by Rebecca York
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
He got rid of his own jeans and briefs, then folded her into his arms,
It felt wonderful to slide his hands over the curve of her bottom, her hips, the indentation at her waist, all the places he’d longed to touch.
He had daydreamed about this, yet the reality was so much better, because he knew her history now—and marveled that she really did trust him.
His gaze on her face, he played one hand over her nipples while he dipped the other into her sex, overwhelmed by her response to him.
She closed her eyes, her breath uneven as he bent to take one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing on her as he stroked from her clit to her vagina and back again.
“Wyatt.”
“If you need me to stop, just tell me,” he managed to say, praying that she wasn’t going to send him away in agony.
“I don’t want to stop. I want everything you can give me.”
“Open your legs for me,” he murmured, and she did as he asked. He moved over her, replacing his fingers with his cock, moving against her, feeling her respond by rocking her hips against him. He heard her breath accelerate. Her movements grew frantic as she drove toward climax. He felt her body shudder, heard her cry out, and he gave her every ounce of pleasure he could. As her climax faded, he changed the angle of his thrusts, plunging into her in one swift stroke.
She cried out, yet at the same time she grasped his shoulders. When pushed for his own release, it took only moments because it felt like he had been teetering on the brink for hours.
As the whirlwind subsided, he looked down at her. He saw a look of wonder in her eyes, as she realized what they had done and what it meant.
Rolling to his side, he took her with him, cradling her body against his, stroking back her damp hair and kissing her forehead.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Only for a moment.” She made a low sound. “I think nobody could have done that better.”
“Thank you.”
They were both quiet for long moments, and he stroked his lips against her cheek.
He felt her smile again—until he sensed other emotions gathering inside her.
“What’s wrong?”
“How could I have let myself make love with you when the thing we should be doing is finding my father?”
Chapter Ten
He kept her in his arms and slid his lips against her brow. “Because it was something you needed. You needed to feel like you’d beaten your past.”
“You think that’s the reason I made love with you?” she asked, her voice sharp.
He was sorry he’d put it in those terms. “Part of it,” he said. “It’s a good thing. Not bad.”
He could see her turning that over in her mind, but her focus had shifted to the empty house outside of Easton.
“My father . . .”
There was a lot he could have said about her father being the cause of his own problems—and hers. Like for example—he could have pointed out that it had been her father’s responsibility to make sure there were no broken steps on the service exit to the fun house. But he didn’t see any profit in bringing up the elder Kaiser’s mistakes now. He wanted to say they’d get her father back alive, but the best he could offer was,
“We’ve done what we could. There’s nothing more we can accomplish until we know where he is.”
“Treeman could be trying to lure me out,” she said, and he knew she was hoping the man was keeping her father alive as bait.
He repeated his earlier assessment. “Our best chance of finding him is Decorah IT.”
He heard the frustration in her voice. “I can’t just hide out over here. I need to do something.”
“I understand.”
“Can I go over to my workshop and get something done?”
“Not alone,” he answered immediately.
She acknowledged the warning with a small nod, then reached for the clothing that was still on the end of the bed. Turning slightly away, she pulled on her bra and shirt, and he used the opportunity to pull on his shorts. When she got up, he saw the red stain on Mrs. Summer’s bedspread. She followed his gaze and winced.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s going to be hard to get out. We owe her for the spread.” She took her lower lip between her teeth. “And she’s going to know what we were doing up here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Neither one of us was thinking,” she said between gritted teeth.
“You wish I hadn’t reached for you?”
He held his breath, waiting to hear her response.
“I wanted to be with you. But the timing wasn’t so great.”
His heart almost blocked his windpipe as he asked, “You don’t think I took advantage of your vulnerability?”
“Of course not,” she said immediately. But he wasn’t so sure it was the right answer. He wanted her too much not to kiss her when she was lying next to him.
Also, he knew she didn’t like having their private business on display for the B&B owner. But he also realized she was using the bloodstain as an excuse to distance herself from him because she felt bad about making love while her father was in danger.
“You’ll probably feel better after you take a shower,” he said. “Hot water always helps.”
“Yes.”
When she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, he pulled on the rest of his clothing, then swept the spread off the bed, bundled it up and took it into the hall. When he found a maid cleaning one of the rooms, he put the spread in with the dirty laundry, then found the linen closet. By the time Kate came out of the bathroom, he’d put on the new coverlet.
She stared at it. “Where’s the old one?”
“In the laundry.”
She tipped her head to the side, staring at him. “Are you going to pretend it wasn’t from us?”
“No. I’m going to add the price of a spread to my bill.”
“Thank you.” She kept her gaze on him. “I guess I’m trying to be difficult, and you’re trying to be a gentleman.”
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
“Of course it is.”
“Kate.” He crossed the space between them and folded her into his arms, and when her own arms came up to clasp him, he breathed out a sigh of relief.
“We didn’t meet under really great circumstances,” he said. “I came to you and said I’d dreamed you were in danger.”
“And I didn’t want to hear it. Maybe if I’d listened, Dad would be okay.”
“Stop second-guessing yourself.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I’ll try.”
He wanted to ask where they went from here, but he didn’t think he could cope with the wrong answer.
He held her for a few more moments, then said, “We should go over to your workshop. I’ll bring my laptop so I can do some Web searching for Treeman.”
“I thought you wanted to leave that to your agency.”
“Maybe I’ll find an avenue of research they haven’t thought of.’
Since it was just as far from the public parking lot to the workshop as it was from the B&B, they left the car where it was and walked. They had covered half the distance when his cell phone rang. It was Teddy Granada, with word about Dave Treeman.
“He was apparently killed in a boating accident two years ago,” Teddy reported.
“What do you mean by apparently?”
“His boat was found drifting, but his body was never recovered.”
“Where was the boat registered?”
“Cambridge, Maryland.”
“You mean not far from here.”
“Right,” Teddy confirmed.
“That was about Treeman?” Kate asked when he clicked off.
“I think he staged his own death. Or rather—made it look like he died.”
“Oh, great.”
He told her about the boating accident, then added, “Which means we’re going to have to be very careful. I think the best place for you is one of the Decorah Security safe houses.”
She thought about it as they walked the rest of the way to her workshop.
“I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”
“I would never call you stupid.”
“What about reckless?”
He laughed. Despite the tension, he liked her quick uptake on the conversation.
“But just let me get this one order finished. Then we can go to your safe house.”
They walked into the workshop, and he closed the door.
“What are you going to do?”
“I like working with silver clay. You can make it into interesting shapes. After it’s dry, you sand it, then fire it.”
She took a cloth off a tray and showed him some delicate leaves and flowers.
“Those are spectacular. You have amazing talent.”
Her cheeks turned rosy. “Thank you.”
She picked up one of the leaves and also a piece of steel wool, then sat down on the chair at one of her work tables.
“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “And do some Internet searching.”
“You can sit in my apartment.”
“Do you mind if I move a chair by the door, so I can see you.”
“Sure.”
Wyatt settled into the chair, glancing up periodically to see Kate at one of her workbenches. They had a late lunch—of pizza he’d ordered because he didn’t want to leave Kate alone for even a few minutes.
They ate quickly, then both went back to work. As he made some connections on the Web, he scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper, but he wasn’t being too explicit because he didn’t want anyone else stumbling over the information.
When his phone rang, he answered. It was Ben Walker from Decorah Security.
“I’m coming down there,” he said, “in case there’s a problem.”
Ben had worked a case in St. Stephens, and he knew the area.
“When can we expect you?”
“I’ll leave as soon as I clear up a few things here.”
“We’ll be looking for you,” Wyatt said. After hanging up, he glanced over at Kate. “One of our other agents is coming down.”
“Why?”
“Extra protection.”
He could see that her complexion had turned pale. “You think I need it?”
“It won’t hurt.” Changing the subject, he said, “I found something interesting.”
“What?” She put down a hammer and walked over to where he was sitting.
“I was checking property records in Oxford and some of the surrounding areas. There’s a record of Treeman renting an apartment in Oxford. He had a six month lease—which ended the month of the boating accident.”
“So it sounds like he wasn’t intending to stay around.”
“Or knew he was going to be ‘dead.’”
“Right. Then I checked records of housing sales in the area. A month later a man named Trevor Davidson bought a house on an isolated property, still in the local area.”
“Trevor Davidson. That’s like a reversal of his name.”
“Yes. From what I can see, the house was on the market for several years because the owner had been murdered in the kitchen, and nobody was willing to move in. Davidson got it from the estate for a lot less than the appraised value”
Kate shuddered. “Another clue that it could be him.”
He scanned her work area. “It’s getting dark. Unfortunately there’s not much traffic down here in the evening. Are you almost done?”
“Almost. Give me a few more minutes. She picked up the steel wool she’d been using and turned back to her work.
He wanted to hurry her up, but he knew her craft was important to her. And now he was thinking that if they were going to be here for a while, he should use the time to tell Decorah about his recent research. He pulled out his phone, but instead of making a call, he set the phone in his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a little light-headed. When he looked over at Kate, she was wavering on her chair.
His mind had slowed down, but he was able to grasp one important fact. Something was affecting both of them.
“We . . . have . . . to . . . get . . . out of . . . here,” he managed to say as he staggered toward her.
“Too late,” a harsh voice said.
Wyatt looked up to see someone standing in the doorway, but it was difficult to figure out what he was actually observing.
He blinked as he focused on the face, trying to see through the stinging tears that now welled up in his eyes. The visage was completely distorted, as though a man had grown an animal snout. Then he got it. The guy was wearing a gas mask.
The intruder laughed, a muffled sound.
Wyatt could hardly move, but he let his arm slip over the side of the chair and drop the notebook he’d been holding. As it fell to the floor, he cursed himself. His notes had been designed to confuse anyone who saw them. Now he prayed that someone from Decorah Security would find them and figure out what the hell they meant.
“You wanted to go to the murder house,” the intruder said in a conversational tone, addressing Kate.
“You were listening to us?” Wyatt managed to ask.
“Yeah. With a directional mike.”
The man turned back to Kate. “As I was saying, you’re going to get your wish—but you might not like it so much.”
Chapter Eleven
Wyatt was dreaming again. He wanted to claw himself awake, although he knew that what he was seeing was important. But finally the murderous images were too much. He jerked awake, his vision still blurred from . . .
He let the question go as horror shot through him. What he remembered from the dream cut off his breath. It had been so real. Too real, and too filled with diabolical planned danger.
He knew it was important to remember the details, but some of them were fuzzy, like when he’d first dreamed of Kate.
Fear that something had happened to her clogged his throat. But she was with him, wedged beside him, her breathing even. The relief was short-lived when he realized they were lying on a thin mattress over the top of a hard, cold floor.
He stayed very still, trying to figure out where they were. Then his last memories came rushing back to him like a tsunami wave. They’d been in her workshop down by the dock, and someone had come in wearing a gas mask. That was the last thing he remembered—before waking up in a small, dank cell.
Beside him Kate stirred and moaned. Then her eyes snapped open, and she made a strangled sound.
He closed his hand around her arm and moved his lips to her ear. In a barely audible whisper, he said, “Don’t say anything you don’t want Treeman to hear.”
As she took in that information, he saw her struggling for calm.
“He used some kind of knockout gas on us,” Wyatt said. “Did you see him at your workshop with a gas mask on?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“At least I’m assuming it’s him.”
She nodded against his shoulder, then murmured, “What is he going to do with us?”
Wyatt knew pretty much what the bastard had planned. The knockout gas had put him to sleep—and allowed him to dream of the immediate future. Never before had he dreamed of something that was going to happen to him—personally. But he supposed it was because Kate was with him. It was her future too, and the reality made his stomach churn. Yet he knew that if anything could save their lives, it would be the dream.
Before he could say more, a voice boomed out from a speaker high on the wall above their heads.
“I see you’re awake,” a man said, his tone like a king who was about to mete out punishment to two of his unfortunate subjects who had displeased him.
Wyatt sat up and looked around. The cell where he and Kate had been stashed seemed to be about ten feet long and eight feet wide.
The floor was concrete, the walls cinder block. There were no windows, and he had the feeling that they were underground.
Kate pushed herself up and moved so that her shoulder was pressed to Wyatt’s. He reached for her hand and knitted his fingers with hers, squeezing reassuringly.
“Okay?” he murmured.
She turned her mouth to his ear. “No.”
Praying that he wasn’t telling a lie, he whispered, “We’re going to be okay.”
Kate raised her face toward the speaker. “Why are you doing this?”
“To make you pay for Billy Treeman’s death,” the man answered. “Do you remember him?”
She winced. “Of course I do?”
“You and your father killed him.”
“No, she cried out. “He dragged me into the fun house and tried to rape me. When I got away from him, he followed me and fell down the stairs.”
A blast of static like bolts of thunder assaulted their eardrums. “That’s a lie. You enticed him in there. You wanted him to fuck you.”
Kate gave Wyatt a startled look. “That’s not the way it happened,” she said, outrage in her voice.
“Don’t give me that shit,” the angry voice shot back. “I was his father. I knew him better than anyone else. He would never do anything like that.”
Kate clenched her teeth in frustration.
Wyatt leaned toward her again. “Let it go. There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s had years to make up his version of what happened that night.”
Her eyes were pleading as she asked in a barely audible voice, “But you believe me?”
“Of course.”
“Your father was here yesterday,” the elder Treeman said in a conversational tone.
Kate stiffened. “Is he okay?”
“Actually, he’s dead,” the man informed them in an offhand manner, like he was imparting a piece of not very important news.
“No,” she cried out, her voice trailing into a sob. “You’re just saying that to scare me.”
“On the contrary, I can show you the proof.”
A grinding noise made Wyatt’s heart jerk up as he slung his arm around Kate’s shoulders.
But there was no immediate threat, only a flat projection screen descending from the ceiling like they were in a lecture room equipped with the latest AV equipment.
