Closer Than You Think

by Karen Rose

  ‘Unlike the R movies, bars and cigarettes your uncle exposed you to,’ Novak said dryly.

  ‘Oh, she never found out about any of that stuff. I would have been grounded for the rest of my life. Jordan never told because he would have been in even more trouble for corrupting me.’

  Faith put everything back in the safe except one of the guns. She popped the magazine, reloaded and flipped the safety. She looked up to see Novak watching her every move. ‘I’m not giving this to you. I won’t be defenseless.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you to. I was making sure you really knew what you were doing.’

  She lifted her brows. ‘Did I pass?’

  ‘I’d still like to see you shoot, but yeah. You seem to know your way around a firearm.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She set the gun aside and returned to the sitting area, where she opened a box marked DRAPES and scooped out the pretty yellow curtains Lily had made for her apartment. ‘Everything’s here. My laptop and Xbox don’t fit in the safe, so I hid them under my curtains. Most hotel employees are honest, but there’s no point tempting fate.’

  A beat of silence. ‘You collect comics and you’re a gamer. Really?’

  A delighted grin had transformed his face, making him look young. Light-hearted, even.

  It made her smile back, which made him dangerous. The black-leather-clad, larger-than-life Novak had captured her imagination. The Novak who cared about the victims had won her trust. But the Novak standing in front her now could easily steal her heart.

  ‘Since I was a kid,’ she told him. ‘You too, I take it?’

  ‘Of course.’ He picked up the game she’d played last night after the nightmare had robbed her of sleep. ‘You were killing those poor defenseless zombies?’

  ‘With unadulterated glee.’

  His laugh warmed her down to her toes. ‘Me too. I have that same game. And this one, and these too,’ he said as he looked through the other games in the box. But his brows lifted in surprise at Prison Escape. ‘Not this one, though. Have you played it yet?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘I finished it. Twice.’

  He blinked. ‘Oh. Then I guess I don’t need to warn you about the graphic violence.’

  ‘I find killing hardcore felons therapeutic. Especially after the sessions with the offenders.’

  His eyes hardened. ‘Like Combs.’

  ‘And all the others like him.’ She forced a smile. ‘But if it makes you feel better, last night I only killed zombies, a few aliens and a horde of marauding Mongol warriors. It took me all night, but Genghis Khan and his crew will think twice before terrorizing Europe again.’

  ‘You played all night? Why? Were you that afraid that Combs would find you?’

  ‘Well, yes, but that’s not what had me up,’ she said, busying herself with removing the soiled bandages from her hands. ‘I had a nightmare.’

  ‘About Combs?’

  ‘No.’ Tossing the bandages in the trash, she washed her hands at the kitchen sink, scrubbing until she winced. No blood this time, she told herself. There’s no blood on your hands.

  He followed her into the kitchen, giving his bruised shoulder an unconscious roll, which reminded Faith why he’d come to her room. She took the ice tray from the freezer and cracked the ice into a plastic shopping bag she found under the sink.

  ‘What did you dream last night, Faith?’

  The same thing she’d dreamed for twenty-three years. Twelve steps and a basement. She wanted to answer him, to tell him about the nightmare, but the words simply would not come.

  ‘Put this bag of ice on your shoulder. It will help with the bruising.’ She focused on filling the ice tray with water, the task made difficult given the way her hands were shaking.

  ‘Let me do that,’ he said, so gently that it made her eyes sting. Reaching around her, he took the ice tray from her hands, filled it, set it aside. He didn’t move, didn’t step away. Didn’t touch her. He just stood at her back, warm and steady. Calming her with his presence. The seconds became a minute. One minute stretched into several, and still he said nothing. Did nothing. And slowly the realization seeped in that for the very first time in her memory, she didn’t feel so utterly and terrifyingly alone.

  ‘Deacon,’ she whispered, because she didn’t know what else to say.

  He moved then, as if he’d been awaiting her permission, leaning closer until his nose brushed her hair. He inhaled deeply, sending everything within her liquid with longing.

  She let her head fall back until it rested on his uninjured shoulder, closing her eyes. Wishing he’d touch her. Needing him to.

  His hands slid up her arms, covering her shoulders, pulling the rest of her body fully against him. ‘Don’t cry, Faith,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Please.’

  She touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet. ‘It’s just . . . nice to be held. Thank you.’

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, the only warning before he turned her around and wrapped his arms around her. One of his hands threaded through her hair, cradling her head against his shoulder. The other hand rubbed her back in long, slow strokes.

  Feeling safe, cared for. Being held. Things that so many took for granted. Faith knew how rare they were. Having them now, from this man . . . She’d kept the events of the day boxed in, compartmentalized. It was how she’d coped her whole life. But now the walls crumbled, and the grief and fear from the day and, all the days that had come before, welled up with the force of a flash flood until she was sobbing harder than she had in the police station.

  ‘Sshh,’ he murmured. ‘You’re here. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.’

  Maybe you should let him. Maybe he’ll stop once I’m gone.

  No. She immediately smacked the notion down. Combs wouldn’t stop once she was dead. He’d go on, hurting other people, more young women like Arianna and Corinne. Like his own stepdaughter and her friend. Like Gordon. And he wouldn’t care. Good people’s lives would be ruined and the bastard would not care.

  ‘All those people,’ she whispered into Novak’s chest. ‘He’s killed so many innocent people. How can I live with that, Deacon? How can I make this right?’

  He tugged on her hair gently, urging her to look up at him. He wiped her tears with his fingers. ‘You’re innocent too,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t you ever forget that.’

  ‘Would that mother in Miami think so? Could I honestly have expected her to?’

  ‘You can’t think like that,’ he said, his voice husky.

  ‘How do I not think it, Deacon? How do you stop from thinking about it?’

  He said nothing for a long moment, his eyes locking with hers. Then he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, so gently. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her temple, then returned to her mouth for another kiss, harder this time, but still careful.

  ‘Like that,’ he murmured, his mouth curving ever so slightly. ‘Just like that.’

  She stared up at him, stunned. Then, like the lash of a whip, the need rose as swiftly as the grief had done. Clutching handfuls of his jacket, she pulled him down as she lifted on her toes to kiss him back. Hard.

  He made a low sound of approval and took over, taking it deeper, angling her head to perfect their fit. This was no pity kiss, she thought. His heart was beating so hard she could feel it. Or maybe it was her own heart. It didn’t matter. She let herself go and enjoyed being kissed by a beautiful man who totally knew what he was doing.

  She slid her hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt and wanting more. He felt good. So, so good. She wanted the shirt gone. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to know if the rest of his skin was as tanned as his face.

  He ended it too soon, dragging a protest from her lips as he pulled back far enough to search her face. His cheeks were dark, his mouth wet. But it was his eyes that grabbed her, always his eyes. They glittered like gems. Aroused, yet contained. Watchful.

  He was waiting for h
er to make the next move. She wasn’t sure what that should be.

  She lifted a tentative hand, feathering her fingertips along his eyebrows, so white they leapt from his bronzed skin and so bright they made the blue and brown of each iris seem even more brilliant. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,’ she whispered.

  His eyes flashed, making her shiver in anticipation as his mouth came down on hers again, voracious this time. His hands tunneled into her hair as he backed her into the counter, his hips pressing against her insistently, dragging another moan from her throat.

  The hard ridge that had felt so good against her behind when they’d crawled across the lobby floor felt even better now. Bigger. Impossibly harder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted higher on her toes, trying to position his erection where it would do some good.

  His sudden hiss of pain had her freezing, and too late she remembered his shoulder – the very reason he was in her room. She dropped from her toes, pulling her arms from around his neck. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry, Deacon. I’m sor—’

  His mouth swallowed the apology, this kiss soft and tender. ‘I’m not. I’m not sorry at all.’ He was breathing hard. Trembling as he released his hold. She’d made this strong man tremble. But she didn’t have more than a second to bask in the knowledge before he hissed again.

  ‘What the . . .’ He glared at the blood that covered his palm, then gently brushed the hair from her forehead. ‘Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you? Why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘You didn’t hurt me. Not just now, anyway. That happened when you tackled me – which saved my life. I thought I’d taken care of it downstairs.’ Dabbing her head with a tissue, she stepped aside so that he could wash her blood from his hand.

  ‘I need to take you back to the ER.’

  She wanted to say yes. She wanted to hide in the ER, or anywhere in the world that wasn’t the house. But that was cowardly. And selfish.

  Selfish. Guilt smacked her like a brick. She’d distracted Novak when he needed to be looking for Corinne, just like Kimble had said she would. If that missing girl dies, you’ll break him. And not just professionally. ‘Take me to the house first. Corinne is running out of time.’

  He studied her face, then nodded grimly. ‘Change your clothes. But hurry.’

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 4.45 A.M.

  He powered down his computer, satisfied. Novak hadn’t been hard to find at all. The man attracted media attention everywhere he went. He’d already been covered in the Cincinnati papers four times, even though he’d only transferred from Baltimore a month ago. Coverage in Baltimore was even more extensive.

  Novak had been part of a joint task force there, just like he was here. He appeared to be something of a wunderkind, with degrees in chemistry, psychology and computer science. He’d been pre-med in college, accepted to med school, but turned them down for a career with the FBI.

  It had been so kind of him to do a Q&A session with the kids at that Baltimore high school on career day. It had been even kinder for the teacher of those eleventh-graders to post their summaries of Novak’s visit online.

  But what he’d learned from all that was that Novak wouldn’t be easy prey. He was pretty damn smart, which was all the better. He’d always loved to take the geniuses down a few pegs. Novak, of course, would go down more than just a few pegs. He hadn’t been very smart about keeping a low profile personally. He’d bought a house recently, in his own name.

  He was ridiculously easy to find. And if he didn’t go to his new house any time soon, that wasn’t a problem either. Because he had a sister. Dr Danika Novak was an ER doctor right here in town. How sweet. Doctors were notoriously careless about their own safety, forgetting everything and everyone around them when they were saving a life. He imagined Novak’s sister wouldn’t be an exception.

  And if the hospital had security, she also volunteered at The Meadow, a haven for the homeless. I can look homeless. I can look wounded. He took a long look at the photo he’d pulled up of Danika Novak. She was pretty, also in a comic book hero kind of way. He imagined Agent Novak could be convinced to trade Faith for his beautiful sister, if it came to that.

  But the first order of business was to silence Faith before she returned to the house. She would tell them things he did not want them to know. If the cops continued to believe he’d only kept Arianna and Corinne there, they’d collect their evidence and go away. But if Faith remembered how things had once been . . .

  They’d start digging. And that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mt Carmel, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 5.15 A.M.

  In a generally foul frame of mind, Deacon parked his loaner sedan in front of the O’Bannion house. Faith had said little since they’d left her hotel, looking more fragile with every mile they drove. Now she stared out the window at the big house, her eyes huge in her pale face.

  Deacon muttered a curse, hating that she had to face a nightmare that had haunted her for twenty-three years. But hating himself more. I should have kept my hands to myself. He’d known she was vulnerable. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

  She’d been so soft. Fit him so perfectly. Made those little greedy sounds that had made him want to take her right there in her kitchen. Bishop had been right. It was too much, too soon. He needed to put Faith’s kissable mouth out of his mind and concentrate on finding out what it was about this house that made Combs keep trying to kill her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and she nodded once.

  ‘It’s just a house. I keep telling myself that.’ She unbuckled her seat belt and slid from the sedan before he could come around to help her out.

  ‘Faith, wait.’ He got a bulletproof vest and slid it over her head. It was way too big, hanging on her slender shoulders, falling past her hips. ‘I don’t have a smaller one.’

  ‘At least the target on my ass won’t be a problem,’ she said wryly, and he chuckled, proud of her. She was still pale. Still visibly afraid. But her jaw was set, her mouth determined.

  He led her through the gate and to the front porch, glancing at her every few seconds. Her breathing had become shallow and rapid, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. Her hands gripped each other so hard that her knuckles were white. She stopped abruptly at the stairs.

  ‘Just a house,’ she whispered. ‘Just a goddamn house.’

  ‘Lean on me,’ Deacon murmured. ‘You’re not here alone, Faith.’

  She took his arm then in a grip so hard he sucked in a surprised breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, but she didn’t loosen her hold.

  ‘I can take it.’ He helped her up the stairs, worried when she stumbled over the threshold. ‘Breathing is good,’ he said lightly, aware that they were now the subject of the stares of the two forensic techs who’d set up a mini-office on the living room floor. ‘You should give it a try.’

  She shuddered in a breath and blew it out. ‘Just a house, right?’

  ‘Just a house, honey. Open your eyes. It’s just a house with a lot of old furniture. It’s dusty and desperately needs a few coats of paint.’

  She opened her eyes and looked around cautiously. ‘It’s bigger than I remembered. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.’ Her gaze landed on the ornate banister that framed the grand curving staircase. ‘I used to slide down that banister. Gran would be so angry but my mother would laugh.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I can’t tell you if anything’s missing, Deacon. I don’t remember everything that was here.’

  ‘Maybe one of your uncles can help,’ he suggested, watching her face. She flinched, and something deep within him wanted to roar.

  Someone had hurt her in this house. It was plain to see. Deacon didn’t care who it was, he’d find them and make them pay. One way or another.

  ‘What do you dream, Faith?’

  Her gaze flew up to meet his, panicked. Like a deer ready to flee.

  He stroked he
r hair. ‘You know you need to tell someone.’

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was in control and wary. ‘Don’t play therapist with me, Deacon. Please.’

  ‘Faith, whatever it is, it’s eating—’

  ‘Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with any of this,’ she snapped. ‘If you can’t respect that, I don’t know what else to tell you.’

  He stowed his frustration. ‘I’m sorry. Let me get you geared up.’ He took the vest off and gave her gloves, then knelt and slipped protective booties over her shoes. Rising, he helped her put the second glove on because her hands were shaking too hard to do the job herself. ‘The crime scene is in the basement,’ he said. ‘Will you—’

  She’d tensed again.

  Deacon wanted to scream, but he kept his voice calm. ‘Will you go down there with me?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It’s through the kitchen.’

  She walked stiffly, one foot in front of the other. The door was open and she stood there looking down the stairs, her face frighteningly serene. Like she was gone.

  ‘Faith? Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m doing what I need to do, Agent Novak.’

  He hid his wince at her return to formalities, realizing that she was coping with whatever it was that she refused to tell him.

  She leaned forward, a curious expression coming over her face as she inspected the walls on either side of the basement staircase. ‘That’s not how it was.’

  Standing behind her, Deacon twisted so that he could see her face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was open. No walls.’

  ‘Maybe they were added later.’

  She gave him a long, hard look. ‘No. I was here on that last day. There were no walls.’

  ‘The last day? The day your mother died?’

  She nodded. ‘There were no walls.’

  Okay. ‘Will you go down the stairs?’

  ‘Of course.’ She closed her eyes and took a step down, wrapping her gloved fingers around the wooden pole that served as a banister. He followed her as she took one stair at a time, her movements jerky. He stayed ready to catch her if she fell.