Blood and Bone

by Dawn Brown

  “I won’t let Tic hurt you,” he vowed.

  “If Tic had hurt me, it wouldn’t have been your fault. You understand that, right?”

  He swallowed. “My family is paying him to drive you out of town, and they don’t care what he does to make you go.”

  “Your family. Not you.” Despite her better judgment, she slipped her hand from his and cupped both sides of his face, smoothing the line of his cheekbone with her thumbs. “You should have warned me about him sooner, but I know now. If anything happens to me, it’s not your fault.”

  He gripped her hips and jerked her closer, their bodies, their faces, only inches apart. Despite her exhaustion, liquid heat pooled low in her belly.

  “I don’t give a shit about fault,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I won’t let him anywhere near you again.”

  He lowered his head and caught her mouth with his.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Cases of familicide often result from a buildup of frustration challenging the husband/father’s already-damaged ego, which results in an eruption of brutality. The murders release the building pressure, and the assailant will often feel a great sense of relief, having once again regained control over his world.”

  —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds

  Shayne’s blood roared in her ears, her head spinning as Des’s hungry lips drew on hers. She should stop him. End the kiss. Pull away. But she didn’t want to. In that instant, he was everything she craved. Home. Safety. Life.

  She tilted her head, opened her mouth, giving him better access. And he immediately took advantage. His tongue swept inside, slipping alongside hers. He tasted sweet, faintly of mint.

  Dull, gnawing need drove her onward. She slid her hands into his hair, curling her fingers around the soft strands. Arching against him, the friction from their clothes lit her already oversensitized nerve endings.

  She wanted him naked. She wanted to be naked. She wanted to feel his smooth, hot flesh moving on hers. After the terror she’d faced today, she wanted to lose herself in this moment, in him.

  And that’s exactly what he’s counting on.

  The hateful little voice was as effective as a bucket of frigid water. A chill blew through her, snuffing out the heat simmering in her system like an icy, winter wind.

  He sees you’re vulnerable, and this is his best chance to get back into your good graces.

  She turned her head and pulled away. His predatory gaze tracked her movements. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. God help her, he looked hot. She almost ignored that horrible little voice and picked up where they’d left off.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” Des rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was rough and gravelly. Goosebumps shivered over her skin. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s…” Okay, she didn’t have a clue what it was. She opted to change the subject instead. “Could I use your shower? I feel like I’m still covered in cobwebs and skeleton dust.”

  Lame, but mentioning the bodies she’d been sitting on should be enough to cool them both off.

  “Sure.” He crossed the black-and-white checkerboard tile to the far side of the kitchen and a door at the back of the room. Inside was a small bathroom, consisting of a narrow corner shower, pedestal sink and toilet.

  “Towels are there.” Des pointed to a pile on the shelves mounted over the toilet.

  “I’ll need something to change into. Where did you put my suitcases?”

  “They’re upstairs.”

  She followed Des up steep steps to the loft, a single, narrow room that ran the length of the garage. Des had set up his furniture to give the illusion of separate living spaces. A blue sectional sofa and television near the stairs, bed and dresser in the far corner, his desk and computer in the middle. Mismatched bookcases ran the length of one wall, the shelves packed tightly with an eclectic mix of titles.

  He’d set her suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed. She knelt and unzipped the flap of the largest case and pulled out a pair of pajamas, stood and started for the stairs. As she passed Des, he reached for her hand.

  When she met his gaze, his eyes were dark and intent. “For whatever it’s worth, I swear I’ll never lie to you again.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She swallowed hard, nodded and hurried downstairs.

  Once alone with the bathroom door closed, she gripped the sides of the sink and let out a long sigh. She wanted to believe him, and not just to assuage her wounded ego or because he was damned good in bed. She liked being with him. His company. His humor.

  Just what do you see for the two of you? Domestic bliss? He’s seven years younger. How long until he wants a family of his own? How long until he’s shopping for a younger model to give him all the things you can’t?

  Her stomach twisted, and she pushed away from the sink. She couldn’t deal with all of this now. Her skin itched beneath the layers of grime, and her scalp crawled. She wanted to get clean and get a decent night’s sleep.

  She pushed back the blue shower curtain and turned on the faucets. While she waited for the water to heat, she tugged off her clothes and dropped them into a heap on the floor. A light knock sounded on the door, and she started.

  Relax, it’s Des. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pounding heart to slow. “Yeah?”

  The door opened and Des stood in the threshold. “Are you hungry at all? Can I make you something…?”

  “What are you doing?” she snapped, scrambling for a towel from the shelf and wrapping the rough terrycloth around herself. When she faced him, his features were taut, his brows pulled together in a deep frown.

  “Did he do that to you?” Des strode into the bathroom, his presence massive in the small space.

  She backed up, but the edge of the sink hit her backside, preventing her from moving farther away. “What? Who? You know, I’m naked here.”

  “Believe me, I noticed.” Wry humor dripped from his voice. His mouth twitched, but the intensity in his eyes did not ease. He pushed open her towel and she sucked in a breath, her face warming. Not that he noticed. The thin scratches running the length of her belly, dotted with tiny, hardened beads of blood had his full attention. “Did Tic do this?”

  “No,” she said on an exasperated sigh, pushing her towel back in place “I did it, when I was jumping the wall into the cistern. It’s a few scratches, no big deal. Can you get out now, so I can shower?”

  He stared at the closed towel for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. Are you hungry?”

  She should be. Between yesterday’s bombshell and this mess with Tic, she’d barely eaten more than a yogurt and half a turkey sandwich, but she was too damned tired to manage anything else tonight. “No, I’m okay.”

  Des nodded and left.

  By the time Shayne had showered and dressed for bed, she could barely keep her eyes open. She climbed the stairs to the loft. Her legs weighed heavily, as though they were encased in cement. When she reached the top, Des was stretched across the sofa, absently scratching Bigwig between his tattered ears and watching television. The cat, curled in a ball on Des’s lap, purred loudly, like a badly-tuned engine.

  “Where am I sleeping?” she asked.

  “The bed.” He shifted the cat, which yowled in protest, set him aside and stood. “But first let me put this on your stomach.” He grabbed a thin tube of ointment off the coffee table and held it up for her to see. “Now, I’m not as well stocked as your first aid kit, but this works and it’s ouchless.”

  “That’s probably because it’s for kids. I’ll put it on tomorrow. Right now, I want to go to sleep.”

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. “Lie down and I’ll do it.”

  She should do it herself, or at the very least protest. But she couldn’t work up the energy. She flopped onto the bed, and the moment her head sank into the soft pillow her eyes closed. Des’s spicy scent, imprinted on his b
edding, teased her nose. Her muscles softened like warm wax.

  The mattress next to her hip dipped, and she managed to force her eyes open long enough to see Des kneeling next to her and pushing her shirt up. Cool air swept over her skin, goose bumps stippling her flesh. Her lids drooped closed.

  Gently, Des dabbed on the ointment with his fingertip. And as advertised, the cool cream tingled on her skin, but didn’t sting.

  “It really is ouchless,” she murmured.

  He snorted. “You may want to mention that to your dad the next time he restocks your first aid kit. Done.”

  She cracked an eye as he pulled her shirt down to cover her belly. His hair fell into his face and hid his expression. She reached out and pushed the thick strands back. “I want to believe you. That’s why it’s hard for me to.”

  He nodded and turned to meet her gaze. “I meant what I said before. I will never, ever lie to you again.”

  Her heart warmed in her chest. “Where are you sleeping?”

  “The couch.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead.

  “I don’t want to put you out of your bed.”

  He shot her a wry grin. “Don’t worry, my couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the front seat of my car.”

  “I want you to sleep here with me.” You’re making a huge mistake, that horrible voice in her head shouted. But she didn’t care. “Would you?”

  He leaned down and caught her mouth in a soft kiss. “Okay.”

  Shayne woke to the smoky scent of bacon and a dull rumble in her stomach. She was starving. She pushed back the heavy quilt and sat up. Warm sunlight spilled through the gabled windows, falling on her boxes piled up by Des’s desk.

  She shook her head and smiled as she stood and crossed the room. The man was nothing, if not determined. Not that it mattered now. She’d spent the night with Des’s hard frame wrapped around her. She would spend her few remaining days with him.

  She nipped at the corner of her lip and peeled back the tape holding one of the boxes closed. Her decision was not merely based on an emotional, knee-jerk reaction either. Though she wished she didn’t sound so defensive—even if it was just to herself. Staying here with Des made more sense than staying alone at a hotel. Until the police arrested Tic, she didn’t want to be caught on her own again. Des knew Tic, knew what the man was capable of, and Des knew better than anyone what his family’s next move would be to get rid of her.

  And, apparently, Heddra Grey was willing to do her worst—or Tic’s worst, as the case may be. The woman must be desperate to stop Shayne from writing the book.

  As she bent and lifted a stack of files from the box, she froze, a frown tightening her features. Why was the woman so desperate to stop Shayne? Merely to protect her daughter’s memory, or could there be something more?

  Shayne dropped into Des’s chair and set the files on his desk. According to Annie Mumner, Heddra had been terrorizing Gwen and her family for months to force her daughter back in line. Was it that big a stretch to imagine the woman was capable of something more? What if Gwen and Christian were the victims of a scare tactic gone wrong?

  But why would Robert confess?

  Absently, Shayne tapped her fingernail on the top file. Robert’s confession was always the stumbling block. Though, the fact he’d been murdered too, after claiming to be innocent, seemed like a pretty big coincidence.

  She dropped onto the floor next to the boxes, reading her handwritten labels scrawled in black Magic Marker across the sides. When she found the one she was looking for, she peeled back the tape and picked through the contents until she found the oversized envelope.

  “Hey.”

  At the sound of Des’s voice, she started and lifted her gaze. He stood at the top of the stairs dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and nothing else.

  “I made breakfast,” he said. “Omelets. What’s that?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Should she tell him? He wouldn’t like the idea of her toying with the possibility his father had been innocent, but if she was going to demand complete honesty from him, she couldn’t very well keep anything from him.

  “I started thinking about how desperate your grandmother is to keep me from writing this book, and Robert’s claim that he was innocent.”

  Des’s expression remained bland. “You believe him now?”

  “I’m not sure. Hiring a psychopath to do God knows what to me seems like a pretty strong reaction for someone who’s only concerned about her daughter’s memory. And Robert was murdered.”

  “Heddi will do whatever it takes to get her way. Besides, you said yourself Robert could have been killed for any reason.”

  “I know what I said, and I haven’t necessarily changed my mind, but something about all of this doesn’t make sense.”

  He nodded at the stairs. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. And bring the envelope.”

  Des sat opposite Shayne, flipping through the stack of papers from Robert’s envelope. He lifted his gaze to her as she popped another mouthful of egg into her mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. She looked beautiful, sitting across from him with the sun’s yellow rays playing across her sleep-mussed hair and golden skin. Like she belonged here, with him.

  Things could have been so different today had Tic found her yesterday. Fear’s icy grip wrenched his insides, and he dropped his gaze to the pile of papers in his hand. The words blurred meaninglessly before him.

  He’d awakened more than once during the night, panic nearly choking him, only to ease at the sight of her curled into his side, the heat of her body radiating into his.

  “What’s wrong?” Shayne asked.

  “I don’t know what Robert was trying to tell you with all of this.” No point in mentioning Tic. He didn’t want to hear she wasn’t his concern or responsibility again. Until Tic was behind bars, or she went home, Des would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  “I don’t know either,” she told him around a mouthful of bacon. “I’m still not sure. Everything he gave me described the common traits in men who commit familicide. Controlling, narcissistic, they view their families as possessions rather than individuals. What’s interesting—and maybe this was the point Robert was trying to make—no one I’ve spoken to ever described him that way. Your grandmother, on the other hand…”

  She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. He could have told her all of those traits applied to the woman who had made his life a living hell. “I see where you’re going with this, and it makes sense on one level, but why would Robert confess?”

  “I don’t know, that’s the one part I can’t reconcile.” She eyed the half-eaten omelet and bacon still on his plate. “You’re not eating. Let’s stop talking about this until later and finish breakfast.”

  He’d caught the hesitation in her expression when he’d first asked about the envelope upstairs. No matter how talking about his father’s possible innocence turned his stomach, he didn’t want her to think she had to keep anything from him. He was sure she would never put something in print that wasn’t the absolute truth, never use half-baked theories to forward her career. He trusted her, and he wanted her to trust him.

  “I’m fine.” He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth to prove his point. The crispy meat tasted like cardboard. “I can’t believe Heddi murdered my mother. She talks about her like she was the Second Coming, and she hates Robert. I mean hates him. It’s not an act, she blames him for killing her daughter.”

  Shayne nipped at her lip, considering what he said. “When your mother married your father, your grandmother lost control of her daughter for the first time ever. She would probably hold Robert responsible. Even if she caused your mother’s death, she might believe Robert forced her actions.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged, still not convinced. “But I think you’re reaching.”

  “A neighbor implied Heddra had been terrorizing your family and that your mother and Robert were planning to leave
town. If she’d learned about their plan, that might have pushed her over the edge. Or maybe, Gwen and Christian’s deaths were part of a scare tactic gone wrong.”

  “I might buy the last part. Kate mentioned something to me about Heddi’s making life difficult for my mother and Robert, but that still doesn’t explain why the man confessed.”

  “I know. That’s the sticking point, isn’t it? What if he confessed to protect someone?”

  Des snorted. “Well, that rules out Heddi. I doubt he’d have gone to jail for her. What you said about her makes sense, but so does the possibility my mother was going to leave Robert and go back to her old life. Didn’t you say something about her seeing another man?”

  Shayne nodded. “I did, but I can’t find anything to even hint she was. Both your uncle and Gwen’s first husband made the implication, but neither had any proof the story was true. And anyone else I’ve spoken to claims your parents were very happy together, or at least appeared that way.”

  Giving up any pretense of finishing his breakfast, Des stood and gathered the plates. “Do you really think Robert didn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s dead and Heddi is determined to see me shut down. And who are those bodies I found yesterday? Are they tied to this mess? I feel like I’m missing something.”

  Shayne got to her feet and joined him at the counter as he filled the sink with hot, sudsy water. “It’s too bad Vivian outed me. I might have been able to pump them for more information.”

  Shayne froze gripping the dish towel hanging over the oven handle, her gently arched brows pulling together. When she turned with the towel still gripped in her hand, the worn material slipped soundlessly from the handle. “What if we could convince them you were still on their side?”

  His stomach jumped. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “We could feed her small bits of information, just what we want her to know. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be the absolute truth. You can gauge her reaction and we might be able to get a better idea of whether or not we’re on the right track.”