by Kaylea Cross
And it was all wrong.
He was the wrong guy for her, a drifter cop who was obsessed with a serial killer. He’d never put her and Maddie first, never.
She needed steady and normal. She wanted that more than anything. He was anything but. Yet she couldn’t pull away. The weak whispers of reason were drowned out by the roaring drums of passion.
Her nipples puckered up under her bra, her breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. When a soft sound escaped the back of her throat, to her utter embarrassment, he was the one who first pulled away.
They were both breathing hard, staring at each other.
He looked as stunned as she felt while he cleared his throat. Silence stretched between them as her body and mind still reeled. What on earth had just happened?
But then he pulled himself together and said, “You don’t have to come out into the cold. Just give me the garage-door opener, and I’ll set the paintings in there, cover them up.”
What?
He was moving fast in another direction, while she was still stuck on the kiss, her lips still tingling, her nipples still puckered.
He wanted to talk about paintings?
Of course. The haze in her mind began to clear; the heat enveloping her dissipated. He probably wanted to get out of here. Wanted to get an early start tomorrow to head to Jersey. Anger swept through her swiftly.
She refused to show how much the kiss had shaken her. She kept it together as she marched by him to the front door, grabbed the key to the garage door from the laundry room, and held it out for him.
His gaze caught on the helium tank and the handful of boxes next to the washer as he took the keys. “What’s that?”
“Maddie’s birthday is this weekend. We’re having a party with her little friends.”
His face hardened immediately. “No.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m afraid you don’t get a say in that.”
“What if Blackwell comes back?”
Really? They were back to that? “But you just said Blackwell moved on to Jersey.”
“It’s always smart to exercise caution. You should go and stay with your father tonight. Stay with him for a couple of weeks.”
She stared. “You notice the irony here? When I wanted to go, you told me I couldn’t. Anyway, Agent Hunter wants me to stay put.”
“I’ll clear it with him. Will you go with your father?” His tone turned urgent. “Tonight?”
Her independence was the last thing she had left, and she’d fought hard to be able to keep it. She wasn’t giving that up now. “No.”
His jaw clenched. “At least cancel the party.” His intense gaze held hers. “I think he came back. I felt him back there tonight.”
He was beyond reason, obsessed beyond the point of rational thought. He scared her a little now, which was such a contrast to what the kiss had been just a few seconds before.
A man of so many contrasts, he had some strange ability to set her head spinning. She struggled to understand him. One minute he could be gentle, and the next completely infuriating.
He proved that by saying, “I’m ordering you.”
Her jaw clenched.
He stared her down. “As an officer of the law. No party.”
Chapter Eleven
Jack tried not to think of Ashley or their kiss as he walked back to the locker room at the east end of the high school the next day. The team was gathering for a morning huddle about an upcoming game. He wanted to get this over with before he headed off to Jersey. He called out the players he needed, gathering them in the hallway.
“Is this about the bones?” Bobby Adamo asked, gripping a cup of coffee. “You guys took off. Nobody said we were supposed to wait around.”
None of the four looked anything but cocky, feeling safe in numbers and on their home turf.
Jack watched their eyes, looking for the weakest link. Probably Tyler Foster, the councilman’s son. He was the youngest, the one Jack had caught on Ashley’s land before. He’d scared the boy when he’d tackled him.
“Actually, I’m here about a laptop you’re selling online.” Jack looked Bobby in the eye. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”
The surprise on the teenager’s face was quickly masked. The others pulled closer to him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, a printout of the website with the laptop, seller ID on top.
The coach loped up to them, sweatpants and T-shirt in team colors of blue and yellow, a trim man in his fifties, no hair, hard eyes. “Is there a problem here?” He was clearly protective of his players.
“Detective Sullivan, Broslin PD. I’m running down some leads on a couple of stolen items.”
The man bristled. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable with you interrogating these boys without their parents present.”
“It’s not a formal questioning. That would take place down at the station. I’m just asking for their help here,” he said and stayed where he stood.
The coach shot him an aggravated glare, then walked away.
“So about the laptop?” Jack held up the paper.
“That’s not my account,” Bobby said.
“Are you sure? How about you?” He showed the sheet to each of the kids, giving them time to think about it.
The blank looks they gave him were a little too good to be convincing. Almost overdone, really.
He nodded as he put the paper away. “Here’s the thing. Even online service providers have to hand over user data when confronted with a police warrant.”
Tyler Foster twitched.
Jack was about to lean on him a little harder when Principal Adamo came rushing toward them with the coach. Jack knew the man from a teen drunk-driving accident a few months before that he’d handled. The principal hadn’t been happy with him then and looked even more aggravated now.
“What is this about, Detective?” He put himself between Jack and the kids, exuding authority, while the coach headed into the locker room with a last disapproving glance at Jack.
“Following some leads on a stolen laptop and other things.”
“I’m sure these athletes had nothing to do with it,” he said, a tall man with an imposing attitude, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie.
“That’s what I’m here to confirm.”
The man glanced at his son, then the others.
“Dad, it’s complete bullshit,” Bobby complained, sullen and angry.
“Watch your language,” Adamo snapped before turning to Jack. “If you want to talk to them, you’ll have to request a formal meeting with their parents and attorneys present. I’m sorry, Detective. My job is to protect these boys.”
“I understand completely.” Jack nodded without heat. “Tracking down some two-bit thieves is not the highlight of my career, believe me. The sooner it’s over, the better.”
He looked past the principal at the boys. “So here’s the deal. First one who comes clean gets a free ride. Rest of them get a record and go to juvie.” He turned on his heels, then walked away.
He had more important things to do today. In Jersey.
* * *
Ashley blocked in the main areas of light and shadow, then set the brush down for a second as she thought about how she wanted to approach the rest.
And thought about Jack Sullivan.
She bit her lower lip, hating that it should tingle every time she thought of the stupid kiss. God, the man confused her. And turned her on. And infuriated her on a regular schedule.
There was good in him, although she wasn’t sure if he knew it. He was too focused on other things. The past bound him. She could relate.
Worse, she could fall for him.
The whole package of masculine beauty, the edge of danger, the tragic past, the way he kissed… The attraction was there, despite her better judgment. Way too much attraction.
He could be thoughtfu
l—bringing her a shovel, playing with her daughter—then unreasonably bossy, trying to tell her what to do, to move to Philly.
At least he’d left before her father arrived, so she didn’t have to make any explanations why she had a man out at her house so late at night. Her father had been in a rush to get home. She hadn’t mentioned the party cancellation; the time just didn’t seem right. But she’d definitely tell him when they talked on the phone tonight.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this, canceling something again because of Jack Sullivan.
When the doorbell rang, she was certain it was him and was preparing to give him a piece of her mind as she ran down the stairs. But when she opened the door, she found herself facing the mailman.
“Hey, Pete.”
He gave his widest smile as always. “You got too many magazines to fit into your mailbox. Shouldn’t have to walk all the way out there in this cold anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“Painting today?”
“All morning.”
“You planted the flower bulbs?”
“Haven’t had the time yet. But I will. I promise.” He was such a nice guy, safe, stable. Why couldn’t she feel the same spark now that she’d felt every time Jack came near her?
Pete hesitated on the doorstep. “I found a beaver dam on the creek when I was out hunting last week. Pretty small for now but neat.”
The first thing she thought was how much she would have liked to paint that.
And maybe Pete saw the gleam in her eyes, because he asked, “Would you come out there with me?”
She stared at him for a confused second. Okay. She’d kind of known for a while that Pete was sweet on her, but this was the most forward he’d ever been about it. A date.
And why not? Maybe it would get her mind off Jack, who was nothing but trouble. She didn’t want to like a man whose entire life, first priority, was a murderer.
She wanted normal.
And it didn’t get any more normal than Pete, even if he was maybe a bit old for her.
“Sure.” She’d promised herself she would start getting out of the house more. A walk in the quiet woods with a friend was just the thing.
His face lit up. “Saturday, then?”
“Sorry, I have Maddie’s party on Saturday.” Well, she might. The FBI could catch Blackwell between now and then. She was going to keep her options open until the last minute, she decided suddenly.
“After the party would be perfect. It’s not far from here. And the moonlight on the water around the dam is something to see,” Pete said with enthusiasm.
With anyone else, she would have thought twice about it, but Pete was…Pete. She knew his mother too, pretty well. It wasn’t as if she’d be going with a stranger. She’d been out at the grave in the middle of the night by herself. She could handle the beaver dam with Pete.
She’d done night landscapes before, had enjoyed the challenge of handling the light and colors. Maybe someday soon she would do another.
“Okay,” she said and watched as Pete just about danced back to the mail truck.
He beeped the horn as he drove away.
She went back into the house, locked the door, and padded upstairs.
She was painting. And she was going on a date. Someday very soon, if she fought hard enough, she would have Maddie back. Her life would go back to normal.
All she had to do was not give up.
And forget Jack Sullivan.
* * *
By the time noon rolled around, Jack had gone back and forth between the two crime scenes in Jersey half a dozen times and had talked to everyone worth talking to. Yet he wasn’t any closer to figuring out whether the two kidnappings were connected or whether Blackwell had been involved in them.
Agent Hunter gave him a hard time about being there, but tolerated him as they reinterviewed key people. That Jack might be able to identify Blackwell from his voice helped. But nobody they talked to rang a bell.
Jack drove back from Jersey in a foul mood, not all that much cheered when he got a call from the high school principal.
“Bobby is willing to talk to you.” The man sounded grim and cold. “On the condition that he doesn’t have to go to the station to be interviewed. And, of course, our family attorney will be present.”
Jack was too distracted by the two missing persons in Jersey to point out to the man that the boy wasn’t setting conditions here. “Fine.”
“My attorney can be here by four,” Adamo said and gave his home address. “I’d appreciate it if you came alone. No uniformed officers and police cruisers. I have my standing in the community to consider.”
He should have considered keeping a closer eye on his son, Jack thought but agreed. With Harper still out, they were understaffed at the station anyway. The case wasn’t big enough to justify pulling one of the others off something else.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had time to go out to see Ashley and try to talk her into going someplace until he caught Blackwell.
He knew, with everything he had, that the bastard had been on her land the other night.
The fact that he’d put the grave there couldn’t be a coincidence. At the beginning, Jack had thought it was because Ashley was involved with the man. Now he knew better.
But Blackwell could still be someone she knew, under another name. It might even be someone who liked her.
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Maybe he’d been some sick gift to her. A cop, the biggest thing Blackwell had taken down so far. Of course, Blackwell hadn’t counted on her finding and saving Jack.
The mailman popped into his mind again. He’d looked at the man at the beginning, but Bing had talked him out of it, vouching for him. But this was too important to take someone else’s word for it.
So, on his way to Ashley’s, he stopped by the post office.
He lucked out. Pete was just coming in.
The man wore hunting boots, Jack noted, and wasn’t surprised when two minutes into their talk, the man’s alibi for the days in questions came up as a solo hunting trip. No alibi at all.
“Would you mind lifting your foot?”
Pete looked at him as if he was crazy but did it.
Wrong treads, which didn’t mean anything. If he had one pair of boots, he would have others.
“How about the day of the third, that Saturday? You said you came back from hunting in the morning.”
“I was home with my mother. Then I went in to work for an hour in the evening to take over someone’s truck who had to leave early.”
Mother wasn’t exactly the strongest alibi, Jack thought. He was definitely going to keep an eye on the man.
* * *
“You’re so sweet,” Mrs. Kentner said, holding the small paintings at arm’s reach. “We really do appreciate your support.” She put the paintings on the living room table and lifted her purse from the floor, taking out a small box wrapped in sparkling paper. She handed it to Ashley. “For Maddie. Pete said she’s having her birthday party this weekend.”
“Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.”
“Well, the way things are going…” Mrs. Kentner gave a smile and a wink.
Okay, so Pete told her mother about the date. Ashley felt a moment of embarrassment, then pushed it away.
“I’m so glad he came back home,” the older woman said. “He deserves something good. The way he took care of me with the cancer…” Moisture glistened in the woman’s eyes.
Ashley patted her hand. Pete did deserve something good, but was she it? A sudden wave of doubt rushed her. What was she doing with Pete? But then she thought, they were just going to look at the dam. They’d been friends for a long time. It didn’t have to be more than that.
“I’ll have him bring you some venison.” Mrs. Kentner gathered herself. “He got a big one this fall. Dressed and butchered it by himself too. Gave half to the homeless shelter, but the freezer in the garage is still way t
oo full. I can barely squeeze anything else in there.”
“Thank you,” she said politely, not having the vaguest idea what to do with venison. Then again, she had Internet. There should be some recipes there. For when she was alone. No way she could put dinner on the table and tell Maddie they were eating Bambi.
Mrs. Kentner stayed to chat for a while. Dusk was falling by the time she left. Ashley washed the few dishes in the sink, trying to decide whether to tell her father tonight that she wanted to cancel the party. She didn’t want to cancel. She didn’t think there was any danger.
She looked outside as she dried the silverware. More snow had fallen overnight, coating the trees, the woods pretty enough to paint. Not enough color left in the day, but still, even as a monochromatic work, the view from her kitchen window would have made a good composition.
As she scanned the trees, something caught her eye—a patch of value difference. If she wasn’t so attuned, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. The patch moved. A bit of russet hair came into view.
Jack.
Aggravation and something else, something she wasn’t willing to name, flashed through her in equal measure. The man didn’t know when to give up. She dragged her coat on, stepped into her boots, then walked through the front door. His car wasn’t in the driveway. Where had he come from? She had a good guess.
She strode around the house. “What are you doing back there?”
“I was walking through the woods.” His face was drawn even more than usual, shadows all around him. He seemed to be in a dark mood, his coat open and flapping in the cold breeze. He didn’t seem to care.
“Where’s your car?”
“Back by the side of the road.”
She’d been right. He’d been to the grave. Unease spread through her. She wished he could see what his obsession was doing to him. She wished they’d met at another time, under vastly different circumstances.
“How often do you go back there?”
“Every night.”
He had good in him, at his core, that drew her to him. But he seemed inextricably mired in the past and in darkness. She didn’t want to want him. If she was going to fall for anyone, she wanted simple. She couldn’t live the rest of her life dancing on the edge of the precipice.
