Her Mother's Killer

by Schroeder, Melissa

  He settled himself back at the table and reminded himself that the woman was off limits. Didn’t he just tell himself that not two hours earlier? But he had sensed her tension, knew it had more to do with the situation, and not them. She’d been bearing a terrible secret for years and she had looked so vulnerable, so alone. And it had been the wrong move to touch her. It didn’t help as he listened to her argue with her ex, his anger started to build. He was a cop, and as her husband, Jason Warren should have protected her. Instead, he had made her feel as if she were insane, as if there was something wrong with her.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.” She rolled her eyes. “Listen, you wanted Al’s. You said you could do a better job than I did. It’s not my fault you lost Antonio. And…no, no, Jason. I want nothing to do with that place and nothing to do with you.” She clicked off her phone and tossed it on the counter.

  “Problems?”

  She picked up the mallet and started beating the hell out of the chicken again. “Not anything I have to worry about.”

  The only sound filling the kitchen was her whacking at that chicken. The smell of garlic and tomato, bread baking, everything homey, surrounded him. But the constantthwack, thwack disrupted the cozy feeling.

  “Doesn’t sound like it.”

  She kept pounding away.

  “Thea!”

  She looked up at him, irritation burning in her green eyes. “What?”

  “Tell me.”

  She blew out a breath. “Antonio is fantastic, but he is also loaded with old money. Mom and Dad have a very profitable olive business in Italy, and well, he doesn’t need the work. I trained him myself, so I know he’s good, but Jason pissed him off. He quit without notice.”

  “And he thought you could do what?”

  “Call Antonio and get him back. Antonio hates Jason.”

  “I have a feeling Antonio and I would get along.”

  Her lips curved. “You just might. Let me get this finished then we can talk about those,” she said, indicating the letters.

  Because he knew there was more to the story, he’d wanted to press her, needed to know why her former chef hated her ex, but she wouldn’t tell him, not yet. He watched her, enjoying the way she moved about the kitchen, humming under her breath—which he was sure she didn’t realize she was doing—as she cooked their meal. Even now as she breaded the chicken and tossed it into the olive oil, his mouth watered, for the woman and her cooking.

  With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the letters and pushed aside any thoughts of devouring his reluctant hostess.

  * * * *

  Thea took a sip of wine as she watched Duncan take another helping of her chicken parmesan.

  “That money Jed put out for that fancy culinary school was totally worth it.”

  She smiled. “That’s actually one of my mother’s recipes.”

  “Your husband must be fat.”

  “Ex-husband and no. Jason never really ate my food that much.”

  He’d been slurping up some pasta when she said it and he stopped in mid-slurp, his eyes widened in disbelief. He sucked the rest of the spaghetti into his mouth. Then he wiped his mouth. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

  Thea shrugged. “He’d eat some of my steak recipes, and a few other normal recipes, anything ethnic, wasn’t his bag.”

  “And he thinks to run your old restaurant?”

  “Yeah. And he is welcome to it. I was ready to get rid of it, leave Atlanta. I needed to come home.”

  Understanding filled his gaze. It was then she remembered his return to Crocker, the shootout and his hospitalization.

  “So, when he said he wanted it, I gave it to him.” She shrugged. “I think more than anything he wanted to piss me off.”

  He nodded. “Jed said something like that. Has your ex been calling a lot?”

  Frowning, she said, “No. I don’t know the last time I talked to him. It was before I left though.”

  “I need you to be honest with me…and yourself.” She nodded. “Do you think he has anything to do with this?” She opened her mouth but he raised a hand. “No, think. He was living in your house where you were storing the letters.”

  “No.”

  “But he had access, and now he’s calling here.”

  “Why? What reason would he have?”

  “He wants you back.”

  She laughed bitterly. “No. It isn’t that.”

  Needing something to keep her hands busy, she picked up her dish and went to clean it off. She couldn’t face him and tell him about the train wreck of her marriage. Talking about it didn’t hurt her as it once did, now it shamed her that she had been such an idiot.

  “Our divorce decree said irreconcilable differences, but there was more to it than that. Jason…had a thing for blondes, especially those with particular assets.” Knowing she was being a coward, she turned to face him. His expression was blank. “That was his alibi the night I got run off the road. He was with one of his girlfriends.”

  “Thea…I didn’t know, Jed didn’t say anything.”

  “Jed doesn’t know all of it. There are some things a sister doesn’t want to tell her brother. Especially one trained to kill.”

  “That I understand, but…still, do you think he’s behind it? Even the worst cop would want to investigate a threat like this.”

  “No way. It isn’t his style. This took planning, years. Jason gets bored easily. Do you want to talk about the letters tonight?”

  He nodded and rose from his chair. “Since you cooked, I’ll clean up.”

  She smiled. “Well, I have to say your mama did teach you some manners.”

  “Of course she did. It’s just that most of the time I forget to follow them.”

  “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you back down here.”

  He nodded and she headed up the stairs, wanting—needing—some time alone. Her head was buzzing, her body humming. Just being in the same room with Duncan had her hormones dancing.

  After stripping out of her clothes, she stepped into the hot shower, thinking of his body against hers, the need that had welled up so hard and fast she almost lost control right there and then. She wanted to feel his skin next to hers and she would have happily stripped down and had sex there in the kitchen.

  Not that she would have objected, but…there was something different about him tonight. Yes he had offered her comfort, but it had been strained, reserved. Apparently, Sheriff Perry had a change of heart. With a sigh, she pushed the depressing thought away and got back to her shower. She didn’t need him, or the complications he would bring. Although, she was pretty sure he might just be worth the trouble.

  * * * *

  Duncan lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. After going over the letters, and any of her memories from that time, Thea had headed upstairs. She’d been yawning by the time they were done, and he hadn’t missed the dark bruising beneath her eyes. She needed rest, and he had a feeling she hadn’t been getting any. He needed sleep as much as she did. But three hours later, he still lay awake.

  He couldn’t let go of everything she had told him, of the resigned acceptance he’d heard in her voice when she spoke of her marriage. Or, of that moment in the kitchen when she had leaned back into him, the feel of her against him… Lord she had felt right. He had to keep his hands off her, and he had to get the job done. He would probably die from the lack of blood in his brain, but he would do it. There was no way he could protect her if he were more involved with her. It was already bad enough. Knowing she was just feet away…it was driving him crazy. He sat up and speared his fingers through his hair in frustration. With an irritated grunt, Duncan shoved the sheets off of him and slipped from the bed. He figured a cold shower might wake him up, but it would definitely kill the arousal he had coursing through him at the moment.

  He searched for a pair of jeans and pulled them on. Padding barefoot, he walked to the door. He’d just stepped into the
hall when Thea’s scream stopped him in his tracks.

  Chapter Eight

  Duncan ran down the hall to Thea’s room, his heart damn near beating out of his chest and terror coursing through his veins. In the short time it took to get to her room, he remonstrated with himself. How had someone gotten in? He should have stayed up, double-checked the locks…

  Without trying the doorknob, he kicked open the door and rushed inside. His heart leapt to his throat as he scanned the room and found Thea laying on her bed, thrashing about. He reached the side of the bed in two huge steps and drew in a calming breath. She was having a nightmare, no one was hurting her.

  “Thea?”

  “No, Mama, no!”

  His heart twisted at her anguished scream. The fear in her voice chilled his blood. Locked in a memory, she strained against an imaginary force.

  “Thea, hon, wake up.”

  She didn’t stop, her moans of terror growing as she struggled against the nightmare. He touched her shoulder hoping to calm her but she bolted up in bed with a scream. She blinked, then slowly opened her eyes. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

  Squinting, she said, “Duncan?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  She blinked, and glanced around the room. Her demeanor spoke of someone who didn’t recognize their surroundings. She shook her head, and he watched the reality of the situation pass over her face.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He eased himself onto the mattress. “Do you remember anything?”

  She sighed. “Bits and pieces. I only ever remember little parts of it, like it is all shadowed.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “It’s very aggravating. Sometimes…sometimes I think I recognize the voice, but then I wake up.”

  “Tell me what little you remember.” For a second, the confusion remained in her eyes. Then, her face paled. “What did you remember?”

  “Mama.” Grief roughened her voice. “I remember Mama telling the man I wasn’t there, then I heard his voice.”

  He grabbed hold of her by her upper arms and turned her to face him. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. The need to comfort, to pull her against him and promise that no one would ever hurt her again, almost overwhelmed him. But he knew he had a job to do, and that would only cloud it.

  “Whose voice?” She didn’t answer, just blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Whose voice, someone you know, or knew?”

  She cleared her throat. “In my dream…” She swallowed. “In my dream, I recognize the voice. At first, nothing’s wrong then Mama starts to argue.” She shook her head in denial as if trying to clear the memory. “But it was the first time I realized I knew the person. The first time I dreamed of his voice. That night he showed up and Mama let him in.”

  “Who was it?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You said you heard his voice in your dream.” He’d released her arms and now massaged her back, running his hands up and down her spine.

  “I heard it, but…something. I just don’t know. It’s all sort of foggy, muffled and I remember…” She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. Her face was drenched with tears. “I just remember back then—when it happened—that I knew this person and why was Mama yelling at him? She told him that I wasn’t here. That was I spending the night at a friend’s house.”

  “So, anything else? Did she say anything in your dream that would point you to the person?”

  She frowned and sniffled. “She said… Oh my God. Yes! She said something like ‘What are you doing here this late?’ Like he was there normally but not at night.”

  “So, we know he was there that night, and had been there before—”

  “Recently. I just get this feeling the man was there on a regular basis, just not that late at night.”

  She leaned forward and placed her head on his shoulder again. Duncan was relieved she was no longer crying, but as she snuggled closer, his thoughts turned away from the case. He needed distance to think straight so he eased her back away from him.

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head and shivered. As she pulled the sheets up to her chest, he realized just how little she was wearing. The soft cotton of her nightshirt draped over her breasts, her hardened nipples pressed against the fabric. All his worry dissolved as arousal pulsed to life.

  “Well, if you’re okay, I’m going to head back to bed.”

  He would have done just that, moved away from her, gone back to bed, and tried to forget just how she looked with the moonlight illuminating her, the softness of her skin, of the need to touch her. But she leaned forward again, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  Her breath spread over his flesh and he fought a shudder. His need grew, heat scorching his veins. He counted backwards from ten, trying to think of anything but the soft, warm woman leaning against him. He couldn’t quite do it, couldn’t convince himself that right now what he didn’t need was to slip between her thighs and into her tight hot passage.

  Damn it. He tried to conjugate verbs in Spanish to get his mind back on track. His thoughts scattered the moment her lips touched the sensitive skin just below his ear.Maybe it had been an accident. Just an inadvertent brush. All rational thought fled the next time it happened, this time with a bit of tongue.

  He swallowed. “Thea?”

  “I don’t want to be alone tonight, Duncan,” she said, her voice a husky plea. She nibbled on his earlobe. “I need someone to chase away those memories. I know I’m not your type, I know you don’t really like me, but I know you can help me. Please, help me.”

  He pulled away from her and gently took her face into his hands. Her gaze was dead on; she never even flinched. “Thea, this isn’t right. I need to keep everything straight, keep you safe.” He swallowed again. He couldn’t believe she thought he didn’t want her. How could he tell her he wanted her more than he had wanted anyone in his life, more than his next breath?

  “I don’t want to think, Duncan. And I don’t want to feel anything but good. It’s been so long since I’ve felt really, really good.”

  She tucked her legs under her bottom and sat up on her knees, bringing herself eye level with him. She leaned forward, her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her lips to his.

  He still held her face in his hands, but she’d moved her fingers to his wrists. She nipped at his lower lip. Every thought, every bit of resistance melted. All his reservations disappeared in that moment, and he knew there was no going back. He wanted her and he didn’t care about the complications.

  He groaned and delved into the kiss. He took complete control, capturing her mouth and diving into it. He knew she was probably using him, using this to escape the pain of her nightmare, her past. All that mattered was the way she tasted, the feel of her lips against his, the scent of her flesh. Everything within him tightened.

  He shook his wrists free of her hands and slipped them down her body, pulling her tighter against him. Her turgid nipples brushed his chest. The slight touch had him groaning again, his cock growing harder. He slid his hands down her delicate spine to the curve of her bottom, taking one full cheek in each hand. Gently, he pressed her back onto the bed, lying on top of her, reveling in the feel of her body beneath his.

  Her legs spread, and she cradled his arousal against her sex. Even through the jeans he wore, he could feel the heat of her. He tore away from her mouth, and kissed along her jaw as her fingers speared through his hair. He pulled on her shirt, lifting it up and over her head, and then tossing it behind him. He leaned back and took in the view before him.

  Holy mother of God, she is gorgeous. All she wore was a tiny miniscule pair of pale blue panties. Her breasts were full, heavy bottomed, tipped with gorgeous coral nipples. He rested his weight on his hands as he leaned forward and laved one of her nipples, then drew it int
o his mouth. He moved to her other one, while he settled on his side so he could brush his palm against her breast. She moaned, over and over, each one growing louder than the last. Soon, he was inching down her body, taking immense pleasure in the way her stomach muscles clenched as he slid his tongue across it, and into her belly button.

  As he eased himself down her torso, he pulled her panties down and then off, discarding them in the same way he did her nightshirt. She instantly tried to draw her legs together, but he was laying between them. Thea slid her hand down but he stopped it as he pressed her legs wider apart. Within the dark curls lay her pink pouty lips, wet with desire.

  “Duncan.” Her tone spoke of embarrassment and doubt, but he ruthlessly ignored it. She must have had one god-awful marriage if she was embarrassed. Duncan intended to wipe away any worries with knowledge, pleasure.

  He settled his hand against her mound. “Ah, hot and…” he slipped a finger inside her, “wet.” She moaned and her muscles relaxed as he pressed his thumb against her clit. Her legs shifted restlessly as he continued to stroke her. Wanting…no needing a taste, he leaned forward and set his mouth against her slit.

  Sweet, hot, spicy, the taste of her exploded across his senses as he slipped his tongue deeper into her sex. It took one more touch against her clit and she was hurdling over the edge. She screamed his name and her body convulsed as she came. But he didn’t stop. He built her up again, using his mouth, his fingers, his tongue. Within moments, she was coming again. He lifted his head to watch her as she bowed up, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Knowing he was close, thinking he would be lucky to make it past the first few strokes, he moved up her body and tore open his jeans. He entered her in one fast hard thrust, even before she’d finished recovering from her orgasm. Her muscles pulled him in, clamped tight around his cock.

  He angled her hips, his fingers digging into her skin. God, she felt good. Hot, wet, tight. He plunged once, twice, three times. His balls grew heavier, everything in his body tensed, his body preparing for the release. Slipping a hand between them, he pressed against her clit once more, and she came again, her muscles clenching around his shaft and he was lost. One more stroke and he poured himself into her.