by Jaycee Clark
“Oh.” Her lips held that vowel out, and he wanted to kiss her again. “Yes. If you’re sure.” Her words whispered against his lips made him long for another taste.
Just one.
“I’m sure.” Then he dove again. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, both wanted it, both gave into it and both took from it. Her arms tightened around him as his did around her. He backed her up against the door facing, leaning into her warm, pliant body. He reacted instantly to their waists contacting, to the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his chest. He licked the roof of her mouth, felt her shiver and let his hands roam up and down her back, feather light. She arched, sighing into his mouth. He could feel the ridge of her backbone, and as he dipped into the base of her spine, the thought of one day kissing her right there shot through his brain. When they pulled back both were panting.
“God, woman.”
Her laugh, husky with passion, swirled between them.
He’d wanted to explore those dimples, but that would have to wait, or neither of them would be leaving this porch. “Next time.”
“Next time? What?” she asked him.
“Dimples.” On a resigned sigh, he disentangled them. Her confused look was completely adorable. That pull of brows that left the faintest frown between them.
“Good night, gorgeous.” He tapped her chin with his finger before he turned and walked down the steps. The promise of rain tinged the air.
“Good night, Gavin.” At his car, he looked back, opening the driver’s door. He couldn’t see her, not really, just her outline against the light shining through the open door.
“Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s not his mother, you are. One thing runs deeper than blood. Love. Those ties are a hell of a lot stronger.” He slid into the seat and started the car.
He couldn’t wait till tomorrow.
Chapter 7
“Taylor, it’s Gavin. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our afternoon . . .”
His message on her voice mail kept interrupting her thoughts. She’d gotten it while she and Ryan were at the bookstore. And like some lovesick teenager, she’d listened to it twice. Okay, maybe three times. Friends. What the hell happened to friends and neither of them wanting or needing a relationship?
It was that soothing, calm baritone voice of his.
She tried, she really did, not to think of the kiss they’d shared, but then she’d tried—quite unsuccessfully—to forget that all day.
The man was a distraction even when he wasn’t around. But what a kiss it had been, nothing like what she and Charles had ever shared. No, with Gavin . . .
With Gavin, Taylor could stand for them to simply kiss all night. Well, she admitted honestly, that was highly doubtful, especially if he did what followed as well as kissing. And with a man like Gavin Kinncaid, Taylor knew, just knew down to her bones, that a night with him would be far more distracting than some kiss. And why was she even thinking about a night with him for God’s sake? Kissing was one thing. Sex another.
“I wish Gavin could have come with us,” Ryan’s voice jerked her back.
“I do too, but you know a doctor’s life is very demanding. He has to be there for his patients.” Taylor pulled Ryan close to her side. “Gavin said to tell you he was sorry.”
Blue, clear as the June sky, peeked at her beneath lashes most women would kill for. Ryan had such wonderful eyes. Summer blue framed with long, slightly curled, light brown lashes.
Was that hopefulness she caught in his voice? She’d noticed he had taken to Gavin, for the most part at ease around the man, but Ryan would always have that look about him: a studying, observant look, a consideration in the eyes that weighed situations and people in seconds.
Thankfully, Ryan hadn’t looked at her that way lately, but she noticed when Gavin was around, that sharpness would come into her son’s eyes and her heart would squeeze. Regardless of his hesitancy, Ryan seemed to genuinely like Gavin. Last night at dinner and the day they’d gone to eat, just listening to Ryan’s half of the phone conversations when Gavin called was enough to tell her Ryan felt more comfortable around Gavin than he ever had around Charles.
Charles. Taylor shook her head and stared out the cab window. Rain grayed the world outside and water sprayed on the taxi as another car passed them.
She wasn’t going to think about her ex-husband, his betrayal, or his cold attitude towards both her and Ryan, even if she had had all but a cursing fit on the phone with him this morning.
Taylor sighed and focused back on Ryan. “Did you get enough pizza? I thought when we got home, I’d make some brownies and we could watch a movie. How does that sound?”
“Brownies with icing?” Ryan asked.
She smiled. “Is there any other way?”
His grin made his freckles look happy.
Rain sheeted down as they rode home. Ryan looked out the window and hummed his Irish reel, which she had yet to learn the title of, but recognized the tune.
Gavin.
She’d laid awake half the night, wondering if she’d imagined those feelings Gavin evoked, if it was one-sided, and if it wasn’t, what she wanted to do about that. She knew this attraction wasn’t one-sided, but she didn’t know if she wanted anything other than friendship. Okay, friendship and this great wonderful attraction might work.
Of course, the kiss was very persuasive. So, did that mean they were now more than friends? Taylor worried. Gavin was a smooth talker, no doubt about it, and she didn’t necessarily think he kissed all his friends the way he kissed her last night.
At the same time, she didn’t want to go jumping to the conclusion there was some sort of tangible relationship between them if he wasn’t thinking that. Maybe it just sort of happened last night and that was it.
Did she want it to be it?
There was the question. Did she want just friendship between them or something more?
Yesterday she would have said friendship with Gavin Kinncaid would have been enough, and probably could have convinced herself of it. Now, after that mind-numbing kiss, she had to be honest. She enjoyed Gavin’s company and the talks they had, and that kiss had awakened something in her that she was honest enough to want to explore.
So, it was no wonder that even with her understanding of Gavin’s job, she was disappointed at not being able to spend the afternoon with him. That would have been really nice, probably more than nice.
It was after five when the cab pulled up to the curb at their house. Rain poured down, pounding the roof of the car in an unforgiving rhythm. Of course, she’d never thought about grabbing an umbrella earlier.
Taylor shoved the fare into the driver’s hand and told him to keep the change as she slid out of the door behind Ryan. Both of them raced to the porch, he with his books tucked securely against his chest and she with her purse held by her side.
Thunder boomed.
Taylor didn’t want to mess with digging in her purse. She grabbed the extra key out from behind the geraniums.
Something was wrong. The key wouldn’t turn in the door. Taylor tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand. Hadn’t she locked it? The door swung inward. Overcast skies shadowed the entryway. Her breath caught in her lungs.
Her arm shot out as Ryan tried to pass her.
“No. Stay here.”
Pictures hung crookedly from the wall and a potted fern was lying on its side, the dirt scattered across the floor. She vaguely remembered one didn’t enter a house after a breaking and entering for fear of the perpetrator still being there.
From her right, a shadow moved towards her.
“Taylor!” Ryan yelled.
“Homewrecking bitch.” The person hissed, swinging out.
Taylor ducked, shoving Ryan to the side. Wood splintered against the door frame. She kicked out with her foot. The masked man stumbled, dropping a tire iron. He leapt over her, off the porch and raced around the next house.
Taylo
r stayed crouched on the porch, panting.
“Taylor? Taylor?”
She turned and saw Ryan’s pale face. “I’m okay. Are you?”
He swallowed and nodded.
Taylor turned and sat down on the porch, digging in her purse for her phone. Finally. She called 911.
Who would break into their home? Who the hell was that? Fear slithered across her damp skin as she remembered Nina’s letter. Taylor reached out and grabbed Ryan’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
Her hold on Ryan tightened as she gave off her address and emergency to the dispatcher.
“Who was that?” Ryan asked her, shaking off her hand after she punched end.
Her eyes adjusted to the fading light and shadows and obviously so had Ryan’s. His eyes shone fiercely as he looked up at her. She noticed he had a death grip on his books.
“I don’t know. A burglar. Though I didn’t see him carry anything.” Taylor stood and helped Ryan to his feet. Both of them backed away from the door and sat on the short brick wall that enclosed the porch area. Water gushed off the eaves and splashed loudly onto the wet ground below.
Minutes stretched as they waited for the police in silence. She turned to tell Ryan that maybe he could wait at the Websters’, but even then, she noticed the house down the street was dark.
“My violin!” Ryan jumped up, his book slapping to the porch. Before Taylor could grab him, he raced into the house.
“Ryan! Come back here!”
His feet pounded up the stairs, mixing with the wails of sirens from outside.
Taylor quickly followed her son. “Ryan, we’re not supposed to be in here. You don’t go into a house someone’s broken into. Ryan!”
A sound, between a growl and a cry, came from Ryan’s room. Taylor tore around the corner to see him standing in the middle of his room staring down at the floor. Everywhere was destruction. Posters were ripped, the sheets and blankets were torn off his bed, clothes laid scattered around everything, but at his feet was the worst of all.
Ryan knelt down at what remained of his violin, broken and smashed.
“Police!” a male voice shouted up the stairwell.
“We’re up here.” Taylor leaned out the doorway and flipped on the light switch. A man hurried up the stairs, a gun pointed to the floor and his badge pinned to his belt.
“Ma’am?”
“Sorry, I’m Taylor Reese. I know we’re supposed to wait outside, and we were, but Ryan . . .” She let her voice trail off. He still sat on the floor staring at his most prized possession. The policeman came up to stand beside her and looked into the room. “He thought of his violin and dashed inside before I could stop him.”
Ryan turned to her and rage and heartache warred in his shining eyes.
“I understand. I’m Lieutenant Morris.” More shouts from the outside and feet on the floors below. “We’re here,” he told someone coming in. “Lieutenant Morris.”
“Sergeant Bachall, sir. That’s my partner, Diamonds.” A uniformed officer stood on the stairs still holding his gun. “What are you doing on a B and E?”
“Driving a couple of streets over and thought I’d drop by,” Morris answered.
Bachall looked at his partner. “Yeah, right. Let’s check the rest of the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ma’am, could you come downstairs with me, please?” the man asked her. The lieutenant was average in height with the look of a hardened man about him. He was dressed neatly, brown hair buzzed short. A lantern jaw gave him a no-nonsense appearance, as did dark, sharp eyes.
“Let me get Ryan.” She turned back to the room and went inside. The detective stayed in the hallway, but didn’t leave the doorway.
“Ryan? Honey?”
Her son picked the pieces up and held them to him. A quick hand darted out to wipe the tears away before he looked up at her. “Why did he break my violin?”
Freckles stood out almost harshly against his skin. She reached out to run her hand over his head, but he jerked back. Taylor sighed inwardly.
“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know. Come on, we need to go downstairs so the police can look through everything.”
• • •
“Ms. Reese?”
Taylor turned at the sound of her name. She and Ryan were downstairs, back out on the porch. First they had gone to the kitchen, but it seemed to be in the worst shape, so they were led back out onto the porch.
“Yes?” she answered the lieutenant. Morris.
“Sergeant Bachall would like to speak to you.”
She turned to Ryan, who sat in the corner of the porch, his books forgotten beside him. In his lap lay his violin, or what was left of it. On top of it was his journal, which he’d gone back upstairs to get, having forgotten it in his nightstand drawer. He sat scribbling away in it. So far he hadn’t said another word to her. Taylor sighed.
“I’ll watch him.”
“Thank you.” She frowned. “Are you in charge of this? Doesn’t a lieutenant outrank a sergeant?”
He grinned. “I’m actually with the special crimes division. I was bored and on my way home. This falls under the sergeant’s collar.”
He sounded sincere, but something about the words didn’t ring exactly true. Now she frowned. “Glad I could offer you some entertainment, Lieutenant.”
She turned and walked inside. The heels of her small ankle boots clicked on the floor, the sound echoed, yet muffled in an eerie sort of way. The mess was beyond her comprehension. Spray paint on her walls, things ripped, broken and shattered material things. That’s all it was. Material things. Then why was she more upset about these than the man who swung at her?
“Ms. Reese?” The sergeant stood in her living room. “You need to look through and see if anything is missing.”
Her gaze ran over the destruction. She only cocked an eyebrow at him.
His smile was wry. “We’ll leave you some forms to fill out.”
“He wasn’t carrying anything that I could see though.” She sighed. “I guess that’s it?” She knew it was. But something needed to be done.
His head shook. “I’m afraid so. There’s just no way to thoroughly check out every B and E in this town. We don’t have the money or the manpower, regardless of what people see in the movies. We’ll ask around and see if any of your neighbors saw anything and then we’ll see if this matches any M.O.’s in the past. Though the tire iron is assault with a deadly, so . . .” He shrugged. “Lab might get a print off it.”
Taylor noticed a painting she’d managed to keep in the divorce was ripped, not stolen. It wasn’t priceless, but it was worth about a grand. Her television was still intact and sitting on the entertainment center along with the stereo and CDs. Her mother’s silver candlesticks were still on the shelf. Why hadn’t they stolen any of the valuables?
Because he didn’t want your stuff, idiot. He wanted to scare you.
Home breaker was written in black spray paint on the walls.
“Have many enemies? I would hazard a guess that this was a bit personal and had nothing to do with theft.”
“You moved up quickly, didn’t you?” Taylor regretted her smart reply as soon as it was out of her mouth. His gaze weighed on her. “Sorry,” she said with a wave of her hand in his direction. “I don’t care about all this, not really. It’s just Ryan.” Another sigh.
“Any ideas who would do this?” he asked again.
Taylor answered with a chuckle. “I’m every family’s favorite person, Sergeant. I’m a social worker.”
He jotted something down in his little notebook. “Angered anyone lately?” he asked.
Taylor liked this guy. He was friendly in his own straight-faced, hard-edged sort of way. “I make enemies daily. The largest lately would be Gibbons, but he’s in jail, so it’s probably not him.” Though he could be out.
“Ever heard of bail?” He was a smart-ass, too. “Why do you say Gibbons?”
“Oh, just that he decked me, swore reve
nge. Your normal day at the office.” She needed a cleaning service, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest. “The guy could’ve been him, but I’m not certain.”
Taylor gave Sergeant Bachall the information he needed.
“The worst of the destruction was in the kitchen, seems almost feminine.” His gaze was studying, and Taylor felt the blood drain from her face and a chill race up her spine. Nina. Could she be out? No. No.
“Something you wish to share?”
Her phone rang and Taylor jumped, realizing she’d shoved it into her pocket, probably after she’d called 911. Taylor held his stare a moment before the second ring had her digging the stupid thing out. Quickly, before it went to voice mail, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi ya, gorgeous.”
Gavin. Her relief whooshed out. Just the sound of those three words settled her frazzled nerves.
“Hi.”
“I just left the hospital and I’m already late for my parents’ dinner, so I thought maybe we could still all go out and grab a pizza or something.” A horn blared in the background.
What to tell him? “Um. Well, actually, we umm already grabbed a pizza.” A uniform leaned back in the front door.
“Sergeant? You need to see this.” His voice wasn’t quiet, and she tried to cover the mouthpiece, but obviously didn’t cover it enough.
“Sergeant?” Gavin asked. “What’s going on?”
Chaos? “Not a thing.”
“What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Everything. Taylor only sighed as Morris gave her a look as she crossed the porch following Bachall.
“Taylor?”
She licked her lips. “I don’t suppose you know any cleaning services, do you?”
“Why?” His voice hardened, all but daring her not to tell him.
She walked down the steps, absently noting that the rain fell softly now and the policemen stood to the side of the house looking at her car. Her eyes narrowed as she walked towards them, heedless of the drizzle.
“Taylor?” Gavin asked again in her ear.
“Ms. Reese.” Morris turned to her. How had she missed this? Her windshield was spiderwebbed, the tires were flat, or the two she could see were. Across the hood bitch was cut into the paint.
