Every stroke of his body in hers brought them both closer to climax. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. Not by a long shot.
But her hands were on his back, the nails digging in, as her body tensed under him. Her spine arched as the climax rolled through her, tightening around him in vibrant pulses. There was nothing Mike could do but go with her. As far as orgasms went, it was nuclear.
Several minutes passed as his heart slowed from all-out sprint to jog, and a few aftershocks passed through the lax body under his. Mike kissed her with all the tenderness that had gathered in his heart. A contented sigh purred in her throat. She stretched, sleek and graceful. Though she seemed content, Mike searched her face for signs of panic.
She raised a brow at him. “Is everything all right?”
“I think so. If I get up to deal with the condom, you’re not going to lock yourself in the bathroom, right?”
She cupped the side of his face and kissed him. “You might regret this, but I’m not going anywhere, He-Man. Except maybe to the kitchen. I’m starving.”
Laughing, Mike ducked into the bathroom. “What time do you need to be home?”
“What time is it?”
“Six.” Sheets rustled in the bedroom, and Mike stifled a pang of regret. He’d like to keep her here, safe—and naked—for the rest of the night.
“No rush, but I can’t stay over.” Rachel yawned. “Brandon said he’d feed the horses tonight, but then he’s leaving with his family. The river is going to crest by morning. Their rental is in the flood zone. They need to stay with relatives for a few days.”
“You’re not going to have a problem, are you?” Mike cleaned up and brushed his teeth while he was in there. When she didn’t answer, he returned to the bedroom.
She was curled up on her side. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed in a way it never was while she was conscious. Rachel didn’t stop moving long enough to relax. She looked innocent, vulnerable without her usual guarded expression.
He set the bedside alarm for two hours and climbed back into bed with her, easing an arm over her body. She curled into him. Just a couple of hours. Then they’d get back to trying to find her stalker.
Lt. Pete Winters turned the township SUV into the Lost Lake development project. With a tighter suspension than his cruiser, the unfamiliar vehicle bounced through sloppy ruts. Mud splashed onto the windshield. He turned on the wipers, and a liberal spray of fluid cleared two arches of glass.
Headlights swept the site as he turned into the parking area. Gravel crunched under the truck’s tires. Cluttered with chain-link fences, the yellow carcasses of large equipment, and port-a-johns, the bulldozed acreage slashed like a scar through the forest. Beyond the muddy beach, the overfull lake undulated, black and forbidding, in the darkness.
A man came out of the office trailer and picked his way across the sloppy lot. The wind kicked up the tails of the unbuttoned flannel shirt he wore over his jeans and tee. Recognizing one of the job foremen, Pete got out of the truck. “Hey, Ernie. How’s it going?” He pointed his flashlight at the ground and switched it on to avoid the puddles.
“Quiet so far.” Ernie yawned. “Man, I’m loving the time-and-a-half, but I’m not used to second shift.”
“When do you get off?”
Ernie scratched his belly and yawned. “Midnight. Tonight’s the last night. Harmon hired some hotshot security company. They start tomorrow.”
“Guess they’re tired of all the vandalism.”
“Can’t blame them. The missing dynamite was the last straw.” Ernie reached into his chest pocket and pulled a pack of cigarettes.
“Dynamite?”
“Oh yeah.” He tapped a Marlboro out of a full pack. “You didn’t know? When they said to keep it quiet, I thought they’d told the cops.”
“The chief probably knows.” But doubt was creeping into Pete’s gut. The chief wasn’t the kind of guy to let something like missing explosives slide. But then, Pete never thought the chief would compromise a case either. Maybe he’d handled it on his own. There was only one way to find out.
“I’m sure.” Ernie cupped a match and lit his smoke. The end flared bright orange as he inhaled. Smoke cut across the scents of pine and wet earth.
Pete fingered the button on his flashlight. “Well, if everything is fine here, I have to get back to the station.”
“See ya, Pete.” Ernie dragged on his smoke and backed away from the police vehicle.
Pete navigated the exit and turned back onto the rural road. With no moonlight, the darkness was a solid wall that ended at the reach of his headlights. He pushed the pedal down and high-beamed it all the way back to town. In the dark police station lot, he parked behind the brick building and let himself in. The night dispatcher waved as Pete continued to the chief’s office. After unlocking the door with the key the mayor had given him, he switched on the light, rounded the desk, and sat behind it. The chief’s chair felt too large, and Pete’s short, pudgy frame couldn’t quite fill it.
He rummaged through drawers and files until he located the Lost Lake folder. He flipped pages and scanned reports. No mention of stolen explosives. He collapsed against the chair’s high leather back. What did it mean?
Had the chief purposefully kept the dynamite theft out of the reports? Doubt lumped in the pit of Pete’s belly. His gaze wandered to the window. At the community center across the street, lights glowed in the windows of the main meeting room. The town council was the only group that would be there this late.
Pete locked up and crossed the street to the old building that housed everything from Weeblos to senior fitness classes. In the main meeting area, Vince and Lawrence Harmon sat at the long table that spanned the room. The rest of the council was conspicuously absent.
Pete walked up the aisle that ran between two banks of folding chairs and stopped in front of the councilman. Annoyance flickered in Vince’s eyes before he blinked it away. He closed the file in front of him. Next to him, Harmon sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
Vince gestured to the empty chair opposite him. “Pete, have a seat. What can we do for you?” He rested his elbows on the closed folder and steepled his fingers.
Pete stood behind the chair. He grasped the metal back with both hands, the chair and resolve holding him steady. “Why isn’t the missing dynamite in any of the Lost Lake reports?”
Harmon sat up and glanced at Vince. “I told you—”
Vince held up a hand. “Because we don’t want to upset the public, that’s why.” The confident, condescending tone in his voice confirmed everything.
Pete ignored Harmon’s angry glare. “Did the chief know about this?”
“Mr. High-and-Mighty?” Vince snorted. “Of course not. He’d never have gone along with it.”
Pete’s stomach balled up, sick and pathetic as the rest of him. He’d taken Vince’s side over the chief’s. He’d betrayed the best man he knew. Why? Because the chief was human? Pete’s fingers tightened on the chair back.
Vince leaned closer. “Which is why he’s gone and you’re driving his truck and sitting behind his desk.”
Pete’s vocal cords wouldn’t respond.
“We expect you to play nice, Lieutenant Winters.” Vince circled, like a hawk over its prey. “You have three kids and a wife who doesn’t work, right? Keep this to yourself. You can be terminated just as easily as Chief O’Connell.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
A hooded man stood across the icy ground. A dark blob fell from his glove and stained the snow at his feet. His coat was splotched with dark stains, and though his face was but a blackened hole, she could feel his eyes on her.
He was watching. He knew.
Her legs trembled. The rest of her body was locked in place. Even her scream was frozen, trapped in her throat with no way to escape.
“Rachel, wake up.”
She bolted upright. Sweat coated her clammy forehead. Mike’s hand splayed on her back, supporting her. “J
ust a nightmare.”
But was it? Something about the dream was familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. “I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. He’s my own personal bogeyman.”
Mike’s hand moved in a slow circle. “Tell me what you see.”
“A man’s shadow. He’s wearing a hood that shadows his face, but his coat has dark stains on it. I think they’re blood.”
“Do you remember anything about the first time you saw him?”
Rachel nodded. A shiver crossed her bare shoulders. Mike pulled her close and tugged the blanket over her.
His arms wrapped around her. She rested her head against his solid chest. “I was six and sick with chicken pox. There was a noise outside. I remember being hot, really hot, and itchy. I got out of bed and went to my window. It had snowed since I went to bed. He was out there, standing in the snow, looking at me.”
“You’re sure this was a nightmare?”
“I assumed.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“No.” The loneliness in the memory was as clear as the vision. “Sarah was just an infant and my mother was, well, you know. I wasn’t allowed out of my room. Couldn’t risk getting them sick.”
“So, you had a high fever and couldn’t go to your parents?” Mike’s voice was tinted with anger.
“I guess I could’ve yelled for my father. Believe it or not, he was the available one back then. Before my mother died, he took care of pretty much everything. But after Sarah was born, the stress level in our house was at an all-time high. It was a downward spiral from there.”
Mike stroked her hair for a minute. “So you’re not one hundred percent sure your father was in the house that night?”
“I never thought about it. I just assumed he was in their room.” She stopped, suddenly realizing what Mike was implying. No. It couldn’t be. Or could it? “Do you think I saw my father? Do you think he killed Harry?”
He hugged her closer. “I don’t know anything.”
“I don’t think he would have left her alone with the baby.” Sarah was an easy baby. If they were both asleep…Rachel had never thought of her father as a violent man. But the way he’d changed when he’d told them about the affair made her wonder if he had any other skeletons in the closet—or basement.
Rachel nestled her head against Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t you have any deep, dark secrets, He-Man?”
“I was married once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It didn’t last a year and ended a decade ago. Laura liked the idea of being a Philadelphia detective’s wife. The reality was a different story. My mother was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. When I took the job as chief here and moved home to take care of her, Laura filed for divorce.”
Anger flared in Rachel. “What a bitch—” She covered her mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. It was fine.” Mike laughed. “Laura liked the city, and she was tired of me anyway. All I ever did was work.”
“Plenty of people like their work.”
“I did anyway.”
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault you lost your job.” Rachel’s hand settled on his abdomen, but she wasn’t admiring the rippled muscles. She was thinking about all that antacid He-Man was stocking and the fact that his mother had died of stomach cancer.
“No, it isn’t. Whoever is trying to hurt you and Vince Mitchell can share that blame.” He covered her hand with his. “Anyway, the divorce was more of a relief. We weren’t a good match. Mom was dying, and I was glad to have that year with her. It had been just me and her since I was ten.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t miss the catch in his voice. She nodded at their joined hands. “Don’t you think you should get that checked out?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to start too, are you? God, Quinn is enough of a pest.”
Rachel sat up, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. “So, I’m a pest if I care about you?’
“I didn’t say—”
“You get to care about people, but they aren’t allowed to care back?’
“I—”
“You made me get an X-ray, but you can ignore this.” She tapped her forefinger on his flat stomach. “This could be serious.”
“But—”
“Look, He-Man. That’s not the way this works.” Rachel gestured between them. “And I totally get that you’re afraid of what it is.”
Mike looked horrified. He squirmed. “You don’t like closed spaces or the sight of blood. I have this phobia about all things medical. Sometimes I freak out.” His gaze dropped to her hand, still resting on his rib cage. “My mother’s death was pretty ugly. Sometimes, the treatment was worse than the disease.”
“Well, you’re going to have to man-up and find out what’s wrong.” She linked her hand with his. “You’re not alone if you don’t want to be. You have a decision to make. I’m not exactly sure what we have here either, but I don’t do things halfway. I’ll even go with you.”
Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Cleared his throat. Then he rolled over, tugged her down on the mattress, and took her mouth in a searing kiss.
Rachel put her palm on his forehead and pushed his head up. “No. You will not distract me with sex.”
His ducked around her hand. His mouth moved down her neck and found the sensitive hollow under her jaw. Tingles shot deep into her belly as his lips roamed. Her hand strayed to grip his shoulder.
“This is an important discussion, dammit.” But as she said it, she tilted her head back to give him more access. Her fingers dug into the heavy muscle of his back. Mike shifted his weight and slid a hand between her legs. His mouth trailed across her collarbone.
“I am making a mental note.” Rachel’s eyes fluttered shut as callused fingers slid inside her. “Ah. This discussion is not…oooh…ver.” Gasp.
The nightstand drawer scraped open and shut. Mike nudged her legs farther apart and settled between them.
“You cannot distract me with sex.”
With one long and slow thrust, he stroked deep inside her. Rachel arched her back and wrapped her legs around his hips to take all of him. Pleasure burst in a sparkly rainbow behind her eyelids. She opened her eyes. He was staring down at her with complete focus—and as much tenderness as desire. He eased back and thrust again.
And she gave herself up to the sensation, to him. “For more than an hour.”
Will pulled off onto the shoulder and drove onto the grass. He parked his truck behind a stand of trees, flipped up his hood, and tossed back the last of his beer. Drizzle speckled the windshield. Across the field, light shone from the first-floor windows of her big stone house. He couldn’t miss it.
He stumbled out of the truck, then leaned back in and pulled the latch to fold the driver’s seat forward. His hand curled around the aluminum baseball bat he’d stashed on the floor of the cab. He tested its weight with a trial swing. Perfect.
He headed across the meadow. Tall weeds squished under his boots as he breathed in the isolation. Rachel Parker’s closest neighbor was a half mile down the road, and town was a fifteen-minute drive away. Even if he tripped an alarm, he figured he had at least ten minutes before the cops showed up. He only needed five. That bitch was going to pay. His nuts still hurt, and there was no way he was going to jail. She’d be sorry. So sorry she wouldn’t testify against him.
The old farmhouse stood in solitary relief against the night sky. Was she home? Circling to the right, he ducked under a wet branch. Water dripped onto his head and into his eyes. He brushed it away.
There. Her pickup was parked near the house. The front of the farmhouse was dark. He looped around to the backyard. Concealed within a stand of pines, he found the kitchen window. A dark-haired woman was in front of it, looking down, probably doing dishes or something. Will’s vision blurred, and he rubbed his eyes.
A twig snapped to his left. Will froze for a few seconds and listened to the sounds of insects
chirping and rain dropping on dead leaves. He turned back to the window. Excitement swirled in his belly as focused on the brunette.
The Watcher pulled his boat up onto the muddy bank and tied the bow line to a tree. He strapped on his backpack, full of the necessary supplies, and lifted the extra-large gas cans out onto the muddy creek side. The game trail was sloppy, but the mud thinned out as he headed uphill toward Rachel’s farm. Tall, wet stalks of grass slapped at the knees of his black jeans. Though the rain had stopped, water dripped from the canopy. After tonight, he wasn’t going to have to worry about Rachel anymore.
Soggy leaves squished under his boots as he climbed the trail. Lights glimmered through the dripping foliage ahead. He circled the property to get a better vantage point. Her truck was parked right where it was supposed to be. But where was the cop’s vehicle? The Watcher had the perfect distraction planned. Half of the dynamite he’d stolen from Lost Lake was already in place. He checked the luminous dial of his Timex. Plenty of time.
He continued around until he was directly behind the barn. He stashed the fuel cans in the underbrush and settled in to wait.
Something large rustled in the bushes nearby. His head swiveled. Deer? Too noisy. He crept across the spongy ground. The bulky figure of a large man lumbered noisily through the trees and stepped into the open. With eyes accustomed to the darkness, the Watcher assessed him. The man’s purpose and identity were clear. A baseball bat swung from Will Martin’s hand.
Will turned suddenly and looked right at him. Recognition crossed Will’s intoxicated features. He’d have to die, which was appropriate, considering he’d taken advantage of Tanya just like Harry had with Barbara. Everything really did come full circle.
“Hey.” Will stumbled toward him.
Plans were never perfect. He’d have to shift his timetable around to deal with Will.
She Can Tell Page 24
