by Ravenna Tate
When she kissed his neck, his dick sprang to attention. That it could right now shocked him, but also cemented the conclusion he’d already reached. No matter what came of this revelation, he’d move heaven and earth to protect the woman he loved, even if that included withholding information on an old case.
Chapter Ten
“You can’t imagine the relief in getting all that out. I feel like singing or dancing.”
Instead, Rosanna kissed his neck, just below his ear, in the exact spot he loved. He’d told her once it gave him goosebumps, and she had never forgotten it. “Ready for dessert?” she asked in a smoky voice that sent shivers down his spine.
“So soon?”
“I wish I could describe how I feel right now. You have no idea how afraid I’ve been all these years. Can it really be this simple? It has to be. Otherwise, why would I be so elated right now?”
When he pulled away to look into her eyes, he watched doubt creep into them, and felt like a giant shit. “Rosanna, I’m not trying to ruin your joy, but situations like this can be … complicated. Let’s wait and see what happens the next time you sleep, okay?”
“Sure. Yeah.” She nodded several times, but he could tell she was convinced the nightmares would never return now. “Of course.”
Would it really help the situation to burst her bubble? Maybe all it took was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She believed the nightmares were gone, so she’d never have them again. Who was he to try to block that from happening?
You’re thinking with your pecker.
Well, yes. That much was true. But what guy wouldn’t with her kissing his neck?
And what if she is the girl who was raped that night?
How in the hell could he ever make love to her again until he knew the truth?
As his cock deflated like a stuck balloon, Houston moved further away. “Babe, please don’t read anything into this. It’s been one hell of a long week.”
The guilt he’d felt earlier was nothing compared to now, watching her face fall. “Oh, okay.” Or hearing that tiny voice, trying so hard to be understanding.
“Rosanna, I love you. I love you more than anything in this world. I’m simply exhausted.”
The fake smile on her face broke his heart in two. “No, it’s okay. Really. I get it. I’m tired, too. The storm before and all that…”
Except that she wasn’t afraid of them. But he wasn’t going to point that out now. “Let me help you clean this up.” He rose and began to stack the paper plates and empty containers. “We’ll watch a movie or something, and maybe once this food digests, I’ll feel better.”
“Okay.”
It was the first time in their relationship he hadn’t wanted to make love to her when she did, and she knew it. He could see it in her eyes. She went through the motions of breaking down pizza boxes, changing the trash bag in the kitchen, and spraying carpet cleaner on the tomato sauce spot, but he sensed a change in her. And he was the cause of it.
What the fuck was he supposed to do? How the hell could he make love to her right now, knowing she might be the girl who’d been gang raped at that party? Sure, the men who chased her in dreams might be Cheta’s killers. But only a moron would ignore the obvious similarities between what she had described, and what they knew about Brian and the unnamed boyfriend.
What he needed to do was obvious. He needed to coax more information about her past out of her. And it had to be done soon. To delay would be utterly unfair to both of them.
****
For the first time since they’d begun having sex, he’d said “no”. Rosanna tried not to dwell on that as they watched Moonstruck on HBO, but how was she supposed to ignore it?
Sure, on the surface, he was her Houston. His arm was around her, he brushed her thigh or her cheek with his hand once in a while, made comments about the movie, and laughed with her in all the right places. This was one of their favorite movies, after all. So, was it her imagination he appeared off balance?
Using the need to pee as an excuse, she rose and took a long look at his profile while the TV distracted him. He did look exhausted. There were lines around his mouth that she hadn’t seen last weekend. Maybe it was nothing except what he’d said? People did get tired, after all. And he worked very hard.
As soon as she returned and took her seat, he put his arm around her and pulled her close while they watched the scene at the opera. “We should go to one,” he said. “An opera.”
“Seriously?” She glanced up to see his face. “I never pictured you as a fan of the opera.”
“Well, I’m not, but this music is very romantic.”
“Yes, it is. It’s beautiful.”
“So, okay. We’ll do that. Have you been to one?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“What kinds of things have you done with other boyfriends?”
“Um, the usual stuff. Dinner, movies.”
“Did you date a lot before we met?”
A nasty shiver ran down her spine at the tone of his voice. Rosanna muted the TV and repositioned her body so she faced Houston. “I could be off base here, but this feels like an interrogation.”
“I’m sorry, babe. I don’t mean to make it sound that way. We haven’t talked about your past much, and I was curious. Nothing more.”
“We haven’t talked much about yours, either.”
“That’s true. Maybe it’s time we did? Talk about both our pasts, that is.”
“Why now?” Did this have something to do with what she’d told him? Her pulse was racing, but she didn’t understand why.
After turning off the TV, he took her hands. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And that means I want to marry you. I’ve already fucked up three of them. I’d rather die than screw up what you and I have together. But, as an example of what I mean, up until two weeks ago, we had no clue that we both had brothers who were killed. I think if we’re going to talk seriously about marriage one day, we need to get to know each other better.”
“Is that what broke up your marriages?”
“In part, yes.”
Okay. That made sense. So why did she feel anxious again? “I had a few boyfriends in high school, and before I met you, I dated casually. Nothing serious.”
His characteristic sexy grin put her at ease again. “I’ll bet you had boyfriends in high school. Those guys must have drooled every time you walked past them.”
The comment made her laugh. “If you knew how shy I was, you wouldn’t say that. I was a total geek, too.”
“It’s difficult to picture you that way.”
“Well, I was.”
“Tell me about one of your boyfriends in high school. Let’s start with the first one.”
“All right, but then you have to tell me about one of your wives.” He’d never told her anything other than he’d had them. She didn’t even know their names.
“It’s a deal.”
To say she was surprised was an understatement. “Okay. Who are you, and what have you done with Detective Houston Cassidy?”
Loud laughter filled the space between them, familiar and warm. This was the Houston she knew and loved. Everything was fine. “Let’s see … my first real boyfriend was Mike Rowland. He was a senior when I was a freshman, so of course I was flattered as hell when he asked me out.”
“When did he ask you out? Beginning of that year, or later?”
Something in his tone of voice sent her heart racing again. His gaze was too intense. Why was this so damn important to him? “Toward the end of the year. He asked me to the spring dance.”
“How long did you and Mike date?”
Good question. Most of her sophomore year was a gray screen, with only bits and pieces of actual memory floating at the edges. The only years she could clearly recall were her freshman, junior, and senior years.
“About two years.”
It was a complete lie, but only because she simply could not remember when she and Mike had broke
n up. She knew they were still dating when she was a sophomore. That was also the year the dark images had begun, because she’d already chosen her future paralegal training program by then. The next clear memories were during her junior year. Mike was away at college, and they hadn’t gone out for some time before that, but the rest of it was a blur.
“Did you date him once he graduated?”
No clue. “Yes.”
“For how long after he graduated?”
Sweat broke out along her hairline. He’d see that. He was a trained detective, for God’s sake. And if this wasn’t an interrogation in disguise, she had no clue what was. But why? The only way out was to tell him the truth, because she suspected he already knew something was off about this story anyway.
“Houston, I don’t remember most of my sophomore year of high school. I couldn’t even tell you what classes I had. I know my mother was down to teaching one class a semester by that time, and my father spent a lot of time at the university. I think he and my mom were having relationship problems, but of course they never discussed it with me.”
“And your memories of Mike? Are those as fuzzy as the rest of it?”
That gentle, coaxing voice, combined with the look of real concern on his face, gave her the strength to complete the picture for him. “Yes. I can picture his face, and I remember the spring dance my freshman year. I remember dating him during that summer, and I remember Homecoming my sophomore year. But after that, things are … I’m not sure how to put this.”
He said nothing, merely held her hands, which was the perfect thing for him to do. No wonder he was so good at his job. He had amazing instincts when it came to getting people to talk.
“I have no clear memories of him after that. I have very few actual memories of that year of school. I can recall all of my junior year, and he was not part of it. In fact, we weren’t even speaking by then. But I can’t tell you when or why we broke up. I don’t remember it.”
When he released her hands and ran one of his through his hair, she wasn’t sure whether to interpret that gesture as frustration or fear. “And you never told anyone about these memory lapses?”
This time, she wasn’t able to stop the tears from spilling over her lashes. “No.”
“Do you recall any major event before they began?”
“No. Nothing.”
Seconds ticked by while he stared at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret. She swore he wanted to say something, but was holding back. But how could that be true? He only knew what she was telling him. This was the first time he had heard this. What could he possibly want to add to the conversation?
Finally, he pulled her close and held her. “It’s all right, Rosanna. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Thank you.” She had no clue how they’d do that, but if he said so, she believed him. “I love you so much.”
“Babe, I love you, too.”
The night couldn’t end like this, with her finally telling him the terrible secret she’d held inside for so long, and him worrying over it. Rosanna pulled away to gaze into his eyes. “Houston, please make love to me. I need you so much.”
“Rosanna…” At first, she was certain he’d turn her down again, until unmistakable lust filled his eyes. He kissed her rough and hard, which was exactly what she needed to chase away the doubt and fear.
“I can’t say ‘no’ to you.” He pulled off her pants. She hadn’t bothered with underwear, and was now glad of that. “I need you, too … fuck. Condoms.”
“I’m on the pill, you know.”
“I know, but, it’s a big step. It involves absolute trust. Are you ready for that?”
“Yes.”
Before she had the chance to reach for him, he’d unzipped his jeans and taken out his dick. With no preamble, he merely pushed her down and sank his dick into her soaking wet pussy. She clung to him, crying out as he thrust deep and hard.
A crazy orgasm tore through her, and she was powerless in its wake. All she could do was lie there and take it. Houston had never been this quick and rough with her, but it was what she’d wanted tonight. He came quickly, but his fucking was so powerful and demanding that it felt like it had gone on for hours.
As they lay in each other’s arms, the sweat drying from their bodies and their breathing slowly returning to normal, Rosanna drifted off to sleep. He would make everything all right. Somehow, the man she loved would help her heal this dark, scary place in her mind.
Chapter Eleven
With fresh eyes, Houston scanned the list of people they’d interviewed twelve years ago. They had spent a year trying to solve the case before sending it to the inactive files. Even with the tweet Annie had found, he now had information that had been missing before last night. This morning, before he left Rosanna sleeping again, he’d walked around her apartment and really looked at everything, as if seeing it for the first time.
Decorating tastes had never been something he’d paid much attention to. Details, yes. The colors someone chose in their home, not so much. But he knew that most people’s decorating styles reflected their personalities, whether or not that concept was a conscious choice they’d made.
Rosanna’s apartment was clean, but not obsessively spotless. It was also devoid of any little touches that would tell a stranger who she was inside. There were no family pictures on the walls or in frames on tables. Instead, she had hung prints of the city that anyone could buy in Walmart or one of those shops in the malls that sold framed posters.
The colors were neutral and muted. Nothing too dark or too light. No whimsical patterns, bright florals, or soft pastels. All three of his ex-wives had wanted to splash color or patterns all over the homes he’d shared with them. In fact, most women he had known intimately enough to step inside their home or apartment had decorated their space in some personal way.
Instead, Rosanna’s apartment looked more like a hotel room. Just some stuff she’d found somewhere, probably on sale, and hadn’t given any thought to what went well with the rest of it, or whether it suited her tastes.
What did that say about her? How could he have missed something so telling all these months? Had he unconsciously overlooked it? And if so, why?
This vibrant, exciting woman who gave him no grief about anything, who rarely if ever complained about his long hours, and who was the most passionate lover he’d ever known, lived in a box that reflected absolutely nothing about her intellect, her passions, or her dreams. Now that he’d realized it, and coupled with what she’d told him last night, it made him profoundly sad.
He desperately wanted to seek advice from a psychologist, but couldn’t. He’d betray her confidence. Not only that, but he had a job-related problem here. There was a real possibility that Rosanna was the victim he and Annie had been searching for.
That’s a long shot, dude!
Perhaps, perhaps not. He didn’t have enough information yet. There were more than a few coincidences, but nothing concrete. Not until he found it buried in these old statements, that was.
“You’re here on a Sunday?” Annie’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. “I thought this day was off limits now that you were hot and heavy with Rosanna?”
“She brought home work, so I came in for a while.” Liar!
“What are you looking for?” Annie scooted her chair over.
“Doing what we agreed to do. Looking over the statements we took after the party. I want to talk to all of these people again.”
“I still say it’s going to be hard to track them all down.”
It would be so easy to tell Annie everything he’d learned last night. She had incredible instincts and would likely hone in on the one thing Houston had missed, either nailing Rosanna as the victim, or proving there was no way she could be.
But what would he do if it was the former? Technically, he was withholding information on an old case. If anyone else found out what Rosanna had told him, he’d be obligated to do something about it.
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br /> “You okay? You don’t look well.” When he glanced up at her, her eyes had narrowed. She rolled her chair back a foot or two. “Don’t bring any flu bugs in here.”
“I’m not ill. And to answer your question, I looked at a map of universities in the Akron area, and something struck me. Kent State is only fifteen miles away. What if the girl’s parents taught there instead of at Akron? It would be easy for high school kids not familiar with the area to confuse the two campuses.”
“We need to widen our search for unreported rapes.”
“I already did that. Nothing in Portage county, either.” He pointed toward the screen so Annie could focus on the statement he’d been staring at for an hour. “But look at this. One of the students we spoke to gave us an account of a conversation she had with a girl whose parents taught history at Kent State. She was very specific about that.”
Rosanna’s parents taught history at Kent State. Coincidence number forty-seven.
“Don’t they have a history department at Akron?”
“Yes, but Kent has a larger one.”
Annie gave him an odd look, which didn’t surprise him at all. She was too sharp to miss the subtleties here. “It’s not like you to grasp at straws this way. Did the student say anything about the girl that makes you believe it’s the same one Jessica told us about?”
“No, but we didn’t know about that girl when we interviewed these students, so we wouldn’t have asked questions about her. And I’m not grasping at straws. I’m merely saying we need to widen the focus outside of Akron.”
“All right. How about we take a road trip? Instead of tracking down these people, let’s find some history professors at Kent to speak with and start there.”
“Now you’re the one grasping at straws. What do you think they’ll tell us? My daughter was freaked out after driving to Cleveland one night, twelve years ago, and I’ve been waiting for a cop to show up and ask me about it?”
“Yeah.” She sighed loudly. “That is pretty fucking out there. Okay. Before we go trying to track down everyone we spoke to, let’s first look for any more clues to this girl or her parents. That will help us narrow the search.”
