"How old is she?"
"She had her third birthday three weeks ago."
"So Taggart's the father?"
"He denies it. Accused Chelsea of hooking up with someone else and who knows, maybe he was right. Either way, he's had nothing to do with Haley and that's a good thing."
"No kidding," I said, trying to suppress the image of those big hands touching me.
"Believe it or not, he wasn't always corrupt. But he was drawn to the darkness—even when we worked together. Part of our job was transporting inmates to the federal prison and they didn't always get there in perfect shape. I tried to get him to stop, but I was the rook and he was married to my sister, so I turned a blind eye." He paused. "Not something I'm proud of."
"How did he get involved with the Ukrainians?"
"I'm not sure. But he was always looking for ways to score big and they must have wanted something he could provide. He probably hooked up with them once he realized there was no fighting the fact that he's clinically insane."
"He didn't have anything to do with your sister's death, did he?"
"If he had," Parker said. "He wouldn't be alive himself. No, Chelsea's body finally just gave up on her. She died a few months after Haley was born. Taggart and I weren't working together by then, but I foolishly tried to get him to take responsibility for his daughter. That didn't go over so well."
"What happened?"
"Let's just say he said some things about Chelsea that I didn't like and I responded with my fists. Tuned him up pretty good. He was too proud to press criminal charges, but the Marshals Service booted me and I've been trying to scrape by with skip trace work ever since."
"And what about Haley?"
"My mom is raising her. But she's disabled herself and on a fixed income and Haley has medical bills. And even with the new insurance laws, we're struggling. Haley's little heart needs to be fixed, but the procedure is considered experimental, and I was hoping the bounty I got for Mia Duncan would pay for it. Without it, she's as good as gone."
"That's horrible," I said. "There must be something you can do."
"Not without Mia Duncan. The feds want her even more than the State of Texas does and they're offering a seven figure reward."
"Seven figures?"
"A million point five, to be exact." He sighed. "And you called it. I knew the moment I got you off that bus that something wasn't quite right. Duncan couldn't be that good of an actor. But I didn't want to believe I'd screwed up."
"You didn't," I said. "Emily fooled everyone, including me. You're not the only one who thinks I'm her."
"True, but unfortunately that doesn't make much difference at this point. I'm no closer to collecting that reward than I ever was, and now I've wasted all this time."
"Thanks," I said.
"You know what I mean."
"What I know is that you saved my life. Twice. And if you hadn't fallen for Emily's ruse, I'd probably be in a body bag by now."
He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. "That's generous of you, considering I've spent the last few hours treating you like crap."
I smiled. "You do deserve to be punched. There's no question about that."
"Then do it. Punch me."
"And bruise that beautiful face? I don't think so."
He looked surprised. "Beautiful?"
"Oh, come on. You know exactly what you look like and you use it to your advantage—like with those girls on the elevator."
He smiled again. "Beautiful or not, you still need to punch me. In fact, I insist on it. I've acted like a complete jerk."
I sat up and turned. "You're serious?"
"Absolutely."
I was tempted. Part of me still did want to punch him, even though his story about Haley made me understand the motivation behind his unwillingness to trust his instincts.
But instead, I did something so unexpected, so unusual for me, that I can't to this day explain why I did it.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
God help me, it's true.
And this wasn't just a peck on the cheek. It was a full bodied kiss, lips and tongue and teeth, my hands touching his face, my breasts brushing against his bullet riddled kevlar. And all I could think about at that moment was that I wished he had a tracker he could plant on me, because I would thoroughly enjoy letting him do it.
Have I mentioned that I hadn't had sex in months?
TWENTY
After a moment, Parker put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me away.
"Not that I mind," he said, "but what's this all about?"
That's when the embarrassment set in. Came rushing at me like a cheetah attacking a gazelle. I could not believe I had just done that—especially considering the circumstances.
"Oh, my God," I said.
As I've probably mentioned, I'm not a prude by any means, and am certainly not shy about sex. But there was something about Parker that negated all that. He was so far out of my league it wasn't funny, and I suddenly felt like a silly, impulsive college girl who didn't know how to control herself.
Which was pretty much true.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I am so, so sorry. Here you are, baring your soul to me and I completely ruin it all by—"
And then he kissed me. Pushed me back against the computer room carpet, which wasn't much cleaner than the one in the motel room.
But I didn't care. I forgot about where we were and why we were here and concentrated instead on the feel of his mouth covering mine, his hands cupping and caressing me, unbuttoning the blouse I had only recently put back on.
Then both jacket and blouse were gone, and the bra came next, and I felt not even a flicker of humiliation as he freed me. I reached up and cradled his head and pulled him toward my breasts, letting his lips and teeth and tongue and hands work their way along my flesh until they found something to tug and suckle on.
Like the surprise and relief I spoke of earlier, there's no real way to describe how I felt at that moment. A combination of heat and electrical sparks stuttered through me, making me lose all pretense of control over my mind and body, as if something primal had taken possession of me.
Of both of us.
It had never been like this with Josh. And with the possible exception of a boyfriend in high school, it had never been like this with anyone—and Parker was only just getting started.
As his tongue teased my nipples, his hands went to work on my pants, finding the button, then the zipper, and within seconds he tossed them aside and slid his fingers beneath the elastic of my thong.
And that's when the party really got started.
What had come before was merely a prelude. A preview. The first appetizer of what I now realized was about to be the carnal equivalent of a culinary feast. I was already trembling all over and wasn't quite sure what Parker had planned for me next…
But oh. My. God. His fingers found me and did things not even my Magic Wand was capable of. I cried out against his mouth and reached for his jeans, struggling to unfasten them with shaky hands as the heat inside me began to build, working its way into my brain then fanning out to my fingers and toes. And the only thought I seemed capable of forming was more, more, more…
More.
As those fingers of his worked their magic, I fumbled with his jeans, finally got them unfastened, and slipped my hand into his boxers, wondering if what I was about to find would live up to my expectations.
Did you really think it wouldn't?
I found him firm and ready and beyond those expectations, and when I squeezed, he groaned softly, releasing a hot breath across my breasts.
Then suddenly we were in the eye of a hurricane, pants and panties and kevlar flying.
And if you've ever been in a situation like this, where the sex is sudden and unscripted and full of pent-up emotion, you probably know that most of the foreplay took place before that first kiss.
So I was ready for what happened next long before that momen
t, long before Parker even admitted to himself that I was not Mia Duncan. And I hadn't forgotten that, just a few hours earlier, he'd said he thought that I was beautiful, too—a nugget of information that had settled into a cozy niche in my brain, ready to be recalled whenever I had a troubling encounter with a dressing room mirror.
When the clothes and body armor were sufficiently scattered about the floor, I saw faint bruises on Parker's chest where Taggart's bullets had landed. I ran my fingers over them, marveling at his ability to even move after such an assault.
But he didn't seem to be in pain. Far from it.
He brought his hands down to my legs and parted my thighs and found me on the first try. He thrust forward and drove deep—and I'm again having trouble finding the words to describe how this felt. So if I'm vague, forgive me, but I find it almost impossible to recount a sensation I had never before experienced. Not with any of the guys I'd slept with. All I can say is that I came almost instantly, and then again a few seconds later and a third and fourth time before Parker took his turn.
I had read about multiple orgasms and was convinced that the women who claimed to have them were surely exaggerating or lying. But no, they do exist. I was now proof of that.
And while every nerve ending in my body was convulsing—yet still begging for more—Parker also came, the heat and strength of it sending me into orbit one last time.
When I finally tumbled back down to earth, he was lying beside me, stroking my face, kissing my forehead.
Then he smiled. "You know, maybe I am dead. Because that was too good to be real."
I could barely catch my breath to agree.
TWENTY-ONE
I need to pause here a moment.
Just thinking about the encounter—as implausible as it now seems—gets me hot all over again. And when something random like this happens, you just have to tell someone, you know? So forgive me if I've overshared.
Anyway, let's talk about my ex-boyfriend.
I'm not sure that the girl in my econ class experienced this when they slept together, but whenever Josh and I were finished with what, in the wake of Parker, I can only laughingly refer to as sex, he always seemed to have some excuse to immediately hop out of bed.
There was studying to do. A TV show to catch up on. A phone call to make. A class to get to. A shower to be taken. An appetite to be satisfied. A friend to meet.
(Probably the girl from my econ class.)
I had delayed enrolling in grad school when my father died, and after two brutal years living with my mother, I had let Josh convince me to move from Florida to Texas to continue my education. Yet once the deed was done, Josh never seemed to actually want to spend time with me. I sometimes thought that the act of convincing me to upend my life, as pitiful as it may have been, had been nothing more than a game to him. A game that fed his insatiable ego.
And once the game was won, he lost interest in it.
And in me.
The handcuff thing had merely been another game. But when I had refused to cooperate, I immediately fell to the bottom of his list of priorities—assuming I was ever on it in the first place.
I don't mean to sink into the emotional quagmire of compare and contrast, but we all do it, don't we? We look at the person lying beside us and think about the one who previously occupied that sacred space and wonder if this one will turn out to be more thoughtful and considerate and loving and… you know the drill.
Sometimes we delude ourselves into believing he is a better version—even though our instincts warn us to the contrary—and we're too often disappointed to discover that those instincts were right.
I wanted to believe that in Parker's case, he was the real deal. But once burned, twice shy and all that. What I did know for certain was that he was more of a real man than any I'd ever been with before. Not that there were all that many. But I couldn't imagine a more superior model than the one lying next to me—and I had absolutely no solid evidence to back that feeling up.
Parker was little more than a stranger to me. And let's face it, until quite recently, as he had freely admitted, he had not treated me all that well.
Yet despite all that was swirling around us, all that was troubling him, and despite the fact that we were still lying on the computer room carpet wearing nothing but what God had given us, he seemed focused only on me. As if we were long lost soul mates—whatever that means—and this was our last chance to be together.
Or maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe this was nothing more than wishful thinking obscured by the fog of half a dozen mind-shattering orgasms.
What if Parker was faking it? What if, like Josh, he was playing a game of command, conquer and destroy? Or what if I was simply too scared to believe a really good thing when I saw it?
"You're awfully quiet," he said, as if sensing my uncertainty. "What are you thinking about?"
"Too much to articulate. You?"
"Believe it or not—and don't take this the wrong way—but I'm thinking about all the other women I've been with, and how none of them compare to you."
See? I told you we all do it. And if I'd been capable of gulping, I would have, but I was barely capable of breathing. The words "too good to be true" bounced around in my sex addled brain like a ping pong ball.
"I don't want to get sappy about this," he said, "and I may be way ahead of the curve, but I think what just happened was meant to happen."
Okay, this time I did gulp. And he didn't stop there.
"I'm not even remotely religious, but I can't help believing that this whole mistaken identity thing was some kind of divine plan to bring us together."
I had no idea how to respond to this, but the ping pong ball had picked up speed and velocity.
He smiled. "Sounds crazy, right? But you asked, and that's what I've been thinking."
I stayed quiet for a long moment—too long—because what he'd said was both exhilarating and frightening.
Very frightening.
His smile faltered. "I just scared the hell out of you, didn't I?"
"Umm…"
He laughed softly. "Well, if it's any consolation, it scares me, too. So why don't we table this conversation for now?"
I couldn't agree fast enough. "Works for me."
It may have been my imagination, but I thought he looked relieved. As if he realized that what he'd just shared with me was a tad TMI, and he wished he could re-cap the bottle.
There was no question that we were in lust with each other, but lust and adrenaline and death threats and flying bullets tend to screw up your thinking, and the idea that we could fall into some kind of meaningful relationship in less than twenty-four hours was clearly absurd.
Or was it?
Whatever the case, we both needed a little more time to let that idea marinate.
It didn't help that I also felt guilty. Not about the sex—oh, hell no—but if our meeting was some sort of divine plan, then how did Parker's niece figure into the equation? Was she simply supposed to die so that we could be together?
Ridiculous.
There had to be something we could do to help Haley get the care she needed. Unfortunately, I wasn't a rich woman and had never rubbed elbows with anyone who was.
"What you need to concentrate on now," I said, "is the real Mia Duncan. You need to find her and collect that reward."
Parker rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, absently rubbing the bruises on his chest. "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"You know what she looks like now. That's a step in the right direction."
"A step. But it doesn't do me much good if I don't have the resources to follow up. A facial recognition scan might tell me who she really is, but I've got no way of making that happen."
"Don't you have any friends who can do it?"
"I used to. But once you get the boot, those friends tend to close ranks and shut you out. You're no longer part of the tribe. And what if Taggart isn't the only one involved with the Ukrainians?
It's too much of a risk."
"Aren't there private agencies that can do this facial recognition thing?"
"Sure," he said. "But without access to all the law enforcement databases, their reach is limited. Besides, they cost money, and my bank account is bone dry."
I sighed. "Too bad you don't have some computer wizard on tap who could hack into the police network and…"
I paused, a sudden thought occurring.
"What?" he asked.
"I just realized I might know someone who can do that."
Parker hiked up on his elbows. "Who?"
"This computer geek in my Cultural Theory class. He's asked me out a few times but I keep putting him off. He claims to be some kind of black hat badass, and if he's as good as he thinks he is, he should be able to help us."
"Us?"
"Just because you believe me now, doesn't mean Taggart and his friends will. I've got just as much stake in finding Emily as you do."
"Good point. Do you know how to get hold of this guy?"
"No," I said. "But I have a way of finding out."
PART THREE
Oh Where Oh Where
Can She Be?
TWENTY-TWO
Cody Grimshaw's apartment was located about a block north of HCU, in an area known as Grad Student Row.
Cody was not a grad student himself, but had once told me over coffee at the campus cafeteria that he had never been the party type and wanted to avoid the dorms and undergrad block at all cost. He needed peace and quiet, he said, and most of the grad block residents had gotten the party bug out of their systems.
I didn't know the exact location of Cody's place. But I did know a way to get his phone number, which was posted prominently on the Student Center bulletin board, where fliers touted his computer repair services.
Parker and I got dressed and made our way there on trembling legs—the good kind, this time—while keeping an eye out for any black SUVs and Taggart's patrol car. I found Cody's number, then went to the one and only pay phone on campus, which was located right next to the Student Center bookstore.
Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1) Page 7
