Surprisingly, Chelle hesitated. “At first glance it looks like suicide,” she at last revealed. “The gun was pressed to his temple and there was a note beside him that said he was sorry.”

  Noah considered his brief meeting with Drake. The man had reminded him of a dozen other guys he’d known. Conceited, stubborn, unwilling to concede that he might be wrong about anything. If he’d killed his wife and then decided to get rid of Wynter, he wouldn’t feel guilt. He’d be pissed that he hadn’t managed to finish the job.

  Noah studied Chelle’s grim expression. “You don’t believe it was a suicide.” He said the words as a statement not a question. He knew this woman too well to think she could be so easily fooled.

  “I’ll leave that up to the experts,” she said, refusing to offer her personal opinion. “But until the medical examiner tells me that it’s a suicide, I’m going to assume it needs to be investigated as if it’s a homicide.”

  There was a short silence as they each tried to wrap their brains around the fact that Drake was dead.

  “Was he in Pike when he died?” Wynter finally asked.

  “No. They found him in his truck—” Chelle bit off her words, as if not sure she wanted to answer the question.

  Noah frowned. “Where?”

  Chelle grimaced before heaving a rueful sigh. No doubt she was reminding herself it was a small town that was incapable of hiding a secret. The word of Drake’s death was no doubt already circulating through Larkin.

  “In your grandfather’s driveway.”

  Noah tightened his arm around Wynter as she stiffened in horror. “He was at the farm?” she gasped.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Wynter shook her head. “Why would he be there? He didn’t know my grandpa.”

  Chelle shrugged. “Just one question on a very long list.”

  Noah struggled to make sense of what she was saying. Why would Drake Shelton be at Sander Moore’s farm? Even if he had decided to take his own life, it didn’t make any sense.

  Or had he been killed somewhere else and taken there? If that was the case, why dump him at that particular spot? If they were trying to frighten Wynter, or even warn her away from continuing her search for the truth of her mother’s death, why not her apartment? Or even outside his cabin?

  A growl rumbled in his throat. He suddenly sympathized with a hamster spinning on a wheel going nowhere.

  “Who found the body?” he abruptly asked.

  “Oliver Wheeler.” Chelle glanced toward Wynter. “He said he was there to do the chores?”

  Chelle’s voice remained calm, but Noah knew her well enough to detect an edge in her tone. Was she hoping to catch the man in a lie? There was always a suspicion toward the person who discovered a body.

  “Yes, he’s been helping out since Grandpa was shot,” Wynter said.

  Chelle nodded, hiding any disappointment. Noah glanced toward the sky. It was nearly dusk. The body must have been discovered hours ago. That would explain the weariness that shadowed his friend’s dark eyes. She no doubt had been called at the crack of dawn and hadn’t stopped since then.

  “Are you leading the investigation?” he asked.

  “Unofficially. At least until the M.E. determines the cause of death.” Her jaw tightened, as if she was battling a burst of irritation. “If it’s suicide, I’ll close the case. If it’s murder, I’ll call in the DCI.”

  “DCI?” Wynter looked confused. “What’s that?”

  “The Division of Criminal Investigation,” Chelle explained.

  Noah understood Chelle’s frustration. Drake had been killed in her town. She wanted to be the one who caught and punished the person responsible. He’d feel the same if it was a poacher or a hunter using bait traps to lure in prey. If it was his case, the last thing he’d want was to hand it over to someone else. Especially a stranger who had no connection to Larkin.

  He was frustrated, too. It felt as if the killer was toying with them. As if this was some sick game.

  “The murderer tried to make us believe that it was Drake who killed his wife and then took a shot at me,” he growled, angry he hadn’t managed to get a better look at the person who’d been driving Drake’s truck.

  Of course, in his defense, he’d been busy dodging a spray of shotgun pellets. Besides, whoever it was had taken the precaution of wearing a heavy parka and a cap that kept his face in shadows.

  Or her face . . .

  “That would be my guess,” Chelle agreed.

  They exchanged a glance, both urgently aware that as long as the killer was still out there, Wynter was in danger.

  “Was there anything that might give you a clue to who is responsible?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Chelle made a sound of disgust. “And I mean nothing. In the movies the bad guy always leaves behind a stray cigarette butt or a convenient footprint. I spent hours searching, but all I got was a headache.”

  “What about
my phone?”

  Both Noah and Chelle glanced toward Wynter at the abrupt question.

  “What about it?” Chelle asked.

  Wynter considered her words. “Drake supposedly used my phone to lure Mona to the place she was murdered, right?”

  Chelle slowly nodded. “True.”

  “So where is it now?”

  “I’ll have the truck searched as well as his house in Pike,” Chelle said, her tone revealing a hint of annoyance that she hadn’t thought of that herself. “Do you have a way to track it?”

  “No. At the restaurant I use a landline and I haven’t bothered to connect my cell phone with any other device. Most of the time I barely remember to carry it with me.” Wynter leaned against Noah’s side, shivering as the breeze tugged at the flimsy material of her robe. “Can you locate it?”

  Chelle didn’t look hopeful. “We can try, but it’ll take time. We’re a small police department with a small budget, and so far this is being treated as a suicide, not a murder or a missing person. Even with your agreement, the phone company will drag their feet to hand over the records.”

  “What about Mona’s death?” Noah asked. “That’s obviously a murder.”

  “Yeah, but a temporary sheriff is in charge.” Chelle sighed, her face pale with weariness. “I called him this morning so they could end the search for Drake. It took him time to even remember who I was talking about. He’s obviously overwhelmed and undertrained. I’m afraid there might be details slipping through the cracks.”

  Another shiver raced through Wynter. “Great.”

  “Sorry.” Chelle sent them both a rueful smile. “I’ll let you know if I get any new information I can share.”

  “Thanks, Chelle,” Noah murmured, watching his friend jog down the steps of the porch and slide into the car.

  He wished there was a way to help ease her strain, not only because he was worried she was burning herself out, but more importantly, every second that passed meant Wynter was in danger.

  On cue, Wynter pulled away from him and headed into the house. There was a rigid set to her shoulders that warned Noah she was a woman on a mission. Hurrying behind her, he reached out to grasp her arm, turning her to study her tense expression.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.