Don't Look

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You sound like a cop,” Rita muttered.

  “It’s in my blood.”

  Her lips twisted, a hint of grief in her eyes. “That’s true.”

  Kir pretended to consider his words. “You know, you spent as much time with Dad as anyone.”

  “True again.” Rita took a drink. It was a sip this time instead of a gulp. Maybe she’d decided to pace herself. Or maybe she sensed this was more than a casual conversation.

  “Did he know the women who were murdered?”

  “I’m sure he did. He knew everyone in town.”

  “Is there a reason someone might think he was friends with the women? Or even enemies?”

  She started to shake her head, then hesitated. “Oh, I guess Sherry Higgins did hire him a couple times when she was serving an eviction notice. I remember him telling me last summer that there was a renter who chained themselves to the fridge. He had to get bolt cutters to get them out. Can you imagine that?” Rita snorted. “People are strange.”

  Kir frowned. “Isn’t it the sheriff’s job to help with evictions?”

  Rita made a face. “Most people in Pike always thought of your dad as the sheriff, no matter how many years passed. Besides, I don’t think Sherry and Kathy got along that well. Something happened between them when they were younger.”

  Kir couldn’t imagine Sheriff Hancock was very happy with Rudolf performing her tasks, no matter how much she might dislike Sherry Higgins.

  “Did he do any work for the others?”

  Rita stared blankly out the window as she tried to shuffle through her fuzzy memories. Kir didn’t hold out much hope. She’d probably been intoxicated for ninety percent of her conversations with Rudolf Jansen.

  “Not that he told me,” she at last conceded. “I can’t remember him mentioning Randi Brooks or—”

  “Brooks?” Kir interrupted with a lift of his brows.

  “Oh, I mean Decker.” Rita wrinkled her nose. “Brooks was her maiden name. I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.”

  “Wait.” Kir leaned forward. The name stirred a distant memory in the back of his mind. “Was her father Charlie Brooks?”

  “Yeah, he died around five years ago. Heart attack, I think.”

  Kir had a vivid image of his father returning home late one night with a bloody lip and a grim expression. He preferred to arrest his fellow citizens of Pike without using his weapon, which meant that more than once he was injured during the takedown.

  “I remember Dad arresting him after he tried to burn down the gas station,” he revealed. “They’d fired him for stealing or something and he decided to torch the place.”

  “Yeah.” Rita released a sharp crack of laughter. “He was friends with my husband. Both losers who used their fists instead of their brains.”

  Kir tapped the end of his finger on the table. “That leaves Ms. Randall.”

  “No one had anything to do with her,” Rita muttered, then her eyes widened as if she had a sudden inspiration. “Well, except the night Rudolf got confused walking home and tried to get into her house. Most people in town just took him to his house, but not that old bat.” She hissed in disgust. “She called the sheriff and told them there was a crazed rapist trying to break in. Can you imagine?”

  Unfortunately, Kir could imagine it all too easily. There’d been more occasions than he wanted to remember when he’d been awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of knocking. By the time he climbed out of his bed and headed downstairs he would find his father propped against the front door, too drunk to know where he was.

  “Was he arrested?” Kir demanded.

  Belatedly realizing that Kir didn’t find Rudolf ’s antics as funny as she did, Rita glanced away. “I don’t think so.” She lifted her hand. “Cherry. Another round.”

  “None for us,” Kir said, turning toward Lynne, who instantly slid out of her seat. He was swiftly standing beside her.

  “You’re not leaving?” Rita protested.

  Kir forced a smile to his lips. He’d had enough of the dark, choking atmosphere of the bar. It held too many old memories that had driven him from Pike. This wasn’t how he wanted to think of his father. Not anymore. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Maybe you should let us take you home.”

  Rita grabbed the still full bottle, shaking her head. “I can walk. It’s not that far.”

  “There’ve already been three people dead, Rita,” Kir reminded her in firm tones that should penetrate her thickening haze. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”

  Rita took a defiant drink. “Four people.”

  Kir blinked. Did this woman know something he didn’t? “Four?”

  “The three murdered women and your poor father.”

  Her words sent a weird chill through Kir. He’d come here hoping for a connection between the women and his father and Rita had just given it to him.

  They were all dead.

  With a grimace he shoved away the bleak thought. He needed to get out of there. “If you won’t go with us, then have Cherry take you home, okay?”

  “You got it.” Rita offered a mock salute.

  * * *

  Lynne flipped on the living room light before she closed and locked the front door. With a loud bark King came galloping out of the kitchen to circle her in wild abandon. He grabbed the tip of her glove, careful not to catch her finger before he tugged it off and gave it a good shake. Next he did more enthusiastic circles around Kir, groaning in bliss when he reached to rub a tender spot behind his ear. At last satisfied he’d offered them a proper greeting, the huge dog flopped on the floor and closed his eyes.

  A wry smile curved Lynne’s mouth. She felt fairly confident that no intruder had dared to enter the house while King was there. He might be friendly enough with her and Kir, but he would intimidate anyone trying to break in.

  Next to her, Kir absently pulled off his coat and boots before he moved to stand in the middle of the room. He’d barely spoken during the short drive to her house, and now he appeared lost in thought.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, slipping off her jacket and hanging it on the hook next to the door.

  Kir’s jaw clenched. “I hate those places.”

  “The Bait and Tackle?”

  “Cheap bars filled with broken people.”

  “Oh.” Lynne silently chastised her insensitivity. How could she have been so blind? She’d been so wrapped up in her own toxic relationship with Nash and the bar that she’d overlooked how difficult it had to be for Kir to revisit a place where his father had no doubt spent endless hours drinking. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to be back in Pike.”

  He paused, his hand lifting to press against the center of his chest. As if his heart hurt. “Yes, but I’m beginning to realize that I put off my return way too long.”

  Lynne frowned. She was accustomed to being with Nash. A man who readily blamed everyone and everything for his failures. Kir was just the opposite. He was too hard on himself.

  “You couldn’t suspect that your father was going to have such a tragic accident,” she reminded him.

  Kir shook his head. “It’s more than that. I assumed that running from my father’s self-destruction would keep me from being sucked into his spiraling darkness.”

  “It was the only thing you could do.”

  He nodded. “I needed distance, but I regret allowing the bad memories to overshadow the good ones. When I was little my dad was a superhero to me. He was strong, loyal, loving. Everything a boy could want in his father.” He continued to rub the center of his chest, his voice raw with the wounds that had never healed. “Then he revealed that he had feet of clay and I couldn’t forgive him. No matter how much I loved him, there was a part of me that always resented what he stole from me.” He clicked his tongue. “Selfish.”

  “No, just human.” Not giving herself time to consider her impulsive need to comfort Kir, she crossed the floor to wrap her arms around his waist. Then,
laying her head against his chest, she sucked in the warm, citrusy scent of his soap. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  He stiffened, as if she’d managed to shock him with her impulsive hug. Honestly, she’d shocked herself. Then, slowly he relaxed.

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t think you’re beating yourself up because your father wasn’t perfect, but because you weren’t,” she murmured. “You’re afraid you failed as a son.”

  She heard his heart miss a beat, as if her words had touched a nerve. Had she gone too far? He was, after all, grieving Rudolf ’s death.

  Then she felt his arms wrap around her and his lips brush the top of her head. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  She nestled closer. It felt good to be cocooned against him. Safe. “I spent my childhood convinced that my mom left because she didn’t want a child. I knew that if I hadn’t been born, she’d still be here. And my father wouldn’t have been so sad.”

  His arms tightened around her. “And now?”

  “Now I try to accept that I’m responsible for my own decisions and actions,” she told him, her sense of comfort being slowly replaced by a potent awareness. His muscles were deliciously hard as she pressed against them and his citrusy scent was causing her blood to tingle in all the right places. “I can’t control other people,” she forced herself to continue. “They have to do what they have to do.”

  His hand lightly skimmed up her side. Lynne trembled as his fingers tunneled beneath her hair that tumbled over her shoulders. She’d taken it out of her usual ponytail before Kir had arrived at the clinic to pick her up for dinner. She’d also dug through her purse to find the old tube of lipstick she hadn’t used in months.

  She hadn’t asked herself why she was going to such trouble. It wasn’t like Bella’s restaurant was fancy. Just the opposite. Now she knew why. His fingers cupped her nape. Another shiver raced through her body.

  “Does that work?”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Sometimes.”

  His mouth brushed the top of her head. “Sometimes is a start.”

  Lynne tilted back her head to meet his smoldering gaze. She’d heard about a passionate haze, although she’d never actually experienced it. This, however, was just the opposite.

  Oh, there was passion. It churned through her as if it was about to explode. But there was no haze. Instead she was acutely aware of the world around her. As if her senses had all been dialed to hyperdrive.

  She was vibrantly conscious of the heat of his fingertips as they pressed against the bare skin of her throat. The accelerating beat of her heart that made her breath quicken. The rush of blood that seared away the lingering chill.

  It all combined to offer a sense of magical anticipation.

  Even the warm, familiar scent of her home and the faint snoring of King added to the sensation that this was a rare and precious moment.

  “It is,” she managed to croak.

  She reached up, pulling down his head to claim his lips in a kiss that scorched her to the tips of her toes. They curled in her boots.

  There were kisses, and then there were soul-destroying kisses. This was one of those soul-destroying ones.

  Lynne leaned heavily against his body, her hands burrowing beneath his sweater to skim up his back. He was so warm. Fascinated by the contrast of his hot, silken skin stretched over rock-hard muscles, she inched her hands up to his broad shoulders.

  Kir moaned, using the tip of his tongue to widen her lips so he could deepen the kiss. He tasted of the wine they’d shared at the restaurant, and something else. Need.

  Pure male need.

  The taste sent her stomach somersaulting, like when she was twelve and she finally worked up the nerve to ride her first roller coaster. It’d been terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

  Just like this.

  Wanting more, she grabbed the hem of his sweater and with an eager lack of skill wiggled it over his head. She tossed it aside, studying the expanse of his chest lightly dusted with golden hair. It was just as perfect as she’d expected. As if it’d been chiseled by an artist.

  Not even trying to resist temptation, she reached to trace the angles and planes of his torso. He sucked in a sharp breath, gazing down at her with raw eyes.

  “This is just a start.”

  Lynne’s mouth went dry. “A start to what?”

  A wickedly charming smile curved his lips. “If I say ‘heaven’ would that be too corny?”

  It was corny. Just like the butterflies in the pit of her stomach were corny. And the way her heart pounded so hard it was hard to breathe. And the sensation her bones were melting as a delicious heat poured through her.

  “I’m beginning to think I like corny.”

  His smile widened as he bent down to hook his arm behind the back of her knees. His other arm braced her shoulders as he swept her off her feet and headed across the living room.

  King lifted his head to watch them leave with a sleepy contentment.

  Chapter 18

  Kir carried Lynne to her room with a sense of . . . He wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling. Hunger. Anticipation. And absolute amazement at just how right it was to hold this woman in his arms.

  After lowering her to the bed with the same care he would give to his most prized possession, Kir perched on the edge of the mattress. It was dark in the room and he reached to flip on the lamp on the nightstand. A soft pool of light spread over her face, revealing the vulnerable need in the depths of her eyes.

  His heart skipped with a fierce determination.

  This woman was so strong on the outside, but she’d been hurt and betrayed by Nash. He wanted her to be one hundred percent certain she could trust him.

  “This was the last thing I expected when I returned to Pike,” he told her, slipping off her boots.

  A shaky smile curved her lips. “Yeah, it wasn’t what I was expecting either.”

  Still holding her gaze, he reached for the waistband of her pants. With a practiced ease he had them unzipped and gently tugged down her legs. “When I saw you at the funeral, I felt relieved,” he said, allowing his fingers to stroke over the bare skin of her thighs. Not surprisingly, they were tight with muscles. Her work as a vet meant she was in peak physical condition. It was sexy as hell. His cock reacted with immediate appreciation.

  She shivered, her lips parting with an unconscious invitation. “Why relieved?”

  His fingers skimmed over her hips, tracing the low line of her satin panties. “You reminded me that even though my dad was gone I wasn’t alone.” He hooked his thumbs under the elastic and slid the underwear down so he could toss them aside. A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest as he absorbed the sight of her ivory body contrasted against the dark cover beneath her. He liked the sensation of unveiling her beauty, piece by piece. Or rather, garment by garment. Like constructing a sensual puzzle. “That’s why I was so anxious to see you again.”

  Her breath hissed between her teeth. “So you wouldn’t be alone?”

  Nodding, he lowered his head to press a soft kiss to her lips. At the same time, he grabbed the bottom of her sweater. “And to discover if the spark that ignited inside me was real or a figment of my grief.”

  “What did you decide?”

  He peeled the sweater over her head, his body clenching with a fierce hunger as he caught sight of the frilly bra. She was so sensible, so ruthlessly down-to-earth. The sight of that naughty bit of lace was a thrilling surprise. As if she’d revealed a hidden part of her . . . a part she never shared with anyone.

  One he desperately hoped she would never again share with anyone but him.

  The dangerous thought floated through the back of his mind as he unhooked the bra and allowed it to float away. Then, with oddly shaky hands, he yanked off the remainder of his clothes. He was trying to take this slow. He wanted to savor every second of his time with this woman. But his body was hard and aching with a pounding need to possess her
.

  “You tell me if the spark is real or not,” he rasped, pulling a condom out of his wallet and setting it on the nightstand.

  Catching him off guard, Lynne reached to wrap her fingers around his straining erection. Kir bit back a curse as pleasure blasted through him. Her touch was hesitant and slow. Painfully, gloriously slow as she pulled her fingers back to the tip of his cock.

  “It looks real,” she teased.

  Kir arched his back, relishing the stroke of her fingers until a familiar pressure built at the base of his arousal. He was about to embarrass himself. Gently pulling her hand away, Kir lowered himself to the mattress, stretching out beside her.

  “I’m hoping you have a few sparks of your own happening,” he murmured, pressing their naked bodies together. The friction created a velvet heat that vibrated between them as Kir tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her with a blatant hunger. He moaned as the taste of her hit his tongue. Sweet, feminine temptation. Intoxicating.

  Time drifted past, as slow and lazy as the snow falling outside as Kir explored Lynne’s slender body. First with his fingers and then with his lips. He discovered that kissing the arch of her foot made her giggle, and that there was a tender spot on her inner thigh that made her sigh in pleasure. He absorbed the scent of her soap that clung to her skin and the plush softness of her breasts.

  At last raising his head, he gazed down at her face, which was flushed with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. His heart contracted, squeezed by an emotion that felt too big to fit inside him. “Are you sparking yet?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting her head off the pillow to nibble a path of kisses down his jaw. “Do I really have to say it?”

  “Yes, please,” he rasped.

  She framed his face in her hands, her eyes dark and mysterious in the soft light. “I didn’t think I could be on fire when the temperature is below zero outside.”

  Smug pleasure blasted through him. “I want you drowning in flames before the night is over.”

  Her lips twitched. “Has anyone told you that you’re overly ambitious?”