by Tia Louise
“Thanks,” I say softly and start toward the door.
Pausing, my eyes close, and I listen to the soft whisper of the waves in the distance trying to find calm. I know I have to talk to him, but I’m so afraid of this conversation. My emotions are all over the place. Sloan was an abusive, sick, evil man, who hurt me and kept me living in fear for more than a year. I should not feel emotional at discovering he’s dead. I shouldn’t be shocked or disturbed... I shouldn’t... care. Why do I care?
Opening the door, when I see Derek sitting at the table, I know why I’m so torn up and twisted. I care because I know why my abusive ex is dead. I don’t have to ask who did it. I know who did it.
That leaves one question: What now?
* * *
Derek
I’d been late getting back to the beach cottage last night, and Melissa was already asleep for the second time in a row. I know she’s growing increasingly annoyed with my evasions, and she has no idea how her talk of our wedding plans and Dex’s first birthday party are killing me. The drive back from Princeton had been difficult, but leaving her as soon as we’d arrived home was worse.
“You have to meet Patrick now?” Her hands are on her hips as she follows me to the door.
“He found out about the Nikki situation. He needs to go over a few cases.” Lying to her burns in my chest, but it’s the last time I’ll do it.
“What about Dex? He hasn’t seen you in two days!”
“Patrick and Nikki are close.” I pull my keys from my pocket. “She’s heavily involved in several of his cases. Her leaving probably impacts him the most.”
“Then let him convince her to stay.” She catches my sleeve in her hand. “I can’t believe this can’t wait until tomorrow.”
Covering her small hand with mine, I look into her eyes. “I won’t be long.”
I’m going to make this right, I vow as I walk to my car. I’ll make all of this up to her, and we’ll never be in this situation again.
Patrick is waiting when I arrive at our satellite office in Wilmington. Dressed in his usual faded jeans and a maroon, short-sleeved tee, his light-brown hair is a messy bedhead, and if he didn’t have his son Lane at the house, I’d guess he came straight to meet me from sleeping with Elaine.
Hell, he probably did that anyway. Those two have been known to leave a house full of dinner guests for a quickie in the bathroom.
Standing in our small office space, I hold the fax and read the typed letter. It’s on nondescript, white paper in a basic, serif font. Nothing distinguishes it. Nothing gives us a clue as to who might have sent it.
The message is short and clear:
Ms. Durango:
I know about your involvement in the death of Sloan Reynolds. An item belonging to you, containing your DNA, is in my possession along with digital files of the enclosed photographs.
Lowering the sheet, I glance up at my partner. “Photographs?”
He hands over cheap prints showing Sloan’s corpse from a distance, lying on his back, his head cocked at a sick angle. The images gradually move in closer, frame by frame, until the focus is on a black lace thong in his pocket.
My jaw clenches. “Her fucking underwear.”
Patrick’s bicep flexes as he bends his elbow, pulling a fist to his chest. “We forgot he had it.”
I also know about your record and the child in Myrtle Beach. If you want her to remain safe, you’ll do as I say.
My next letter will contain instructions. Tell anyone, and you can kiss your baby goodbye.
Signed,
A Friend.
“A friend? Is that a fucking joke?” I’m ready to slam my fist through the wall. “What the fuck do they want?”
“Letter number two hasn’t arrived yet. Toni called me as soon as she read this. She’s pretty spooked, which you know takes a lot.” He walks around the only desk in our two-room satellite office. He and I both do the majority of our work on the road or from home, so this space is for the rare occasion we have to meet with a client in person.
Sitting in the chair, his hazel eyes laser into mine. “You get what this means, right? This asshole was there. He or she saw what we did and is looking to exploit it.”
“But why go after her?” My voice is flat. “Why not come straight to me?”
“That’s the part neither of us can figure.” He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “You clearly have more money if it’s blackmail. Maybe whoever it is sees her as the weak link in our chain.”
Growling, I try to think. “What’s this about a kid?”
“A little girl, Camille. She had her about a year ago, but the baby lives with her sister.”
Confused, I look up at him. “Could it be the father?”
“My first question.” He stands and walks around the desk again. “She says no. He still lives in Raleigh. They’re friends, just not together.”
Scrolling through my thoughts, I try to remember the last time we’ve heard from Toni... or “Star,” depending on whether she’s running a con. She’d enrolled in community college and was working toward a degree in criminal justice. I’d offered to help her find a legitimate job when she finished.
“She’s sure he’s not after the baby?”
“From what I understand, Cammie lives with her sister because of Toni’s... work history.”
“She expected something like this to happen?”
“I don’t think she expected Sloan Reynolds to come back from the dead, but apparently she’s been involved in some pretty high-risk jobs. She didn’t want to elaborate. I think she was afraid I might arrest her.”
“So that’s it. Whoever is sending this is trying to drag up her past for some reason.”
“Maybe.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms. “Only she can’t figure out why. As we’ve both already noted, she’s not rich.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“The fact this person addressed her as Durango and not Brandon, her stage name, has her scared. It means he or she knows the real Toni.” He slips the letter back in his pocket and grabs a manila envelope. I watch as he drops the photographs in it and places it under a paperweight on the desk. “She’s afraid for her little girl.”
“How old is the child?”
“Almost a year.”
Same age as Dex. “I guess I understand how she feels.”
Patrick nods. “She’s tough, but you know how it is. Hit somebody where they live, and you can pretty much get whatever you want.”
Inhaling deeply, I nod and start for the door. “Speaking of, I need to get home. Let me know as soon as you hear from her. Tell her not to be afraid. We’ll take care of this.”
Chapter 4: The Last Straw
Melissa
Derek is at the kitchen table when I open the door to my beach cottage. The images of Sloan’s gruesome, broken neck churn my stomach. I’m still holding one of the prints.
“Melissa?” He crosses the room as I step inside. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
I lift the photograph, holding it so he can see what I know. “Dex knocked this off your desk.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t speak. I don’t need him to. I remember the night he’d told me he could kill a man with his bare hands. We’d been discussing “special skills.” He’d said he wasn’t proud of that one.
“You did this.” My voice is so quiet, yet it feels like the loudest thing in the room.
His eyes close, and for the second time, my head grows suddenly light. Only this time, the whiteness overpowers me. I’m going down, until I’m scooped up in his strong arms at once.
“Hang on,” he soothes, carrying me to the sofa and gently helping me sit. “Stay here. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“No!” I catch his arm and hold him. “I need you to tell me if it’s true.”
With a deep sigh, he lowers himself beside me. My head hurts. Pressure is behind my eyes, and my limbs are weak.
His voice
is quiet, resigned when he answers me. “It’s true.”
“Oh, god, Derek!” Tears flood my eyes, and my whole body is trembling now. “Oh, god!”
The tears spill down my cheeks, and he gathers me to his chest. I can only clutch his shoulders. Breathing is hard. Thinking is hard—past the one thought of What now? Repeating over and over in my brain. My worst nightmare is coming true.
“I’m sorry.” His voice remains quiet, and he continues holding me, softly running his hand up and down my back.
“When were you going to tell me?” My whisper is accusatory. I’m angry, but more than anything, I’m terrified of losing him.
I feel him take a deep breath, his hold on me loosens as his arms lower. “In the beginning? Never.”
Pushing back, I catch his eyes. “You were never going to tell me you killed a man?”
“I didn’t want you burdened with that knowledge.” His tone is closed, but his steel blue eyes tell me he’s not saying everything.
All the shock and fear that had just been swirling through me binds together in a fist of anger in my chest. I push to my feet, adrenaline driving me now. “You didn’t want me to be burdened with the knowledge that you’ve committed a crime? That my ex-husband is dead at your hands?”
I’m pacing the living room, but he’s not moving. His eyes follow me.
Finally, I stop and shout at him. “How could you keep this from me?”
He looks up at me, and his expression is so pained, my chest clenches again. As angry as I am, I still love him so much. His suffering tears me apart.
“Melissa,” he breathes my name in a way that nearly melts me. “I’ve wrestled with this decision so long—”
“Because you know it’s the wrong one.”
“Because I love you.” He stands and steps toward me. His massive size makes me feel very small. “I couldn’t risk you assuming any of the blame for what I did. This crime is solely on me. I wouldn’t let him hurt you again.”
With that one statement, understanding washes through me. “He threatened me?”
Derek’s chin drops, and I reach up to cup his cheek, sliding my palm over his close, dark beard. Our eyes meet then, and his are filled with so much regret. “Yes,” is all he says.
Reaching for him, I surrender to his embrace, and for a few moments, we simply hold each other. Our breathing swirls together, and images fill my mind of how something like that would affect this man who spent the first part of his career as a commanding officer, leading men like Stuart on combat missions. It would be like tweaking the nose of a lion.
My cheek is against his chest as I consider it. “How did he do it? How did he make that threat?”
Silence settles over the room, and I lift my head to look at him. He smooths my hair back from my face, his lips tightening as he views the tiny scar at my scalp. “He had your necklace.”
“What?” The icy fear is back.
“We were watching him, and he had it. He pulled it out and showed it almost as if he were taunting me...” Derek’s voice trails off, but I can see the anger darkening his blue eyes. “The idea that he had been here, in this house, close enough to take something so precious to you without our knowing...”
Memories of the dream I’d had that day so long ago trickle into my thoughts. I remember the squeak of his shoes, the spicy scent of his cologne burning my nose, the sound of scissors. Shivering, I step forward again to hide in the shelter of Derek’s arms.
He only holds me, breathing in the top of my hair. My eyes close as guilt rolls over me like a flood. I’m to blame for this. If I hadn’t been such a stupid fool to marry Sloan Reynolds, none of this would be happening. Derek Alexander, one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known, a hero, wouldn’t have ruined his reputation and possibly his life for me. He’d be free from guilt, he’d be away from this nightmare. It’s the horrible truth, my humiliating truth, that started this chain of events.
“It’s my fault.” My voice is so low, I’m sure Derek can’t hear me, but I’m wrong.
He catches my upper arms and holds me in front of him as anger fills his eyes. His dark brow lowers, the muscle in his jaw moving as his teeth clench. In this state I imagine he’s intimidating to others, but I feel no fear. He’d never hurt me.
“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” he growls. My eyes start to close, but he gives me a gentle shake. “Look at me, Melissa.” I obey and meet his steely gaze. “You are not to blame for this. Sloan Reynolds was a master manipulator. He fooled everyone, including me, and the last thing I’ll let you do is blame yourself.”
“If I hadn’t married him—”
“Stop.” Another gentle shake, and I’m back against his chest, surrounded by his arms. “You had no idea what he was hiding. No one did. We’ve talked about this.”
I want to argue, but he won’t let me.
“I should have had more control,” he continues. “I’m trained to be in control at all times. What happened is entirely my fault.”
I don’t agree with him. I know him too well, but that means, I also know he’s convinced himself of the truth of his words. Only one person is as stubborn as he is, and she’s locked in his arms right now. Struggling to get free, I look up at his face again, so strong, so handsome, so intense in his commitment to keeping his family safe.
“We’re not going to agree on this.” A few beats of silence pass, and for the first time in so long, he smiles. It’s small, but it’s better than the dark veil that’s been clouding his eyes.
“If anything ever happened to you... ” His voice is soft, and he cups my cheeks. “I can’t live without you, Miss Jones.”
My anger dissipates as his lips lightly cover mine, but I pull back. One enormous part of this is still unresolved.
“You can’t hide these things from me.” My voice is low, and I’m deadly serious. “Something this big... you have to include me in this, in your life.”
“I know.” He blinks down. “I told Patrick—”
“Patrick is in a shit load of trouble with me, too! He specifically promised to keep you out of trouble.”
“He’s already predicted your response.” That little smile is back, and he glances at me. For a moment, I forget I’m mad as his sexy gaze holds mine. “What’s all this making deals with Patrick behind my back anyway?”
“He promised he wouldn’t let you do anything dangerous or... potentially life-threating. Nothing that could take you from me forever.”
My final sentence is the big question hanging over us now. Our blue eyes meet, and I know the fear twisting my insides is plain on my face. He sits on the sofa and pulls my body to him. I’m standing in front of him, my hands resting on his broad shoulders.
“Nothing can take me from you,” he says, placing his cheek against my torso.
We hold each other a moment, before he slides my tee up so he can kiss my skin. The touch of his lips on my stomach, the scratch of his beard pulses need in my lower body, and I lean down to kiss his head, curling my fingers in the sides of his thick, dark hair. He pulls back to unbutton my jeans, sliding them over my hips along with my panties as I step out of my boots.
A deep inhale and he speaks against the crease of my thigh. “You smell so good.” His kisses move closer to the center, and my knees grow weak.
“Derek,” I sigh. With one slow circle of his tongue over my clit, I rise on my tiptoes, crying out as electricity snakes up my legs.
“Oh, god!” I’m gasping and clutching his hair as he sucks and pulls at me until my thighs begin to tremble. All at once, I’m off my feet. I clutch his cheeks and cover his mouth with mine. The adrenaline, the anger, the fear, the frustration, all of it is burned away as he carries me to our bedroom.
* * *
Derek
Melissa is so beautiful coming apart in my arms. I have her in our bed, thighs parted, and I slide my tongue over her clit then down, tasting her deeply. I don’t want her angry. I don’t want her blaming herself.
I want her to understand nothing in this world is ever allowed to threaten her in my presence. I’ll take any chance, any risk to keep her safe.
“Oh, god, Derek!” Her soft moans are shocks of pleasure straight to my cock, which is aching to be inside her. “I’m almost there,” she gasps, and I give her another firm suck, resulting in a high-pitched cry.
Her body is soft and wet, like honey on my tongue, and as her legs start to convulse, I rise up to kiss her belly before sinking deep into her. It’s the most incredible feeling, her clenching and holding me, hot and wet.
She’s in my arms, my weight supported on my elbows. Every thrust piques the pressure growing in me, and I can’t stop a groan. I kiss then bite the soft skin of her shoulder. She moans, and all I can do is hold her as the most intense sensation of relief explodes through my body. My orgasm shakes me like blinding light.
“Melissa.” Her name is a prayer on my lips.
Two more hard thrusts, she’s so tight and willing. Rolling onto my side, I have her in my arms as we slowly come down together. Our breath mingles, our bodies melt. It’s beautiful and perfect... until she twists away. I release her, and she rises up on an elbow. A dark lock of her hair falls over her ivory shoulder.
Reaching out, I touch her lightly. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
“That wasn’t exactly fair, you know.” Her blue eyes sparkle with her tease, and I do a quick internal evaluation of how long it might be before I can take her again.
“What wasn’t fair?”
“I’m mad at you, you distract me with mind-blowing sex—”
“Did I blow your mind?” We’re both smiling now.
“You must’ve. I don’t feel angry at all.”
Pushing myself up to sitting, I gather her in my arms. Her cheek rests against my skin, and I thread my fingers through her soft, gorgeous waves. “You’re not angry.”
I feel her brows move against my skin. “Oh, I’m not?”
“No. You understand why I did it, why I couldn’t tell you, although I’m glad you know.”
“Derek,” she exhales, frustration in her tone. “You have to include me in things like this. You can’t keep them from me.” Lifting her head, our eyes meet, concern filling hers. “I’m your wife. Your partner.”
