by Milly Taiden
The remorse he heard in her voice all but tore him to pieces. Twinges of frustration poked at him. He wished they’d find her cousin soon. The longer they went without news, the more likely they wouldn’t find her alive. The more likely Cyn would be hurting from it. Back when they’d been together in college, she’d only spoken of her grandmother, never wanting to delve into family discussions. He always thought it was because she wasn’t close to them, or maybe because they didn’t get along. Now he wondered if there was more to it than that. She was clearly feeling a lot of guilt over not being in more communication with her aunt and cousin.
“Why weren’t you closer?” He ventured into the topic of her family carefully, with his voice pitched to an almost bored level.
The waitress showed up to take their dessert orders before she answered.
She glanced down at her hands and shrugged, her lips tipping downward. “I guess I never really thought about it.”
She lied. That fact alone hurt him more than if she would have slapped him. It meant she didn’t trust him enough to speak the truth. “If you don’t want to talk about it then don’t, but don’t lie to me.”
She blinked repeatedly, guilt flashing in the back of her now golden eyes. “Okay, wrong choice of words.” She placed her hands over his again, the warmth of her palms soothing the beast inside him with that small touch. “It’s not that I didn’t think about it. It's that my family is very difficult to understand. They’ve always been…different. You see—”
A shadow fell over the table at that moment. “Cynthia?”
Brock bit back a growl at the intrusion. For the first time in a long time, Cyn had decided to open up and the realtor had just shut down that opening.
Cyn reeled back in her seat and glanced to her left where Amy Kemp stood watching them with curiosity.
“Hi, Amy,” she greeted with a tight smile.
“I was just picking up some lunch to bring my husband when I saw you guys sitting here.” She grinned and noted Cyn’s hands over Brock’s, one brow rising with interest. “How’s the search for your cousin going?”
Cyn grimaced. Not that it was any of Amy’s business, but the realtor hadn’t been rude to her. She’d been really helpful. Cyn couldn’t forget the fact Amy had been ready to fling herself at Brock when they’d arrived. She still seemed pretty willing to do that. “Not very far. Her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is. Her ex isn’t around. We’re not really sure who else to question.”
Brock cleared his throat, his smile light and friendly.
Cyn frowned. Brock met her gaze. His smile went wider, in turn, making him even more fuck-a-licious with his scruffy jaw and sinfully dark eyes.
“Maybe Mrs. Kemp can give us some ideas.” He turned his smile on Amy.
Cyn bit back a growl, swallowed her frustration, and glanced at Amy.
Amy folded her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts closer to the low-cut neckline of her silk, white top and smiled at Brock. “Well, I think another person I’d question would be Carey Torrent.” She placed her hands on the table and leaned down toward Brock, her top sliding further down. “The Torrents are related to my husband. They’re one of the founding families of this town. You should see if Carey knows anything.”
“Thanks,” Cyn grumbled, ready to slap the smile off Amy’s face. “We’ll give it a try. If you can think of anyone else who might be able to give us any advice, please feel free to call me.”
They were interrupted by a waitress with a to-go bag for Amy. Cyn had never been so ready to hug a person and thank them for interrupting.
Amy took the bag, pausing to make a show of brushing a non-existent speck of dust from her neckline. “I sure will.”
Cyn watched Amy wave at Brock and whipped around to glare at him.
“Stop it,” he grinned, the golden glow of his eyes growing brighter.
“Stop what?” she scowled. “I wasn’t the one flirting with a married woman.”
She didn’t want it to, but his chuckle warmed her all the way to the core. Memories of the past where he’d laughed often drifted through her mind.
“I wasn’t flirting, love. It’s called being polite. Besides, it got us a new lead.”
“She was definitely flirting,” she grumbled, jealousy something she’d never dealt with before. James had always been hers. Amy’s flirting had pressed on the insecurity. One she didn’t know how to deal with.
He chuckled. “Maybe, but I don’t really care. She’s not the woman who makes me so hard I hurt.”
Oh-kay. Her attention zoomed to the present, his words soft, but sure caught her off guard. “Um…”
He leaned forward, his eyes brighter, and caressed the side of her face. “She’s not the one that belongs to me.”
“Brock…”
“And she’s definitely not the one I want to be buried in. Balls-deep.”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture.” She cleared her throat and glanced around, worried others had heard, but nobody seemed to have noticed their x-rated conversation.
He licked his lips. “Do you?”
She nodded, her eyes stuck on his mouth.
“Good, because tonight, I’m feasting on you. I won’t stop until your legs are shaking.”
Holy shit. Those were the kind of words he’d said before, in the past. He always delivered. He’d fuck her boneless. When he spoke like that, she knew she’d soon find herself unable to stand for hours, her body quaking repeatedly in the aftermath of multiple orgasms. Heat swarmed her belly, curling into a ball at her core. Moisture gathered between her legs, turning her slick with need.
His eyes flashed from gold to black. “Oh, and you know that sexy scent drifting from your pussy, telling me how much you want it?”
She blinked, dry-mouthed.
“I want it all over me.” His low rumble floated over her skin.
An instant image appeared in her mind. Him. Between her legs. Licking at her. Flicking his tongue over her clit in the amazing zig-zag motion that made her come in under a minute.
His eyes pinned her—movement was an impossibility. “I want your scent on my face.”
Christ.
“My lips.”
She whimpered.
“And then I want it on my cock when you come.”
A dish suddenly slid in front of her. It was then she realized she was panting, her heart racing from just the visuals he gave her.
“Alrighty folks, sorry for the wait. Here’s your dessert,” the waitress said, referring to her chocolate sundae and a piece of apple pie in front of him. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
A cold shower would be good. Or maybe a bed. A bed where he could fuck her brains out until the desperate urge she had every time she glanced at him stopped. That would work. Truth was, right at that moment, all she could think of was dipping a finger into the whip cream of her sundae and rubbing it over his chest before licking it off. Hell. She was in such deep shit.
“Do you know what I would do?”
She gulped, shaking her head. “About?”
“You’re projecting again. I like the whipped cream idea. But if we’re going to go with licking things off each other, then I’d go with a dot of honey on your nipples,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Just enough to add to your sweetness.”
Her breaths quickened. “Honey?”
“That’s right, love. Only on your nipples. I wouldn’t try to change your body’s natural flavor when I taste you.” He glanced down at her lips and then at her eyes, pinning her with his drool-worthy stare. “I love your taste. It’s addicting. And so sexy I can spend my entire life with your legs wrapped around my neck.”
Fuck dessert. She would never think of honey in the same way again. Ever.
Her phone rang just as they were getting in the SUV after lunch. Much to her own self-disgust, her body was so attuned to Brock’s every move she couldn’t stop glancing at him. Or picturing the things he’d said he’d do later. Shit, he
better do them. If not, he’d have a very pissed off Cyn to deal with. He couldn’t just offer all kinds of orgasms and oral magic and not deliver. It wasn’t like she’d stop him either. There simply wasn’t enough will power in the world when it came to saying no to sex with him.
“Talk to me, Ramirez,” she answered.
“Boss lady! I bet you missed me, didn’t ya?” Ramirez’s voice held that humor that made her smile. “Don’t worry I won’t tell Brock. It’s cool. I got some news for you.”
Finally. She hopped into the SUV and sat down, pushing the hair away from her face. “Hang on. Let me put you on speaker.”
A second later she hit the Bluetooth connection with the SUV, and the sound of Ramirez’s typing surrounded them.
“Okay, shoot,” she ordered, watching Brock start the engine.
“So, here goes. Your little town is made up of three power families and then everyone else. The Torrents, which are like the people with the most money out there. The Landley’s come in second. And the Kemps are last.”
“Tell me about the Landley’s. What do you have on them?”
“Theresa and Jonathan Landley have one child. Josh. Jonathan is the town’s preacher. He’s got nothing on record so far. I’d have to go digging further, but I don’t think I’ll find anything else.”
“What about the Torrents?” she asked, hand tight on the seat’s leather.
“Are any of the families connected somehow, Ramirez?” Brock asked, his brow dipped in a fierce scowl, lips thinned to a straight line.
“As a matter of fact, they are. Seems to be the sheriff is cousins with the preacher, and then it looks like Torrent is related to the Sheriff by marriage.” Ramirez clicked quickly on keys. “One more thing, boss lady. Seems all those families hired out your aunt to clean for them.”
“Really?” She knew Clara cleaned for a living, but didn’t realize she cleaned for all of them. It was too early to tell if that meant anything.
“Yeah, and I made a few calls. It seems your cousin used to take over her duties when she was busy at church.”
Cyn leaned back on the seat. “Can you email me all their addresses? I want to know where I can find these people.”
“Sure thing. Anything else you need, just holler.”
“Thanks, Ramirez. Do me a favor and keep this between us,” she added before she forgot. The last thing she needed was Galvez finding out she wasn’t even in town and searching for a missing person they had no business looking into.
“Goes without saying. You’re part of the team,” he said, his voice no longer cheery but serious.
Brock shifted to her left. She flicked a quick glance at him. He watched her, eyes boring into her.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“So the next time Galvez asks me where you are, got anything you want me to say?”
She didn’t break eye-contact with Brock, not that she could. “Yes, tell him I said to mind his own fucking business. It’s the weekend, and I don’t answer to him.”
Ramirez stopped typing. His laughter boomed through the speaker. “With pleasure.”
She disconnected the call and wanted to slam a hand on the dashboard. She should talk to Clara again. Something had to give. Roxy couldn’t just disappear off the face of the earth. Not in a town the size of a shoebox!
She yanked out the diary from inside her handbag. Leafing through the pages, she tried to make sense of what the initials and numbers meant. Until she got the email from Ramirez. She blinked when she realized some of the numbers in the diary were the house numbers for the Torrent, Kemp, and Landleys.
“Holy shit!”
Brock stopped backing up and turned to her. “What?”
“These numbers…” She waved the diary excitedly in front of his face, almost forgetting that he was in the driver side. “Some of these are addresses!”
He smiled. The little lift of his lip only made him that much sexier. “I knew you’d figure it out. One of us would have.”
“Hah! And it only took a day. Okay, so you take me to talk to Clara, and you go question Carey Torrent?”
He made a face, displeasure clear in his features. “Are you sure? I don’t mind going with you to your aunt’s.”
She shook her head. “Strange aunt, remember? Grandmother said Clara couldn’t handle people she didn’t know. With your size, you’d scare the shit out of her.”
He stared at her for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “Okay. I’ll give you a call if I notice anything we should follow up on.”
They arrived at her aunt’s quickly. The diner was within walking distance. His scowl worried her. “You sure you’re okay going to speak to Carey alone?”
He gripped the wheel and watched her jump down from her seat. “I’m good.”
“Great. I’ll see you later. Let me talk to Clara and see if she can tell me more about the people she cleaned for and why Roxy kept a diary with their addresses and initials.”
He glanced up at her aunt’s house. “If you need me, call. I’ll come for you.”
She watched him speed away, dust swirling at the back of the SUV. Then she turned to her aunt’s house. Taking a breath, she knocked on the door and waited.
“Who is it?”
“Cynthia,” she answered, noticing a difference in Clara’s voice. It was rougher, almost angry. What could have pissed her off?
Clara opened the door, staring at her with rage filled brown eyes. “Cynthia. What do you want?”
Talk about an attitude shift. Where was the concerned and slightly vague woman from the previous day? And whatever happened to Cici?
“I…wanted to ask you a few questions, Clara.”
Her aunt stomped toward the kitchen, her footsteps no longer soft and quiet like the day before. “I need tea.”
Cyn frowned. She couldn’t understand the shift in Clara’s attitude. The house was still as clean if not cleaner than the last time she’d been there. She followed behind Clara, toward the kitchen. Her aunt mumbled under her breath.
“Do you have a moment for some questions?”
Clara stopped, her fingers tight on the counter. A heartbeat later she turned to Cyn. “What did you need to know, Cici?”
Weird. It was like flipping a light switch. Clara smiled at her, her eyes softer than when she’d opened the door. Someone was super hormonal or the word eccentric was nowhere near good enough to describe her aunt.
“You clean houses for the Torrents, Kemps, and Landleys, right?”
She nodded, absently grabbing cups for the tea. “I do. Sometimes Roxy goes instead because I have to go to service.”
Right. Service. With all the church paraphernalia around, she knew her aunt was definitely devoted to the services. There were images of angels, crosses at every turn and giant paintings of religious depictions. “So can you think of any reason for Roxy to have their addresses and some initials in her diary?”
Clara jerked around, her eyes wide. “No. I…I don’t think so. That boy,” she said, her voice switching to that angry tone again. “He was her downfall.”
She was losing her. Damn! “No, no, Clara. Why would she keep their addresses in her diary?”
Clara’s eyes took a distant look, as if she’d gone off somewhere. “They paid her. Maybe she recorded it that way.”
It was possible. Cyn wasn’t convinced. “It’s okay. I’ll go see if they know where Roxy could be.”
She stood, flung her bag over her shoulder, and smiled. “I should go.”
“What about the tea?”
“Thanks, Clara. But I just had lunch.” She marched for the front door, not really wanting to stay any longer. For some reason, the house made her uncomfortable. She stepped outside. Once there, she turned around to face Clara.
“Are you sure Roxy couldn’t be with a friend? Maybe spending a few days away?” Cyn asked again, hoping for a different response this time around.
Clara shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, her voi
ce low. “She used to be an innocent. He did it. He took her from me.”
“Who did what?” She so wished the woman made sense.
“That boy from hell!” she said and slammed the door closed.
Great. That was the reason she didn’t visit Clara. Grandmother had said she was eccentric. Frickin’ whacko was more like it.
Brock followed the young girl who’d been leaving the Torrent house. He knew her to be Carey Torrent from what the housekeeper had informed him. He’d missed her by a few moments.
The girl zipped her purple VW convertible bug down the street—way over the speed limit. Loud dance music blared from her radio. She bopped her blonde head to the tunes. It was a few miles before she stopped at the local parish. She parked next to Landley’s car and ran into a side door. Interesting.
He waited for a moment. Cyn hadn’t called yet, and he didn’t like sitting around. He headed for the same entrance Carey had used when a woman rushed out. She tugged a shawl around her shoulders, but the scent drifting from her wasn’t one that could be hidden. Sex.
She made eye contact with him before turning away. Shame and excitement floated from the woman. He watched her run to her minivan before going into the building. A long, quiet hallway broke off into two sections, neither looking especially attention-grabbing. The brown wallpaper darkened the space, seeming to close it off around a person.
He took the right side, following the scent where the woman had come from. An office door stopped him short. Jonathan Landley, Pastor. Things just got better and better. He knocked on the door. There was a quick shuffle before someone opened it.
“Yes?” said a man in his mid-to-late forties. The pastor. He gave Brock the once-over, his hand moving to anxiously rub over the back of his neck.
“Would you happen to be Mr. Landley?” Brock already knew he was the man. He also knew he’d been the one having sex with the woman who’d rushed out of the building.
