Nowhere to Hide

by Terry Odell

  “No?” she asked, afraid she’d done something stupid.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But wait. Before I forget. Need my wallet.”

  Shit. What had he done to her brain? This afternoon, when she’d been shopping and preparing, everything seemed laid out so logically. She’d covered every detail. Then, he showed up at her door, and she had the mental capacity of an earthworm.

  “Wait a second.” She reached into her nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom packet. She handed it to him and watched him tear the foil and place it on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

  He kissed her forehead.

  Snuggled next to him, she felt warm, safe, and relaxed. Boneless. “I thought choosing crackers was a challenge. You should have seen me trying to decide what condoms to buy.”

  He pulled her closer. “What did you decide?”

  “After standing there for fifteen minutes, I decided to close my eyes and grab. I hope it’s okay.”

  “I don’t see why not. Besides, if I don’t like it, we’ll have to try again with one of mine.” He brushed her lips with his. She teased his tongue, felt the passion all the way to her toenails as he answered her kiss. He turned her on her back again, this time removing her panties. She reached for his briefs, and he helped her work them over his hips. When he sprang forth at rigid attention, she couldn’t control a gasp. This was going to happen. Now.

  “Is there a problem?” he said, his mouth turning up at one corner. “It’s standard equipment, I assure you.”

  Mortified, she wanted to crawl into a hole. “It’s … well, it’s so … close.”

  He lay down beside her once more. “Relax.”

  Once his lips and fingers started moving over her body, she was far from relaxed. His breath sent hot puffs of air against her neck, her breasts. Lightning bolts shot through her. She wanted him to touch her everywhere at once. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once. Touching him aroused her as much as his touches did. She wanted to discover every inch of his body. She reached between his thighs and her fingers brushed his testicles. The skin contracted and puckered. Fascinated, she fondled his sac. He moaned, and she released him.

  “Don’t stop,” he murmured. “So good.”

  She stroked gently. His hips jerked.

  He covered her hand with his. “Hang on.” He rolled over and reached for the condom. Fascinated, she watched as he got to his knees and sheathed himself. He straddled her, taking one breast in his mouth and fingering the other. Her hips arched up for him, craving more. He guided himself to her entrance.

  “Relax,” he whispered as he pressed against her.

  Slowly, he inched his length inside her. She shifted. Stretched. Took him as he filled her in a way she could never have imagined. It was as if he belonged there, as if they were two parts of a single being.

  He lay still for several heartbeats, then began moving in long, gentle strokes that quickly increased in tempo. “Sweet Jesus, mo chridhe. You’re so tight. So hot. I can’t …”

  He moved faster, his breathing ragged. She heard the slap of flesh against flesh, the sound of her own panting breath as he pumped faster. He reached between her legs to the place where all sensation focused. She rode the crest to its peak. A tidal wave crashed around her. She heard her name, felt a thrust deeper than all those before it, and for a moment, there was nothing.

  He blew out a deep breath and shifted some of his weight to his elbows. The cool air whispered across her chest and she hugged him back down. “You’re not that heavy. I want to feel your heartbeat.”

  He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to breathe if I fall asleep on top of you.”

  “You’re planning to sleep?” She ran her fingertip down his nose.

  “It’s a guy thing. Fantastic sex makes us need a nap.”

  She cuddled against him, his hips snug against hers. Fantastic, he’d said. She took his arm and hugged it between her breasts and listened to him breathe. Soon, the rhythm of her breathing matched his, and she slept.

  *****

  When she opened her eyes, the room was shrouded in darkness, except for the glow of her bedside clock. She felt Graham’s warm body behind her, exactly as it had been two hours ago when they’d fallen asleep. Well, almost exactly. She wriggled her butt against him and he stirred, muttering something between a grunt and a sigh.

  He nuzzled her ear. “What time is it?”

  “A little after eight. I guess we were tired.”

  “Mmm hmm.” He reached for her nipples and rolled them with his fingers. Heat rushed through her veins. How his touching her breasts could send the tingling down below amazed her. Reaching behind her, she took his erection in her hand, ran her fingers up and down its smooth length. His sighs of pleasure aroused her further, and she turned to face him. She stretched her full length against his, trying to have every part of her in contact with his warm, naked body. Ground her hips against his, wanting him inside her again.

  His fingers reached between her legs. She turned and groped for the nightstand drawer, tore open the condom package and he helped her roll it down his erection. This time, the urgency was gone. He was slow, gentle, and tender. She knew what to expect, how to meet his strokes, how to anticipate the miracle of climax. And he knew her, and brought her to the edge and then backed off until she thought she might die, until at last, he carried her over with him.

  She lay back in contented exhaustion. “I could kill those nuns. I have so much catching up to do. Sex rocks.”

  Graham was propped above her on his elbows, his blue eyes clear and bright. He burst into laughter. “It certainly does. I’ll be happy to help.”

  “You need another nap?”

  “Right now I need food.”

  Damn. She’d thought of breakfast, not dinner. “I’m not sure how much I have in the house, even considering your phenomenal ability to create delectables from nothing.”

  “Don’t let it get out, but I don’t think I could stand up long enough to cook. You’ve drained me, woman.”

  She glowed. She could get the hang of this. “I’ve got a bunch of restaurant flyers. I’m sure some of the local places deliver. Pizza? Chinese? I think there’s an Indian one too.”

  “Use your magic condom selection method. Close your eyes and pick.”

  She grabbed her robe and went out to the kitchen drawer where she’d stashed all the menus. Graham followed, his warm breath feathering against her neck.

  She handed him the menus. “You pick. I should be starved, but nothing seems appetizing.” No need to tell him her system hadn’t been able to stomach much more than cereal and scrambled eggs, or a quick yogurt at the Convention Center on her half-hour meal breaks.

  He set the menus on the counter. “Got anything to drink?”

  “Whatever you can find. Everything’s in the fridge.”

  He’d hitched a sheet around his hips and she admired the way it hugged his buttocks as he bent to look through her meager offerings. He poured himself a glass of Coke and carried it to the living room, where he started making inroads into the veggies and dip. When he’d gulped half his drink he looked up at her.

  “Hey, you. Come over here. Sit with me.”

  She poured herself a glass of Gatorade and joined him. He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her to him. “You all right?” he asked.

  “More than all right. No regrets, I swear.” She nibbled on a cracker. “You?” There was a silence and a bowling ball settled in her stomach.

  He took her hands. Fixed those eyes that turned her insides to jelly on her, and she saw a vulnerability. “Seriously, Colleen. You’re … different. I won’t pretend I haven’t had other women, but with them it was more like—”

  “Like when you finally get to pee after a long shift?”

  He smiled. “I never thought of it like that, but yeah. Release, relief. Not much more.”

  She tucked her legs up unde
r her and rested her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to relax and reflect. Graham Harrigan had taken her to her first orgasm. And second. And third.

  He stroked her hair. “Your refrigerator is full of Coke and Gatorade. Not a whole lot else. Nightmares? Flashbacks? Not eating?”

  “I’m okay.” She tensed for a confrontation, then thought about some of the messages from the Trauma group. People are willing to help. Let them. “Better, anyway.”

  He dropped it, but didn’t look convinced. She sat up and met his eyes.

  “I’m dealing with it,” she said. “I told you I found a support group on the web.”

  “And I’m glad. Is it helping?”

  “Yes. I still get nightmares, but I can discuss them with these people. They understand.”

  “You can call me, you know. Any time.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. Right now anonymous typing is all I can manage.”

  “Colleen?”

  “Hmm?” She wanted to lie down, preferably next to a warm, snuggly body. He was staring at her, his brow furrowed.

  “Come home with me. I’ve got a vat of homemade chicken soup.” He gave a quick smile. “I’ve also got a king bed and a full refrigerator. Not to mention a change of clothes.”

  “But—”

  “And I have pancake fixings.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Graham placed a loaf of French bread and two steaming bowls of soup on the table. Colleen took a tentative spoonful, grinned in approval, then dove in. He ate, paying more attention to her than his meal.

  “There’s more,” he said when she’d devoured the soup. He emptied his bowl and tore off another hunk of bread.

  She turned her green eyes to him, and he melted. He couldn’t imagine anything more natural than Colleen sitting at his dining room table, wearing sweatpants and another oversized jersey, her hair cascading past her shoulders.

  “Maybe a little,” she said. “It’s good. Super good.”

  He took the bowls to the kitchen and ladled in another generous portion for both of them. What had possessed him to bring her back here? He never let women spend the night. He dripped hot soup onto his hand and swore under his breath as the realization hit him. He had to remind himself to breathe.

  You just experienced the difference between having sex and making love.

  He felt a little weak in the knees as he set the bowls on the table and sat down.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said.

  “Guilty as charged. I want to memorize you sitting at my table, eating my chicken soup.”

  Her laugh made his heart skip. Damn it, everything she did made his heart skip. He was in way over his head. But it might be nice learning to navigate these new waters.

  She stared back at him. “And I’ll memorize you watching me.” She mopped up the last bits of soup with her bread and pushed her bowl away. “Nice place. Do I get the nickel tour?”

  “Of course. We came in through the front door, which is over there.” He pointed.

  “I remember.”

  “And, here, we’re in the dining area, which is adjacent to the living area and the kitchen.” He stood and offered his hand.

  “I see.” She blushed. “I had another room in mind, actually.” She took his hand in hers, pulled him close and put her arms around his neck. “You said something about a king-sized bed?”

  God, he was rock hard again. “Upstairs. That,” he said between kisses, “was going to be the end of the tour.”

  “Too far,” she whispered, fumbling with his belt.

  “Careful,” he gasped. He hadn’t bothered putting his underwear back on and his zipper was a little too close for comfort. “Let me.” He dropped his pants, and she was yanking at his shirt, stepping out of her own sweats, trying to undress both of them, kiss and caress him, all at the same time.

  “You still have one of those gizmos in your wallet, don’t you?” she said.

  Panting, he found his wallet, pulled out the condom and dropped to the floor. He covered himself and positioned her over him. “Try it this way,” he whispered. “See what feels good for you.” A touch told him she was ready. He guided himself between her thighs and she lowered herself onto his erection. Slowly. Took him inside a fraction. Backed off. Another. He watched her face, saw her absorbed in the new sensations as she moved, experimented, discovered her pleasure spots. She arched her neck. He stroked her breasts. When she leaned forward, he buried his face in them. Wound his fingers through her hair. His control slipped, something he couldn’t believe could happen so soon. He grabbed her waist. His hips thrust and she rode him, hard and fast.

  “Let go, Colleen. Let go with me. Say my name.”

  Her eyes went glassy, and she shuddered. “Graham.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Colleen.” And he emptied himself into her.

  They lay together, joined, sleek with sweat, until their breathing steadied. “I’m not sure I can move,” he said. “But I know my bed is more comfortable.” He pulled himself to a sitting position, Colleen on his lap, her arms around his neck. “Can you walk? I don’t think I can carry you.”

  She nodded. “Can’t talk.” She looked completely relaxed, her eyes barely open. Somehow, they got to their feet, and he helped her upstairs to the bedroom.

  “Hang on one second,” he said. He pulled the covers back and she flopped down, turned on her side and gave one long sigh. He curled up behind her. “Come have Thanksgiving dinner with me,” he said softly.

  “Sure,” she murmured. Then flipped over to face him. “What did you say?”

  “I asked you to Thanksgiving dinner.” He was smiling, but his heart was pounding. He propped himself on an elbow and toyed with a tendril of her hair.

  “Where? I thought your family was in Frisco.”

  “My parents still live there, yes, and so do Shawn and Jen. The whole clan tries to get together for Thanksgiving. It’s a madhouse, but you’d be welcome.”

  “I don’t think so. My parents weren’t pleased I was leaving Pine Hills before the holidays. They’d have a fit if I was on the west coast and didn’t spend time with them.”

  “So we’ll take an extra day and see them.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  He interpreted her kiss as a yes. She curled into him, and he followed her into sleep. And sometime in the pre-dawn hours, when her restlessness and whimpering woke him, he whispered her name, held her tight, and she went limp and slept again.

  *****

  Monday morning, Graham sat at his desk at the station poring over his legal pad and index cards. He shuffled the cards, placed them face up on his desk and started moving them around. Tried ordering them by chronology, by person, by location. He had too many holes. Nothing was clean.

  He barely heard someone calling his name. Snapping his head around, he saw Crispin holding the phone and looking at him. “Wake up, Harrigan. Phone.”

  He pushed the button and picked up the handset. “CID. Harrigan.” He still loved saying it.

  “It’s Vasquez. Gainesville Homicide.”

  Any cobwebs flew away. “You have something for me?”

  “I’ve got the ME’s report from St. Johns County. I’ll fax it down. And our geeks finished going through Townsend’s computer. There are definite references to Stuart Gravely.”

  “Anything to tie him to Jeffrey Walters?” Graham tapped a rapid staccato on the desk with his pen.

  “Nothing on that name, no. There was some e-mail correspondence, one or two letters. We’ve got people checking Townsend’s bank and credit cards, the usual drill.”

  “Thanks.” Townsend was still Gainesville’s. He needed more on Gravely. “What did you get from the ME?”

  “Hang on.” Graham heard papers rustling over the phones, voices, the familiar humming of a busy office in the background. “Here it is. Cause of death was a blow to the head. Rock fragments. They’re working on trying to pin the location. Doesn’t seem to ma
tch the Saint Augustine geology. Also, a pre-mortem blow to the jaw.”

  Graham ran it through his head. “So someone clips the guy in the jaw, he goes down, hits his head and dies?”

  “That’s what we’re going with. Looks like it could have been ruled accidental—maybe even self-defense. Who knows? But dumping the body in the landfill makes it a whole new ballgame.”

  More paper rustling, and Vasquez continued. “They’ve got some trace. A few hairs don’t match his or other animals dumped in the pit. Unfortunately, given the location and condition of the body—well, let’s say the lab’s been busy trying to separate out human from animal evidence.”

  Taking a deep breath, Graham dared ask his question. “Can we put any pressure on Gravely? Get a warrant for his files based on his connection to the deceased?”

  “I’m working on that one now,” Vasquez said. “Time of death seems to indicate Gravely might have been one of the last people to see Townsend. Assuming he even saw Townsend. Simply because he left the office after a phone call doesn’t prove they met. Physical evidence would help. How’s your end doing with the truck?”

  “They promised me something today,” Graham said, already planning to see if Schaeffer might be able to pull a little rank and get the lab to hurry up.

  “Get something there to make Gravely a suspect instead of a witness, and maybe I can get you the warrant.”

  “Think I should go question Gravely? See if he’ll volunteer any information about Townsend?”

  “Let’s give it another day. Get the lab results for me first. We have no grounds to show up and demand Gravely give us his prints, DNA, or anything else.”

  Graham hung up and wondered if Erica would cooperate, or even if she still worked for Gravely. Deciding he’d better not go against the suggestions of both Schaeffer and Vasquez, he got up to check the fax machine. Ten interminable minutes later, the machine rang, hummed, and started oozing out pages. He pulled each one off the machine as soon as it came through, and started skimming.