Kenna hadn’t realized she’d gone on and on about her parents’ marriage until Dean laughed softly. She quickly took a Q-tip and smeared the antibiotic ointment on the end. It wouldn’t take long for her to bandage him up and send him on his way back to New Haven for the night. In the meantime, she no longer experienced any guilt about inquiring about the investigation.
“So, Bright has solid alibis for the nights in question,” Kenna began as she motioned for Dean’s arm. He extended it dutifully, and she winced when she comprehended just how brutal Spartacus had been in his attempt to remain king of the hill. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist to steady both of them as she began to dab the antibiotic ointment onto his wounds. “Do you have any other likely suspects?”
“Yes, but we seem to be blocked at every turn. We’ve run down every lead we’ve managed to dig up, so we start fresh at ground zero tomorrow.” Dean didn’t even react when the Q-tip brushed over the bloody cuts. The weight of his stare told her that he was more focused on her then what she was doing to his arm, but she reminded herself that he’d only stopped by to drop off a rescue cat. “Kenna?”
“I take it that you mean Tamara Johnson is ground zero? The first victim?” Kenna guessed, ignoring him. The way her name fell off his lips had her second-guessing everything that had taken place in the last ten minutes. “I don’t mean to change subjects, but how did Spartacus scratch you this far up on your arm if you were wearing your dress coat and suit jacket?”
“Let’s just say it became a battle of wills and I foolishly took off my armor,” Dean murmured in justification. Just the way his tone dropped an octave told her that he wasn’t going to be swayed from his intent. “Kenna, look at me.”
Kenna closed her eyes and attempted to inhale the way she’d been taught in yoga class, but this time it didn’t work. Far from it. As a matter of fact, the moment he shifted and brushed his warm fingers against her right cheek, she realized that this particular moment would alter the course of her life forever.
“Bringing you Spartacus is not the only reason I came to your house tonight, Kenna,” Dean said softly as he curled his fingers underneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “I also didn’t come back for the chili, delicious as it may be. I came back for you.”
Dean stepped forward so that there was no space between them, leaning down to press his soft lips against hers. There was a buzzing in her ears that she vaguely recognized, and long-forgotten arousal rushed through every part of her being. Basically, the rest of the world had faded away. The only thing that existed in this moment was him—the one man who had awakened every sensation in her body that had been asleep for way too long.
Meow.
Tonight was the night he should have been making dreams come true. Unfortunately, there was a small matter the he must attend to in order to continue with his mission. He’d done his homework, had taken the necessary time needed to study her daily habits, and now finally had an opening that he couldn’t allow to pass him by. It meant exposing himself for a brief moment, but he was confident that the end result would mean another widow meeting her maker.
He hadn’t wanted to be distracted by the FBI’s involvement. He’d done everything possible to explain through alternative means that he too, had a task laid out before him in the best interest of humanity. They couldn’t seem to bring themselves to understand him or accept the good he was doing for the souls of the forgotten widows.
He’d witnessed firsthand what happened when a widow was finally able to move past the pain, and it was a beautiful miracle to witness up close. He could only do so much or give so much of his time, so he had no choice but to force the issue at hand. By the time he was done, everyone would be hailing him a hero.
“I make things better,” he whispered as he pulled the black ski mask over his face. “I always do.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dean didn’t regret not following the rules this time around. He’d already known two days ago that there was something special about Kenna that made her different than any other woman he’d ever had the privilege of meeting. His epiphany came in the realization that he needed to act after having spent over an hour with Frank this morning hearing how his marriage was falling apart. It had been like a kick to the teeth. Frank’s impending loss was not only his own fault in failing to nurture his union, but his wife’s responsibility for failing to understand the lifestyle she’d been marrying into when she chose to spend her life with a federal agent.
Today’s life lesson had taught him not to ignore those moments or people in life that didn’t come along very often. Kenna was one of those special individuals who didn’t come along but once or twice in a lifetime. He didn’t know for certain where this would lead, but he wasn’t willing to let such an elusive chance for something this important pass him by. Hearing her thoughts on her parents’ marriage and her outlook on what a relationship in his line of work should be had him breaking down the last hurdle that had prevented him from acting sooner.
Dean wasn’t one to thwart the system for no reason. If anything, those guidelines were there for a reason. There was nothing worse than to be clouded by one’s own poor judgement. Lives in high-profile cases like their current investigation were at stake, and he was responsible for each and every one. Taking his eye off the ball could easily result in allowing a serial killer to get away with his malicious acts of murder. The same could be said for Dean’s personal life, which he’d put on hold for quite some time in the name of the job. No longer. The problem only came when one violated their own understanding of professional ethics, solely for personal gain without thought for the consequences.
Arousal washed over him upon hearing her quick intake of breath, and he shifted so that her back was pressed against the counter. He wasn’t sure what happened to the Q-tip with its antibiotic cream, but he didn’t care. She tasted sweet, almost as if she’d enjoyed some of the peach pie neither one got to have last night. One sample himself, and now he couldn’t get enough.
He deepened the kiss, unable to get close enough to her. Now that he had her in his arms, it was all he could do not to strip her naked and take her right there on the cold hardwood floor. It was the faintest brush of her tongue against his upper lip that almost brought him to his knees. There was something so innocent yet so incredibly stimulating in such a simple act.
“Dean, your phone,” Kenna murmured breathlessly, pulling away just enough to whisper those damning words. “It’s ringing.”
He didn’t bother to hold back the expletive as he kissed her once more before relenting to the demands of his job. With an investigation of this magnitude, there wasn’t a break of any sort in their relentless pursuit of the killer. A quick glance at the display on his phone told him that he might not get to enjoy this evening the way he’d envisioned it the entire day.
“Chaz, what’s going on?”
Kenna surprised Dean when she motioned that she wanted to continue tending to his arm. He involuntarily held it out for her while listening to the latest turn of events.
“Someone broke into Quinn Simmons’ apartment this evening,” Chaz informed him, the inclination in the tone of his voice telling Dean that there was a lot more to the break-in than what appeared on the surface. “She’s fine, but you’re going to want to see what we found.”
“What’s the address?”
By this time, Kenna had decided to go with gauze instead of Band-Aids due to the size of the coverage area. For someone who worked with numbers all day, she would have made a damned fine nurse. The field dressing ended up better than what he’d seen the corpsmen do when he was overseas.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Dean replied after Chaz had rattled off the address. “Give Frank a call. I want him there. He’s still in town, and he isn’t due to head back until Sunday.”
Dean disconnected the call with a sigh of regret.
“I had different plans in mind for this evening.”
Dean didn
’t sugarcoat anything as he took in her appearance. Her lips were slightly swollen, and her cheeks were still flushed from their shared intimacy. His fingers must have slid underneath the area where she’d gathered her hair. The majority of the strands had come loose and hung over her shoulder, though he would have much preferred they were draped over her pillow while he had the proper amount of time to pleasure her.
“I have a feeling I would have really enjoyed those plans,” Kenna said lightly, having just finished layering the last bit of adhesive tape across the top of the gauze. She lifted her lashes, her emerald green eyes still filled with the same desire that was coursing through his veins. “There’s nothing to say we can’t continue this later, when you return from whatever it is you’re about to do.”
Dean wasn’t used to things being this uncomplicated, especially in those few relationships he’d attempted to have in the past. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, almost as if she were challenging him to doubt her offer. What she didn’t understand was that he’d gotten into the habit of keeping this kind of thing uncomplicated in his life, especially when it came to women.
Kenna was different, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. He did know without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to find out, though.
“It could be late,” Dean warned, feeling as though she should be informed of the regular sort of pitfalls that was basically his life. “I’m not sure what I’m walking into yet.”
Dean had been going to expand on the meaning of his sentence to include whatever crime scene awaited him, but he stopped short when he realized there was a double meaning to his statement. She was a widow. That designation didn’t define who she was, but it sure as hell came with hurdles that he’d witnessed firsthand growing up. No man had ever lived up to the ghost of his father in the eyes of his mother. He had an uphill battle looming in his near future. Expectations of which he had no idea.
Kenna regarded him thoughtfully as she quietly set the roll of adhesive tape back into the first aid kit. There was a serenity within her that a lot of men and women failed to possess after suffering such a loss, and he was in awe of her inner strength. She made it so that a man wanted to surround himself with and seek comfort in her aura.
She lifted up on the tiptoes of those silly fuzzy socks of hers, gently pressing her lips against his. He figured what was supposed to be a simple goodbye turned into so much more when her hands slid up the front of his chest to wrap around his neck. He deepened their kiss and managed to loosen the rest of her hair from its confines. This clearly wasn’t going to be a situation that they could ease themselves into, not when she made him want to strip off her clothes and explore every inch of her body until she was calling out his name. Leaving here now would be a chore.
“You make me want to stay,” Dean whispered when he finally found the strength to pull away from her. Kenna’s lips curled into the most enticing smile that caused a rush of heat through his abdomen. “If you—”
“I’m not changing my mind, Dean. I’ll be here when you finish up later tonight.”
Dean nodded, stepping back while he still had the strength to leave. He began rolling down his sleeve as he made his way back into the living room, needing to grab his suit jacket. He came up short at the astonishing sight that greeted him.
Spartacus was curled up on the soft afghan that Kenna used when occupying the couch. The heat from the fireplace must have been too much of a temptation for the big tomcat to ignore. There was a bit of green showing as Spartacus peered through the smallest of slits, almost as if he were warning Dean that he was still on thin ice when it came to manhandling him.
“Looks like you have someone to keep you company while I’m gone,” Dean said after clearing his throat, giving Spartacus the wide berth he obviously wanted while affording himself a bit of distance to clear his mind. “Seriously though, I have no idea how long this is going to take. If it gets past midnight, I’ll drive to the hotel and give you a call in the morning.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Agent Malone,” Kenna exclaimed, holding out a sticky note for him to take after he’d shrugged into his suit jacket. He wasn’t sure when or how she’d had time to jot something down on a piece of paper, but he found himself taking it dutifully out of her hand. “You’ll stop by the store to pick up litter, a litter box, cat food, and treats. I’m not sure if Spartacus is going to decide to stay here, but he sure does look like he’s contemplating it. I’d like to be prepared for either alternative.”
Dean didn’t bother to hide his smile at her take charge attitude. She’d handled him giving her a cat out of the blue rather well, and he best not push the issue. He took the sticky note and folded it in two before slipping it into the interior pocket of his jacket. He was left wondering why Meghan Vance hadn’t befriended a dog instead of a cat.
“No alarm system yet?” Dean asked her as she walked him to the door. She waited patiently while he put on his dress coat. He adjusted the scarf before pulling out the leather gloves he’d stuffed into one of the pockets. “Is your new cell phone working good? Fully charged?”
“The alarm system goes in tomorrow, thankfully before the weekend. My new phone is working great. And to answer your last question, yes. It’s fully charged.” Kenna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in warning, much like Spartacus had done moments before. “No more pets, Dean.”
It appeared that he wasn’t the only one who was good at reading people. Dean purposefully took a step forward so that she had to back into the closet door. He loved the way her lips parted in anticipation, and he captured them for another kiss to get him through whatever awaited him at the latest crime scene.
“Be careful,” Kenna murmured when he finally found the strength to pull away. “Keep your head on a swivel.”
Dean could only nod before turning and opening the front door. He closed it gently behind him, waiting to walk down the small path that led to the driveway until he heard the click of the deadbolt sliding home. Once that final act was done, he quickly removed his car keys and hurried the rest of the distance to his vehicle.
Considering that he’d been driving the car less than twenty to twenty-five minutes ago, the engine was still warm enough that he didn’t have to waste time sitting there while the car ran idle. Fourteen minutes later, thanks to the relatively light traffic on a Thursday evening, Dean was able to park in front of what appeared to be a row of townhouses that was currently the center of the neighborhood’s attention with two sheriff cars, plus Frank’s nondescript government vehicle. It was a check in the plus column that the media hadn’t caught wind of the connection between this break-in and the case quite yet. He figured the reason was due to Ms. Simmons’ desire to write about her own ordeal before the morning issue of the local paper.
“Hopkins said you were on your way,” Frank muttered with a frown once Dean was let through the front door by one of the deputies who was writing down the names of everyone entering the crime scene. “I thought you were heading back to New Haven.”
Dean didn’t need a lecture about mixing business with pleasure, nor did he need to account for his time with his partner. He’d already addressed that topic multiple times with himself this evening, and he’d come to the conclusion that he could mitigate the fallout. He might have met Kenna during an open investigation, but she wasn’t technically part of the case yet. He planned to keep it that way.
“I was headed home until I found that stray that Meghan Vance talked about in her journal.” Dean surveyed the interior of the townhouse, noting that the living room fed into what was supposed to be a dining area. Instead of a table, there was an L-shaped desk with two large monitors, stacks of endless files, and a very old-looking printer. “Let’s just say I found him a home.”
“Sucker.” Frank motioned toward Quinn Simmons, who was currently standing next to her desk with a determined frown on her face. “Your little reporter that you spent time with this afternoon didn’t happen to mention
to you that she’s been in contact with the unsub, did she?”
“No, she didn’t happen to mention that important detail,” Dean muttered in disbelief after having taken time to absorb the impact of such a vital aspect. A lot of those missing puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “Apparently, she intended to keep hindering our investigation.”
Quinn was in her early thirties and currently utilizing a podcast to launch her career into the stratosphere. She also wrote pieces for the local paper about investigations into politics, crime, and anything else that would catch the public’s eye. She was what some would call a local celebrity, although that might be stretching it. Had she been pulling the wool over their eyes this entire time? Was Frank right about Quinn’s willingness to do anything for ratings? They were about to find out. At this point, she’d rack up one to five years in a federal penitentiary, hindering an active homicide investigation and make false official statements.
“Don’t touch anything,” Frank reminded Dean. “We’re going to have the place dusted for prints, not that I think we’re going to find anything. For all we know, she made all this shit up to have something else to add to her column tomorrow.”
Dean’s first impression of Quinn had surprised him, because she had truly seemed concerned for the victims’ families and those widows who could potentially be the next target of their unsub. She’d been professional, stuck to the facts, and didn’t overstep the bounds put in place by Chaz at the beginning of their meeting. The article she’d been going to run regarding the FBI’s involvement being solely based on Meghan Vance’s murder had been successfully waylaid once Dean had filled her in on how such investigations worked within the Bureau. Honestly, he’d believed they were relatively on the same page professionally.
“Hey, Malone.” Frank had called out to Dean before he’d been able to advance on the reporter, so he turned back to find that his partner appeared more than a little uncomfortable. “Oliver knew Tamara Johnson. Not well, but I thought you should know.”
The Forgotten Widow Page 15
