by Mae Clair
“You can’t keep sleeping on the couch.” She wished he would turn around and face her. The snug fit of his jeans was a little too distracting with him bent over the sofa. “Maybe if…you know…promised to behave, we could sleep in the same bed.” She stood up straighter, clearing her throat when he glanced at her in surprise. “We’re both adults, Caith. If you promised to stay on your side—”
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
He turned with a brash grin. “How do I know you won’t pounce on me in the middle of the night? I’ve been told I’m not a bad looking guy.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Caithelden.”
He gave a low whistle at the severity of her frown. “How many guys have you sent packing with that look?” Stepping closer, he brushed his hands over her arms, smiling less indulgently. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I could sleep in the same bed and not want to touch you.”
Veronica lost the edge of sternness she’d managed only moments before. He was too close, the room too small, and she’d made a stupid mistake, blurting such an intimate suggestion. She averted her eyes. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
“I don’t want to do that either.” Caith lifted his hand and hooked her hair behind her ear. He trailed his thumb over her cheek, watching her intently. When he spoke, his voice was lower, a husky whisper. “My kid’s pretty stuck on you. He told me that today.”
Veronica raised her head, her mouth dry. His eyes were winter and sea. “What about you?”
His lashes lowered as his gaze dropped to her lips. “I’m stuck on you, too.”
Unconsciously, she leaned forward, a subtle invitation for his kiss. He bowed his head, angling his mouth over hers, sealing them together in a single heartbeat. The kiss was slow and deep, reaching into her soul. She hadn’t known a kiss could be so possessive and tender at the same time. She was terrified he would continue, more terrified he would stop.
Caith pulled her into his arms, trapping her against him. “I can’t stop wanting you,” he murmured against her lips.
His fingers threaded into her hair. He kissed her with a hunger that left her senseless. Over and over again, until her heart shuddered and her knees grew weak. His breath was warm and ragged on her skin, as uneven as her own.
She quivered in his arms. “Take me to bed, Caith.”
Bowing his forehead against hers, he cupped her neck with both hands, his thumbs tracking over her throat. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Ronnie?” He kissed her brow, her cheek. “You have no idea what you do to me. I want you to want it, too.”
“I do.” Veronica nipped his earlobe. She gave a short startled cry when he scooped her into his arms.
His mouth never left hers as he carried her into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them.
* * * *
Sated and spent from their lovemaking, Caith lay in the dark, Veronica snuggled against his side. He hadn’t been able to touch her enough, kiss her enough. There had never been a woman who stripped him of his senses so completely. In the matter of a single heartbeat, he knew he loved her. Beyond all reason, beyond all sanity.
“Ronnie.” He bowed his face into her hair, unable to choke the words past his lips. “I—”
She seemed to understand what he wanted to say. “It doesn’t matter.” She kissed his cheek, his mouth. “You don’t have to say it, Caith. I know this isn’t forever.”
He closed his eyes. I love you. The world wouldn’t end if he said it. No one would snatch her away. No one would slide a knife between her ribs like they’d done to Trask.
His stomach twisted. The imagined scent of model glue nearly choked him.
“Veronica, I do care.” It was as close as he could come. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her closer, inhaling her scent. So clean, so pure. She cuddled against him, her warmth banishing the remembered nightmares.
He kissed her temple.
I love you.
But he couldn’t—wouldn’t— say it aloud.
* * * *
Veronica dragged herself awake at the insistence of Ash, the gray cat she’d adopted the night the lobby had been ransacked. A stray only a few short days ago, the animal had already adjusted to life at the lodge. Bounding onto the bed, the cat cried for a six a.m. feeding. With a sleepy grunt, Caith rolled onto his back, completely unaware when the light-footed feline strolled across his stomach. Suppressing a smile, Veronica nuzzled closer. It was still dark outside, blissfully snug and warm beneath the blankets. She wanted to stay where she was, cuddled against Caith, the heat of his body seeping into hers.
“Lie down, Ash,” she whispered, gliding a hand over the cat’s soft fur. It purred and rubbed against her, then waltzed across Caith again. She giggled against his shoulder. “All right. I’ll feed you.” When she slipped free of the covers, the feline sprang from the bed and darted for the kitchen.
Later, after attending to Ash and downing two cups of coffee, Veronica stepped into a hot shower. The water felt luxurious cascading over her bare skin. Its heated touch awakened memories of Caith, still asleep in the bedroom. Through the seductive hours of the night, she’d become familiar with every delicious inch of his body as they’d made love. He’d claimed her with tenderness and aggression, one moment impossibly gentle, the next driven by a need so fierce his passion consumed them both. As difficult as it was, she would accept the relationship at face value. She was in love with a man who couldn’t love back. A man who had spent his entire life avoiding commitment.
Later, in her office, she checked her voice mail as Caith took his turn in the shower. Aren’s voice greeted her, relaying a brief message that he’d be at the lodge around ten.
“I’ve got an overnight envelope for Caith,” he informed her. “It came to BI from Boston. From someone named, um…” There was a pause as Aren checked the air bill. “Connie Clark.”
Veronica felt a twinge of uneasiness. Girlfriend? Lover? Housemate? Her stomach clenched. He hadn’t promised forever because he couldn’t promise forever.
Stop it. Nervously she smoothed a hand over her navy slacks. Derry would have mentioned a woman if Caith was living with someone. She was just…just…
But she couldn’t summon a solution. Just what?
“Ronnie?”
She reeled at his voice, looking up when he entered the office.
“What’s wrong?” Caith crossed to the desk. “You look pale.”
“N-Nothing.” When he moved to touch her, she unconsciously flinched away. She loved him, but could she suffer hurt again? Could she watch him walk away into the arms of someone else? Her back stiffened. “Aren called. He should be here shortly. He said he has an overnight letter for you.”
“From Connie?”
Veronica looked stunned. He wasn’t even going to deny it.
“I didn’t think she’d move that fast.” Caith propped a hip on the edge of her desk. “I called on Friday, but…” He trailed off, noticing her expression for the first time. “Ron, what’s wrong with you?”
Reaching for her desk calendar, she flipped the page, struggling to focus on anything other than the cold dread settling in her stomach. “How long have you known Connie?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Since before she and Jake got married. She was at the Fifty-Fourth before I was stationed there.”
Veronica grew very still. “Married?”
“Yeah.” Caith looked puzzled. “Jake’s my ex-partner from the force, a good friend. Connie’s his wife. She works in the records division at the Fifty-Fourth Precinct. I asked her to do some checking for me. Off the books. She’s a first-rate snoop.”
“Oh, no.” Veronica propped her elbows on the desk and rubbed her temples. She felt like an idiot. “Jake and Connie are the ones who are always trying to fix you up with a date, right?”
“Yeah, they—” Caith stopped abruptly. “Hey, wait a minu
te. How did you know that?”
“Derry told me.” As her jealousy drained, she realized how foolish she’d been. Suspicion melted into dry humor. “And about the redhead who had ‘fingernails out to here.’” She held out her hand, mimicking Derry’s exaggeration.
Caith frowned. “Derry talks too much.”
“I like that he does.” She favored him with a teasing smile. “It’s amazing to think such an outgoing, talkative kid came from such a quiet, introspective father. I bet he doesn’t bury his nose in books like you did.”
“He does, and quit trying to change the subject.” His frown was still in place, digging deeper. “Who did you think Connie was?”
“I—” Veronica clamped her mouth shut.
Aren’s arrival couldn’t have been timelier. His footsteps sounded in the hall as she frantically searched for an answer to Caith’s question. Within seconds, BI’s Chief Operations Officer rounded the corner.
“Aren.” She smiled in relief. “You’re early. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”
“No.” He waved the offer aside. “I’ve been at the office since six and already downed a pot. Here.” He slapped the overnight envelope against his brother’s chest. “I would’ve sent someone else to play errand boy, but I needed a break.” Huffing out a breath, he dropped in the nearest chair, running a hand through his sandy brown hair.
“Bad morning?” Caith pulled aside the perforated tab on the oversized envelope.
“The worst.” Aren shook his head. “We’ve got a temporary plug in the top office at Boston Corporate, but can’t come up with anyone to run the show.”
His attention glued to the papers he pulled from the package, Caith plopped into a chair. “I don’t know much about BI these days, but what’s wrong with Merlin?”
“Nothing, except he’s stuck on Baltimore. He could’ve had Boston ten months ago when I left. Instead we’ve been shuffling people around, settling on temporary fills. Dad’s going to talk to him about it, but I’m not holding my breath.” With a nod of his head, he indicated the papers in Caith’s hands. “Who’s Connie Clark?”
Caith flicked a glance over the top sheet. “Jake’s wife.”
“Your friend from the police force?” Aren looked confused. “I thought his last name was Jennings?”
“It is.” Caith flipped to another sheet, frowning slightly. “Connie kept her maiden name when they got married. She thought it would be better since they both work at the same precinct. The Commissioner’s office frowns on couples working together.”
Veronica leaned forward. “What did she send you?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to tell you. You’ll get angry.”
Uncertain, Veronica exchanged a glance with Aren. “Why would I get angry?”
“Because I had Connie run a records check on Lew. She knows how to dig deeper than the normal databases.”
“What?” She surged to her feet. Anger didn’t begin to cover what she felt. Steel stiffened her spine as her mouth thinned into a furious line. “You had no right, Caith. He’s part of my staff.”
“I had every right.” Shoving from the chair, he confronted her across the desk. “It’s my job, Veronica. BI is paying me to get to the bottom of this, and if that means digging up dirt on your employees, then I’m damn well going to do it.” Papers in hand, he pointed behind him to Aren. “Do you want to tell him your staff is off limits? The last time I looked, BI still paid your salary.”
“Caith,” Aren warned quietly.
Veronica felt her cheeks drain of color. He sounded like a Breckwood. An arrogant, wealthy Breckwood who knew his family was responsible for Coldcreek’s prosperity. For her prosperity. She’d never heard him talk with such unflattering conceit.
“If that’s the case, maybe I should charge you for last night, Mr. Breckwood.”
“Veronica.” Caith’s mouth thinned in irritation.
Furious, she shoved past him. How could the same man who’d made love to her with such passion turn around and treat her like a typed name on a pay ledger? He’d never been arrogant, and he’d never flaunted his family’s wealth. After Trask’s death, he’d even resented it.
But he used status and position now. He’d investigated Lew behind her back, even after she’d told him she trusted Lew implicitly. Even after Duke Cameron had cleared him.
Only later when she stormed into her apartment did Veronica realize she’d forgotten to point out the obvious. Connie Clark’s search was bound to produce nothing on Lew except a big fat blank.
Chapter 14
“Well?” Aren nodded at the papers clutched in Caith’s hand. “I hope that scene was worth something. What did you turn up on Lew?”
“Plenty.” With grim satisfaction, Caith slumped in a chair. “Connie had to pull some strings to dig up what she did, all off the record.” His gaze dropped to the sheaf of papers. “Lewis Frederick Earl Walden the third. He comes from old money. Banking, investments. Ten years ago his wife died. Up until that point, he was a practicing partner with a Hartford law firm.” Caith sent Aren a speculative glance. “After he lost his wife, he started traveling, taking odd jobs for support. Seattle, Baton Rouge, Denver, Winston-Salem. He even did a stint on a film set eight years ago, helping the production crew.”
Aren gave a low whistle. “So what makes a successful law partner pull up roots and become a handyman?”
“Grief?” Caith was silent as he considered. “A case that went sour? I’ll do some digging. See if there were any high profile cases that imploded while he was with the firm.”
Aren shook his head. “It sounds crazy. We’re talking about Lew, a guy who barely strings three words together when speaking. A guy who looks and acts like a retro burnout from the sixties.”
“Well, he was honest about one thing.” Caith consulted the file again. “He does have a daughter in Pittsburgh. Galina Brady. Thirty-six, divorced, no kids. She’s a VP for Roth-Deckman.”
Aren looked up startled. “The media giant? This gets nuttier by the minute. Maybe Veronica shouldn’t have been so quick to jump down your throat. What made you look at Lew in the first place?”
“Instinct.” Caith tossed the papers on Veronica’s desk. “Sometimes it’s all you have to go on in my line of work. Lew’s got the means to pull off these stunts, and I seriously doubt the passage from Hummingbird to the basement was a surprise. He’s the caretaker, for crying out loud. He knows every square inch of this lodge, inside out.” Pushing from the chair, he shook his head then began to pace. “Veronica’s overreacting. And if that isn’t enough…” His mouth twisted in a frown as a new concern reared its ugly head. “Dad’s breathing down my neck, hoping I’ll screw up.”
Aren choked on startled laughter. “What?”
“He hasn’t fired me, because he’s hoping I’ll blow it.” It was a suspicion he’d carried around ever since the conference at BI. Originally, he’d thought his father hadn’t fired him because of Derrick, but he’d since come to recognize the reason as something more personal. “He wants to rub my face in the fact I rejected BI. If I’m unsuccessful in cracking this case, it gives him the right to gloat. I chose this profession. He wants me to fail at it.”
“That’s asinine, Caith.” Standing, Aren shook his head. “When are you going to stop looking for ulterior motives in everything Dad does? You’ve got a second chance. Not many people get the opportunity to fix their lives.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my life.”
Aren sent him a pointed stare. “Like I said—you’ve got a second chance.” Not waiting for an answer, he turned and left the room.
Muttering, Caith paced between the desk and the doorway. Aren had no business offering opinions, pointing out flaws. So his life wasn’t perfect, but he made a decent living, kept his kid happy and sheltered, and was even occasionally at ease with his past. True, he didn’t have an ideal relationship with his family, but Merlin had jumpe
d ship, and his father…
With a disgusted groan, Caith dropped into the desk chair. Sliding both elbows onto the top, he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t fix his life now any more than he’d been able to seventeen years ago. Everything had gone wrong in that root cellar with Trask. Afterward, he’d counted on his family, his father in particular, to help him through the trauma.
But his father had lied.
Caith curled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. In sharp contrast to his mood, music and laughter floated up the steps and seeped beneath the closed door to his bedroom. He’d always enjoyed the lavish Halloween parties his parents had in the past, but not tonight. Tonight was the first anniversary of Trask’s death.
Tonight, he wanted to be alone. In the concealing blackness with his grief.
Someone knocked on the door. “Caith?”
He curled into a tighter ball, hunching his shoulders. His mother had already been to see him. Stone-faced and tightlipped, he’d sent her away. Who was it now? Why wouldn’t they let him be?
The door opened and a shaft of light spilled into the room. Within seconds, the beam was snuffed into obscurity as someone stepped inside and closed the door. “Caithelden?”
His father.
He recognized his dad’s voice, his presence. Normally comforting, the intrusion made his skin crawl. He didn’t deserve to be comforted. He didn’t deserve affection or concern of any kind. It was his fault Trask was dead.
“You shouldn’t stay up here alone.” His father sat on the edge of the bed. “Merlin and your friends from school are downstairs.” He paused, waiting as silence mushroomed between them. “You should see how pretty Veronica looks. She’s dressed as a faerie princess.”
“Go away.” He managed to croak the words between clenched teeth. His stomach hurt so badly he thought he was going to puke.
“I’m not going to go away. Not when I know you’re hurting.” His father spoke softly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get through this together, Caith. I know it seems unbearable now.”
