No One Left To Tell no-2

by Jordan Dane

  "Hmmm ... so good." Her voice sounded throaty and suggestive as he nuzzled her ear. "You an early riser?" A smile graced her lips, warming his heart. She kept her eyes closed as her hand reached for him.

  "Always," he answered, her velvet touch inspiring him. "I believe in rigid discipline." A faint gasp escaped his mouth as her hand came to rest. "Oh, yeah."

  "I see that," she purred. "Let me put you through your paces. Nothing like an early-morning workout."

  This time, it would be about Raven. Christian would learn the subtleties of her body, giving her the pleasure she deserved. And with Raven, he forgot the ugliness of his past, no longer dwelling on the crippling pain of it.

  For the first time, he felt whole, brimming with hope for his future.

  With the shower still going. Christian grinned, remembering how Raven had joined him earlier. She taught him the lost art of "sudsing," as she called it. Her "workout" routine left him drained, but completely relaxed. Laughing aloud had never felt so good.

  Wearing only his thick navy bathrobe, he headed for the kitchen to start the coffee, a grin still on his face. But when he stepped through the door of the master suite, all that changed. Reality hit hard.

  The contents of the old trunk lay strewn on the floor of his living room. His discovery harsh in the morning light. To punctuate the blow, the abrasive sound of his cell phone reminded him that life went on. Retrieving his phone from the coffee table, where he'd left it the night before, he answered the call.

  "Delacorte."

  "Yeah, boss. Bill Edwards here." He recognized the voice of his trusted security man at Dunhill. "I just heard from the hangar. You wanted me to keep you informed on the whereabouts of Mrs. Dunhill."

  "Yeah. Something new?" Christian kept his tone steady, but his heart was another matter.

  "The pilot has got a flight plan returning to the Dunhill hangar. She's heading back to Chicago. Her ETA is four this afternoon. She's asked for a pickup." Bill cleared his throat, broaching an opinion. "I figured if she called for a ride from security, she hadn't contacted you. What do you want me to do?"

  He closed his eyes. And so it began. Fiona was coming home.

  A part of him felt relieved to finally know her whereabouts. But an even bigger part was angry as hell at her gall. She'd left him to deal with the murder, intentionally holding back her secrets. Why come back now? Since she hadn't called him, did she have any intention of contacting him at all?

  "No pickup, Bill. I'll do it myself. Thanks for the heads-up." He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the sofa, then pulled a hand through his damp hair. "Damn," he muttered.

  "Something wrong? You look upset." Raven's voice came from behind him. Dressed in his white bathrobe, she towel-dried her hair.

  "No, just something at Dunhill Tower. I'm gonna have to drive to the city this afternoon." He busied himself with the coffee and hoped she hadn't seen his uneasiness.

  His meeting with Fiona had to be one-on-one. Even though he had a personal connection to Raven, she still worked for the police. His instincts told him to honor the loyalty to his . . . to Fiona. The word "mother" stuck in his craw. At this point, he wasn't sure he could ever bring himself to call her that. Yet before all this, he would have been honored by the privilege.

  "You'll be safe here while I'm gone. I'll leave instructions with my men before I take off. It'll only take a few hours."

  "Oh no, you don't. You're not gonna ditch me again," she teased with a smirk. "If you're going into Chicago, I'd like to hitch a ride. Can you drop me off at the station house?"

  Her suggestion was not unreasonable. Unreasonable would have been her insisting that she drive her own car in total disregard for her own personal safety. But her compromise took him by surprise. His mind raced with how this scenario might play out. He finally thought of a way to keep Raven off his scent and meet with Fiona alone. The execution of his plan would be tricky.

  "I've got a better idea. You drop me off at the tower, then you can have my SUV. But I need to know where you'll be. No deviations. If you're at work, I figure you can't be any safer than that. But promise me you won't deviate from the plan." Stepping closer, he trailed a finger down her cheek and stared into those dark eyes. "And I want your cell phone number, so I can find you when I'm ready to leave."

  His smile felt forced. Christian hoped she wouldn't notice. He hated lying to her.

  "Okay. I understand. But I can take care of myself, you know." Raven crooked an eyebrow and lowered her eyes to his chin.

  He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, I found that out the hard way."

  "That was just a little love tap." She raised up on tiptoe and kissed his bruised lip. "Something I learned from the WWE."

  "I should have figured you for a girl into wrestling." He kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear. "When we hook up later, I'll show you some of my patented moves. No spandex required."

  "My, you are a man of many talents. Hunk Hogan move over."

  "I believe that's Hulk Hogan," he murmured.

  "Whatever."

  Wedging herself between him and the counter, she undid the tie to his robe, sliding her fingers to his bare skin. He slipped his hands under her robe, allowing them to stray. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck, drinking in the smell of her skin.

  The woman made it damned hard for him to ignore her. Yep, Raven made it damned hard, always.

  By midafternoon, the sun speared through the dark clouds only sparingly, dashing Christian's hope for a better day. He followed Raven out the front door of his cottage, setting the alarm and locking it behind him. The air smelled heavy with moisture. Today's forecast called for thunderstorms later in the afternoon. On his front step, he turned up the collar to his long black overcoat and heaved a sigh. His eyes fixed on the gathering clouds overhead. Even Mother Nature had conspired against him.

  With his mind being so troubled, he wondered how he'd ever hide it from his beautiful passenger.

  He should have enjoyed the ride into Chicago. Raven did her best to distract him. Somehow, even with a ruthless killer stalking her, with murder and mayhem blowing his life to smithereens, the intriguing woman at his side made their time together feel normal. Idle conversation should have been a welcome respite from the scenarios jumbling in his brain. Yet all he thought about was Fiona. He had no idea how this would play out. The uncertainty wrenched his gut.

  As the traffic picked up and they neared downtown Chicago, Raven yanked him from his brooding.

  "You've been putting up a pretty good front, but I can tell. Something's bothering you. Can you talk about it?" She looked up from keying her cell phone number as a speed dial entry into his phone. Her dark eyes filled with concern for him. He felt like such a jerk!

  His rendezvous with Fiona loomed heavy between them, a barrier he couldn't deny. But he wasn't prepared to talk about it. At least, not yet. A part of him wanted to tear down that wall of lies. For so many years, that obstacle had amassed deep within him, like a cancer. It kept him a prisoner to his past. He wondered what it would feel like to shed light on all his dark secrets. The burden finally lifted. And he imagined doing exactly that with Raven.

  But he took the path of least resistance.

  "I can't. Not yet." He stared out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. He made the turn down Michigan Avenue, heading for Dunhill Tower, then broke the strained silence between them. "But I want to. Just have a little more patience with me. I gotta sort through some stuff first."

  He pulled to the curb in front of the tower and left the SUV running. Reaching over, he touched a finger to her cheek, then leaned toward her. With fingers laced in her hair, he kissed her, drawing from her humanity to fortify him. As his lips touched hers, his mind flooded with images of Raven, his heart unwilling to leave her behind. But he had to. With his past so much of a hindrance, he had to find a way to set himself free from it. And it was a journey he had to make alon
e.

  "Remember, no deviations. And I'll call you when I'm done so we can set up a time for the ride home." He forced a smile, tapping an index finger to the tip of her nose.

  "You got my number. Maybe we can swing by the hospital to see Tony later."

  "Yeah, no problem." He yanked open the door to the car and waited for her to come around to slip into the driver's seat.

  After a final kiss and a wave good-bye, Christian stood at the curb, watching her drive away. Under his overcoat, he reached for the cell phone clipped to the belt of his jeans. He hit a speed dial, then headed for the front entrance of the building, his face hardened by determination.

  The man answered on the second ring. "Edwards, here."

  "Yeah, Bill. This is Christian. I've got a favor to ask."

  "Anything. What do you need?"

  "Get me a pool car. I'm heading out to the hangar to pick up Fiona."

  "Sure thing. Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Just one more thing. I want you to start tracking the GPS on my SUV. I'll fill you in when I see you upstairs."

  "You loaned out your high-tech baby?" the man teased. "Who is she?"

  "What makes you think—" With a grin, Christian shook his head. "Never mind. Just tell me if it deviates from the South State Street area of downtown."

  He ended the call and pushed through the revolving door, waving an acknowledgment to the guards at the front security kiosk. With the change in logistics, he knew the timing would be tight now. His face taut, he shifted focus. Soon, he'd be seeing Fiona again—and in a whole different light. And he still had no idea what would come out of his mouth.

  "It'll be one of life's little mysteries," he muttered under his breath as he hit the elevator button, riding up alone. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat, clenching his fists.

  Cynicism gripped him hard, coupled with a mounting resentment. Christian felt certain that seeing Fiona again would only reinforce his callous attitude. His mind reeled with all the questions he would demand her to answer.

  "Welcome home, Fie." He furrowed his brow. "It's a whole new world."

  Raven spent the first hour reviewing the case files Sam had laid on her desk, the ones from her father's past. Sam had placed a note on the top file, telling her he'd already conducted a background check on the "Top Scumbag" list. He'd narrowed the prospects considerably. She set down her pen after making the final entry into her casebook. The connection to her father was a slender thread. And she knew it.

  "It's gonna be a crapshoot." She sighed, then dosed herself up with the caffeine from stale coffee. Her eyes trailed over to her partner's desk as she repeated a line from the movie Top Gun. "Talk to me, Goose."

  Tony always used the old line whenever he felt the need for her sage advice. Now the tables were turned. She picked up the phone and placed a call to the hospital, needing to hear the voice of her wingman. But first she would speak to the guardian at the gate to get the truth.

  "How is he, Yolanda?" She tightened her grip on the phone, holding her breath as she waited to hear.

  "He's in stable condition. Thank God. And the doctor says his prognosis looks good." She heard a smile in Yolie's voice. The woman was practically giddy. "He's eating up a storm. Can you imagine him eating hospital food, without loading it down with hot sauce? I couldn't be happier."

  Raven pictured her smiling face. Her euphoria was contagious.

  "Oh, that's so good to hear. Call me if there's anything I can do for you or his parents." Her eyes welled with tears, happy to hear the good news. "Can I speak to him?"

  "Oh, sure. Just a minute."

  She heard Yolanda's voice in the background and a rustle of fabric. In a moment, she heard Tony on the line.

  "Hey, Mac." His voice sounded weak, nowhere near his old self. But he still sounded damned good to her. "How's the case?"

  "Hey, Tony. I've made some headway, but I miss my partner." Raven worried about telling him too much. She imagined how she'd feel if their situations were reversed and she was the one flat on her back, unable to help.

  "I hear from the guys that Sam is helping you with some old case files. How's that going?"

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. Tony was one tough guy. Still working the case even from the hospital. And the constant flood of visitors in blue uniforms would have kept him plugged in. No use shielding him from anything.

  "I'm staring at a stack of old case folders right now. Thanks to Sam's help, we started with eleven cases, but are now down to four." She flipped open her case notes and reviewed the summary. "Two are dead, three in prison, one deported, and one moved out of state. That leaves four still living in the greater Chicago area."

  She read the rap sheets of the final four to him.

  "Real maggots, huh?" His breathing sounded labored. "What does your gut say?"

  It took her a moment to retrieve one file. Flipping over the cover, she held up the mug shot inside.

  "Dad made a personal note in one of his casebooks. He wrote 'gray dead eyes' like it really was supposed to mean something. My money is on Dad and old gray eyes, Logan McBride. But unfortunately, we've got no address on him."

  Staring at the old black-and-white photo, she knew her father had been dead-on. The man made her skin crawl, even in 2-D. The old rap sheet was a long one, and her father had arrested the bastard on a grand theft auto when he'd been a teen. But even at that age, McBride had all the makings of a hard case.

  "Follow your instincts, Raven. My money's on you." Tony cleared his throat. "How are things going with Delacorte?"

  Images of Christian flashed in her mind, his handsome face, the feel and smell of his skin. She had it bad. The time she'd spent with him now felt like a surreal dream. And a hollow sensation plagued her with the mention of his name. Raven craved him like a junkie off a bender.

  "Too good. I just feel like pinching myself, like I'll wake up and he would be a figment of my sex-starved imagination."

  "Oh, Lord. I think that falls under TMI—too much information." His attempt at laughter turned into a coughing jag. She knew it was time to cut the conversation short.

  "Yeah, guess so. I forgot you're such a lightweight." She grinned. "Hey, Tony? I miss you. And I'm glad you're okay. I've been praying for you, you know."

  It was true. She found herself talking to no one, in her own head, confiding the desperation and fear for her partner's safety. It took her a moment to finally recognize that she was praying. Out of practice as she was, it felt like the closest she'd come to believing again. And with Tony taking a turn for the better, who was she to argue with the process?

  "Will wonders never cease?" he replied. "Take care, Mac. Let me know how those hard cases turn out."

  "I will, partner. I miss you. Did I mention that?"

  "Yeah, a time or three."

  She hung up the phone, struggling to control a grin. Maybe things would turn out after all.

  A menacing rumble called her attention to the window. The sky had turned nearly black with the onset of dusk and a brewing storm. The thunder bumper had been expected, but its timing for the five o'clock rush hour was just plain cruel.

  The ominous rumble made her skin crawl. Maybe her optimism was a bit premature.

  A crack of thunder made her jump. Her pulse quickened. Fiona felt thankful the jet had landed before the weather had gotten this bad. She clutched at her coat collar and drew it tighter around her throat. Her eyes peered over her shoulder into the gloom. The rain poured down like the heavens were angry. And she understood why.

  With luggage near her feet, she paced the small waiting room of the Dunhill hangar, glancing at her watch once again. She'd asked for a ride to meet her. The service was late. Rush-hour traffic and the bad weather no doubt contributed to the problem. But the delay didn't entirely displease her. It gave her time to think about what she would say to Christian when she saw him.

  Her son.

  A lump formed and wedged in her throat. Her beautiful son
.

  She stopped and closed her eyes, clenching a fist to her lips and pressing hard to stanch the onset of tears. What would she say to him? She had come home to face Christian, to tell him everything. With the reality of that confrontation so near at hand, she wasn't sure she had the courage. But she owed him the truth—and so much more.

  The glass door opened behind her. Fiona turned, expecting to see a security driver with her limousine service. She flinched, a gasp punctuating her surprise.

  "Christian?" Her voice quivered.

  He stood at the door, raindrops clinging to his dark hair, his face slick from the downpour. Those brooding green eyes told her all she needed to know. It had taken years of therapy to find even a semblance of joy buried deep in them. And even those moments were few. But something else lurked beneath the surface of his eyes. Resentment. It was undeniable.

  "Surprised to see me?" Cynicism colored his voice. "No more of a shocker than when I came home to find you gone, leaving me in the lurch, neck-deep in a murder investigation."

  He hit dead center. Christian never minced words. She wasn't sure she could take the strain of his hostility. And when he bridged the gap between them, stepping closer, her throat tightened. How could she justify what she'd done?

  "If I stayed, it would have been worse." She wanted to explain, find the words to make it all right. But everything she said came out wrong. Christian was an intelligent, sensitive man. He would see through her stonewalling.

  "Worse for whom? For me ... or for you? I guess you want me to believe you left to protect me." His face grew cold with skepticism. "Nice try. Pardon me if I sound cynical these days."

  This was not how she'd envisioned their conversation, but she deserved the full force of his bitterness. Now Christian moved even closer. Her arms ached to hold him, finally as his mother. But she knew he'd never allow it.