Lost&Found (PASS Series Book 4)

by Freya Barker

  “Fair warning,” he mumbles as he already leans closer. “I’m about to kiss you.”

  “Not going anywhere.”

  I barely get the words past my lips when his mouth captures mine.

  Unlike earlier pecks and brushes, this kiss means business. Something my body is on board with the moment his tongue slides inside.

  God, how I missed this.

  I’ve kissed men, slept with them, but never without effort. Tentative touches with my mind engaged at all times and a determination to have my body feel. Just Yanis’s mouth is enough to envelop me in a surge of sensations that spins my mind out of control and my body into action.

  An instinctive response—not hampered by measure or consideration, but driven by sheer need—has me hook my hands around his neck and pull him closer.

  Groaning deep in his chest, he drops on his knees beside the couch, our mouths fused and his tongue still plundering, as he presses me back into the pillows. His hands roam, one slipping behind my head where it lodges in my hair, while he strokes down my breastbone with the other, leaving his palm to rest on my thundering heart.

  This—letting go and simply feeling—is what I’ve missed most of all. Knowing wherever the rush of heated blood takes me will be worth my surrender.

  My back arcs off the couch when his palm brushes roughly over a breast, grazing my distended nipple.

  So lost to sensation, it takes me a moment to realize he’s lifted away from the kiss, watching me through heavy eyelids as he plays me with his fingers.

  “Don’t stop.”

  I try to lift myself up on an elbow but a sharp stab of pain in my ribs keeps me in place.

  Right. Almost forgot about those. I silently condemn my physical limitations.

  Something Yanis appears to clue in to as his mouth stretches into a lazy smile.

  “Patience,” he rumbles, the sound vibrating over my skin, doing nothing to stem my frustration. “Some things don’t change.”

  I remember. He was always the one who would set the pace, while all I could do was hurl myself into the ride. At least that’s how it used to be between us.

  “Only with you,” I admit.

  He brushes a finger along my cheek.

  “I like that.”

  “You make it sound like a good thing.”

  This time his smile is open and almost painful in the memories it invokes of times where he’d look at me like this, without any reservation or shield.

  “Because it is. The reward will be worth the wait.”

  And a hell of a long wait it’s been.

  “In the meantime,” he starts, getting to his feet as he carefully helps me into a sitting position. “Tell me you’ve got propane in that tank. I bought us a few steaks for the grill.”

  “There was last time I used it.”

  “I’ll check.”

  I watch his ass as he walks toward the balcony where my grill lives. A great view, but watching him move around the kitchen is just gonna get me hotter and more bothered. I need to do something. I’m sick of sitting still.

  “Let me help. I’m going nuts here.”

  Five minutes later I’m installed at the small dining table, my bad ankle elevated on a chair as I cut vegetables for roasting. Yanis is doing some dishes.

  “Bree?”

  He leans against the counter, drying his hands on a towel, his head tilted to one side as he regards me. Something tells me to brace for what’s coming. We’ve talked, but he’s been cautious, avoided asking too many questions, and somehow that restraint only heightened my anxiety around things I’ve kept to myself so long.

  Even now, after already half-committing to testing these new waters with him, I’m not sure I’m ready to share it all.

  “When did you get that scar?”

  Typical Yanis, straight to the core.

  Yanis

  “Shortly after my mom died.”

  She only hesitated for a second before answering but she visible shored up before she did.

  Regret is immediate. One more thing to add to my list of fucking mistakes. It’s amazing she’s even talking to me after all I put her through.

  “Stop that,” she says sharply. “I know you; you’ve found something else to flog yourself for, but it’s not on you. Just like Mom dying was not on you. It just happened. Shit happens and you deal.”

  That may well be, but she shouldn’t have had to go through one hit after another alone.

  “What happened?”

  “Ruptured cyst,” she says, but her response sounds a little too practiced. Then she lifts her chin almost defiantly. “Wasn’t the only cyst. They ended up doing a hysterectomy. They left me the one ovary, but clearly that’s not going to do me much good without a uterus.”

  I can’t swallow down the fucking log lodged in my throat, so before I have a chance to respond she’s already putting words in my mouth.

  “So yeah, no kids. Not an option, and I wouldn’t blame you if you—”

  I stopped listening and am moving toward her at lightning speed.

  “Shut up.” I cup her face in my hands and look beyond the layer of bravado to the sadness she’s hiding. “Don’t even finish that thought.”

  “You wanted kids,” she says softly, searching my eyes.

  “Yeah. I remember we talked about it once back then,” I recall. “We both did. That was then.”

  I don’t say, “before I fucked us up and we lost our chance,” but it’s implied, and my silent apology comes in the form of a brush of my mouth.

  I watch as her eyes blink a few times and a sigh slips from her lips.

  “Whether or not you have a uterus does not define who you are or what you mean to me.”

  She tilts her head and I’m glad to see humor in her gaze.

  “You’re a surprise, Mr. Mazur.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Your vocabulary has come a long way. You’re using a lot of words, and they’re good ones,” she teases.

  “Good to know.”

  With a light kiss, I head back to the kitchen to get going on dinner. Probably not a bad idea to let this process for a bit before I try to dive into the marriage part and what went wrong there.

  The safest way forward is a planned path—it’s a rule I’ve lived by—but I can only do that if I know where the landmines are buried. It’s essential to a successful mission and I don’t want to do anything that can fuck this up.

  We eat inside, talking a little about my parents and work, avoiding anything heavier. It’s not until long after dinner, Bree briefly returns to the subject.

  “I want you to know I may have been angry with you, hurt by you, but I never blamed you for things that weren’t even in my control, let alone yours. So please don’t take this on.”

  I look up from my laptop, where I’ve been doing a little work in preparation of my trip to the Jelnyk mine, and meet her eyes.

  “Perhaps not, but I should’ve been there for you and I wasn’t. That is something I own,” I state simply, and she seems to accept that with a nod before she turns back to the TV program she was watching.

  By the time I shut down my computer and look up, she’s slumped over on the armrest, snoring lightly. When I pick her up to carry her to the bedroom, she mumbles something incoherently before her head drops to my shoulder. I should probably wake her so she can do her bathroom routine.

  “Bree, let’s get you ready for bed.”

  A disgruntled groan is all I get.

  I carry her through into the bathroom and use my elbow to throw the switch.

  “Come on, lazy bones. You can sleep in a minute.”

  I carefully put her on her feet and, half-asleep, she manages to strip her pants down. She’s beyond caring I’m in the bathroom with her and that’s fine by me. I help her into the oversized jersey she likes to wear to bed and tuck her in before heading back to the living room. There I shut off the TV, turn off the lights, and walk to the sliding door to make sure it’s loc
ked.

  A glint of light draws my attention to a row of cars parked on the opposite side of the street. I can’t place it and wait for a minute to see if I can spot it again.

  Nothing. Probably just the reflection off a sideview mirror or a piece of chrome.

  The street is deserted.

  I turn my back and head for the bathroom to grab a quick shower.

  I need to feel Bree close tonight, breathe in her scent, but there’s no fucking way I’m going to climb into bed with my dick still hard.

  Apparently, age hasn’t diminished the effect she has on me.

  For the past days I’ve been walking around with a semi hard-on, but with that kiss before dinner I shot straight from half-mast to maypole.

  I bend my head down under the stream—the image of Bree lying on the couch engraved on my retina—and close my fist firmly around my cock. Relief comes fast and furious.

  But when I slip under the covers and curve my bigger body around Bree, she moans, pushing her ass against me.

  I’m instantly hard again.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bree

  Well. I haven’t been bored these past days with Yanis gone.

  Anna and Max made sure of that.

  The Mazur family is very persuasive, which is how I ended up staying at Yanis’s house with his parents. What had me give in was a dry comment Max made. He basically suggested it would save people driving back and forth to my place. The last thing I want is to be a burden and Max—in his nonconfrontational, laid-back manner—used that to bring his point home.

  So Sunday night we had dinner with the Mazur family and Monday morning we were back. Yanis had a nine o’clock flight to Lima on Jelnyk’s corporate jet and dropped me off at his place. He carried my bag into his bedroom, decreed that’s where I’d be staying, and then kissed me soundly in front of his parents before taking off.

  It’s Thursday already and to my surprise the days have flown by. My ankle has gotten a little more exercise now Yanis isn’t here to tote me around, and I feel a lot less helpless already.

  I keep Anna company in the kitchen in the mornings while she juices, bakes, and lets me help with dinner prep. I’ve certainly eaten a lot healthier than my usual on-the-fly meals. Then in the afternoons she heads over to Willa’s, giving her a chance to catch up on the sleep little Max deprived her of during the night.

  Big Max kept me busy while his wife was tending to the little one, taught me card games to play and talked endlessly about the plans and dreams he still built onto. For a completely self-sustainable farm, with livestock and crops—including of the cannabis variety—and a large communal lodge where people could stay and work the land. A bit like a dude ranch for city folk wanting a taste of living off-the-grid. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that well into his seventies that might be too much of a venture to undertake, but he seemed happy just musing about it and I enjoyed listening to him.

  I received a few texts from Yanis, and a phone call last night, telling me he was wrapping things up but wasn’t sure he’d be back in time for my appointment at the clinic today. Max offered to take Anna to Dimi and Willa’s, and pick me up to go to the hospital later.

  That’s why it’s unusually quiet in the house right now. They just left and I’m settled on the couch, flipping through the channels on the large screen TV.

  My cell phone starts buzzing in my pocket and I fish it out, expecting it to be Yanis calling. But the number displayed is from the Denver PD.

  “Ms. Graves, how are you feeling?”

  Bill Evans’s jovial voice booms and I have to lift the phone away from my ear.

  “Bree, please. I’m doing well. Much better than last week.”

  He’d stayed in touch, mostly through Yanis, but unfortunately there hadn’t been much to report on his end. I’m hoping maybe he has some news.

  “Good to know. I’ve been trying to get hold of Yanis, but he’s not answering his phone. Checked with your office but they mentioned he’s out of town?”

  “Yes, he had to go to Peru for a few days. He should be home today or tomorrow, though. He’s just wrapping things up. Was there any news?” I immediately add.

  “You could say that. We found a body we think may be related to your case.”

  His words have me sit up straight.

  “A body?”

  “Robert Connell, career criminal. Fished him out of the Chatfield Reservoir day before yesterday. Was found weighed down with concrete anchors, not far from the north boat ramp, by a bunch of amateur divers out for a day trip.”

  Yikes.

  “How do you figure he’s related to the case?”

  “Matched him to a partial print we found on the key fob to the airport limo. Those keys were in the ignition when we discovered the dead driver.”

  Jesus. Two dead.

  “You’re thinking—”

  “That Connell was possibly the one who killed the driver, took you, and the same guy you heard get shot. Single hit to the back of the head. Messy.”

  I remember how messy it was from the slippery puddle on the floor when I ran. I can only imagine what his head would’ve looked like.

  “Any thoughts on the second guy?”

  “Not yet, but a 2016 silver Lexus ES 350, license plate CHV-481, was registered in his name.”

  “I thought it was CX,” I bring up.

  “Close enough,” Evans states. “Can’t find the car though.”

  “If he was the one who got shot, then he wouldn’t have been the one driving it that night. The other guy was,” I point out.

  “Yeah, we figured. Listen, if it’s okay I’d like to send you a picture of our dead victim. See if you recognize him as the guy who picked you up. If you’re up to it.”

  Goodie. A picture of a dead guy who’s been floating in the water for over a week. I can’t wait. Something to keep me awake at night.

  “Sure.”

  The ding alerts me of an incoming message and I put the phone on speaker while I pull up the image. I can tell they tried to minimize the impact a week in the water as fish food may have had, but the results were still stomach-turning.

  “Hard to tell.” I try to focus on things like the hairline, the nose, the mouth—or what was left of it. “Could’ve been him. I remember he gave me the impression of a British actor from the seventies with that cap and those longish sideburns.”

  “Yeah, we noticed the sideburns too. Good, thanks.”

  “Was that all?”

  I’m suddenly eager to delete that picture, get off the phone, and maybe watch something stupid like Wheel of Fortune to get rid of that mental image.

  “Yes. We’re going down a list of known associates to Connell, but as you can imagine most of those aren’t that eager to talk to the cops. Good chance that car is chopped up and sold for parts by now, so I’m not holding my breath on that either, but we’ll keep plugging away.”

  I’m about to say goodbye when a thought occurs to me.

  “Wait. Did you ever find that fireplace poker? It can’t have been far from where you found me, I was hanging on to that thing for dear life.”

  “We did.”

  The silence that follows is deafening.

  “And?” I finally prompt.

  “It was clean.”

  “What? Clean? I whacked him hard with that thing, surely there has to be blood or tissue that—”

  “No,” he interrupts. “There was nothing. No blood, no hair, and no fingerprints.”

  “That’s impossible, I used it as a cane after I twisted my ankle. At least mine have to be there.”

  “That’s just it,” Detective Evans says solemnly. “It was wiped clean.”

  It doesn’t make sense at all. I know I didn’t wipe it down; I was too concerned about preserving evidence.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, Ms. Graves. Neither do I. I’m looking into it.” I notice he doesn’t say we are looking into
it. “If you could ask Mazur to give me a ring when he gets in, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I will.”

  Yanis

  My Yukon is still where I left it in long-term parking.

  I toss my bag in the back seat, get behind the wheel, and rub my hands over my face. That was a long fucking ten hours with not a wink of sleep, despite the luxury accommodations aboard the jet.

  I managed to drag myself out of the Lima corporate office for Jelnyk at one in the morning. A good portion of my three days were spent there, aside from a trip to the site. I was able to get most of the concerns resolved. I subcontracted a local security company—cheaper than sending one of my guys out there for the six months scheduled to get the mine up and running—which went a long way to appeasing law enforcement. They don’t trust Americans and there are days I don’t blame them.

  Yesterday I sat down with my Peruvian counterpart at seven in the morning and worked through the entire day and night to get him up to speed on the project. I’d initially planned to fly out this morning, which would’ve meant not getting back to town until tonight, but one of Jelnyk’s top engineers had a family emergency back in San Francisco and the plane was fueled and ready to take him home. I was able to hop on.

  I glance at the dashboard clock and note that I’m probably too late for Bree’s appointment, but maybe I can catch her and my dad at the doctor’s office.

  Sucking down the coffee I snagged on my way out of the airport, I pull out of my parking spot and hit dial on my hands-free.

  “Good morning, PASS Security Services, can you hold?”

  “Lena, it’s me,” I quickly say before she blasts me with the soothing sounds of Yo-Yo Ma while I wait.

  The classical music had been her idea. She claimed the old-style rock the system originally played for people on hold was making them agitated and pissy with her by the time she finally got to them. The cello was supposed to calm them and make them less aware of how long they waited. Bree agreed with her, so I let it go. I’ve had no complaints so I guess it’s working.

  “Boss. Are you on your way back?”