The Cradle Will Fall

by Maggie Price

  She felt his body go rigid, his muscles bunch. Her low moan of release echoed his as he drove her with him over that crumbling edge.

  And then they lay still, clinging to each other, their flesh flushed, hot and slick, their breathing unsteady while they absorbed the aftershocks of sensation.

  Accepting fate, Grace pressed her lips to his still-raging heart. She let them linger there, knowing he’d stolen hers all over again.

  Chapter 12

  The bedroom was dimly lit, the warm air filled with the dark, sensual scent of lovemaking. The silence was broken only by the mix of rain and sleet beyond the windows.

  And Grace’s soft breathing.

  Mark savored the moment, feeling simultaneous surges of contentment and desire. Beneath the soft sheet, he and Grace lay on their sides, spooned together, her back and bottom pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her. Her scent was gentle and sensual, drifting over him like a stroke of velvet.

  With her dark hair fanned back, he had a view of the slender arch of her nape. He had to hold himself back from sinking his teeth into that exposed, vulnerable flesh and ravaging her.

  He wanted to stay here with her, without tension, without puzzles to solve, without responsibilities.

  He wanted to stay with her for the rest of his life.

  If only, he thought.

  During the years they’d spent apart there’d been times he would catch himself wondering whether his plaguing, unrelenting need for her would end if only he could have her one more time. Just once more.

  The frantic, urgent passion they had just shared confirmed what he’d already known. There had never been a woman who made him want so badly. Would never be another. Grace McCall was the one. The only one. He could have her a million times and his desire for her, need for her, would forever remain desperate and greedy.

  She was his again, for a few more days. Priceless days.

  If only, he thought again. If only.

  He couldn’t give her the type of life she needed. She’d made it abundantly clear earlier she wouldn’t settle for the bits and pieces of time he had to offer. He didn’t blame her. It wasn’t much of a life.

  Just for a heartbeat he considered altering that life. Turning his back on the job, walking away. In the next instant, thoughts of the cases he was currently working closed in on him. The little girl murdered in California, the preteen boys missing in New Orleans. The young female victims in the small town in Alaska. The serial killer in Buffalo. The missing infants he and Grace now searched for. The thought of all the children helpless to save themselves hung in the air like smoke.

  Who would help them if he walked away?

  Always before, thoughts of all the defenseless victims had been enough impetus for him to shovel his emotions and feelings into a pit and just go on. He could no longer do that. Not now when he knew how deeply his holding everything back had hurt Grace. He might not be able to give her a life, but he could damn well give her something of himself.

  Unable to resist, he pressed a soft kiss against the slender, seductive curve of her throat.

  “I’m glad one of us has still enough strength to move,” she murmured. “If this place catches fire, promise you’ll toss me over your shoulder and carry me out.”

  He fingered the small gold hoop piercing her earlobe. “I’ll try to remember to take you along.”

  “Thanks, Santini. You’re one heck of a nice guy.”

  “Yeah.” He placed his palm against the soft hollow of her stomach. He pictured her as she’d been earlier in Harmon’s office, looking fragile and defenseless, her hand pressed against her stomach where she had carried her child.

  She had lost so much, he thought. Her husband. Her baby. He had taken so much from her and never given back.

  Now he would.

  “Grace, I need to tell you something.”

  She rolled to face him, giving him a seductive, under-the-lashes look as she ran a fingertip down his chest. “Why don’t you show me instead?”

  He brushed his mouth over hers. “I plan to. Later.” Ignoring the heat washing into his belly, he sat up, pulling her with him. “Right now I want to tell you how it was for me growing up.”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Why?” Easing back a few inches, she studied him, her dark hair a glossy tangle around her shoulders. “Why, Mark? Why now?”

  “You made me see how much I hurt you by not telling you.” He settled into the banked pillows, the sheet bunched over his waist. “I never intended to hurt you, Grace.”

  “I never thought you did.”

  “Happened all the same.” He watched her pluck his shirt off the end of the bed, slide it on. “Hurting you is something I’ll always regret,” he added.

  She pulled her legs up under her. “Tell me about growing up,” she said quietly.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. He had never discussed his past with anyone and he wasn’t sure where to start. So he just plunged in.

  “My mother drank.” Instantly he let out a low, humorless laugh. “That sounds so benign, and that’s the last thing she was. What she did was guzzle cheap booze. Swilled the stuff like it was some sort of magic potion. In our house, we didn’t mark the passage of time with a calendar. We used liquor bottles. Had to have a new one every twenty-four hours, or there’d be hell to pay.”

  “What about your father?”

  “I never knew him. At least I don’t think I did. She brought home lots of men, but none stayed around very long. The one time I asked who my father was, she told me it was none of my damn business. Then she cracked me across the face with the back of her hand. I never asked again.”

  “Oh, Mark.”

  “It wasn’t the first time she hit me,” he said levelly. “Or the last.”

  “Could she work at all, drinking that much?”

  “She didn’t need to work. We lived in a small town outside of Chicago in a house that belonged to her older brother.” Even now, Mark could smell the airless rooms that forever stank of cheap booze and acrid cigarette smoke. “My uncle was the local drug kingpin. A smalltime operator, but his was the only game in town so he called the shots when it came to the local do-wrongs. In addition to drugs, he ran prostitutes and fenced stolen goods. I’m sure there was a lot more going on behind the scenes. Suffice it to say if it was illegal, Uncle Max was in it up to his eyeballs.”

  “So, he supported you and your mother?”

  “One of his thugs delivered a check the first day of each month, like clockwork. Every morning my mother would give me cash from what she called Max’s monthly allotment. I’d go to the alley behind the liquor store and knock on the door. The owner would take the money, then hand me a bottle of booze in a brown bag. I’d stuff it in my backpack and cart it home.”

  Grace shook her head, her eyes grave. “How old were you when you started doing that?”

  “About five, I guess. Which explains why I had to use the alley to make my purchases.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “The bad days were when my mother would drink an entire bottle while I was at school and by the time I got home, she’d forget I’d bought that day’s bottle. She’d get mad, thinking I still had her money, that I was holding out on her. She was an angry drunk anyway, but on those days she’d turn mean. Vicious.”

  “She’d hit you?”

  “Yeah.” Mark shifted his gaze toward the window, listened to the steady drum of rain and sleet. His past wasn’t as hard to talk about as he had imagined. Not to Grace.

  “She beat the crap out of me, when she could find me. Of course I knew every hiding place in the house. There was even a secret compartment in the dining room credenza where I used to hide. Over time she found all my cubbyholes. And knowing I hid from her made her even more vicious when she found me. I finally came up with a place she never thought to look.”

  “Where?”

  “The clothes dryer. Sometimes I would have just finished running a load of clothes through when I’d hear her
yelling for me. I’d jerk out the clothes, stuff them into a laundry basket and climb into the dryer. Those times, it’d still be hot inside the drum and burn like hell. And the dry heat would nearly sear my lungs. But all that was preferable to a one-on-one with dear old Mom.”

  “You said you went to school. Surely you had bruises. Didn’t your teacher see them? The principal? A school nurse, maybe? Did you ever ask for help?”

  “I lied about the bruises in school. Made up stories about how I got them.”

  “Why? Someone could have helped you.”

  “Uncle Max had this thing about how blood kin had to stick together. He told me more than once that if I ever got taken away from her, he’d petition to get me. He meant it. I knew what it was like to live with a drunken mother. The unknown was what I’d face living with a drug dealer who ran whores and had thugs on his payroll. I was smart enough to know I didn’t want any part of that life.”

  “The cops, a social worker, someone could have blocked him from getting you. If they’d known what was going on.”

  “People knew.” The bitterness, lodged deep for years, swirled into Mark’s throat. “It wasn’t until I was older that I realized everyone in town had to have known what was going on. I mean, you’ve got a kid who shows up with fresh bruises on a weekly basis. It isn’t hard to figure out someone’s using him for a punching bag. People kept their mouths shut because they were afraid if they said anything they’d get a visit from one of Uncle Max’s goons. And the sheriff was a good old boy who took payoffs to look the other way when it came to Max’s business endeavors. That’s what everyone did when it came to me. They looked the other way.”

  “And you suffered.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long did you stay there? With your mother?”

  “The morning of my thirteenth birthday I said something she didn’t like so she busted my lip. Instead of going to school, I took off. From that instant my luck changed. I caught a ride with a trucker on his way home to Chicago. I told him my Dad lived there and I was on my way to see him. The trucker took one look at my lip and knew I was lying, but he didn’t say anything. I fell asleep. When I woke up, we were in Chicago, parked in front of a church shelter for homeless kids. The trucker told me he had two sons who played softball on the church’s league and that the minister was an okay guy. He was. He fed me, gave me a bed and didn’t ask questions. He got me into school, interested in sports. I stayed there until I graduated and joined the service.”

  “Is your mother still alive?”

  “She was murdered in the alley behind that liquor store. Someone shot her in the face, then stole her purse and the bottle she’d just bought.”

  “And your uncle?”

  “After I joined the Bureau, I turned a DEA agent pal of mine on to Max’s operation. He’s now a guest of the Illinois department of corrections.”

  “Justice,” Grace said.

  “Yeah.” Mark ran his knuckles along the curve of her jaw. “The other night while we were dancing, you asked me what Christmas was like at the Santini household. My mother drank up our Christmases. Every last one of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said, her voice whisper soft. “I’m sorry there was no one to help you.” Leaning in, she cupped a hand against his cheek. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I’m glad I did,” Mark said, meaning it. He felt a kind of euphoric high, flooded by the relief of having told her. Of having opened the door he’d locked so long ago and letting out some of the bitterness and hate.

  He settled his hand over the one she still held to his cheek. “You were right when you said the past makes us who we are. I knew what it was like to be alone and abused. A scared kid who had no one to turn to. After I got out of there, I vowed to do something with my life where I could help kids like me. The victims. Vowed I’d never look the other way.”

  Linking his fingers with hers, he pressed his mouth against her knuckles. “That’s why I do what I do. Why I can’t give up. Why I can’t look the other way, Grace. Why I can’t stay in Oklahoma with you.”

  She closed her eyes. “I understand.”

  He tugged her closer. “I don’t regret what we had, either. What I do regret is that I can’t give you the kind of life you need. One that will make you happy. If I could, I would. I hope you believe that.”

  “I do.” She rested her forehead against his. “This has been an emotional day for both of us.”

  “That sums it up.”

  She angled back, her gaze meeting his. “For so long, I thought what we had was over. That it was finished. Then I walked into my lieutenant’s office and saw you there.”

  “It was the same for me, Grace. The minute I saw you, I knew it wasn’t over. Not for me, anyway.”

  “After all the time that has passed, how can what we feel still be so intense? How can all the heat still be there?”

  “I have no idea.” He feathered back her hair, nuzzled her throat. “I just know it is.”

  When the phone rang, Mark bit back a curse, then grabbed up the receiver. While he listened to the voice on the other end, he cupped a hand possessively over one of Grace’s breasts. His thumb brushed across the nipple that budded hard and tight against the shirt he planned to strip her of very soon.

  “Who was that?” she asked when he hung up. Already she was breathing deeply, heat rising from her invisibly, the warm scent of her perfume inundating his senses.

  “The concierge.” Within the space of seconds, Mark had her naked and stretched out on her back. He nibbled at one bare shoulder. “He called to remind the Calhouns about their dinner reservations.” His mouth journeyed slowly up the length of her throat. “In the Sabroso Room.”

  “Sabroso,” Grace breathed. “If my high school Spanish hasn’t failed me, sabroso means tasty.”

  “Tasty.” He slid his hand between her legs, cupped her, and watched her eyes turn smoky. “Great word,” he murmured.

  “Do you…think the Calhouns could pass on that reservation?” Her hand slicked down his belly, her fingers wrapping around him. “Call room service instead and have dinner in bed?”

  Mark clenched his teeth against a jolt of pure animal lust. “Mrs. Calhoun, you can have anything you damn well want at the moment.”

  “You,” she said, guiding him inside her. “I want you.”

  “You’ve got me, Grace. All of me.”

  “Your appointment today is with Stuart Harmon, Jr., not Sr.,” a silver-haired receptionist dressed in sedate gray politely informed Grace and Mark the following afternoon.

  Grace slid Mark a look as they stood before the law firm’s waist-high mahogany reception counter that rose from thick coral-colored carpet. She knew the Bureau had done an intensive background check on the firm. Three attorneys practiced there, in addition to the firm’s owner, Stuart Harmon, Sr. Junior wasn’t listed as an attorney—or even as an employee—on the roster she and Mark had studied.

  Somber and all business in his dark pin-striped suit, Mark gave the receptionist a level look. “My wife and I were not informed there was a ‘Junior.’ Or that we had an appointment with him.”

  Apparently not surprised at the news, the woman flicked a wrist. “Harmon, Sr. sometimes forgets to mention Junior when he meets with clients.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s the boss, so we just have to work around that.”

  Leaning in, Grace gave the woman a fluttery, anxious look. “Will Junior have our contract ready? We’re supposed to see our contract today.” She clenched her hands. “We’re adopting a baby, you see.”

  The woman’s expression softened. “And you’re concerned about everything getting done.”

  “Yes.” Grace put a hand to her throat. “We’ve waited so long. And the baby is due to be born any day. We’re hoping to have her home before Christmas. I hate to think there will be a holdup of any sort.”

  “Don’t worry, dear.” The woman’s sympathetic smile had Grace thinking about her own grandmother. “The Har
mons have worked as a team for several years on our adoptions. Senior always meets first with the prospective parents, and then Junior takes over the business details. He explains the terms of each contract, sees that it’s executed properly. Both the Harmons are very good at what they do.”

  “I’m sure they are.” Grace eased out a breath. “Thank you.”

  The woman glanced at the phone near her elbow. “Junior is on a conference call that got started late and is apparently running overtime. I’ll show you to our lounge so you can have a cup of coffee or tea while you’re waiting. It’s just down the hallway a bit.”

  Mark glanced at his watch, then nodded. “Fine.”

  They were still waiting fifteen minutes later. Figuring the room might be bugged like the sitting room of their suite and their rental car, they doled out their conversation with care.

  “At least the sun came out today,” Grace commented as she stood before the wall of windows that looked down on the parking lot. “And it’s warmer.”

  Settled in a nearby leather chair, Mark glanced up from the financial magazine he pretended interest in. “Still too cold to play golf, though.” He sent her a slow, intimate smile that had her throat clicking shut. “Fortunately we have other interests to keep us occupied.”

  “We are blessed.” Grace knew if someone were surveilling her they would see a woman gazing at her lover. At the man she’d given her heart to. The man who would walk away with it in a matter of days.

  Her chest tight, she turned and looked back out the window. Last night, while lying sated and snug in Mark’s arms, she had resolved not to think about the future. Special Agent Mark Santini had ridden into the sunset before and she had survived. She would do so again. He was a warm, caring man who’d grown up knowing nothing but hate, and her heart was lost to him. For now, she intended to make the most of the time they had together.