by Lisa Regan
“How’s Brianna?”
“The same,” Claire replied. “Everything is the same. But I guess no news is good news. We finally got in touch with my parents. They’re getting a flight from the Bahamas and should be back tomorrow night. Mitch’s flight was delayed, but he should be here sometime tomorrow. Tom will stay with her until I get back.”
“Call me when Tom gets there,” he said. “I’ll come right over.”
True to his word, ten minutes after Tom returned to the hospital, Connor pulled up out front looking more exhausted than she’d ever seen him and yet still so handsome he made her breath catch in her throat.
In the back seat, Wilson paced and whined with excitement. Guilt assailed her. She usually took him to work. This was the first time in months she had left him alone the entire day.
“I fed him,” Connor said as she slid into the front seat and was immediately covered in doggie kisses.
“Thank you,” Claire said, scratching behind Wilson’s ears.
She wanted to touch Connor, kiss him hello, but they were already moving, Wilson balancing his front paws on the console between them, eager for Claire’s affection.
“Any progress with the case?” she asked as they pulled away.
“Stryke is all over this twenty-something landscaper who was having an affair with one of Leah Holloway’s neighbors. Took us all day to track him down. He lives in an apartment in South Sacramento. We went there but he wasn’t home. We’ve had someone on his place all night, but he hasn’t come home.”
“You really think he’s your guy?”
Connor’s voice was heavy. “I don’t know. We’ll know more when we talk to him. It feels like we’re just taking shots in the dark at this point. We need to figure out where Leah Holloway was when she was attacked by the Strangler on Wednesday. The GPS from her vehicle was damaged but not completely destroyed. They’re trying to pull the coordinates for where she went on Wednesday. Hopefully, we’ll know more in the morning. There are a couple of other leads Stryke is following as well.”
“I saw on the news that you got a grainy photo of the guy from the bagel shop,” Claire said.
“Yeah. We couldn’t get a great still shot of his face. You might need to work with a composite artist if we don’t get any tips.”
“This is me,” Claire said as they pulled up a couple of blocks from Sammy’s.
She took Wilson in her vehicle and followed Connor home. Claire hadn’t been there in two years, but it seemed familiar to her, as if she’d only been there yesterday. It was the home he’d shared with his ex-wife, but she loved it anyway. It was where they’d spent their first night together, when she was still a prisoner. She had lied to him then about her situation, but it was the first place she had felt safe since she was taken. It was the first night she had spent in his arms. Every detail was etched permanently in her mind. She knew he had always wanted to move. When they’d first started dating, he had promised her he would sell the place and move into a new house, but his work schedule took precedence over house hunting.
Connor had packed Wilson’s bed, a bag of his food, and his favorite rope toy together with a small bag of clothes and toiletries for Claire. Once he carried everything inside, he walked through the house, turning on lights. Wilson followed him anxiously, smelling every corner and beneath every piece of furniture. The place definitely had the feel of a bachelor pad—piles of unopened mail tossed haphazardly on the couch, Chinese takeout in his trash, beer cans in his recycling bin, a sink of unwashed dishes, and his dirty clothes strewn across his bedroom floor. She felt a secret sense of relief. No woman was a regular visitor to this house. He wasn’t seeing anyone.
“Why don’t we take Wilson for a quick walk?” he said, coming up behind her as she stood in his bedroom doorway.
“Right now? It’s the middle of the night, and isn’t this where most of your Strangler investigation is focused?”
She felt his smile against her hair, her curls catching on his beard. Warm breath tickled her neck. “I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got a big dog.”
She turned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, and she felt some of the tension of the day leech away. For just a few seconds as she breathed him in, she could forget about Brianna, Jade, serial killers, little Peyton Holloway, her own horrific memories, and the suffering in the world.
“Not now,” she said into his neck. “Come to bed with me.”
“Claire.”
“I’m serious.”
Beside them, Wilson whined. Connor chuckled. “He’s been inside all day. A quick walk. We have time.”
Tears rose to the backs of her eyes so quickly, she didn’t have time to blink them away. She pulled back and looked into his blue eyes. “No,” she said. “We don’t. We think we do. We say we do, but we don’t have time. Jade is dead. Brianna is in a coma. There’s someone out there taking mothers away from their kids. They didn’t have enough time. We don’t have enough time.”
He reached up and stroked the back of her hair with one gentle hand. “Claire,” he said. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Nothing is okay.”
He cupped her face, kissing away the hot tears as they streaked down her cheeks. “Things may not be okay right now, but we will get through this. Brianna will wake up, and she’ll be fine. We’ll catch Jade’s killer. When all this is over, I’m going to take you away. We’ll take a trip. Tiki huts on a beach or something. Just you and me.”
She captured his mouth with hers, kissing him softly, running her fingers through his thick hair, feeling arousal stir inside her. She broke the kiss, imploring him, “Come to bed with me. Now.”
“We don’t have to do this tonight. I don’t want you to feel like just because we—”
Locking her hands behind his neck, she pulled him backward, toward his bed. “I want to be with you. Not just like this. Not just tonight. All the time. I want to try again. Be together. For real this time. No walking away. I’ll try harder, I’ll be—”
He let her guide him, his eyes locked on hers. “Stop,” he said. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself. You don’t have to try to be anything for me. Just stay with me this time. I just want you. Exactly the way you are. There is no one else, Claire. I’ve loved you since the night we met, since I watched you sleep in this room.”
They fell onto the bed, and he rolled quickly to the side so he didn’t crush her. Wilson’s whine was long and pitiful. Claire felt his nose nudge her feet. She and Connor looked toward the foot of the bed to see two mournful brown eyes staring at them. Laughter bubbled up between them, and they let it come. It felt like an unbearable pressure that had been crushing Claire’s body was giving way. Wilson hopped up and army crawled up from the foot of the bed until he was between them. A long pink tongue lapped at Connor’s beard.
Over Wilson’s head, Claire caught Connor’s eye. She said, “I love you too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
NINETEEN MONTHS EARLIER
The first time it happened was in Leah’s garage. They had thrown a backyard barbecue for the neighbors, something they typically did once a year. It was one of the few times she could count on Jim to help around the house. He took great pleasure in sprucing it up—touching up the paint on the walls, replacing the broken miniblinds, having his friend who was a plumber come and fix the leaky kitchen faucet. The only reason Leah agreed to have the barbecue each year was because it was the only thing that seemed to get her husband off his ass and motivated to do something around the house. He had tended carefully that year to their large backyard, the grass like a golf green, not a weed in sight. Even the flower beds were freshly mulched.
He stood by the smoking grill in his “Grill Daddy” apron, surrounded by a loose semicircle of men, regaling them with fishing stories as he flipped burgers. The women sat in patio chairs in little knots, gossiping and watching their children run through the sprinkler Jim had set up. Jim had insisted, as he
did every year, that they have beer and wine.
“Nobody has a party without alcohol, Lee,” he had scoffed at her.
“Responsible parents do,” she had shot back.
He had rolled his eyes at her, told her she was unreasonable, and then convinced her to spend a large part of their entertaining budget on alcohol by reminding her that every family who attended their annual gathering lived within walking distance so no one need get behind the wheel after the party. Drunk driving was only one of the many issues Leah had with parents imbibing, but she let it go. She could trade her neighbors drinking in her house for the toilet in her powder room being fixed.
It was hot that day and the children were getting bored. Leah had dragged two kiddie pools into the yard and filled them. She knew she had a whole basket of outdoor toys—water guns, jump ropes, sidewalk chalk—that would occupy the kids well into the evening. She found it on its appointed shelf, except that the shelf had collapsed, its contents fallen behind the large freestanding freezer they kept in the garage. The freezer came to her waist and opened from the top. It was sandwiched between a large shelving unit and an extra fridge that Jim used for his fishing spoils. She couldn’t squeeze behind it.
Leah tried moving the thing away from the wall until a fine sheen of sweat broke out across the back of her neck. She wiped her dusty hands on her capri pants and went to the door leading back into her kitchen. Her garage was accessible through its front door, which was closed, and a heavy door that connected to her kitchen. They didn’t use it for their vehicles. Jim’s boat took up the largest part of it, and they used the area around his boat for storage. Jim’s “baby” sat in the center of the garage, surrounded by storage bins of seasonal decorations, the kids’ tricycles, scooters, and various other large toys.
Leah stood at the back door and called Jim. It took several tries before he acknowledged her with a wave—like she was just saying hello. A passerby. She gritted her teeth, muttering, “Son of a bitch,” under her breath. As always, she’d just have to figure it out herself. It would probably be faster to drive to the store and buy new toys than to try to move the freezer without help. She was mulling it over on her way back through the kitchen when she ran headlong into D.J.
She screamed. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t expected him—or anyone else—to be in her kitchen. She’d just walked through it and it was empty. He stood by her island countertop between her and the door to the garage. She backed away from him, her body already tingling from having accidentally touched him. His chest was rock hard beneath a black “Nine Inch Nails” T-shirt, and he smelled faintly like cologne—something thick and musky. Jim never wore cologne.
D.J. smiled at her—at once making her feel hot all over and completely naked. “Hey.” His eyes drifted to her chest, which was heaving and covered by her right hand.
“You startled me,” she said.
He seemed more benign in her kitchen—fully clothed, with no angry music or half-naked stick girls behind him. His eyes rose to meet hers again. “Sorry,” he said. “Do you need help with something?”
Leah really didn’t want to spend one more second in his presence, especially not alone. Sensing her hesitation, he took a step back. He put a hand to his heart, a gesture of sincerity, and flashed her a big smile. “I don’t bite,” he promised.
She looked to her left, out the kitchen window. The party was in full swing, her guests starting to eat the food Jim was pulling off the grill. It would only take a moment. She was in her own house, for God’s sake. Judging by D.J.’s musculature, he’d have no problem shifting the freezer out of her way.
She forced a smile and motioned behind him to the door. “Uh, yeah. Some of the kids’ toys dropped behind the freezer. I just need help sliding it out so I can get to them.”
“Show me the way.”
He followed her into the garage, pulling the door closed behind them.
“Be careful,” she said as they made their way around Jim’s boat to the other side of the garage. “It’s a mess in here.”
He said nothing. She sensed him moving closer to her. When she reached the freezer, she turned to face him, again bumping into him. She drew back, the edge of the freezer hard against her hip.
“Oh, sorry,” she said involuntarily.
He smiled—that private smile again, the one that made her feel both dirty and aroused.
Yes. There it was.
This boy made her feel aroused, and she hated herself for it. His lips were only inches from hers. How had he gotten so close?
“Show me,” he said, his voice husky.
“Oh,” she said, for a split second wondering if he was talking about something besides what was behind the freezer. But that was ridiculous. He was half her age. She was nearing middle age, overweight, going gray beneath her blonde dye job, and the mother of two young children, not to mention married. No one who looked like this boy would be sexually interested in someone like her, no matter her age and marital status. Even in her twenties, when she was slimmer, firmer, and single, men like D.J. were not interested in her, which had been fine with her. She’d never much cared for men. She’d wanted a family, a life that she could put on a Christmas card. Choosing Jim for a husband had been a calculated decision, not one based on passion and certainly not one based on arousal. In fact, arousal was a completely foreign concept to her.
Until now.
She sucked in a breath and turned away from him. He didn’t move at all. Her hip brushed against him as she leaned over the top of the freezer, pointing behind it. “They’re back there,” she said. “It’s a basket of toys. The kids—”
His hands on her hips froze the words in her throat. He pressed himself against her, and she could feel his hardness against her thigh. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. “Leah,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. “I meant what I said.” One of his hands snaked around her front, beneath her shirt, and squeezed her breast. “You’ve got great tits.”
She gasped and closed her eyes as her nipple stood to attention beneath his touch.
“You think you’re not beautiful or hot, but you are.”
He rubbed himself against her. She trembled in his grasp, every inch of her skin on fire—part excitement, part humiliation. He grinded into her ass, his hand moving down, down, down.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
She opened her mouth, tried to make the word come out, but she couldn’t. She was completely paralyzed, completely unprepared for this. She’d taken self-defense classes, always thought she would be ready, would know what to do if a man made unwanted advances on her. But men didn’t make advances on her—wanted or unwanted. Not like this, and if she was being honest with herself, if she acknowledged the moisture collecting at her core while this perfect male specimen touched her and whispered dirty things in her ear, she could admit that she wanted this, even though it was wrong on every level of morality she could think of—not that she was thinking.
He didn’t wait long. She heard his zipper, felt him yank down her pants. Then he was inside her. Just like that.
Nearly ten years of fidelity gone in seconds. She pushed the thought away as he thrust in and out of her, slowly at first. So agonizingly slow. Until she started to tighten and quiver around him, until she could not stop her body from responding. Then he sped up, coming at the same time as she did. He stayed inside her for a moment, lifting her hair and kissing the back of her neck. The tenderness of the act made her shiver. Slowly, he withdrew.
He pulled her underwear and pants back up and pulled her gently away from the freezer. After straightening his own clothes, he moved the freezer easily and pulled the basket of toys out from behind it. He placed the basket on the floor beside him and pushed the freezer back in place as if it weighed nothing. He picked up the basket and handed it to her with a smile.
As if he hadn’t just fucked her in her garage. As if nothing had happened.
She took the bask
et, unable to say the words thank you. Unable to say anything.
D.J. looked at his feet, suddenly seeming bashful, and then he was gone, leaving her sweaty, wet, disheveled, and shaken to her core.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Connor had been asleep for only two hours—Claire naked in his arms, Wilson asleep on his doggie bed in the corner of the room—when his cell phone woke him. He let it go to voice mail the first time, wishing silently for more time. Claire moaned softly in her sleep, and Connor tightened his embrace, kissing her shoulder and then burying his face in her hair. The ringing sounded again.
“You have to get that,” Claire mumbled.
In that moment, he would have paid any amount of money if it meant staying exactly where he was. He would empty his entire bank account. Anything not to have to leave this bed.
“Connor, answer it.”
With a groan that bordered on a snarl, he disentangled himself, snatched up his phone, and snapped, “Parks” after answering.
“We got the GPS coordinates of Leah Holloway’s vehicle on Wednesday,” Stryker said. “Guess where she was.”
Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, Connor scratched his beard. “I don’t want to guess. I don’t even want to talk to you right now.”
“Five blocks away from the landscaper’s apartment.”
Fatigue receded quickly. Connor’s back straightened. He glanced at his bedside clock, which read 7:13. “No shit.”
“Yeah, and the dude is home now. He came home with a woman around four a.m. Get dressed and get in here. We’re going over there.”
“How do you know I’m not dressed?”
