Crime and Passion

by Marie Ferrarella

  Ilene read between the lines. “After your mother died?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. The words sounded so damning. Eyes on the lane next to him, he switched over. “He doesn’t believe it, you know, my Dad. He doesn’t believe she’s dead.”

  She could understand that. Andrew was a man who was stubborn about his convictions. “Maybe for him, she isn’t.”

  Somehow, because he was talking to Ilene, the words came easier than he thought they would. He found he needed to talk, to share what had been sealed inside for so long. “Every so often I catch him going through the files he kept, looking for something he might have missed the thousand other times he went over the information.”

  Her heart went out to the older man. And to Clay. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he still had trouble accepting his mother’s death himself. “He must have loved her very, very much,” she said softly. And so did you.

  “Yeah, he did.” He laughed shortly, remembering. “When we were kids, that was the only redeeming quality our father had, in our eyes—that he loved the same person we did.”

  She thought of the man who had welcomed her and her son into his home without so much as a pause. A sense of loyalty had her defending him. “I’m sure he must have had others.”

  “If he did, we never knew about them. We hardly ever saw him,” Clay explained. “Longest period of time he was around was when he was recuperating from that gunshot wound he took to the shoulder.” He and the others had spent most of the time tiptoeing around out of his father’s way. “Talk about a wounded bear,” he said, grinning.

  Her sense of loyalty couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Your father seems like a wonderful man, Clay.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “But that came after.” He glanced over and saw her puzzled look. “It was as if he felt he had to fill her shoes for us. Become both mother and father.” He could remember thinking that the roof had collapsed and that the walls were caving in. “It’s a hell of an adjustment.”

  “You’re lucky he cared enough about you to do it. Some people just withdraw altogether, refuse to have any contact with anyone, especially their children.” She gazed at him for a long moment before looking away. “Not all parents know how to love their children.”

  “You’re talking about yours, aren’t you?” The shrug she gave him reflected in the side window. She didn’t turn to look at him. “You never mention your parents,” he realized.

  “That’s because there’s not much to mention.” And because talking about them and their lack of affection hurt. She used to think all parents were cold like that until she discovered it wasn’t the case. Not all parents were nearly as self-absorbed as hers was.

  “I don’t even know if they’re still living,” he realized. He took the off-ramp and made a hard right. They were almost home.

  “Still living,” she confirmed. “Somewhere.” Her father had written in his last communiqué that he was moving almost eleven months ago. She still didn’t have a new address for him. “They have their own lives. I get Christmas cards. Sometimes. We’re not close.” No matter how much she’d tried when she was young, that hadn’t happened. And if anything the birth of her son had only driven them further away.

  She turned to look at him. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have what you have.”

  He looked at her significantly as he brought the car to a stop at the curb before his house. “I’m beginning to learn.”

  More than an hour later, Ilene sighed as she dropped down into the easy chair in the family room. Ordinarily, this was considered Andrew’s chair, but he had already gone off to bed.

  She offered what she could of a smile to Clay, who looked as if he’d been waiting for her to come down again. Getting Alex to bed had taken her longer than she’d thought. “Well, he’s all tucked away. Three readings of The Cat in the Hat, but he finally dozed off,” she said, feeling as if her eyes could close with little encouragement.

  “You look like you’re about to doze off, too.”

  “I am.” She tried to rouse herself. “I just came down to say good-night.” She looked around. The silence had finally penetrated. “Looks like everyone else turned in early.”

  “Or turned out,” he contradicted. “Teri and Rayne are out for the evening. Dad’s in his room.” He nodded toward the stairs. “He said something about finishing a good book.” He knew that his father was really poring over his mother’s files, but it was the kind of open secret neither commented on.

  “And what about you?” When they’d been together all those years ago, he’d considered going to bed before two in the morning something that only old people and stick-in-the-muds did. “Are you now this sedate, stay-at-home type?”

  There was something to be said for staying home. As long as there was someone important to stay there with you. “Seems that way.”

  She knew better. Detective or not, he still led a pretty wild life. “Teri told me stories.”

  “Lies.” He looked at her, assuming the angelic face of a choirboy.

  She bit back a laugh. “Rayne backed her up.”

  “Bigger lies.” He rose to his feet and crossed to where she was sitting. “Besides, I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  She eyed him innocently. “Why would you have to turn over a new leaf if what your sisters told me were lies?”

  “Don’t complicate things with logic.” She couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes. “I have something better at home than I could possibly find outside.”

  Her grin teased him. “Another way to look at it is you have something at home that doesn’t require much effort to get.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that,” he hooted. “You take a hell of a lot of effort.”

  She grinned up at him. Since she’d gotten here, she’d been his for the asking. They both knew that. “Since when is crooking your finger considered a hell of a lot of effort?”

  He laughed as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Pulled her to him. “C’mere you and stop giving me lip.”

  She cocked her head, her mouth curving. The stress of the day began to drain away. “I thought that was the whole point.”

  “The whole point of everything,” his voice dropped down to a seductive whisper, “is being here with you.”

  Framing her face, he brought his mouth down to hers before she could say anything in reply. Brought his mouth down to hers and began that whole wonderful, delicious process again. The one in which her entire system became a whirling blender on the verge of spinning wildly out of control.

  Her fingertips digging into his shoulders, she pressed her body against his, taking comfort from his presence, sealing herself to the energy that vibrated between them.

  And then he stopped.

  Still holding her face in his hands, he drew his head back. “If you’re too tired—”

  Damn, he couldn’t withdraw now. She needed him. Needed the magic they formed together. “The day I’m too tired to kiss you, Clay Cavanaugh, is the day you can start throwing dirt on my cold, dead body.”

  God, but he loved her. How could he have convinced himself, even for a moment, otherwise? How could he have believed that he could live his life without her? “You know what I mean.”

  She opened her eyes wide, feigning ignorance as she looked up at him. “No, what do you mean?”

  In response, he scooped her up in his arms. “Witch,” he pronounced.

  Because she was. She was a witch who’d cast a spell on him. She made him happier than he ever thought he could possibly be. And made him realize how very shallow his existence was without her. Home, family, career, they all meant a great deal to him, but without her, without the feeling that coursed through his veins every time he was with her, everything else seemed diminished somehow. Ilene was the spotlight by which everything else was highlighted.

  Even the fear that had dogged his life and haunted his mind for so long had faded into the background. It was still there but no longe
r looming over him.

  All because of her.

  “I can walk,” she protested. “Put me down.”

  He just kept walking toward the stairs. “And let you get away? Not likely.”

  She laced her arms around his neck, amused. Ilene caught her lower lip between her teeth. “This isn’t exactly torture you’re offering me.”

  He resisted the urge to nibble on her lip. “I’m taking no chances.”

  Wonders just never ceased. “Since when have you become this steadfast person?”

  “Since you,” he told her. On the landing, he walked into her room and closed the door with his back. “The whole change in me falls directly on your shoulders.”

  Before she could protest, he deposited her on the bed. She bounced up, scrambling to her knees and moving to the edge of the bed in front of him. There was mischief in her eyes.

  Catching hold of his shirt, she pulled him closer to her. “I dare you to say that again,” she challenged. “Without your clothes on this time.”

  He laughed. “Never met a dare I couldn’t meet.” Spreading his arms wide, he stood before her, ready. Eager. “Do your worst.”

  “My best,” she corrected, her fingers flying down the buttons of his shirt, releasing them. His shirt hung open, and she pushed it back off his shoulders, stripping it from him before she turned her attention to his belt buckle. She only had enough time to un-notch it before he pressed her back against the bed.

  “You’re getting ahead of me.” Joining her, he made quick work of her blouse. The next second, he’d managed to unhook the clasp behind her back. Her bra teasingly moved away from her breasts. He swept it aside with the flat of his hand.

  She wiggled against him, her pulse quickening. “I’m the guest, I’m supposed to.”

  He paused to press a kiss to each breast before answering. “I’m the host, I should lead the way.”

  Adrenaline filled her veins, hand in hand with desire. “You always have.”

  He pulled the skirt away from her. Her underwear went the same way. Banter died in his throat as his eyes swept over her.

  No matter how many times he saw her like this, he would never tire of it. Never view her passively. Anticipation rose just as it had the first time.

  More.

  Because he knew what was in store for him.

  And because he loved her.

  Pulling her down against him, he sealed his body to hers as he kissed her over and over again, losing himself in the process as he made love to every inch of her body. Worshipping her flesh because of the peace and excitement she brought to him each time she surrendered to him. And took him prisoner.

  They explored each other’s bodies as if the terrain was not firmly etched in their brains, as if they didn’t know it far better than their own. The tastes and scents teased and aroused and gave comfort to them in the heat of their passion.

  Having brought her to a climax, Clay was about to enter her when she surprised him by suddenly switching positions. Now she was the one on top. She wiggled as she straddled him.

  “I thought you were tired,” Clay whispered. The heat from her core as it spread over him aroused him more than he thought he could bear.

  Her mouth, its outline blurred and mussed from the imprint of his, widened into a mischievous grin that teased his soul even as it aroused him even further. “Second wind.”

  He loved the expression in her eyes, loved the way they shone, as if they were sharing some secret joke with him that he had yet to catch on to.

  He filled his hands with her hair and dragged her down until his mouth caught hers. The deepening kiss reeled them both in. And then she arched her body and drew him into her, pinning him down with her slight weight.

  Clay grasped her hips as she began to move. The pace grew faster and faster until they reached the familiar summit and took it together.

  She cried out his name, the sound muffled against his lips.

  And when she lay against him, spent, trying to regulate her breathing again, he could only marvel at this creature he’d pushed away once. But not again.

  Drawing in air, it took him a second to catch his own breath. “You are full of surprises.”

  He felt her heart hammering against his chest, felt her hair gliding along his skin as she raised her head to look at him.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she told him.

  Maybe not, he thought, but he was going to spend the rest of his life learning. It was a life sentence he now knew he was more than willing to assume.

  Andrew sat on the family room floor, hunched over a table. Alex sat opposite him, his attention fastened to the artfully arranged dominos between them. The boy’s mother had to go back for another meeting with Janelle over more questions that were being raised. The indictment hearing was at the end of the week and they wanted their presentation to be air tight.

  He was baby-sitting, not that he minded. There was another reason he wrestled with a dampening sorrow.

  The holidays were coming soon. Thanksgiving was just around the corner and then came Christmas. This used to be his favorite time of year. For the sake of his family, he still put on a show, now aided and abetted by an impressive spread. And sometimes it worked. He got caught up in it, and the pain that he lived with, the pain that grew acute this time of year, would hide behind a cloud, waiting. Biding its time until he had a free moment, and then it would creep up behind him and explode all over again.

  He moved another domino into place, then sat back as Alex concentrated. Even after all this time, after fifteen years, he still missed her, still grieved. Still periodically took out all the information in the case file he’d kept active all these years because he refused to believe she was dead.

  Gone, but not dead. He knew in his heart that his Rose had somehow managed to escape that watery grave and was somewhere else.

  He supposed that made him a fanatic. Everyone else had accepted what they said was the inevitable. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t.

  Maybe it was ridiculous, but he felt that if he did, then she really would be dead, that all chances of someday finding her would be erased.

  He had to go on believing.

  He had a wonderful family, children he loved, nephews and nieces he was proud of. Many men had less. A great deal less.

  He wanted more.

  He wanted Rose.

  These days he waited until everyone had left for the precinct before he took out the file. He didn’t want anyone pitying him or making any unwanted comments. He knew how much this bothered Rayne, who’d finally put it all behind her. He didn’t want to jeopardize the progress she was making.

  So he waited until they were all gone and the house was empty before going over the case again.

  Except that these last few weeks, the house was never empty. Most of the time Ilene and the boy were here. But that was all right, too. It was good to have someone young around like Alex. It reminded him of better times, especially since the boy looked so much like his sons and nephews had when they were his age.

  Alex moved another rectangle into place, then crowed as he held up his hands. All his game pieces were gone and there were none left to draw on. Andrew laughed, marveling at the sharpness of the boy’s mind.

  Dutifully, Andrew wrote down the number of pieces he still had in front of him. Alex had won three games in a row. When his kids were younger, in the rare instances that he was around to play with them, he’d always arranged it so they could win. He hadn’t had to do that with Alex.

  “Can we play another game?” Alex wanted to know.

  He looked at his watch. “Okay, one more and then I have to start dinner.”

  “I’ll help,” Alex volunteered.

  Andrew laughed. “You sure you’re only four?”

  “Five,” Alex corrected mechanically as he began collecting the black rectangles and placing them face down on the table.

  He stared at the boy, certain that he had misheard. “What?”
/>   “Five,” Alex repeated. He looked up before mixing up the dominos. “I’m not four, I’m five.”

  “Your mother says you’re four.”

  The information made the boy pause, as if he was trying to reconcile it with what he knew to be true. And then he shrugged as he melded the pieces around one more time for luck. “Mama’s sad. Maybe she forgot.”

  “Mothers don’t forget something like that,” Andrew assured him.

  Alex began to count out his share of pieces. “Then she made a mistake. I’m five.” Pausing, he held up his right hand, using his fingers and thumb to illustrate. “See?”

  “Yeah, I see,” Andrew said slowly. And he did.

  Tonight, after dinner, he was going to get back in the game again and do a little investigating of his own.

  Chapter 14

  Andrew closed the computer and leaned back. Around him the house was still. Everyone else had long since gone to sleep. Even Rayne. He’d heard her creeping in half an hour ago. It was close to one. He had no idea how the girl managed to keep going.

  Batteries, probably.

  He stared at the screen, thinking. He had his information. Looking up birth certificates was sinfully easy now when you knew what to do. He wasn’t nearly as technologically naive as his children thought he was. It just served his purpose to pretend, get others to do his legwork. But he knew his way around the Internet better than any of them.

  Alex O’Hara hadn’t been born four years ago as Ilene had told them. The boy had been born five years ago. It was there, plain as day in the county records. She’d lied.

  The only reason Andrew could come up with for Ilene’s deception was that she didn’t want Clay to know that he was the father. Which made Alex his grandson.

  He smiled to himself. He’d had a feeling all along….

  “We’ve got a grandson, Rose,” he said softly to the eight-by-ten photograph that stood within a silver frame on his desk. “I know, I know, you’re too young. So am I. But we’ll get used to the idea.”