by Karen Rose
Hands shaking, he yanked at the button on his jeans, carefully pulling down the zipper before shoving the jeans off and kicking them away. Then he was on her again, his hands in her hair, his mouth eating at hers, his cock nudging at her entrance.
Mine. Stefania. Her given name she never used, the one he’d called her only once before. To her face anyway. In his fantasies he murmured it over and over as he moved inside her. As he told her that he loved her. Because in his fantasies, she’d said the words, too.
Now . . . this was no fantasy. She was real. She was here. She was his. Mine. He shifted, positioning himself to come home. Home. Mine.
She tore her mouth away, her eyes wide, blinking. ‘Clay, wait.’
He jerked back as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘What?’
‘Do you have protection?’ she asked fiercely. Desperately.
‘Shit. I’ve been tested,’ he said, hearing his own desperation.
‘And I’ve been celibate for eight years,’ she shot back. ‘But I’m not on the Pill.’
Part of him thrilled at the idea of Stevie pregnant. With my child. But he was getting too far ahead of himself.
Just need to get inside her. Now. He cursed again, hoping like hell he’d left a few condoms in the drawer from the last time he’d had a woman in this bed too many years ago, his shoulders sagging in relief when his fingers encountered several slippery foil packets. A glance at the fine print set his heart back to beating. ‘Not expired. We’re good.’
‘Thank God. I thought we were going to have to stop before I was all caught up.’
Clay dealt with the condom, then returned his attention to her mouth, licking the imprints her teeth had left in her lower lip, making her shiver. ‘Not a chance.’ He reached between them, making sure she was ready. ‘I’ve waited too long for you. I’m not stopping anytime soon.’
‘Good to know.’ She hummed low in her throat when he touched her, found her wet as before. ‘It’s been such a long time. It might take a while to refill the tank. Oh my God.’ Her nails dug into his shoulders when he ground his cock against her, giving her a moment to get used to the feel of him before he plunged deep inside. ‘But I’m sure you’re up to the task.’
It took a second for her words to filter through his sex-fogged brain, but when they did, he froze. ‘What? What did you say?’
She blinked. ‘Why did you stop?’
‘What did you say?’
Stevie opened her mouth, closed it. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember. That it had been a long time? You knew that. You knew I hadn’t been with anyone since Paul.’
Confusion had filled her eyes and Clay felt like a heel. But he had to know. ‘Not that. You said something about a tank.’ But it was Lou’s voice in his mind, as loud and inescapable as a church bell. You deserve a lifetime. Not someone out to top off her tank.
Confusion gave way to apprehension. ‘I think I said that it would take a while to refill my tank. That wasn’t supposed to make you so mad. What’s wrong with you?’
He pushed up on his arms, flexing his shoulders to dislodge her nails. Hurt flickered through her eyes, but he had to know. ‘Why are you here, Stevie? With me, right now?’
Her apprehension became annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of sarcasm. ‘Well, hell, Clay, let’s just analyze this situation. We’re in bed. I’m naked. You’re naked and on top of me, wearing a condom. By Jove, Sherlock, I think this means I’m here to have sex with you. What the fuck is wrong with you?’
You deserve a lifetime. As obnoxious as Lou had been, she’d been right. ‘And after that?’
‘After the sex? I don’t know. We go back to your father’s house and pretend we weren’t in his boat fucking like teenaged weasels? What do you want me to say?’
That you love me. But she wouldn’t. Too late he considered the way she’d agreed to all this to begin with. She’d been grim. Like he was making her walk the plank or something. Clay closed his eyes. ‘This is a mistake.’
He pushed himself off the bed. Off her. She didn’t move, just lay there staring up at him, legs still spread, her mouth slightly open in shock. When he started to walk away, she snapped into action, rearing up to grab his arm, her fury suddenly blazing.
‘Oh, no. You don’t get to walk away from this, pal. You pushed me. Bullied me. Made me fucking cry.’ Contempt dripped from the word and he understood she was angry that he’d made her lose control, not that he’d hurt her feelings.
God forbid that she’d feel anything, he thought bitterly.
‘“What do you feel, Stevie? What do you feel?”’ she was mimicking in a low voice. ‘Until you finally manipulated me into admitting that I want you. Then you drag me off to bed like you’re on fire, give me a very nice orgasm, thank you very much, and then you . . . what? Go bat-shit crazy on me? Are you some kind of lunatic?’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Just a very foolish man who wanted something so much that he convinced himself he’d heard what he wanted to hear. You were right from the beginning. This can never work.’
She sucked in her cheeks. Dropped her gaze deliberately. ‘Then I think you need to have a firm conversation with Mr Happy. Because he still thinks he wants me.’
Clay’s face heated. He didn’t have to look down to know his cock still stood at attention. ‘A cold shower should remedy that. If you’ll wait for me, I’ll help you back to the house.’
Without waiting for a reply, he carefully pried her fingers from his arm and went into the small head, locking the door behind him.
Sunday, March 16, 12.20 P.M.
Lunatic. The man is a freaking lunatic. Certifiably insane.
Stevie launched herself from the boat’s deck to the dock backward, ending up on her butt. It wasn’t graceful, but safer than trusting her legs. Either of them. They were both trembling.
She was trembling all over. For a few minutes there . . . God. She’d felt so . . . normal. Alive. She hadn’t even known what she was saying, but he’d obviously been in enough control to listen. And confabulate whatever delusion he’d come up with. The man was a lunatic.
And you’re a fool, Stevie. A goddamn fool.
Gripping her cane, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and struggled to her feet. Checked her phone. She’d been out here for over two hours total. And now she couldn’t even remember what she’d been about to do.
You were about to have sex.
Before that, she thought sourly. Before she’d been stupid enough to touch his face in the first place. She started to walk, her eyes on the end of the dock. Every step toward the house was a step farther away from the crazy man. Who’d made her feel so damn good.
Think, Mazzetti. Tony Rossi, scumbag, shot by JD after he’d killed a cop and kept shooting, thinking he was killing Cordelia. Okay. That was the bucket of cold water she’d needed.
Protect your child. Then hate Clay Maynard.
Phone call with Danny Kersey. Framing of Richard Steel for the murder of that girl . . . Tracy Gardner. Best suspect, her boyfriend. She frowned. Eddie Ginsberg. Now it was coming back.
Scott Culp. Her eyes narrowed. Rossi’s partner in crime. Now a member of IA. He leaked the location of her safe house to Rossi. She was sure of it. Now she just needed to prove it.
She paused at the end of the dock. The plywood path Tanner had laid that morning was now covered with a thin layer of slippery sand. Concentrating, she took careful steps as she crossed the beach. Falling now would deal her pride a killing blow.
She let herself through the gate and found herself staring at the swing on the back porch. Clay had held her there last night. Let her cry.
I’m done crying. She forced herself to sit in the swing. It’s time to be a cop again, Stevie.
She dialed JD, relieved when he picked up on the first ring.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Hell, no. I’m nowhere close to all right. ‘I’m okay. I’ve got something for you.’
She told him about the phone call to Ke
rsey. When she got to Culp, JD whistled.
‘Culp’s IA,’ he said. ‘He reports straight to the top guy.’
‘Yeah, I know. Kersey said Culp and Rossi had something going on years ago. Something that allowed Rossi to carry a wad of cash around.’
‘If we pick Culp up, he’ll just deny it.’
‘I know. Can you do me a favor?’
‘Name it.’
‘Can you track Culp down, make sure he doesn’t skip town?’ If he already hadn’t. If he skipped while I was wasting time with Clay, I’ll . . . She exhaled, reining her temper in. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. ‘I want to talk to him. I want to see his reaction when he sees me. I’m coming back into town. Just let me know where to meet you.’
‘What about Hyatt?’ JD asked hesitantly. ‘Do we tell him or not? Your call.’
Stevie bit her lip. ‘How about calling Hyatt, but after you get to Culp’s house? If Culp tries to escape after you’ve called Hyatt, then we’ll know we’ve got more trouble than we thought.’
‘That makes sense. I can do that. What about Cordelia?’
‘I’ll leave her here with Tanner and Emma. She’s safe here for now and we have a plan to move her to another secure location if this one is compromised.’ She didn’t plan to toss the baby out with the bath water. She was angry with Clay Maynard, but his plan seemed solid. ‘I’ll drive myself back to the city and meet you at Culp’s.’
‘What about Clay?’ JD asked quietly.
‘He’s a big boy,’ she snapped. ‘He can find his own way home.’
A beat of silence. ‘Okay. Call me when you’re close to the city. Do me a favor?’
‘Name it.’ Unless he asked about Clay.
‘Take Joseph’s Escalade. I don’t want any more bullets hitting you.’
‘That makes two of us.’ Stevie hung up, then looked over her shoulder when the door to the house opened. Emma came out, looking elegant in wool slacks, a silk blouse, and a soft scarf artfully draped around her neck. ‘I’m glad to see you, Em.’
‘Yes, you are. You have no idea how much.’ Emma unwound the scarf from her neck and rewound it around Stevie’s. She gave it an upward tug. ‘There. That’ll do.’
‘It doesn’t go with my Hanes ensemb,’ Stevie deadpanned. ‘Clashes with my tee.’
‘Yeah. But it covers the hickey on your neck long enough for you to get past your seven-year-old who’s on the other side of this wall.’
Stevie’s eyes widened, her hand slapping against her neck. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
Emma gave her an exasperated look. ‘Like you didn’t know? Were you asleep at the time?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Goddamn that man. How did you know?’
‘I saw it,’ Emma hedged. ‘When you were on the dock.’
Stevie scowled. ‘Unless you were spying on me with binoculars, you are kidding me now.’
‘I had binoculars, but I was looking at birds!’ she added defensively when Stevie swore.
‘Does Tanner know?’ Stevie asked darkly.
‘Who do you think gave me the binoculars? But Cordelia doesn’t know. He distracted her with the puppies.’
‘At least there’s that. Please, God, let me have packed a turtleneck.’
‘You can borrow one of mine if you didn’t. Where are you going?’ she asked when Stevie got up from the swing.
‘To change my clothes, then back to Baltimore. I have a lead.’
Sunday, March 16, 12.20 P.M.
The cold shower hadn’t helped. And it had been cold. Clay stared down at his erection with contempt. What was it about him that was determined to chase women who didn’t want him?
Stevie wasn’t the first. Lou hadn’t even been the first, although he wasn’t sure she deserved to be lumped in with the other two. The first had been the worst, or so he’d always believed. No other way to go but up. Or so he’d always believed.
His ex-wife had been a spoiled, pampered daddy’s girl who Clay had truly believed would grow up eventually. He’d been wrong on so many levels. And lives had been ruined.
There had been women in between. Not a horde, but he’d had his share. Nice, pretty, smart women. Women who’d wanted him. He’d tried not to lead any of them on. Had tried not to break their hearts. He remembered all of their names. All of their faces.
He gave the wastebasket sitting outside the shower a perplexed look. He didn’t have any idea which of them had left the condoms in the drawer, though. He couldn’t think of a single former lover who’d carried chocolate-flavored condoms, but that’s what he’d peeled off himself.
Maybe he hadn’t been as considerate a partner as he’d thought, because that seemed like something he should remember. He only hoped he’d ended all of the relationships with the consideration they deserved. He prayed that none of the women he’d brought to his bed in the past had left feeling like he did right now.
All I ever wanted was a goddamn family, he thought wearily. People married, raised families every day, all over the world. Why was it so hard for him?
When he’d met Stevie, he’d . . . known she was the one he’d waited for. No lightning bolts, no bells. Just a sense of rightness that had sustained him for two long years. She’d been the first one he’d ever truly wanted. God help him, he’d prayed so hard that she’d want him back.
Didn’t look like God was on his side in this one.
Shoulda taken her when you had the chance. He’d been so close. And she’d been willing. No, not willing. More like furiously resigned. Are you satisfied now?
No, and it didn’t look like he would be. You should have just done it. And when he’d finished inside her? Knowing all it had meant to her was the scratching of an itch, a rain shower to end a ‘dry spell’, when for him it had been something far more? He would have felt cheated.
Dirty, even. Yeah, but at least you wouldn’t be in pain because your damn balls are blue.
He glared at his palm, knowing he was going to have to finish himself off before he went anywhere. Partly because he didn’t want his dad or anyone else making smart remarks about the steel rod in his pants. But mostly because he needed to concentrate. Needed to eliminate the threats in her life so that she could be free from danger.
And free from me. The further away from her that he got, the faster his life would get back to normal. Whatever the hell ‘normal’ was.
Grimacing, he gripped his cock and pumped. Until his fingers cramped and his flesh felt raw. Nothing. Nada. No relief. Frustrated, he dragged his hands down his face and—
He stopped mid-drag. He could smell her on his hands. Goddammit. Feeling like a perverted fool, he slipped his fingers into his mouth. And tasted her. Instantly his mind filled with the image of her coming, body arched, firm breasts flushed, lip trapped between her teeth.
The back of his head slammed into the shower wall, his body going taut as a strung bow as the orgasm shattered him. When he was finally spent, he picked up the bar of soap and lathered himself, rinsing his body with mechanical efficiency. Watched as the suds carried the evidence of his obsession down the drain.
He shut off the water, hollow inside. And more alone than he’d ever been in his life.
He carefully combed his wet hair, staring at his face in the mirror. The man who stared back was a stranger with eyes so bleak that Clay felt tired just looking at him.
He had to get Stevie Mazzetti out of his system somehow. Or she’d end up killing him.
Baltimore, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 12.20 P.M.
Robinette was not impressed. He’d come all prepared to flex his B&E muscles only to find the side door into Maynard’s garage unlocked. As was the door into the laundry.
I sure wouldn’t hire him to do my security. It just proved what he’d always known – the biggest weaknesses in the security of any organization were the humans who lived and worked in it. The fanciest alarm system on the planet could be neutralized if one employee blocked open a back door to make taki
ng his smoking breaks easier. Or simply forgot to lock the door.
Keeping his head down, Robinette slid the baseball cap from his head, hiding his features with the brim as he tugged the ski mask to cover his face, all in one motion. No use in taking chances. Even if Maynard had forgotten to lock his door, he might have cameras.
Get in fast, get out faster. Robinette entered the living room from the laundry and turned in a slow circle, taking in the floor plan, the shelves, the china cabinet on the far wall. If Mazzetti was nothing more than a client, the file listing the location in which Maynard had hidden her would probably have been kept in the man’s office. But Robinette had watched the film of that December shooting more than once. He’d watched the desperation on Maynard’s face while performing first aid on the detective.
Maynard was in love with her, which made him choose to start here versus his office. Maynard wouldn’t chance hiding Mazzetti just anywhere. It would be special. Extra-safe.
Robinette’s glance into Maynard’s kitchen confirmed his conclusion. On the fridge was a crayon drawing, torn in half, but fixed with magnets so that the halves came together. The signature scrawled in a childish hand was Cordelia Mazzetti’s. Maynard displayed the child’s artwork on his fridge. A man didn’t get much more besotted than that.
The place Maynard had chosen to hide mother and daughter would be personal, just like the relationship. After giving the walls a quick check for a built-in safe, Robinette searched the closets and the cabinets for a strong box, a stack of file folders, any pile of papers that might hold property deeds or rental agreements.
And found nothing. Except that someone had already been here looking. The cushions of the sofa in the living room had been slashed, stuffing everywhere. The contents of the desk in Maynard’s bedroom had been dumped on the carpet, the contents of every closet strewn. Books had been tumbled off shelves, clothing tossed from the drawers, the mattress pulled from the bed and slashed. Foam littered the floor. The box springs had been slashed as well. Pictures had been pulled from the walls, glass broken, photos pulled out and left where they’d fallen.
The chaos was orderly, methodical. Robinette recognized the technique.
