by Dea Poirier
“Would the ME’s office still have records on them?”
She nods. “We did last I was there. All the unidentified files are kept there, in the computer now.”
That’s how it was done in the Detroit ME’s office. We’d have to get dental records or DNA to match to the Doe we thought matched a missing person. But the question is, Who were these victims?
“Do you remember when these bodies were brought in?”
“One woman in ’89, the other in ’98,” she says and crosses her legs. Rachel died in 2004.
“Were you able to tell how long they’d been in the water?”
“It’s hard to get an accurate read on that, especially when the water is cold. The one in ’98 didn’t seem like she’d been in the water long. The one in ’89 seemed like it’d been a while, at least a few months. It’d been eaten quite a bit by the crabs.” She purses her lips and stares off into nothing for a long time. “Sheriff Dyer passed away. For a long time he was at the memory hospital, though. It was terrible—dementia.” She shakes her head.
The hospital that Margo Lane worked at. I’ll have to talk to her and see if she remembers the sheriff ever saying anything about it.
“Do you remember ever seeing the body of a girl who drowned in the midseventies that washed up on the shores of Vinalhaven?” I ask, remembering the Jane Doe that Noah told me about.
She purses her lips in concentration, and then there’s a flicker in her eyes. “Ah, yes. That was another Jane Doe. She did not have any flesh removed from her body.”
“Are you sure she drowned and wasn’t strangled?”
“It was very hard to tell. When the body was found, there had been quite a bit of decomposition. But I did find water in the lungs, so it appeared likely—back in those days—that she had drowned.”
I jot down a note about that. “And did Sheriff Dyer come to see that Jane Doe?”
She nods, and her eyes bulge a little. “Yes, and something really stuck out to me about that. He claimed that he did not know the girl, but he was clearly shaken. It struck me as very strange. I felt like he knew her but didn’t want to say so.”
“Thank you so much for your time, Barbara,” I say as I stand. A puff of perfumed air follows me out of the couch cushions.
She nods. “Of course. Don’t be a stranger if you’ve got more questions.” She shuffles along after me to the door.
After we’re out of Barbara’s house, I feel like I can breathe again. The weight of all the questions I had piled inside my mind lifts. It’s not that I feel better; I don’t. But the more I can piece together about Rachel’s death, the easier it is to cope with—like if I know exactly what happened to her, it’ll finally fill the hole inside me that her death left. In a way, I’m relieved.
The drive and ferry back to the island seem to take twice as long as they did the first time around. As I chew my lip on the drive back, Noah reaches over and squeezes my hand gently. The subtle reassurance brings a smile to my face and a warmth to my core.
The air between us thickens as I pull in to the hotel parking lot. Noah turns toward me, and I hold his gaze. I want to lean closer, to close the distance between us, but I can’t because we shouldn’t be doing this at all. It doesn’t stop the heat from creeping up my neck. Noah takes the lead, leans closer, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. My breath hitches in response. I want his hands on me. What I wouldn’t give to be anyone else so I could close the distance between us. My mind clots with all the reasons I can’t kiss him. Coworker, journalist, the enemy.
“Is this all right?” he asks as his hand moves to the side of my neck. The gentle brush of his fingers against my flesh is enough to make my stomach jump and goose bumps creep up my spine. He’s close enough that the mint on his breath mingles between us. His proximity isn’t enough to make me back off or say no. I nod slowly. Anticipation builds inside me. I want to lean in, want to feel his lips against mine. The heat blazing beneath my skin is almost enough to turn every reservation I have to ashes. My core pulses like a beacon, calling to Noah, begging him to come closer.
But I can’t do this. I can’t let him in. If the situation weren’t complicated enough with us working together, I’m terrified of letting someone else in. Because I know if I let my walls down, I’m opening myself up to just get hurt again. I don’t know if I could make it through losing someone else like I lost Rachel.
I tear myself from him and turn away; it makes my head spin. “You should go,” I say and motion toward the car door.
Noah’s shoulders sag, and he opens his mouth as if to argue but comes up short. There’s a cloud of disappointment surrounding us, and I’m not sure if it’s his or mine. Brick by brick, I build the wall back up around myself. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, and I force myself not to look at him. If I do, it’ll shatter my resolve. “See you later, Noah,” I call while he climbs out of the car. By the time I reach my rental, I hate myself.
It’s for the best, I tell myself over and over. Maybe one day I’ll believe it.
For twenty minutes, I’ve lain in bed regretting not kissing Noah. I should have. I should have balled his shirt in my fists and kissed him until my lips ached. I should have dragged him inside and fucked him until my legs turned to Jell-O. I could drown in all my should-haves.
I toss and turn for nearly an hour. Unable to purge Noah from my mind, I crawl out of bed. My heart races as my body commits to a decision my brain hasn’t agreed to yet. I throw on jeans and a T-shirt, pulling my coat on before I reach the door.
I climb into my car, the cool cloth shifting beneath me. I drive without thinking to the hotel, nearly chewing a hole in my lip the whole way. My brain keeps giving me reasons I should turn the car around, but I’m done listening to it. It’s time that I do something for myself. For a long moment, I sit in the parking lot. The cold night seeps in through the windows. If I don’t do this now, I may never be brave enough.
I throw open the car door and run up the side stairs to Noah’s room. I let out a heavy breath when I see his door.
You shouldn’t do this, one side of me screams.
You should have done this an hour ago, the other side shouts back.
My mind is at war, but it’s too late. The desire is flooding through my body, and there’s no way I can fight it. I knock quietly at first, then louder. The part of me that’s been fighting for this, that’s wanted this for weeks, has won the war.
Noah’s hair is tousled when he answers the door. His groggy blue eyes gleam, even in the low light. A pair of plaid boxers hangs loose from his sharp hip bones. I spend more time than I’ll ever admit memorizing the muscular lines of his chest and the curve of his bicep as he holds open the door. The sight of him lights a fire inside me. The heat builds until a primal need for him is so strong it’s all I can do to not launch myself at him.
“Claire?” he asks, leaning against the door.
Self-doubt threatens to consume me. What if I’m reading into things? What if he doesn’t want this? Have I just made a fool of myself?
He smiles and shakes off the remnants of sleep like he’d thought this was a dream. Every single thought in my head vanishes except one. Kiss him. Fuck everything else.
I step forward, and he opens the door wider, letting me pass. He shuts the door and asks, “Is everything all right?”
Gathering all my strength, I close the distance between us, and my lips meet his. The kiss is stiff at first, but then Noah relaxes and wraps his arms around me. A warmth radiates from the kiss and reverberates through my body, heightening the growing throb between my legs. I grasp his shoulders and pull myself against him, the firm lines of his body pressing against me. His soft, warm lips fold against mine, and I sigh against him. I know nothing but that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. We kiss furiously, our movements rushed. His tongue brushes against mine, and my pulse quickens. My mind spins and swarms all at once—I swear I’m drunk on lust. His hands shift, and I pull away to
rip off my shirt. In seconds my bra is shed too. His thumbs graze my nipples, and I throb in response. There’s hesitation in his movements, and I know what he’s thinking, because his eyes mirror my thoughts—Are we really doing this?
To destroy any lingering doubts, I go in again for another kiss, pressing my body against him, skin against skin. He moans against my mouth as I start to undo my pants. I only get the top button undone before his warm hands are on mine, wanting to take over as his tongue slides down my neck. His hands tighten around me, and I swear if it weren’t for his firm grip around the small of my back, I might just sink to the floor. Everywhere his hands touch, my skin blazes in response.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says into my ear before his mouth travels back down my neck toward my breasts as he slides my pants and underwear off.
Not wanting to be the only one naked, I push down his boxers, needing to feel his body against mine. His cock throbs between us, and I slowly stroke him. A low moan rolls from his lips. With his head tossed back, I run my tongue slowly across his neck.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, his grip on me tightening.
I drop to my knees and tease the head of his cock. Noah inhales sharply, and his eyes intensify with pleasure. The control over him, the ability to coax a reaction out of him, excites me. I open my mouth, taking him in over and over again.
He moans so low it’s almost a purr. I’m so tempted to finish him, but my body aches for him.
His fingers lace through my hair as he guides me. He pulls me up to face him and seals his lips desperately over mine. There’s a frenzy to his movements, like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind. I curve my hand around the length of him again, coaxing and teasing. Noah scoops me up before tossing me playfully on the bed.
I lean back into the pillows as he crawls over me, his eyes wild with desire. I’ve never wanted anything so badly. I spread my legs, not sure how much longer I can wait.
His eyes flare as his head dips so his mouth can close around my breast, sucking on my nipple, sending a wave of pleasure through me. A sharp moan slips from my lips as my core aches for him. His finger rubs against my clit, and my back arches in response. I’m not sure how much longer I can take it. Tongue lashing against my nipple, his fingers slide into my wet slit, matching the rhythm of my rocking hips until I beg him to fuck me. My body moves on its own, responding automatically to his touch.
Noah traces kisses lower, across the sensitive skin of my stomach and further still until his tongue slides against me. His fingers push me toward the edge. I moan and bite my bottom lip as my hips buck into his hand. He intensifies the pressure as his tongue rolls again and again. Pleasure builds inside me. His lips brush against me one last time, finally throwing me over the edge. I cry out as I clutch the sheets, arching my back.
The tremors ease, and I pant as I recover from the orgasm. No guy I’ve been with has had skills like this. Now that I’ve had a taste of what Noah can do, I might be hooked. Noah sits between my spread legs and brushes his cock along my swollen lips. The way he teases me excites and infuriates me at the same time. Though I’m spent, my need for him jumps back to life. I don’t just want him inside me; I need him inside me. He rolls the head across my slit again, and a wave of pleasure shoots through me like lightning. He pushes and enters me slowly. My body stretches to accommodate him, sending a delicious ache through me. A moan slips from my lips as he fills me to the hilt.
He thrusts inside. “Are you all right?”
“Was the moaning not enough confirmation that I’m all right?” I ask with a smirk.
The weight of Noah’s body against mine fills me with warmth. My arms lace around his shoulders, pulling his muscular chest against mine. Though we’re this close, somehow, I still want to be closer. Noah’s rhythm is slow and building. Each time his breathing quickens, he slows, taking time to coax me closer to the edge again.
“We should have done this sooner,” he murmurs into my ear. And he’s right; we should have. Having Noah inside me fills a void I didn’t even know I had. He pulls back, his thumb rubbing me as his rhythm increases. With Noah moving in me, his low moans drive me over the edge again. I push against Noah’s chest as I pant, urging him onto his back. The waves crash over me again and again, filling my head with static.
Climbing on top, I slowly guide myself down onto him and ride him. His eyes flicker closed as I grind against him. Noah’s hands wrap around my hips, and as he groans I know he’s close. I quicken my strokes, bringing myself onto him over and over, until finally he moans my name. The pressure builds inside me as his hands grip my hips tight. His cock throbs inside me as he finds his own release, his eyes squeezed tight. His groans of pleasure throw me over the edge again. I smile with the knowledge that I’ve satisfied him as much as he’s satisfied me.
I ease myself off him, knowing I’ll feel it tomorrow. A delicious ache is already setting in, but I don’t care. I collapse next to him, and we lie together, panting, the room thick with sex. He slides an arm around me, and I rest my head against his shoulder, waiting for my heart to slow.
“So was that on or off the record?” he asks with a wicked grin.
I smack his chest playfully.
“Mmm, harder,” he teases.
“Don’t tempt me,” I say as I smile back at him, and I pinch his nipple.
“I’m not sure I can help myself, knowing you’ve got the cuffs and all.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”
He looks at his wrist, where a watch would be if he had one. “So in ten minutes, then?”
“Good luck with that.” I chuckle. “I’ll need at least a couple of hours of sleep before work.”
“Are you going to sleep here?” he asks self-consciously, as though this could have been a wham-bam-thank-you fuck.
“Do you want me to?” It’s been a long time since I’ve spent the night at a guy’s place. But I remember well enough that there are plenty of them who don’t want you to stick around.
“Of course I do,” he says as he kisses me on the top of the head.
I offer him a sleepy smile, and I fall asleep in Noah’s arms, feeling for the first time in a while like I’m home.
CHAPTER 20
Noah’s fast asleep, and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me almost coaxes me into staying. Waking up in his arms was surprisingly natural, like it’s exactly where I should be. I force myself up and write Noah a quick note. I’ve got to get to the station, but I don’t want him to think I freaked out about last night and took off.
As mind blowing as the sex with Noah was, there’s a knot in my stomach. Something prickles at the back of my mind. It’s not quite regret, but I need to think about last night.
I might be taking off before Noah wakes up because I’ve been second-guessing myself from the moment I opened my eyes. He feels right—this feels right—and that scares me shitless.
Just as I make it into my office, my phone rings. I’ve got folders and a cup of coffee in my hands, and it takes a minute to get it all on the desk.
“Calderwood.”
“It’s Matt, from the Augusta CSI office. I just got back the DNA of the blood that was found on your boat,” he says, and papers rustle in the background.
My heart pounds. If it’s from a new victim, it’ll kill me.
“There was blood from Madeline Clark on the boat.” He clears his throat. “However, we also found trace amounts of other blood that had been poorly cleaned.”
The fact that the killer tried to clean up the blood tells me a lot about their mental state. It means they probably won’t be able to plead insanity for this. Cleaning up after a murder shows the suspect was of sound enough mind to know what they were doing was wrong and to try to cover it up. The blood, though, that’s what has me excited. Was it the blood of our perp? Did we actually get his DNA? My heart races as I consider it. If we have the perp’s blood, if we can match it, this could be case closed.
“The
blood was Emma Carver’s.”
My heart sinks. I’d hoped that we’d get something from the perp, too, something that would help me connect the dots.
“Thank you. Did you find anything else?”
“Actually, yes. We put all the DNA that we find into the database, just in case it ever matches any other evidence that’s found, or for familial DNA matches. Whenever we add new DNA, it automatically runs against the Doe database. The body of a woman found in the bay in 2000 matched Emma Carver’s DNA. It’s not a sister, but based on what I see, I’d say they’re cousins.”
My jaw nearly drops, and anger floods through me. No one informed me that another girl was missing. In all the questioning I’ve done on the island, how did no one bring that up? Was she a runaway?
“Thank you,” I say and rush him off the phone. I’ve got to talk to Sergeant Michaels about this.
I grab my coffee and cross the hall. He’s standing up, typing, with a muffin clutched in his jaws. When he sees me, he grabs it and sets it on the desk. “Morning.”
“Are there currently any open missing persons investigations at this station?”
He raises a brow at that. “No. If there was, the mayor would be so far up my ass about it that he could see out of my eyes.”
“One of the guys from the CSI office just informed me that a Jane Doe in their database matched Emma’s DNA. They think she’s a cousin. The Doe was found in 2000.”
He shakes his head. “If a Carver girl had gone missing back then, we’d have known about it. Everyone would have known about it.”
“Did anyone move away around then?” I ask. It seems like a stretch. Wouldn’t the family have noticed by now that they hadn’t moved and were just missing?
“Chloe did, and so did Samantha. They were sisters. The daughters of Butch Carver. He had six girls and one boy.”
Though I was too young to really know either of them well—they were about ten years older than me—I remember Chloe being trouble.
