by Rita Herron
Just like he loved Lenora and the other women he’d taken. They had to be punished just as he had.
That was the only way they would get into heaven.
He paused and studied a photograph of Lenora and her mother, the two of them sitting side by side for a Christmas shot when Lenora was a teenager. Something about the picture made him think that the two weren’t close. Lenora’s tight smile?
The distance between them, as if they didn’t want to physically touch.
Her mother had seemed cold and distant at the trial, too. She’d avoided reporters. Sat gripping a handkerchief to her face, crying quietly.
He had watched her carefully. Pain had wrenched Lenora’s face at her mother’s reaction.
He spotted a family album, picked it up and thumbed through it. Photos of Lenora as a baby and toddler, a big burly man holding her, smiling, the two of them laughing. In one picture, the mother hung all over the man while Lenora sat a body length away. Another one showed the three of them, once again the father holding Lenora, the mother pulling the man toward her. Had she been jealous of her husband’s attention toward their daughter?
He paused at a shot of Lenora standing beside a grave. Her mother was there, head bent, face in shadows. The tombstone marker belonged to Lenora’s father.
After that, there were very few pictures of Lenora. Had her mother abandoned her daughter in her grief?
Yes, she was not the mother his had been. Maybe they hadn’t had the perfect house, the nicest furniture, and meals, but in her own way, she’d loved him.
She’d told him that over and over every time she’d beaten him or given him an ice bath.
A car engine sounded outside, and he ducked into the woman’s bedroom. The sound of the front door unlocking echoed from the living room, then voices. Two women’s.
He peeked through the crack in the doorway and watched them.
“I’m fine now,” Lenora’s mother said. “Go on home tonight, Gladys.”
“But what about that madman?”
“Lenora was just being paranoid. He’s not coming after me,” Mrs. Lockhart said. “All the women he kidnapped were young, in their twenties.”
“That’s true,” the other woman said. “But still, I hate to leave you alone.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lockhart said as she strode to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. “I’m exhausted. I’ll set the alarm and go to bed. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“If you’re sure.” Gladys hugged Mrs. Lockhart then let herself out.
Robert smiled as Lenora’s mother sipped her wine and headed toward the bedroom. He slipped inside the closet and pulled the door shut. He’d wait until she was settled in bed.
Then he’d introduce himself to her firsthand.
Wouldn’t she be surprised that her age didn’t matter?
In fact, she was about the age of his own mother. When he closed his eyes, their faces blended.
“Yes, Mama,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of her.”
Her laughter rang in his ears, followed by the sound of a hard slap as she hit him with the paddle. He was supposed to take it over and over.
His cock swelled at the thought. She liked to hear him cry and beg and scream.
But he was never supposed to come.
He did it anyway. Felt his release building with each slap on his ass. He couldn’t help it. He spewed his cum everywhere.
Of course, she beat him for that, too.
So many times, he’d wanted to turn her over and spray his fluids all over her.
This time he would. He’d enjoy his release while Lenora watched.
Then it would be her turn to pleasure him.
Lenora’s lungs churned for air as Micah walked toward the antique trunk. Dank air swirled around her, adding to the threatening nausea.
What if Nan was in that trunk?
Dear God, no . . .
Micah knelt to examine the lock on the trunk, then yanked at it. Metal clanged against metal, but it didn’t budge.
“I need a crowbar or something to break this lock,” Micah said.
Lenora jerked from her stupor and searched the right side of the basement while he looked around the left. Tension vibrated between them, the clock ticking. If Nan was inside that trunk, she could be hurt. Barely breathing.
Dead.
“Here, how about this ax?” She shuddered at the sight of something dark on the edges that looked like blood.
“That’ll work.” He held it above the lock and swung it down, hacking at it until the lock popped open. Then he tossed the lock to the floor and lifted the lid of the trunk. Images of Nan hurt, bloody from that ax, pummeled Lenora, and she couldn’t look.
“Micah?”
His breath hissed out. “She’s not inside.”
Relieved, Lenora turned around to see for herself. The trunk was filled with an array of items. An old football that had a hole in it. A pair of mud-crusted sneakers.
Boy’s clothing that looked soiled and smelled rotten. A blood-soaked rag. Cloth bandages that reeked.
“Mementos of Simpleton that his mother kept?” Micah muttered.
“If he hadn’t turned out to be so cruel, I’d feel sorry for him,” Lenora said in a low voice.
“How did she die?” Micah asked.
Lenora shrugged. “He never said. He just said he wished he’d killed her.”
“What about his father?”
“He said he left them when he was little.”
“The old man probably figured out he was married to a freak.”
Lenora shuddered. The smell seemed to have grown stronger. “Let’s get out of here.”
Micah lifted his head and scanned the room once again. “Wait. There’s a wardrobe behind that mattress.”
Lenora hadn’t noticed it, but once again terror seized her at the possibility of her friend’s body being inside.
Micah carried the ax over to the wardrobe and hacked away the lock at the top. Dark shadows shrouded the tall piece of furniture as the doors screeched open. Suddenly the rancid odor swirled thicker, making Lenora gag.
“Oh, my god, what is that?”
“I think we just found Simpleton’s father.”
Micah cursed then closed the wardrobe door, hoping to shield Lenora. But when he glanced back at her pale face, he realized she’d seen the skeleton.
He wondered why the house hadn’t been searched during the trial but assumed no one had discovered it.
“What makes you think that’s the father?” Lenora asked.
“Just a hunch,” Micah said. “Father went missing. Maybe he didn’t run off. Maybe the crazy wife killed him, then abused her son.”
Lenora inched closer to the stairs, whispers of ghosts echoing in the silence.
“I need to call a crime team.” He took her arm and coaxed her back up the stairs, and outside onto the front porch.
She walked over to the SUV and leaned against it, obviously needing air. He made the call and explained the situation. “You’ll need to transport the bones back for identification. I want COD and TOD when you get it.” Not that they could arrest Simpleton’s mother since she was dead.
But what if Robert Simpleton had actually killed his father and hid his body in that wardrobe? Maybe the mother’s abuse against her son stemmed with rage over what the son had done?
He decided to look around the property while he waited on the crime team, so he circled the house. In the back, he found a storage shed. He looked inside and found an old rusted lawnmower, a metal tub filled with compost, and various pesticides and poisons.
Had Simpleton been poisoned as part of his abuse?
The hiss of a snake made him freeze, and he slowly backed out of the shed, grateful when the crime van rolled down the hill.
He met the tea
m as they exited the van. Lenora remained by the SUV, her arms folded, as he escorted the team inside to show them what he’d found.
He explained his theory. “I need the body identified, TOD and COD, as soon as possible. Also, see if you find any recent prints or blood, and send me the results.”
He thanked them and returned to Lenora. “Come on, let’s go.”
Protectively, he placed his hand to her waist, then opened the car door and Lenora sank inside, her expression tormented.
Nan had been with Simpleton for hours now. No telling what he was doing to her.
Lenora looked exhausted and worried as if she’d lost her best friend. Unfortunately, she might have.
They drove back to her condo in silence, and he quickly searched the rooms to make sure Simpleton hadn’t been there while they were gone. They’d picked up burgers on their way back, but Lenora rushed upstairs to shower first.
Seeing that house had really upset her. He certainly understood.
He glanced out the back window, watching the trees sway in the wind. He found a couple of bottles of beer in her refrigerator and carried them along with the food upstairs, then stepped through the hall door to the terrace.
The fresh air reminded him of his ranch. Maybe he’d suggest they go there tomorrow.
What would she think of his property? The house needed updating, but it was a big homey farmhouse with a wraparound porch that offered an expansive view of the ranch and creek. At night he enjoyed sitting outside, listening to the sounds of crickets chirping and the horses galloping in the pasture. Most folks hated the rain, but he loved the way it scented the air and turned everything a vivid green.
The shower water kicked off, and he imagined Lenora stepping from the shower, all naked and wet and . . . beautiful. He closed his eyes, willing his libido under control.
Ever since he’d met her, he’d admired her, felt compassion for her. But deep down his feelings ran deeper. She was the first woman he’d ever known who stirred a longing for more than a night in her bed.
The terrace door opened, and he glanced up to see Lenora standing in the middle of the French doors from her bedroom. Her damp hair hung in long wavy tendrils around her face; her skin glowed pink from the hot shower.
She wasn’t dressed provocatively, just a pair of cotton pajama shorts and a T-shirt, but she looked so damn sexy that she took his breath away.
His sex hardened as desire heated his blood, the need to pull her in his arms strong, but he reached for his beer instead.
Anything to distract him from the ache in his body and the longing in his heart.
Lenora’s body tingled at the way Micah looked at her. For a brief second, she thought she saw desire.
As if he wanted to kiss her.
Delicious sensations skittered through her at the thought.
How long had it been since she’d actually wanted to be with a man?
Since before the attack . . .
She’d wondered if she’d ever want a man again. If she’d ever be normal.
But Micah was different. He was strong and compassionate. A protector.
Her protector.
He’d stood beside her five years ago, and he was beside her now.
But when the case ended, he would leave . . .
If ever she wanted to have the chance to hold him, to be with him, it was now.
“I hope you don’t mind, I found a couple of beers and brought them up.”
“That sounds great.” Lenora accepted the bottle, turned it up and took a sip. The cold liquid soothed her parched throat and helped her to relax.
He shifted and looked at the table where he’d set the burgers. “You hungry?”
She was, but she wanted him. Wanted to be in his arms. Wanted him to hold her.
Instead, she nodded, and they sat down and ate. She picked at her food, thoughts of Nan and the bones in the basement taunting her. What if those belonged to another woman? Maybe one of Simpleton’s victims they didn’t know about?
“Lenora,” Micah said softly. “Put it out of your mind for a while.”
“I’m trying,” she said as she sipped her beer. “But it’s difficult.”
He laid his hand against her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” she said, her voice a little huskier than she’d intended.
His gaze met hers, heat flickering in the dark depths. “I wish I could do more. I want him out of your life for good so you can move on.”
She wanted that, too. Maybe Micah could help her move on. Could help her forget . . .
Guilt clawed at her. How could she think such selfish thoughts when her friend’s life was in danger? When she might be enduring some horrific torture at that very moment?
Micah recognized the guilt in Lenora’s eyes. He hated the waiting and wished to hell he had another clue to chase down, but he didn’t, dammit. Maybe tech would send that map of places to check as possible hideouts soon.
“Lenora?”
She tossed her trash into the trashcan by the door. Night had set in, the moon a distant sliver above the woods. If they weren’t plagued by the shadow of death, it might be a romantic night.
“I’m so worried about Nan,” she finally said. “What if we don’t find her in time? Even if she survives, she’s going to hate me.”
Micah couldn’t resist. The last thing Lenora needed to do was torture herself with self-recriminations. He pulled her toward him, his voice low, soothing.
“This is not your fault,” he said. He’d told her that before, and he’d keep telling her until he convinced her.
“But—”
“No buts, Lenora. We’ll find him.” He stroked her arms with his hands, and she gazed into his eyes as if weighing his words and trying to believe him.
Then she parted her lips with a sultry sigh, and his body hardened. He wanted to kiss her.
“Micah, thank you for being so understanding. I know you’re just doing your job—”
“You’re more than a job to me,” he said, his voice husky. The moment he said the words, he knew they were true. But he shouldn’t have said them.
The last thing Lenora needed was pressure.
“I am?”
The vulnerability in her voice tore at him. “Yes. I admire you . . . I want to protect you.” The spark of sexuality in her eyes nearly sent him over the edge.
“I want to hold you.”
A soft smile lit her eyes, and she slid her arms beneath his and stepped closer to him. “I want that, too.”
He inhaled her sweet scent as she laid her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her to him, savoring the fact that she trusted him.
A second later, she raised one hand and pressed it against his cheek. Her eyes glittered with hunger, making his blood go hot, and he lowered his head and kissed her.
One taste and he wanted more.
Lenora captured his face closer, and he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue as she parted her lips for him. He trailed his hands down her back and drew her closer to him, his hands itching to strip her and feel her naked body next to his.
She must have read his mind because she trailed kisses down his neck and one by one pulled at the buttons of his shirt, her nails scraping his hot, bare skin.
“Lenora?” He paused, desperate for control. But the feel of her lips on his heated skin was so erotic it was hard to remember why he shouldn’t rush to take her to bed.
“Don’t you want me, Micah?”
His heart thumped offbeat, and he threaded his hand in her hair and tilted her head so she would look at him. “Of course, I do. But I don’t want to pressure you—”
She touched his lips with one finger to silence him. “You aren’t, Micah. I . . .” She ran her hand down his
chest. “I want this.”
A smile curved his mouth. “Are you sure?” He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids. “Because if you want to stop at any point, all you have to do is say so.”
Her hands stroked his chest, teasing, inviting more play. “I won’t. I trust you.”
Emotions he’d never expected to feel bombarded him. Lenora’s trust in him was just as important as having her.
And dammit, he wanted her with every fiber of his being.
Lenora’s breath rasped out as Micah moved toward the door to the bedroom. “Out here,” she whispered, a seed of panic sprouting at being closed inside.
A sexy smile lit his eyes. “Whatever you want, Lenora.”
His heady tone turned her heart inside out. Heaven help her, but she could fall in love with this man.
His tenderness as he lowered his head and dropped kisses along her jaw and neck made her shiver.
He removed his gun and holster and placed it on the table.
“Are you cold?” he asked huskily.
“No,” she whispered. “Just excited.”
His eyes darkened with longing and raw hunger. “Me, too.” He ran a finger along her cheek. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. But I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“I know. ” She lifted his hand and kissed his palm tenderly. “You won’t hurt me, Micah. You make me feel more alive than I have in ages.”
“You don’t know what your trust means to me,” he murmured.
Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. She’d cried enough for a lifetime. She wouldn’t let tears ruin this moment.
He traced a finger down her spine, his other hand sliding from her neck to her chest, and she kissed him again, moaning when his fingers danced around to touch her breast. Her nipples instantly stiffened to peaks, achy and needy, and she clung to him, silently begging him for more.
He ran his hands down her hips, then gently carried her to the chaise. She shoved the blanket aside as he laid her down. His look was one of greed mixed with such hunger that she instantly pulled him on top of her.
“You are the sexiest man I’ve ever known,” she whispered. “Kiss me, Micah. Touch me all over.”
