by Alicia Scott
All this time she’d tried to outrun the violence. And now three men were dead because of her. Had living with Les been that bad? Had enduring his touch and his blows truly been so horrible? Were the lives of three men truly worth her escape?
And once more she could see her father’s shocked eyes as the gun exploded, and he fell, down, down, down, onto the gold-patterned carpet. Her mother’s face, so starkly resigned as she lowered the shotgun. The blood pooling into the cheap carpet as Jessica began to scream, the long silent scream that had never quite ended.
She would never have to fear his drunken rages anymore. She would never have to wonder what he had wanted that night, when he’d come to her room with his breath stinking of cheap whiskey. It was over, all over.
But at what price?
Her gaze swept up to the large dark man standing before her, watching her with his intense brown eyes, and she wondered what he would think if he knew the thoughts running through her mind. She wondered what he would do, if he knew all the things she had seen in her lifetime.
She wondered if maybe then he would understand.
And she knew, in that instant, that she would never tell him. Because she’d sworn to her mother she would never tell, and because she was afraid. Afraid that this man would look at her with disgust or even pity. Afraid that this one strong man, would turn away from her altogether.
“We’ve been here too long,” Mitch said under his breath, breaking the silence. Jess nodded. And then she did something he never would have imagined.
She crossed right to Bill and Jamie, and with a hand that only trembled slightly, reached out and closed both of their eyelids.
“You were the bravest men,” she whispered. “I will not forget you.”
The gesture touched Mitch, and once more his suspicions filled him with guilt. The more he learned about her, the less he understood.
“I want to finish scouting the area,” he said gruffly, his brown eyes not quite meeting her own. “Stay behind me.”
She fell in step behind him without saying a word. Squaring her shoulders, she followed him through the woods.
In the end, Mitch determined that two men had stayed behind. They seemed to be firmly ensconced in the house, probably keeping watch in the event that Mitch returned. That finding left him with little knowledge, however.
If anything, his mind now blazed with more questions than before, and the snowy silence offered few answers. Jamie and Bill were dead, and it appeared he and Jess would be on their own a bit longer. Given the uncertainty, he couldn’t risk a call into the program. There was no telling who might be listening.
He vented some of his frustration by slashing the tires of the ill-concealed vehicle. That would slow down the two men left behind, and give them something to ponder. He would have liked to do more damage than that; he’d like to burn the whole place down to the ground to avenge Bill and Jamie.
But such actions weren’t prudent, and he still had Jess to consider.
They went back to the car in silence, two shuttered people lost in their own thoughts and suspicions. The exhaustion was nagging, but the sense of danger kept them moving.
This time, Mitch turned the car southward. They drove to a little town on the New Hampshire-Massachusetts border, where Mitch had set up one of his three contingency plans. As Jess waited in the car, Mitch went into the bank, produced a second set of fake ID and received access to a prearranged safe-deposit box filled with more cash and another set of ID. As he’d told Jess, he could keep them running for a while.
It was now late afternoon, but that didn’t matter to Mitch. Both he and Jess were exhausted, however, and exhausted people made mistakes. He drove to a small, roadside motel.
“Six hours,” he informed her curtly as he shut off the engine. Jess stared back at him with confused eyes.
“Six hours of what?”
“Sleep. Then we hit the road again. Probably with another car.”
She nodded, turning away from Mitch so he wouldn’t see the shadows she knew were in her eyes. They’d driven the entire distance in silence, and now that he was finally speaking to her, his voice was so curt, she didn’t know which hurt her more.
And she hated herself for feeling the pain at all.
“Fine,” she said out loud. “We leave at ten.”
But as she watched him climb out of the car, she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth once and for all. She wouldn’t be leaving with Mitch Guiness at ten. No, she intended to do what she should have done a long time ago.
She was getting out on her own.
Because as she watched the strong, dark man beside her stand, she knew there was one man’s death not even the Ice Angel would be able to handle.
Chapter 11
When Mitch came back from the reservations desk, he carried with him only one key. Jess looked at it immediately with wary eyes.
“Where’s my key?” she asked more sharply than intended.
He merely glanced at her. “Same deal as last night,” he said crisply, “though this room happens to have two beds.”
“Unacceptable,” she bit out, her brown eyes unrelenting. The certainty of her word was probably too strong, however, for Mitch instantly stiffened. His jaw became grim.
“We are both adults, Jess,” he reminded her with edged softness. “We can handle this.” His eyes bore into hers, clearly telling her the matter was resolved. She refused to back down, though. How could she? There would be no chance of creeping out on her own if they were both in the same room.
“I need time to myself,” she managed to say. “I sleep better alone.”
Mitch took a deep, steadying breath. He was tired and short-tempered. His doubts about this woman sickened him, just as the gravity of their situation refused to allow him to relent. Damn it, he had a job to do.
His voice dropped to an octave she’d never heard before, and when he spoke, he spelled out each word with such precision, she felt every syllable in the hollow ache of her stomach.
“We will share a room tonight. You will sleep in one bed. I will sleep in the other. You will do exactly as I say, or so help me God I will wring your neck right here and now and save Capruccio the trouble. Now is that clear, Ms. McMoran, or shall I carry you up to the room myself?”
He took one step forward and it was all the encouragement she needed. Looking into the dark seriousness of his eyes, she had no doubt that he would in fact lift her up before a lobby full of people and manually cart her off to the room. No doubt at all.
“Fine,” she managed to say, trying to inject enough curtness in the word to salvage her pride. But instead, the word came out rather breathless, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks. Mitch’s gaze followed the coloring like a magnet, and the responding tightness of his body was unmistakable.
The next six hours would most likely kill them both.
“Fourth floor,” he practically growled.
Jess nodded and turned away to punch the upward arrow button for the elevators, grateful for the cover.
The elevator arrived with a ding, and she walked through the doors without looking back. She didn’t have to; she could feel Mitch’s presence in every shivering flash of awareness whispering down her spine.
They traveled up in silence, both looking at everything but each other. Then they were on the fourth floor, Mitch leading the way down the dimly lit hall. After a bit of jiggling, he opened the door. They both walked in, took one look around and tried to keep the tension from showing on their faces.
The room did contain two beds. However, they were crammed so close together in the tiny confines of the room, it hardly seemed to matter. Between the dresser, TV and nightstand, the room offered little spare space and even less privacy. Jess felt like screaming, even as the tightness within her stomach grew.
“It will have to do,” Mitch said at last, trying to keep the wariness out of his own voice. He’d been hoping for more space. A lot more space. His nerves were on edge and h
is body seemed to be in a constant state of half arousal. She thought she’d sleep better in her own room. Hell, he knew he would.
But, he reminded himself grimly, this was the safest course given the situation, and he was a man whose primary concern was safety. He walked over to the first bed and sat down.
The mattress sagged so damn much, he practically reached the floor. This time, he couldn’t quite keep the frustration from flickering across his face.
Jess saw the look, and tried to give him a narrow berth as she crossed to the other bed. Given the tight quarters, however, she brushed past his legs, causing him to stiffen so fast, she was surprised he didn’t snap in half from the motion. Her own jaw clenched and her nerves tightened to near breaking point. She pretended nonchalance while pressing down on her bed with a tentative hand. It was at least a little better.
“I hope you didn’t pay too much for the room,” she said at last.
“A dollar would be too much for this,” Mitch grumbled back. He stood wearily. “We have five and half hours left before ten. I’m getting some sleep.”
Jess nodded, watching him behind shuttered eyes as he turned once more to the bed. With a sigh, he sat down again and began taking off his boots. Jess watched that, as well, her nerves slowly stretching tighter.
Would he sleep in all his clothes? Or maybe just take off his shirt? Surely it couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in jeans. She imagined he slept in the buff most of the time. Totally and completely naked.
Her head pivoted sharply toward the wall, but she still had to take a deep, shuddering breath. Behind her she could hear the complaining creak as Mitch lowered all two hundred pounds of himself onto the bed. She risked another glance to see him sprawled on his back, fully clothed, on top of the covers. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out to the smooth, low tones of sleep.
Now why did she feel so disappointed?
Trying to move quietly so she wouldn’t disturb him, she tentatively stretched out on her own bed, also fully clothed. But while her muscles protested their exhaustion, her mind refused to shut down. Never in her life had she felt so tired. And never had sleep seemed so far away.
Staring at the water-stained ceiling above her, she could still see the bodies of Jamie and Bill, propped up so coldly against the base of the tree. And she could see Darold, falling down into the crimson-colored leaves. And the sound of the shotgun, her father’s own surprised face as he stumbled suddenly forward, the dim comprehension that never fully materialized as he died in an instant at her feet.
She shivered, unable to block out the image, and rolled onto her side. But the curtains of the room were gold-and-orange patterned, seeming to mock her until, once more, she felt the anger and pain.
She’d hated the violence. Hated her father for coming home late at night and beating her poor mother even after he’d sworn just that morning that he would never hurt them again. And she’d hated him for always crying afterward, for begging their forgiveness and swearing that he’d quit the booze and he’d control his temper and somehow they’d all be a family again. Because he never quit. And even as her cheek had bruised and the blood had dripped from her cut lip, she’d known he would come home drunk again.
At times, she had hated her mother for shooting him. More than that, however, she hated herself and that one small flash of relief she’d felt as her father had fallen once and for all at her feet. No more fear. No more pain. No more promises of the good life that had never come.
The terror was gone, but it had only been replaced by the nightmares. Because she had loved him. He’d never been a good father, he’d never been anything other than a drunken, violent man, railing at the world and his wife and his daughter for his own failings. But he’d been the only father she had. And even at that last bitter moment, the bile rising in her throat, the tears stinging her eyes, a part of her had still loved him.
And had still wanted to believe that someday he would be the father and husband he’d always promised he would be.
She curled up tighter, feeling the burning in her eyes and refusing to give in. It had all been so long ago. A horrible, awful past she’d spent her whole life shutting out. When they’d taken her mother away to prison and pawned Jess off onto the Social Services system, she’d made her vow. She would walk away, and she would walk proud. She knew never to trust, because even those who were supposed to love you were weak and petty and violent. And the only person you could ever believe was yourself. Promises were too easy to make, and even easier to break.
She’d thought she’d done so well, too. Until Les Capruccio had started the cycle all over again, blackmailing her with his knowledge of her mother. Even then, she’d thought she’d found a way out. She wasn’t going to be the victim anymore. It had all seemed so simple.
Until Darold fell into the fall leaves. Until she looked into the shocked eyes of Jamie and Bill, and realized that ten years later, the blood was still flowing and it was all on her hands.
No matter how far she ran, she never escaped.
She was shivering; she could feel each violent tremble as she curled up tighter. Control, she reminded herself, control. But all she could see was Jamie and Bill sitting at the base of the tree. Dead because of her. Because of her.
And the gold-patterned carpet turned red while the sound of her own silent scream echoed down the hall.
“Jess?” Mitch’s voice cut through. “Jess, are you all right?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t even trust herself to move. There was one horrible moment when she was flooded by the panic. He couldn’t know, he couldn’t know. She just wanted to be left alone. Very, very alone. Because then the nightmare would fade, leaving her in a solitude where no one could hurt her, and she could hurt no one.
But through the stomach-hollowing panic, another emotion cut through: relief. Because this man knew how to hold her. This man could do magic....
She heard a groan as the bed behind her protested Mitch’s departure. Then abruptly her own bed sagged as Mitch sat down. It rolled her half toward him, but she couldn’t stop the trembling. Softly he placed his warm hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Jess,” he told her in his low, strong voice. “Death isn’t an easy thing to deal with. It’s better if you just let it all out.”
She half nodded, concentrating on the feel of his hand on her shoulder. Firm and warm and gentle. Like an anchor back to the present, something to cling to. But it wasn’t enough, she realized dully. She didn’t want just his hand on her shoulder. She wanted all of him, warm and solid, pressed next to her. She wanted to bury her head against the strength of his shoulder while her body shuddered away the last of the aftershock. She wanted to feel him against every inch of her, solid and giving.
And she wanted his lips hard upon her own, chasing away all the shadows from her mind until she wasn’t Jess McMoran or the Ice Angel or anyone else. Until she was just a woman with a man. Nothing more, nothing less.
She didn’t know exactly when she rolled over. She never met his eye, never gestured with a coy glance. She simply found him in a blaze of movement, sitting up and claiming his lips all in one smooth blur that left no doubt in his mind what she wanted. He could taste the desperation in her lips. Taste the salt of unshed tears, the earnestness of unfinished pain. She hurt, and the pain moved him.
In this one moment he didn’t care what his training told him. He didn’t care he had every right to be suspicious, that indeed she was a woman with secrets. In her kiss, she was a woman who needed him, and he knew at this moment he needed her, as well.
His hands buried themselves in the thick silk of her hair, drawing her closer to deepen the kiss. She responded immediately, pressing against him urgently as her arms clung to his neck and her breasts flattened against his chest. She was a tormented woman, and he could feel that torment in each raging kiss, her lips slanting savagely across his own as her hands clutched fiercely at his shirt. The wildness called upon something
deep within him, as well, until his normally restrained desire was gone, leaving just the urgency and fire.
She bit his lower lip, a light nip that made him growl and press her closer. His fists closed around her sweater, and without ceremony dragged it over her head. Far from protesting, she tugged his own shirt from him with quick vigor, then pulled his head down for another deep and hungry kiss. Her bare skin pressed hotly against his own, and the contact was electric.
He felt like a man on fire, wanting and desiring and hungering beyond all sanity. He wanted to tame this wild woman. He wanted to absorb all the rage and torment inside himself until she shuddered and sighed and gasped with the relief. He wanted to hear his name drawn like a prayer from her lips. And he wanted to bury himself deep inside her until the fury left even himself, and they could lie like exhausted children in the aftermath.
His hands traced the lace outline of her bra on her back, searching for the clasp while she arched and rubbed against him. With something akin to savagery, his deft hands twisted the clasp free and quickly tore the bra from between them.
His hands slid forward and found her breasts.
The sigh escaped her in a tiny rush, fueling them both. She could feel the rough calluses of his thumbs, rasping over her tender skin until her nipples puckered with sharp intensity. Each sensation coiled down to her stomach, feeding a deep and growing ache.
There was no room for darkness here. No room for bitter memories of Les’s clutching hands, no room for the hatred and the pain. Just this one man whose touch lit her aflame until she hungered for things she knew too little about to hunger more. She wanted this man and she wanted this moment. She welcomed the intensity of his touch, the way it chased all the thoughts from her mind until she was simply a wild and sensual creature searching for the release he could provide.
His lips returned to hers, blazing away the unshed tears while his hands curved around her breasts. She shuddered, a low shudder that had nothing at all to do with fear. Her own hands grew bold with the urgency, splaying themselves flat against the muscled contours of his chest. She could feel his heart beating, powerful and true. It accelerated at her touch, and for the first time she realized her own ability to impact him. Emboldened, she trailed kisses along his jaw before dipping her head down to find his corded neck. He tasted of salt when she nipped his neck, and this time, he was the one who gasped.
