CrossMyHeart

by Paris Brandon

“You ought to take the entrance exam at the academy,” he rasped when they both ended up lying on the mat.

  “You save the world your way and I’ll save it mine,” she wheezed, out of breath but exhilarated.

  He rolled over to face her and she could smell sweat and soap and the familiar scent of Jack Sutton. It felt so right to be lying next to him in the early morning sunshine, safe and protected.

  He looped a leg over her hip and scooted her closer and slipped a hand beneath her sweatshirt, palming her breast as he kissed her—long and slow. His tongue dueled with hers as she wound her arms around him and he rolled on top of her. She laughed and he eased his tongue out of her mouth and whispered, “What?”

  “Well, unless you’re feeling kinky, Mrs. Hennessy has binoculars and she isn’t afraid of using them.” She hadn’t said that to make him stop but he pushed off her just enough to be able to look through the front window.

  Mrs. H’s house sat on a terrace across the street and afforded her a birds-eye view of Val’s house. His grin almost made up for the loss of warmth.

  “Somehow I never envisioned our getting back together involving the drawing of blood,” she said, touching his nose. “We should probably put ice on that again. You’re still a little swollen.”

  “I have a more pressing anatomical condition at the moment. It involves some swelling but it requires…heat. Yeah,” he said, pressing the ridge of his erection between her legs. “I’m sure heat will work much better than cold.”

  Her breath caught when he slid the tip of his cock over the seam of her pussy and she could feel it through her clothes. She shuddered but she managed to say, “Stop acting as if this is the last time we’re going to have sex and let me make you another ice bag before you can’t breathe. Because I have to tell you that lack of oxygen might really hamper alleviating your anatomical problem.”

  He let go of her and rolled over on his back. “I need to be able to breathe for what I have planned,” he said, very seriously but then the corner of his mouth crooked up and he winced. “Go get the damn ice.”

  * * * * *

  Emmett had been online and emailed him that there was still no news on the street about his snitch and the report about Val’s break-in had simply stated the officers didn’t find any prints and a neighbor had called in the disturbance. He’d bet money on which one it was. And no one had bothered to interview her. Probably because they knew he was on the way.

  Wanda Hennessey was all of five feet tall and stick-thin beneath her neon-pink velour jogging suit, which she wore with equally bright lime-green tennis shoes. Her smile was as quirky as her clothes and she had him seated at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of oatmeal cookies before he knew what hit him.

  She’d seen a tall, thin man run around the side of Val’s house that morning. At least she thought he’d been tall and thin. It was still dark and she didn’t have her glasses on or her binoculars handy because she’d been outside trying to entice a little gray cat she’d been feeding. She’d ducked behind her ancient Buick when she’d seen him and he’d apparently seen her because he turned around and cut through the back of the neighborhood before she could get a good look at him.

  Of course, she could check her Twitter account and be sure because it had been a few days and she might have forgotten something. Her neighborhood watch alert had made for more interesting reading than her usual advice on hairball remedies. She’d been tweeted two hundred fifty-seven times about neighborhood crime that day.

  And she’d had even more hits when she’d tweeted that Jack was finally home and it looked as if he and Val were back together.

  Everyone was a sucker for romance, she’d advised him good-naturedly.

  He’d barely escaped a discussion on why seventy was the new sixty and was still chuckling when he crossed the street.

  He had to balance a sack full of store-brand cat food, feline vitamins and a bag of homemade oatmeal cookies on his hip when he opened Val’s front door. The scent of coffee brewing hit him and it was enough to cramp his stomach.

  All of the furniture was back where it belonged and the workout mat was rolled up and wedged next to the settee. Val, her damp hair curling around her freshly scrubbed face, was sitting at the dining room table with piles of notebooks and sticky notes. His laptop was across from her where he’d left it.

  “Mrs. Hennessey is a font of information, cute as a bug and sent cookies and cat food,” he said and held up the plastic grocery sack full of loot. “I think Moocher is waiting for the excitement to die down but Mrs. H. seems to think she might be back, hence the supplies.”

  “If I’d known you could be had for such a paltry sum, I would have learned to bake months ago,” she said and fluttered her lashes in a very uncharacteristic manner.

  “You have other charms that I’m more interested in. If you’re going to take lessons in anything, you need to talk to Mrs. H. about the joys of Twitter,” he said, setting the sack on the counter along with the disposable cup that Mrs. H had sent with him. “Apparently, we’re more interesting than hairball remedies.”

  “Great, my life is turning into a Twitter—what would you call it—reality show?” she asked, floundering for a word that he couldn’t help her with because he didn’t know the first thing about the craze.

  “Don’t ask me, my sister just yelled at me for not joining Facebook.”

  “Well, did she see anything that wasn’t in the report?”

  “She didn’t have her glasses or her binoculars but she thinks he might have been tall and thin,” he said and winced when he got a whiff of himself. He should have showered before he visited Mrs. H. but he had been too excited by the prospect of new information.

  * * * * *

  After his shower he threw on his jeans and sweatshirt and padded barefoot down the short hallway to find her sitting at the dining room table with a phone to her ear, writing on a yellow pad.

  Back to saving the world, one problem at a time. Her priorities hadn’t changed. She glanced up long enough to zero in on his unbuttoned pants and lick her lips. There was an upside to running out of underwear.

  He picked up her empty cup and she patted him on the ass before he was out of reach. The thermos was beside the coffeepot but she hadn’t taken the time to fill it.

  “Sorry, what was that, Bea? I was distracted by my favorite flasher.”

  “Well at least I’m your favorite,” he muttered, pouring a half cup of sludge and topping it off with milk. How she drank this stuff on a full-time basis he’d never know. But then he’d always suspected that there was a lot about Val that he didn’t know.

  He was getting a raised red-gold eyebrow. He took a sip before her shoulders started to shake and her cat-green eyes sparkled.

  “Bea wants to know how you feel about strutting your stuff on the runway.”

  “I take it we’re not talking about airplanes here.”

  “No, but if you know any pilots, that might be helpful.”

  “No pilots.”

  Her lips stretched into an all-out grin and he started thinking about where they’d been a few hours ago and almost dropped his cup.

  “She’s looking for a few good men.”

  “What does she want with them or do I want to know?”

  But Val’s attention was focused on something Bea was saying. “It was her idea?”

  Whatever Bea said brought a smile to her face and she focused it on him. He pointed to his unbuttoned pants. She licked her lips again and winked.

  “How many heroes of the community do you know?”

  “Define hero.”

  “Delicious men in uniform who go the distance. I’ve already volunteered you,” she said with a smile that, if he wasn’t mistaken, promised she’d go the distance with him.

  He shrugged. “I can get you cops, firemen and a couple of EMTs. How many do you need?”

  Apparently his voice carried because Bea answered before Val could ask.

  “Ju
st start asking. The modeling agency backed out and Bea doesn’t know how many outfits we’re getting.”

  He watched her scribbling and caught a bit of her enthusiasm. She loved sitting in the middle of a big mess and stirring until it all came together. He remembered that once upon a time he’d loved that about her.

  Val ironed out the publicity schedule with Bea before she hung up and watched the changes come over his face. Knew he was remembering something important before he took a sip of coffee and winced.

  “Am I getting that back anytime soon?” she asked, nodding toward the cup.

  “Can you drink it with milk or do you want me to get you another cup?”

  “I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

  “Me or the coffee?”

  “Let’s just say that both are really important right now.” She glanced down at the nest of dark curls she was itching to play with. “I’ve been enjoying the view long enough not to want to choose.”

  “I’m second to a cup of coffee?”

  “You’re not paying attention. I’m dressed for multitasking.” She hadn’t bothered with a bra beneath her scoop-necked red sweater. But she’d had the foresight to tuck a condom into the waistband of her short denim skirt and she’d found her cowboy boots where she’d stored them out of sight in a box at the back of the closet.

  Her nipples puckered beneath the sweater that could have doubled as a second skin and her thighs were already wet just from gazing at his semi-firm cock straining to push out of his open fly.

  “I’m out of those little almond cookies you used to bring me and I really would enjoy a nibble with my coffee,” she purred.

  He blinked and poured her coffee without looking at the cup and by the time he got it to the table there was a wet spot below the buttons of his faded jeans. She took a sip from the cup he handed her and rolled it around in her mouth, watched his gaze heat.

  She scooted her chair around to face him so he had an unobstructed view and hiked up her denim skirt until the hem brushed her bare pussy. He grabbed the edge of the table at the first brush of her fingertips across his crotch and she knew he was mesmerized. Swallowing, she used both hands and gently freed his cock, placed the tip against her lips and lapped at the little slit.

  “Bed,” he gasped when she slipped the velvety bulb into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the ridge.

  “No,” she whispered, mangling the pronunciation as she took more of his length.

  “Can I at least sit?” he growled but he was laughing so she relented. She freed his cock and tugged his jeans down to his knees before she shoved him toward the window seat behind them.

  She laughed and snagged the condom, ripping open the foil packet with her teeth while she watched his eyes darken as he gripped the ledge beneath his ass and his cock strained, pre-cum glistening on the head. She leaned down and delicately licked the little slit before she rolled the sheath over his erection. His entire body clenched while he watched her. Grinning, she hiked up her skirt.

  He reached out and cupped her pussy before he slipped one long finger inside. She had to grab his shoulders when he swiveled a second finger in. Her hips followed his rhythm. She wanted more. She wanted him and he knew it. He balanced on the edge of the seat and she climbed on top, positioned her boots on either side of his slim hips and held on to his shoulders.

  Her skirt crawled up when he withdrew his glistening fingers and nudged open the slick folds of her pussy with just the tip of his cock. She bit her lip, straining as he slowly entered her. She rose just as slowly, determined to torture him with the same kind of pleasure she’d been experiencing.

  But then he rasped, “Ride me hard,” and she almost came from the sound of his voice, eager and desperate as he gripped her waist and helped her do just that. Hard and fast until her orgasm shook her so fiercely that he had to hold on to her—so close that she could feel the roar build in his chest and a second orgasm trembled through her when it escaped.

  * * * * *

  Jack didn’t know if he was happy about the instant message that Emmett had sent him because it meant that he didn’t have to worry about someone grabbing Valentine and he no longer had any excuse not to tell her the truth. On the other hand, he probably didn’t have to worry about her safety anymore and he was pretty happy about that.

  Emmett had sent a patrol car to watch the house while he questioned the suspect even though all the evidence had lined up and the kid had been literally caught fluorescent-orange-handed.

  Some woman had seen Mrs. H’s tweet about the break-in and had turned in her kid brother for the crime.

  He knew at a glance that tall, dark-eyed Ronnie Cook was the kind of kid everyone always thought was older than he was because of his size. The fact that he could already grow a mustache at fifteen probably didn’t help.

  His jeans were too short and the sleeves of his stained thermal underwear shirt were only slightly longer than the worn, unbuttoned, brown flannel shirt he wore over it. He had his big, square, orange-stained hands folded on top of the table when Jack came into the room and introduced himself.

  “You want something to drink before we get started?”

  The kid shook his head but he didn’t say anything and Jack had interrogated enough people to know that he was keeping his face purposely blank.

  “Your sister tells us that you get mad and tear things up. She said when she saw the spray-paint can she was afraid you’d been at it again. You want to talk about that?”

  The kid looked away and his jaw tightened. “You’re the third person I’ve talked to and I’ll tell you like I told them,” he said through clenched teeth. “I do my own cooking and cleaning up at my sister’s place. I took out my trash and the can was already in Deb and Ben’s plastic barrel. I shook it and there was still paint in it so I took it.”

  “Was it inside a trash bag?”

  “On top, just like I told everybody else who asked,” he said evenly, staring at his hands, and Jack got the feeling it was costing him to be so polite.

  “What were you going to do with the paint, Ronnie?”

  “What does anyone do with paint, they mark stuff,” he said, and Jack’s back teeth hurt just from watching him talk.

  “So you weren’t going to be huffing? You do know what huffing is?”

  “I’m not an idiot and I don’t do drugs.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. “Your sister says that you have some anger issues, Ronnie. Did something happen to set you off recently?”

  The kid looked up at him and glanced at the file Jack was holding. The file that pegged the kid as someone who had been tap dancing on the edge for a couple of years now.

  “No,” he said and shrugged. “But you don’t get points for trying in this world. I already figured that out. Deb’s wrong. I haven’t done anything. But I’d like to know something.

  “Did that bitch get a reward for turning me in?”

  “There wasn’t any reward,” Jack said, and didn’t feel the need to tell him what he’d already guessed. His sister had asked if there was a reward.

  She’d also informed them that the kid was a pathological liar whose sincerity had fooled everyone from grade-school teachers to social workers. If that was the case, the kid had all the makings of an excellent con-man.

  Or a really good undercover cop.

  Chapter Five

  Dr. Elliott Masterson’s second-floor office was located in the upscale Taylor-Swan Medical Plaza and screamed money, class and “don’t you dare smoke” the moment he walked through the door.

  Elliott Masterson was tall, thin and pale, with a receding blond hairline and a jaw that was a whole lot tighter than it had been five minutes ago when he’d thought Jack had news about his missing wife.

  “My time is very valuable, Detective Sutton,” he said, sitting very straight in his black-leather chair behind his modern glass-and-steel desk. “I was under the impression that you had some new information about my wife.”

  “I
said I was following up on your wife’s case,” Jack said, settling back into what had to be the most comfortable chair on the planet. “Not exactly the same thing.”

  “What is it you’re following?”

  “Well, I’m new to the case and I have a few questions about your wife’s interests.”

  Masterson raised a thin, almost feminine brow and all but sneered. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”

  “It might tell me where she’d seek employment. She’s been gone a month and she has to be living on something.”

  “She took money out of my wall safe the night she tried to kill me.”

  My wall safe? “The report mentioned there was only a couple of hundred dollars and if she has the drug habit you told us about, that wouldn’t have lasted long.”

  “I’m sure if she’s been resourceful enough to elude the police all this time that she’s found a way to take care of herself,” he said, rancor tingeing his very precise words.

  “Does she have a degree she might use?”

  “No,” Masterson ground out. “I have a very demanding profession and she didn’t have the time or a need for any outside employment.” The good doctor had begun tapping a pen against the notepad on the desk in front of him.

  “Sometimes it helps to look at the personal effects. The officers on the scene might have missed something that night and it might give me an idea of where to start. Would it be possible to take a look at some of the things she left behind?”

  “I boxed up all of her self-help books and mementos and put them in storage. Is there anything else? I have a very important consultation in a few minutes,” he said, glancing pointedly at his watch.

  “I guess not,” Jack said as he stood. “Thank you for your time and I’ll get back to you if there’s a new development in the case.” Like your wife telling us her side.

  The doctor didn’t stand and Jack let himself out. The back of his neck had been itching even before Dr. Masterson had admitted to putting his wife’s things in storage.

  Another glance at the report from that night confirmed what Jack remembered from reading it the first time. The man’s statement had read like a textbook account of the incident. He’d said all of the right things and no one but McCoy had been suspicious because the good doctor was playing the part of the concerned spouse even as he was being sewn up.