Ian flipped through the DNA report Sam had handed him, then closed it, and placed it with the others. Sam then handed Ian another set of papers.
“What's this?” Ian asked, scanning the documents.
“It's the initial analysis on the trace soil found on both victims,” Sam answered.
“What will it give us, given that both women were found lying on dirt? I mean, how will you be able to know if the dirt you find is relevant or not?”
“We have soil samples from both dump sites. We'll run those against what we found on Rebecca and Jessica. If we only find soil from the dump sites on them, we may have nothing,” Vivi answered.
“But if you find something that isn't a match, we might have something? Something that can give us an idea of where they might have been held?” Ian asked, working it out in his mind.
Vivi didn't want to get his hopes up too high. “If we find soil that is foreign to the dump sites, it will tell us something, but what that is depends on what we find. In other words, if what we find is common soil, we'll be able to eliminate places like industrial areas that would have a different makeup. But the possibilities would still be wide open.”
“But if it's something more unique, we might be able to narrow it down more?” Ian pressed.
She nodded then looked down at the table. Unlike on TV, a body didn't always tell them enough to solve a crime. Sometimes evidence wasn't enough. Or they didn't have enough of it to make a difference.
“And what if you find the same soil on both women?” Ian asked.
“If we find the same soil on both women and that soil is foreign to both dump sites, we might be able to postulate that they were held in the same place,” Sam responded.
“But we can't confirm, can we, unless the soil is so unique as to point to only one location.” The defeat in Ian's voice echoed Vivi's feelings. Physical evidence was vital, but they needed more.
“Then I guess we'll need to keep looking at these.” Ian said, putting down the soil report and picking up the folder he'd created of similar crimes. “We'll take what we can get as far as the physical evidence goes, but it doesn't look like it's going to give us a smoking gun, so we'll keep working this from all angles. Dr. Buckley, I assume you'll continue to drive things here?”
Sam nodded.
“Then we can focus on finding similar victims,” Ian said, holding up his folder. “We'll see what we can dig up. I can put Carly and Marcus on tracing the last movements of both of the victims we have, looking for any intersections between them. And Wyatt can work with the sheriff's office to look into possible locations where someone might have been held. We probably won't find a torture shack, but we can also probably eliminate a lot of land around the county.”
Ian held up a hand to stop Vivi from speaking. “And yes, before you point it out, that is my plan.”
She managed to smile.
“Then I think we're good. Or as good as we're going to get right now,” Ian said.
Vivi had to give him credit; he was becoming more and more of an investigator every day. Not that it surprised her, but she wondered if he even noticed. Knowing him, she doubted it.
“You'll keep us posted?” she asked, turning to her former student.
“Of course.” Sam wagged his head in a distinctly Indian way, something he'd no doubt picked up from his mother.
His mother.
Vivi looked down at her shoes and blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes.
“Vivienne?” Ian was at her shoulder, one of his hands gentle but solid on her waist.
“I'm fine. I, uh. Let's leave Sam. I need to get back to my room.” She could feel Ian looking at her, but she couldn't bring herself to look back because he would see too much. So she stepped away, gave Sam a hug goodbye, thanked him for his help, and headed for the door. Behind her, she heard the men exchange their own goodbyes as she kept on walking.
* * *
The tension in Ian's body ratcheted up with every mile they drove on the way home. Vivienne said no more than two words, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was wrong. If she didn't tell him, how could he fix it?
He put the Jeep in park in his driveway and climbed out. His clothes felt raw against his skin as he slammed the driver's side door and walked toward his house. He flinched when Vivienne's door echoed his. He hated this.
Ian thought about pressing her, about cornering her and making her tell him what was going on. He thought about taking her to bed, about working everything out physically. And while that thought held great appeal, one look at Vivienne stopped him cold.
She avoided him as she gathered up her clothes from his dryer, not once raising her eyes to his. She looked alone, isolated, even though he was standing not five feet away. He was feeling a growing sense of helplessness that did not sit well on his shoulders.
“Vivienne,” he said, taking a step forward and reaching for her.
She ducked away, still not meeting his eyes, and tucked the last of her laundry into her laundry bag.
“Thanks for the use of your machines. I have some things to do this afternoon. I'll—” she paused and, for the first time since they left the lab, looked at him. He saw her throat working and she swallowed before speaking. “I'll call you tomorrow.”
And she was gone.
Ian cursed to himself as he watched her car fly down his driveway. He'd followed her outside and now stood in his yard, frozen in indecision. Go after her or leave her be? He'd seen pain in her eyes and wanted to make it go away. But he knew himself well enough to know that if he went to her now he'd demand answers—because he needed them, because he needed to feel better about whatever was going on—and that wouldn't be a good thing for either of them.
Feeling the need to steady his nerves before making any decisions, he changed into his workout clothes and went for a long run. It wasn't quite the same as working out his frustrations in bed with Vivienne, but it was probably healthier for the both of them. Or so he told himself.
When he came back from his run, Ian stripped on his back patio and stepped into his outdoor shower—one of the perks of living in the country with no neighbors. He was standing with his face in the streaming water, still trying to clear his mind, when he heard a car pull up his driveway. Frowning at the interruption, he shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out of the shower.
Ian took a few steps to the edge of his back lawn and watched Vivienne's car reappear. Pulling alongside his house, she jerked the car to a stop twenty feet away. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and waited.
Not moving a muscle, he watched as she unfolded herself from the driver's seat. Closing the door behind her, she turned and looked straight at him.
She'd changed from her jeans into a dress—and it wasn't a cute summertime dress. Vivienne's long legs were showcased by the short skirt and high platform sandals. Her hair was pulled back and the eyes that met his were not those of the woman who had left his house just over an hour ago. No, this woman was on a mission. And every fiber in his being knew what that mission was.
She stalked toward him, never taking her eyes from his. With every step, his body reacted in a primal way. Just the way she wanted him to, judging by the way she took him in. By the time she stopped, six inches away from him, he was ready—in every sense of the word—to give her whatever she wanted. And to take what he needed.
Vivienne laid a hand on his chest and his skin jumped. His pulse was beating a rapid rhythm that kicked up when her finger circled his nipple. Then she slid her hand up and curled it behind his neck. Her eyes met his and he knew she didn't want to talk. She didn't want to discuss a thing. She wanted oblivion. And she wanted it from him.
Before Ian had a chance to respond, she closed the distance between them and pulled his mouth down to hers. And everything exploded from there.
He wrapped one hand around her waist and pulled her body flush against him. His other hand tangled in her hair, drawi
ng her closer as their mouths opened to deepen the kiss. Vivienne's fingers dug into his shoulders as his hand fisted in the back of her dress. They battled each other for control over something that was so far out of control that neither was going to win. Or lose.
He turned and forced her backward until she was up against his house. No longer needing his hands to keep her close as he pressed against her, he reached down, slid a hand up her thigh, and pulled her dress up along with it. His stomach contracted when he felt her knuckles graze his abdomen and her fingers slip under his towel, yanking it loose. The towel fell to the ground in a heap.
Naked and needing to feel her, more of her, he reached around and tugged her leg up, wrapping it around his waist. Feeling skin against skin, she ran her hands down his back and pulled him to her, pressing him against her heat. She let out a little moan and his hand tightened on her waist.
“Ian,” she whispered, taking his earlobe between her teeth. Need surged through him, and grabbing two handfuls of her dress, he pulled back just enough to tug it over her head. His breath coming in fast, he drew back and looked at her.
His imagination hadn't done her justice.
Standing there, trapped between him and the wall with her leg wrapped around his waist, Vivienne looked up. At that moment, Ian was pretty sure he'd never been so happy to be a man in his life. He could see everything through her sheer bra and panties. And when he looked down, he could now see, and feel against his skin, where he wanted more than anything to be.
She had caught her dress in one hand and pulled out a strip of condoms from some hidden pocket. He almost lost it right there, thinking of what it was going to feel like to slide into her. Without a word, she unhooked her bra with one hand, slid it off, and dropped it. Then she tore open one of the condoms, dropped her leg back down, and pushed him back a step.
She took him in her hand and stroked him once, then again.
“Vivienne,” he said, taking her mouth again. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he reached between her thighs. Not bothering to remove her panties, he pushed them to the side and pressed a finger into her eager body.
“Oh god,” she breathed, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. She rested her hands on his waist as he stroked her. Her legs started to tremble and her head fell back as she let out a quiet plea.
“Now, Vivienne,” he ordered.
He would have put the condom on himself, but he didn't want to take his hands off of her. After a few tries, she managed to roll it on him. And he couldn't wait any longer.
Dipping his knees, Ian positioned himself. With the hand not inside her, he pulled her thigh up again and then, in a single, swift motion, he replaced his finger with what they both wanted and lifted her whole body up against the wall, burying himself inside her.
Her head fell onto his shoulder as she wrapped herself around him. His head came forward to rest on the wall behind her. They stayed there for a heartbeat and he absorbed the feel of her around him. Vivienne was hot and wet and tight, and he thought for a moment that he could stay there forever. Then her muscles twitched around him, her ankles tightened, and she whispered a little “please.”
And there was no way he could stay still. Bracing his hands on her hips, Ian slid out and pushed back in again. And again. And again.
Her ankles locked over his lower back, making it harder for him to stroke in and out, making every stroke that much more gratifying. He ignored the feel of her nails biting into his skin while her hands gripped his shoulders. Her thighs fell open, her head lolled back, and he felt the telltale quiver begin, jacking him up even more. Primal instinct took over and Ian was moving in and out of her fast—faster than he probably should, sooner than he probably should—but when he felt her insides start to grab him, he no longer cared. As Vivienne curled up to meet him and her body locked onto his, she cried out and he slammed into her one more time, releasing everything he'd been holding back as she squeezed him dry.
They were both breathing hard when their world settled again. When Ian had the strength to open his eyes, he pulled back and looked at Vivienne. Her eyes were still closed. Loose tendrils of hair were pressed against the damp skin of her face and neck. She had a red mark on her shoulder from a particularly aggressive kiss and she looked stunning.
Everything inside him shuddered and tightened. She might not have come to him out of love, but she had needed him. And though he was more than happy to have given her what she'd needed, what they'd both wanted, he wasn't going to let it end there on his back patio.
Gathering her up in his arms, Ian took a tentative step back, testing his ability to walk after such a rush. Her eyes opened, but she didn't let go. She didn't make a move to get away. More sure of his ability now, he carried her into his room. And after following Vivienne down onto the bed, stripping her of whatever she had left on, Ian started all over again.
CHAPTER 11
VIVI ROLLED TO THE SIDE OF THE BED and sat up. Looking over her shoulder through the window, she realized she had no idea how much time had passed. It had been dusk when she'd arrived and it was dark now, with a full moon casting shadows in Ian's room.
She scanned the floor, looking for her clothes before remembering that the only pieces she'd find in the bedroom were her underwear and shoes. Everything else was outside.
She was rising from the bed when Ian's hand shot out from under the sheet and caught her arm. She turned to find him watching her.
“Leaving?” he asked.
“Do you want me to stay?” She wanted to, but didn't want to push him. When he didn't answer, she pushed aside the disappointment and made another attempt to rise.
“Wait, Vivienne,” he said, holding onto her arm as he sat up.
“It's okay, Ian. There are a lot of reasons for me not to stay. It's fine.”
“No, it's not that.” His grip on her arm tightened for a split second and she sensed he had more to say. Something he needed to say, even if he didn't want to. She sat back down, pulled a blanket that had been cast aside around her, and waited.
The sheet fell to his waist as he sat all the way up, revealing his bare chest. Vivi would have taken a moment to admire it if the look of dismay on Ian's face hadn't grabbed her attention. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, sighed, then propped his knees up and rested his arms across them.
“I want you to stay, Vivienne. But I—” he stopped and turned away. Then with a rueful shake of his head, he continued. “I have nightmares sometimes. They're not, well, they aren't pretty. And I haven't slept next to anyone since I started having them. I haven't slept with anyone period since I got back.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips as he turned to face her.
His admissions, both of them, surprised her. But one was far more important than the other.
“PTSD?” It wasn't much of a guess considering how he had reacted that day up in the woods. But still, he nodded and ran a hand over his face again.
“And you're afraid you might hurt me,” she said.
He nodded again and she saw the pain and shame in his eyes.
“You won't,” she said with certainty.
“I don't know that, Vivienne.” Ian's voice was soft in the dark night hour.
“No, but I do.”
His eyes searched hers and she held his gaze, sure of her convictions. She had no idea what his nightmares were like or what they might do to him, but she knew he would never hurt her.
“Then stay.” She knew it cost him to make the offer. Not because he didn't want her there, but because she might see a part of him that wasn't strong, a part of him he saw as a failure. She didn't see PTSD that way at all, but she knew any words to that effect, any words to assure him his experiences, his nightmares, weren't his fault or a weakness of his character, would fall on deaf ears. Her trust in him, her belief in him as a man, was something that, at this point, she could only show him. And so, when he held his hand out to her, she came back down onto the bed and tucked herself in next to him.
She let him settle into his decision as she traced designs on his chest with her fingertip. When she felt his heart rate return to normal, she propped her chin on his chest.
“There is one problem though, if I stay,” Vivi sighed. Ian looked down at her and arched a brow in question. “I'm starving and you'll have to feed me.”
His chuckle rumbled under her and warmed through her.
“I think I might be able to handle that.”
Vivi grinned. “I thought you might. I should probably pick up my clothes while we're up, too.”
“Now I wouldn't waste my time on something like that.” Ian's hand slid down and patted her bare behind. “Here,” he said, jackknifing off the bed and displacing her. He tossed her one of his t-shirts. “You can wear this.”
There was something appealing about sliding into one of his shirts. The large size made her feel small and feminine. And the masculine scent reminded her of whom she was with. She rose from the bed and the shirt fell to mid-thigh, it was a bit cool and breezy, but she liked it.
Glancing up, she saw Ian watching her. He'd pulled on a pair of boxers and was leaning against the doorframe regarding her.
“It looks good on you.”
A sudden wave of shyness crept over her. She looked away as she felt herself blushing in the moonlight.
“Vivienne?”
She met his gaze again.
“I'd like for you to tell me what happened today. I'm glad you're here, and to say I'm glad you came to me would be an understatement, but something was bothering you today. Something drove you here. I'd like to know what that was.”
Vivi froze. But Ian didn't push any further. He walked toward her, gave her a soft kiss, then left. She was still standing in the middle of his bedroom when she heard him pop the microwave open in the kitchen. She could hear him pulling out dishes then opening a bottle of wine. He was giving her space. He was giving her time. And she knew, without a doubt, he would give her all the time she needed. But standing there, in his room, in his shirt, she realized she didn't need the time. He deserved to know, and whether she told him now, or weeks from now, wouldn't make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, she moved to join him in the kitchen.
Tainted Mind Page 12
