I See You

by Burton, Mary

  The door slammed open, and Mark Foster rushed into the room. Out in the hallway, Pollard and Vaughan were arguing.

  “Skylar!” Foster shouted. He hurried across the room, cupping his injured arm. “My God, honey, are you all right?”

  Skylar’s eyes welled with tears as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Daddy, I was so frightened. Where is Mommy?”

  He tightened his hold. “She’s gone, honey. She’s gone.”

  Skylar began to weep. “I want my mom,” she said.

  Zoe watched the two carefully. She sensed there was tremendous relief, which should have felt normal. They had both been through a terrible ordeal. Before she could put her finger on what troubled her about the two, Vaughan pressed into the room with Pollard on his heels.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Foster said. “I’m so sorry she’s gone.”

  “What are we going to do, Daddy?” she sobbed.

  “I’ll fix this,” Foster said. “I will absolutely fix this.”

  Pollard cleared his throat. “Mark, I don’t want you to say anything else.”

  “Mr. Foster,” Vaughan said. “You wanted to see your daughter, and now you have. Now I need for you to say goodbye.”

  Foster kissed his daughter on the cheek in a tender, loving way. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Daddy, don’t go,” she said.

  He smoothed back her blond hair, as if she were just a small child. “I love you more than anything. I want you to always remember that.”

  Pollard took Foster by the arm, as if he sensed his client might once again incriminate himself. “We’ll be back soon. But we have to go now.”

  Foster kissed Skylar one more time. He was weeping when he let go of her hand and followed Pollard out into the hallway.

  “Daddy,” Skylar cried as she reached to pull her IV out. “I want my daddy and mommy.”

  “You can’t leave right now,” Zoe said.

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “You have to stay until we can work out who can take you.”

  “Mrs. Bradford will take me. She’s nice.”

  A knock on the door had her turning to see the officer standing next to Neil. The boy’s gaze went to Skylar, and the worry in her gaze melted. She cried harder, and he rushed across the small space to her.

  “Can we be alone?” Neil asked.

  “Please,” Skylar said. “I’ll tell you all you want to know, but I can’t right now.”

  “I’ll be outside.” Zoe stepped into the hallway and spotted a woman in her fifties who shared Neil’s eyes and lean frame. “Mrs. Bradford,” she said.

  “This is such a mess. Poor Skylar,” she offered. “And Mark looks destroyed.”

  She had no doubt that even if he had killed his wife in the heat of the moment, the man was now suffering terrible grief.

  Zoe handed the woman her notebook. “I’ll likely be paying you a visit tomorrow. Can I have your address?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Bradford scribbled down her address and handed the notebook back to Zoe.

  Vaughan gave Mrs. Bradford his card. “I’m advising you not to talk to the media until we have all the details of this case closed.”

  She tucked the card in her wallet. “I have no plans to speak to anyone.”

  “We also don’t want Mark spending time alone with his daughter,” Vaughan said. “They are the only two witnesses to Hadley’s death, and I don’t want one story influencing the other.”

  “Okay.”

  Neil stepped out of Skylar’s room. His lips were drawn into a grim line, and his skin looked ashen. “She wants to leave with us tonight.”

  “She can’t,” Zoe said. “But you and your mom can pick her up in the morning if she’s ready.”

  “Neil, get some sleep tonight,” Vaughan said. “The next few days are going to be hectic, and you’re going to need your rest.” He turned to the boy’s mother. “You may want to keep both the kids out of school tomorrow.”

  “Yes. That’s a wise idea.” She wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder and drew him close to her. “Thank you both.”

  Vaughan watched mother and son leave, and when they rounded the corner, he said, “The forensic department won’t have anything to report until morning. For now, there’s not much we can do. I’ll drop you at your place.”

  “That would be great,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  Finding Skylar alive and uninjured would go down in the books as a win. And it was. But Zoe knew happy endings were rare. The girl’s ordeal was far from over. She had lost her mother and had been deeply traumatized. She had a long road ahead of her. And there were too many questions that remained unanswered, and until she could answer those, she wouldn’t mark this case a true win.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Wednesday, August 14, 10:00 p.m.

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Thirty-Nine Hours after the 911 Call

  Zoe sat silent as Vaughan pulled up in front of Zoe’s townhome, sliding into a parking spot. The moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating the side of his face, accentuating the angles. She had never thought it was a handsome face, but it was the flaws that made it so attractive to her.

  “We don’t have to be at the lab until nine, so get some sleep,” Vaughan said.

  “Sleep. It’s all I’ve dreamed about for days, and now I’m so wired I can barely sit still. Want to come in and see the place?”

  He studied her a beat and then, “Sure. I’d like that.”

  “I’ll warn you—it’s a relic.”

  He shut off the engine and followed her up the small set of brick steps and watched as she wrestled the old key in the lock and was forced to pull on the handle before the bolt would wriggle free.

  Zoe clicked on the entry light switch, which spit out enough light to make the space maneuverable but not enough to really bring it to life.

  He looked around the space, jingling his keys in his hands as he walked around the small front room. The ceiling looked lower at night. He walked to the bookshelf and ran his finger along the spines of several books, including titles from Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. “This is an impressive collection.”

  “Feel free to take any that catch your eye,” she said. “There are hundreds of books in this house. Jimmy was an avid reader.”

  He removed a book, gently opened the red leather cover, and thumbed through yellow pages. “This is a first edition.”

  “Like I said. He liked his books.” She dropped her purse and keys on a beautiful mahogany table and kicked off her shoes. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Whiskey?”

  He ran his fingertip over the book’s cover, wondering how many generations had read it before him. “A small whiskey would be good.”

  She flipped on more lights in the kitchen and opened the cabinet, removing two crystal glass tumblers and a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt Scotch whiskey, aged twenty-one years. She poured a couple of fingers in each, crossed, and handed him a glass.

  He sipped, enjoying the smoothness. “This your stock or Uncle Jimmy’s?”

  “Mine. I like a good drink.”

  “Puts my stock to shame.” He took another sip and swirled the amber contents around. “Damn, that’s good.”

  She sipped from her glass, savoring its warmth and flavors. “What book did you pick?”

  He held it up so she could see the gold embossed letters on the spine. “Silas Marner.”

  “Can’t say I’ve read it.”

  “It’s been a while for me,” he said. “Never had a first edition.”

  “If Jimmy owned it, there’s a good chance it’s a fake.”

  Chuckling, he set it down on the small Queen Anne round table. “I’ll borrow it. It’ll give me an excuse to come back here.”

  She stared at him over the rim, feeling a surge of desire, just like she did each time they were alone like this.

  He downed the last of h
is glass and set it down next to the book. He ran his hand over her arm and watched as she sipped the remains of her drink. Slowly, he took her glass and set it beside his before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her on the lips.

  It was a tender kiss. Not hurried or rushed but almost exploratory. He was never one to be rushed, and the idea of him taking his time with her tonight sent a shiver down her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer to him. She could feel his erection hard against her. It had been too long since she had enjoyed a man and allowed herself to feel.

  Vaughan ran his calloused fingers over her long slim neck and up to the clip holding up her hair. He tugged at the band holding the braid and unraveled her hair, which tumbled around her shoulders in a wave of curls. He ran his fingers through her hair, spreading it over her shoulders.

  She reached for his tie and gently tugged and loosened it as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. She pressed her fingertips against his chest and kissed his lips.

  “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.

  She could hear the urgency in his voice. “Top of the stairs.”

  His eyes glinted like glass. “Tell me it’s not Uncle Jimmy’s room.”

  She chuckled. “No, it’s not. I took the front bedroom. It’s a little noisy, but it’s all mine.”

  “Good.”

  He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, glancing only briefly at the pictures on the walls and noting the empty spots. He did not ask her why she had removed the pictures from the wall, but she knew he had noticed. Later, he might ask, but for now, he did not appear interested in talking.

  She turned on the bedside light, which cast a soft glow over the room and the rumpled sheets she had not bothered to make this morning. As he removed his badge and gun from his belt, she did the same. Each set a weapon on a nightstand, his on the left, closest to the door, and hers on the right.

  As he unbuttoned his shirt, he walked to the picture leaning against the wall. In the photo, Zoe was dressed in a black tutu and stood on tiptoe in silver satin toe shoes. Her long arms were outstretched, and her head was angled toward the sky. He stared with clear interest. “This is you?”

  “In my glory.” She did not want to talk about the past. She wanted to focus on now. “When I dreamed of being a prima ballerina.”

  His gaze lingered on the image. “How old were you?”

  “Seventeen. It was shortly before my accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I found a way to reinvent myself.” She unfastened the buttons on her blouse, not the least bit interested in rehashing her dancing years. “It led me to law enforcement. To here.”

  He raised his gaze to hers and very slowly lowered it over her body, resting finally on the pale crests of her breasts peeking out over a lace bra. “Your body is perfect.”

  “Maybe not perfect, but not as lumbering as my instructors suggested.”

  He crossed the room and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. “They were morons.”

  A chuckle rumbled in her throat. “Perhaps that was one of the words I used as I left for the last time.”

  He hooked his thumb into the strap of her bra and tugged it off her shoulder. The lace cup gapped, revealing more of her breast. He traced the top of the soft flesh, sending a ripple of desire shooting through her.

  “I bet you were one of the best.” His voice had grown husky.

  “Not one of the best. But really damn good.” She dropped her gaze to the tip of his finger and watched as it skimmed over her skin. Longing warmed her body. She hungered for what came next.

  Vaughan stepped back and carefully removed his shirt, his stare never wavering from her face. She unhooked the back of her bra and let the lace fall to the ground. She stepped forward and skimmed her hands over his shoulders, relishing the strength in them.

  He kissed her lips again. Like the last kiss, this was gentle, testing. She leaned into him and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. Immediately he deepened the kiss.

  She reached for the buckle on his belt and deftly unfastened it. She slid her hand under the waistband, but she did not reach for him. She let her fingers linger in promise of what would soon happen. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to savor the desire and delay her release.

  The next minutes passed in a blur of sensations as their clothes slid from their bodies and piled on the floor. When she stepped out of her panties, he rested his hands on her bare hips, and then began to slowly caress the curves of her body.

  He tugged her toward the bed and pulled back the covers, watching as she climbed into the center. He moved on top of her and, pulling up the covers, nestled with her under the coverlet. His erection pressed against her as she cupped her breasts and then opened her legs. He kissed her on the lips and then on the top of her breasts, as she again skimmed her fingers toward his erection. His groan was a mixture of pain and pure pleasure.

  This time, she wrapped her long fingers around his shaft and moved her hand up and down in a slow and steady pace. He drew in a breath and grabbed her hand, pinning it and the other above her head as he leaned forward and suckled her right nipple.

  She hissed in a breath and arched as a soft curse escaped her lips. “You are too deliberate.”

  “I thought you liked deliberate?” he asked.

  She felt his grin against her breast as he looked up at her. “I do, but it’s more difficult than I imagined.”

  The spark in his gaze told her he delighted in her frustration. “I have a reputation for examining all the details. I don’t rush.”

  “Time to shift to the bigger picture now, Detective.” Her voice had a breathless edge.

  He pulled his hand between her breasts and down her flat belly to the small nest of curls. “But details matter. I’ve heard you say it several times.”

  “So do results.” She cupped her breasts and knew he liked watching, that this deliberately slow attack on her senses was getting harder for him to maintain.

  She opened her legs and pressed her mound against his erection, and when she saw the slight glimmer in his gaze darkening, she knew the time for teasing had ended. He reached for his erection and pressed it to her moist center.

  He pushed into her body with a hard thrust. The invasion sent a wave of sensations rushing up through her like a crashing wave.

  He paused. “You like that?”

  “Yes.” A blush warmed her cheeks. She felt so alive. “I like it very much.”

  He covered her body with his, moving in and out with hard, deep thrusts as he kissed her fully on the lips. Her body would take all of him. Her breathing quickened, and she could feel herself rushing to the edge. She was within seconds of release when he slowed his pace and suckled her nipple. She grew wetter.

  His fingers moved in slow, steady circles. Reading the nuances of her tense muscles, he seemed to sense what brought her closer to orgasm and what delayed it. And every time she thought she would tumble, he stopped, kissed her, and stole her breath. Anticipation swirled around her as she anxiously waited for him to begin again.

  He ran moist fingertips over her thigh. “Such beautiful legs. I’ve admired those legs since the first day I saw you.”

  “Did you?”

  “You were wearing black heels during that first class you taught at the bureau.”

  Were they really talking about her shoes right now? “I always wear black heels.”

  “I know. By my guess, you have at least three different pairs.”

  Zoe lost count of how long he teased her, but he knew intimately her rhythms. When she really thought she would go mad with wanting, he hastened his tempo. This time when the edge came, they both plummeted over it. Delightful spasms rippled over her. He drove into her, moaning with desire. She gripped his arms and pressed her pelvis upward.

  Zoe opened her eyes and locked on Vaughan’s gaze.
For the first time, she saw him and not Jeff. In her mind, a distant door closed, and she did not race to reopen it. But this time, the sweetness outpaced the bitterness.

  When Zoe awoke, the night sky was blanketed with stars. Moonlight bathed the row of houses across the street. She turned to her right.

  She reached for her cell and saw that it was 4:26 a.m. Too early to get up, and yet her mind was fully awake and her body growing more restless by the second.

  The sound of footsteps downstairs had her reaching for her robe and her gun. As she slid on the terry cloth and cinched the waist tight, she tiptoed across the room, taking inventory as she moved. All of Vaughan’s clothes were gone.

  At the top of the stairs, she saw the soft glow of a light that appeared to be coming from the kitchen. Barefoot, she tightened her grip on her weapon. She stepped over the third step from the bottom to avoid its creak.

  As she crossed through the living room, she spotted Vaughan’s jacket and caught the first whiff of coffee in the kitchen.

  She lowered her weapon and stepped into the kitchen to find Vaughan sitting at her small kitchen table. He was reading Silas Marner.

  “I just made a pot,” he said.

  She set her weapon on the counter, removed a bone china cup from the cabinet, and filled it with coffee. “You will never get back to sleep if you drink coffee this early.”

  “I never would have gotten back to sleep either way.” He closed his book. “I don’t sleep much. Haven’t since Nate was born.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the cup, savoring the warmth. “I love to sleep. But I can’t remember the last time I slept late.”

  Zoe sat across from him, sipped her coffee, and crossed her legs, knowing the folds of the robe would slip away.

  He dropped his gaze to her leg and smoothed his hand over her thigh and then over the knee that still bore the scar of her surgery. He traced his finger over the light-pink semicircle. “Does it ever bother you?” he asked.

  “Not really. Distance running is a thing of the past, and I can predict rainy days before they happen. I’ve gotten used to the minor aches and pains.”