Seeking Worthy Pursuits: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 2)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Of the five folders in view, four were in their normal state. Each displayed a different color indicating what stage the hunt was in, and waiting communications were highlighted by a hovering number. Four held zeros, but one, the one she’d set up for Owen with this hunt, showed he’d uploaded three new items, requesting a read-receipt for each.

  She glanced around at the darkened on-ramp again, watching as headlights in her rearview showed a large vehicle just turning off the local road and onto the highway. The semi was still gaining speed as it rolled by, but the wind of its passage rocked the car.

  She touched the folder. Two images and one document. The images were still resolving, not fully downloaded, so she tapped the document to open it.

  Timestamped at twelve hours after she’d left him on the trail, it was a succinct description of another killing field. He couldn’t have had time to investigate all the pits yet, but it appeared one had drawn his attention from the moment he’d stepped foot into the field. The body inside hadn’t been dead more than a couple of weeks. He’d tentatively identified her as a woman taken around three months ago, one of three women who had disappeared over the course of a six-week period. That was three confirmed bodies for this killer, sixteen if she believed it was the same one who had gone inactive in Idaho. Sixteen, then.

  Alace sucked air between her teeth, forcing down the anger at herself for abandoning the hunt when she had. Owen was competent, and he was the absolute best she had for this particular gig. He was already invested in the victims, which meant he wouldn’t stop hunting. Even if she were to wave him off at this point, he’d ignore her. She knew that as a fact, because it was what she would have done.

  He’d found another cache, and the itemized list was very similar to what they’d gone through earlier. The differences included significantly more food and a stock of supplies to make the napalm instead of just the implements. Alace finished reading and typed her response, waiting for the document to save and upload before she exited it.

  Good work. Doc everything. Pics are good.

  Recommend not exploring other pens. Highly recommend. Leave no trace works in our favor here.

  The now-downloaded images included one of the inside of the cache, and just as the list of items had been similar, even the arrangement in the soil-walled square was the same. The only thing not present was a crafted wig, and Alace wondered if the one packed in her bag was the killer’s only trophy. Why would it have been at the dead field instead of the active one? Maybe our killer is reactivating the field?

  The other image chilled her blood, and Alace stared at it for a moment before she reopened the document, typing in another block of text before saving and exiting.

  The barrel. What’s with that? Now there’s two of them. To what purpose? Why a planter? It’s a hell of a signature, and nothing that was noted in Idaho. Two planters but one trophy? It doesn’t make sense. I think we missed something there. Give me your thoughts.

  In an image taken from across the clearing, the half barrel stood alone as a mute witness to the death that had come to pass underneath it. It covered the small, square access point, same as the ones Owen had identified in the pits they’d found. To have found two of these planters, these heavy garden accessories, hauled in over long distances across uncertain terrain meant they held greater significance than Alace had attributed to them. Another mistake. She wondered how Regg had done it, that unwelcome thought circling not for the first time. He’d always seemed so absolutely certain of anything he’d told her. He’d also been a habitual liar, and not just for the sake of the gigs they worked together. Regg isn’t me.

  The phone in her hand chimed, startling her. Almost as if he knew she’d delayed, Eric sent her a two-word text. Alace disconnected from her private network, withdrawing as carefully as she’d inserted herself, wary of the traps she’d set. Then she buckled up, fingers given permission to glide across her belly for an instant, and pulled onto the on-ramp, angling the nose of the car into traffic and towards home. The message circled her thoughts, warming her in indescribable ways.

  Come home.

  ***

  She’d scarcely parked the car before Eric was at her door, yanking it open with one hand, his other reaching for her face, palm cupping her cheek. Alace smiled up at her husband as she unbuckled and grabbed her phone by feel. The rest of her things could wait for the morning.

  “Welcome home, beloved.”

  The simple sound of his voice soothed her, well-known tones smoothing around well-known words, a greeting and declaration in one, echoes of their meeting and the instant inferno between them.

  She stood and was scooped into his arms, one large hand supporting her ass while she settled her legs around his waist. The solid clunk of the car door signaled with finality the ending of her life as she knew it. At some point in the last two hours of the trek home, Alace had come to a point of acceptance. Now, in the driveway of their home, middle of the night arrivals setting schedules askew, she whispered the prologue to their changing lives in his ear. “I have something to tell you.”

  Eric never missed a lick, his stride unfaltering until the house door closed behind them, and even then his motion was to soothe her, a hand skating up her spine to grip the back of her neck, urging her to rest against his shoulder. “Tell me, beloved.” That word again, that fucking, fucking word that tore her breath from her chest because it meant so much. His thighs jostled her ass as he tackled climbing the stairs still holding her. Thick and strong, like everything else about Eric. He was solid, capable, unswaying in his love for and belief in her.

  Alace was wordless, adrift, uncertain how to best frame the news. Not uncertain of the reaction, never. Eric wanted it all, just as Alace did. Telling him about the baby wouldn’t rock his boat, no. She smiled into his neck, taking in a deep breath of everything that was Eric. Worried about her, he was still dressed from work, his shirt—which would have been crisp this morning—now molded to his shoulders and held the notes of his cologne along with that earthy scent that meant Eric to her mind.

  “I reek.” Truth. Even after only two days in the woods, the efforts expended had been more than enough to start the beginning of a true hiker’s funk. “Shower with me?” His hum was an agreement that vibrated through her bones, the always-appreciated sound of Eric happy and content, simply because she was here with him.

  “Be my pleasure, baby.” And that was Eric aroused, moving from the echoes of Querida and beloved to baby. She had enjoyed mapping the reasons for his pet names, finding the provocation of each a shining example of the depth of feelings this man was capable of. They were made for each other, truly, because as much as she loved him, he returned the emotion. With a devotion that was covetous and always growing, she hadn’t yet come to an ending for how she felt about him.

  In the bathroom attached to their bedroom, she skated down his front as he slowly released her, reaching for the floor with the edges of her boots. It was the work of moments to find her footing so she could roll back up and onto her toes, arms wrapping around his neck as she drew him down for a kiss. Eyes dipping closed, she relished the sensation of roughened silk as his tongue drifted side to side across the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. That mother-may-I move was one of her favorites, and she granted it, as she always did, as hungry for the taste of him as she was the feel.

  Their hands were busy as they kissed, untucking and unfastening, fabric shoved out of the way as touch ruled the day. Suit pants joined hiking boots on the floor, her grungy and dirty clothing mixed with his starkly clean items. It didn’t matter how much they might not appear to match—as he lifted Alace again, nothing between them, giving her some skin-on-skin therapy a la Eric—they fit together like puzzle pieces created for that exact purpose.

  Steamy water pelted the sides of the shower enclosure as he backed under the water, testing the temperature with his own skin before turning to place Alace directly under the stream. She moaned as, with a physical releas
e, strained muscles began giving up their clenching, tight hold. Eric’s palm slipped up her back and settled between her shoulders, pressing with a steady pressure. Alace went with his suggestion, settling her cheek against his chest, head tucked underneath his chin. His cock bounced once against her, but Eric didn’t move to take things in hand, seemingly content to hold her, a stark contrast from the kisses and touches he’d treated her to as they’d undressed.

  “Eric?” She held there, keeping the rest of her words trapped behind her teeth, waiting at the tip of her tongue for his answering hum, that rumbling response that made her shudder with need, clenching muscles around a frustrating emptiness. She stayed in place, soaking up heat from two sides, wet steam drawing that relaxed feeling into her muscles, and the furnace that was Eric against her front, solid and wide, wet and slippery but so stable all at once. “I got the feeling we were going to fuck, but now this seems like a cuddlefest instead. Is everything okay?”

  “I took the garbage out while you were gone.”

  What was he talking about? Why would the trash matter? He didn’t give her anything more, didn’t fill in the spaces between what he’d said and what he meant, making her sort through her pre-trip preparations.

  “Something we need to talk about, Alace?”

  Gruff and rumbly, his whispered words didn’t roll through the shower so much as they settled on her skin. The pregnancy test, wadded in a handful of toilet paper, but if it had been dislodged from that weak camouflage, unmistakable in name or that damn giant plus sign in the plastic window of the pee stick.

  “I’m pregnant.” The way his arms tightened around her could mean anything. Maybe it was grief at losing their couplehood too quickly, or maybe a counter-revulsion at the idea, holding her close before he thrust her away. She reminded herself of her certainty over the past few days that he’d be excited, that it would be something he’d welcome, a change in their relationship status that would make him preen and cluck like a rooster, crowing about his virility.

  “Beloved.” The vibrating emotion in the one word—still with the one-word thing, it made her crazy sometimes—put all her fears to rest. Arching backwards in his arms, she lifted her chin to see wet shining in his eyes, heated gaze fixed on her face. “The test, it is reliable?”

  Alace folded her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to wet her hair in the shower stream, closing her eyes against the naked joy in his expression. “Yeah. Plus there’s my boobs being sensitive, and the on-and-off nausea. So—” She released her hold with one hand to scrub at her scalp, twisting and reaching for the shampoo from her perch at his waist, as if this were an everyday thing for them. Puddling a little of the gel into her palm, she replaced the bottle and then spread the shampoo across both palms, transferring it to her hair and scalp with efficient movements. “Plus I’m late, as in I don’t remember my period last month at all, which was why I thought to take the test.”

  Eric’s cock thudded against her ass.

  Lids shut tightly against the threat of stinging suds, she arched just the tiniest bit more, pushing her breasts up and into the air. A moment passed; then he groaned and shifted, and heat covered one mound as his tongue wrapped around her nipple on a hard, deep suck. Moving slower, she finished shampooing her hair and leaned back to rinse, Eric’s movements timed with each thrust of her fingers through her hair. Halfway through the rinse cycle, he shifted to the other breast, treating it to the same attentive suckles, adding a stinging nip to the tightly drawn bud.

  Palms slicking her hair back, she straightened and met his mouth halfway, tongues tangling in that delicious slide he’d perfected, knowing it drove her nuts. Teeth to her bottom lip, he nipped and sucked, then laved across the blood-plumped flesh, chasing away the sting.

  She wiggled, unlocking her ankles as she propped her knees on his hips, toes tucking along the front of his thighs. “Put me down.” The insistent press of his hard cock hit her differently in this position, slotting lengthwise between her lips, flanged head of his cock riding up past her entrance. “Let me finish washing up.”

  “Beloved.” His arms tightened, and she halted her preparations to dismount, looking into his face. The intense expression was still evident, the reality of what she’d admitted not having taken any time to settle in. “We’re pregnant.”

  “We are.” She loved the fact he’d taken ownership of the condition in such a way, making it clear this was about as far from unhappy as he could be. His arms loosened, and she slipped down his wet skin to stand on tiptoes, his rigid cock trapped between her legs a prop she was reluctant to release. “Are we ready for this?” She arched her back, dragging her hips backwards an inch or two—not enough to lose contact, but just a tease—then forwards, retaining her body’s hold on his. Again, this slide easier, wetter. Her hands on his shoulders helped keep the stretched position, while his palms cupping her hips steadied her. Eric would never let her fall. Another thrust and pull, a tip of her hips with the slippery wetness nearly putting the head of his cock where she wanted it.

  “We are.” His promise was as steady as he was, firm and ringed about with belief that would hold no matter what. “Now, finish up in here so we can go to bed. Cuddlefest is over. Time for the main attraction.”

  Gaze on his face, she smiled and reached where a fresh washrag waited, draped over the inside handle of the door, his predictable preparation. Stepping back, she wet it in the water and squeezed a dollop of gel on the fabric, ready to scrub the dirt from her face.

  “Alace.”

  Eric’s terrified tone didn’t make sense, yanking every ounce of Alace’s attention. Eric stood cupping his cock, chin tipped far down as he stared at his rapidly wilting erection. It was smeared with red, diluting in the splatter from the shower, but not washing away fast enough to be denied. “Alace?”

  She shoved the damp and soapy rag between her legs, pulling it out to see more red, so much red, bright and brilliant, and instantly agonizing. Her chest seized in a rough cramp. This wasn’t spotting, not even close. This was the bloodied aftermath of something brutal and probably meant the end of a dream she hadn’t realized she’d longed for.

  Eric yanked the cloth from her hands and dropped it as he pulled the shower door open, his other hand turning off the water. A towel wrapped around her, shoulders to knees, and he draped a smaller one over her head. Eric wrestled his way into his clothing, skin still wet and tangling the fabric around his legs as he cursed. She stood unmoving, gasping for breath as she became aware of a trickling heat that wound its way down the inside of her thighs. Alace trembled at the knowledge. It was a loss that continued, no matter how she clenched and tightened, unable to hold back what felt like a flood.

  He disappeared, something she hardly had time to process before he returned, a camisole with a shelf bra and pair of panties in hand. He was on his knees in front of her when she saw the fabric of his pants going dark in splotches. Those would dry with white rings, those droplets of water, so saturated with salt from her stinging eyes. Frozen as she was, she couldn’t help him, couldn’t force her limbs to move. Gently but with urgency, he dried her skin, and the guttural cry that escaped him when he saw the smears between her legs wracked her with pain. Pad wedged in the gusset of her panties, he pulled shorts manufactured from thin air up her legs, then lifted her against his bare chest and ran down the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in the waiting room of the local ER, and Eric was shouting for help as Alace clung to him.

  ***

  She choked on the pill Eric handed her, swallowing half a glass of water to finally force it down.

  He sat on the edge of their bed and leaned across her onto a propped arm, his gaze fixed on her face, that intensity she’d seen in the shower back in his expression. There was an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t blame on the pill, a crawling underneath her skin driven by his pain and fear.

  Alace knew Eric loved her. Knew it down to her
toes scrunched in the sheets, making tiny divots in the mattress underneath. Knew it to the tips of her fingers, clenching and unclenching the fabric of the scrubs he’d worn home, arms firmly not in a stranglehold around his shoulders, letting him set the distance between them. If he needed it, she’d give it, even if her everything demanded she be held tightly right now. She knew it in her heart, where so many secrets were safely stored. But the determination he’d exhibited when things were falling apart, that told of an unexpected depth of love she hadn’t yet explored.

  She shifted and released him, masking her immediate desire to burrow against him by impatiently shoving at the pillow, pushing it into a more comfortable sitting position. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to, the words of the doctor still fresh and painful enough to keep her bound to this bed without any kind of restraints. Just her fear and Eric’s love.

  “Not a miscarriage.” She repeated what the doctor told them and watched the minuscule tension between Eric’s brows become more pronounced. “Just a serious warning.”

  Alace had put the pregnancy at risk with her strenuous activity. A thing so much more tenuous and fragile in the first weeks and months than she’d known, and the doctor had shaken his head when she told him about the forced hike, not calling it that, of course. Just describing the terrain as challenging, minimizing the pace and distance as merely formidable.

  “Bed rest.” Eric dipped his head, crowding closer as he traced along her cheek with the tip of his nose. “That’s gonna kill you. I’ll have to figure out a way to get you through this.”