by CJ Ellisson
She leaned into the closed door and folded her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts to the neckline of her low-cut tank top. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Anger simmered inside him and spread through his veins, until he was ready to shake her. He knew what he’d seen. Even if he couldn’t smell her lies, he’d know she was keeping things from him. He’d seen sheer horror in her eyes. He’d also seen a scared woman, a woman begging for help, a woman traumatized by something. What bothered him the most was that he knew that wasn’t the first time she’d suffered that way.
“Stop lying to me. I was there, I saw you freak out holding that bedspread. You were shaking, begging, as if someone was tearing you limb from limb.” He stalked toward her. She flinched. And he was tempted, more than tempted, to drop the questions, but he had to know what was going on. How could he help make the situation better for her?
As he got closer, her stance turn rigid, her jaw clenched, and her lips pursed. “I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged and looked down. “I freaked out a little, and that’s it. I don’t even remember most of it now.”
Her arms unwound and lowered to her sides, hands curling into fists. She raised her face, one brow arched high. She was still defensive, and he needed to know why.
“Why are you lying? Just tell me what’s wrong. Stop acting as if what I saw today was no big deal.” He softened his tone to a plea. Shifting closer to her, he lifted his arms, placing them on either side of her head, palms flat on the door, caging her in. “I want to help you. Let me.”
Erica glanced up into eyes the color of dark chocolate and wondered what the hell else she could do. Trent was like a dog with a bone about her episode in Lisa Summers’s apartment. She had a feeling that no matter how much she tried to dismiss him, he wasn’t going to go for it. It was difficult enough for her. She still had to get her mind back in order, but all she kept hearing was the dead girl’s screams inside her head. Trying to get her nerves back under control was an exercise in restraint and aggravation. She needed some sort of distraction or she’d lose her mind. The grief inside the victim had been much stronger than anyone she’d ever come across.
Anger and frustration bubbled over inside her. The pain Lisa had suffered made her lash out at Trent. “You want to help me?” A bitter laugh, brimming with her aggravation, escaped. “You can’t help me.” She ducked under his arms and started to dart away from him, toward the bed. “No one can help me. Nothing can help me. Just go.”
Loud steps sounded behind her. She should have known that he wouldn’t leave. He grabbed her left upper arm. After a quick tug she found herself facing him, their bodies flush against each other. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, and her breath caught at the tenderness she saw there. He cupped her face in his hands, the warmth of his palms suddenly spiking a flame in her veins. The indecision and concern in his eyes made her heartbeat double in her chest.
“I can’t.”
Her mind lost track of the conversation. She focused only on his lips, the sexy scar she wanted to kiss, and how much deeper his voice sounded. “Can’t what?”
“I can’t just go.” He trailed a thumb over her cheek. The action not only held her in a trance but woke every pleasure cell inside her.
His intent was clear. In a movement so fast she didn’t get a chance to blink, his lips were on hers. An instant fire burst in her veins and rushed through her body, pooling at her groin. Her hands crawled up his naked torso, tracing muscles, memorizing every delicious inch of hot flesh. She whimpered in the back of her throat and opened her lips to his invasion. Possession, domination, and desperation were all the things his expert tongue brought to the surface.
The hands cupping her face moved down, trailing her bare arms, around her back, until he was groping her ass over her pajama shorts. He gripped her cheeks and ground his cock into her belly. The steel length of his shaft sent moisture straight to her pussy. Her hands raked his shoulders, up his neck, and fisted the short strands of his hair.
Neither of them wanted to stop their fervent kiss for air. She would gladly die of oxygen deprivation if it meant staying exactly as they were. The heat from their bodies mingled to create a cocoon of blazing need. Every swipe of his tongue in her mouth increased the burning inside her, making her blood boil and her pussy drench with arousal.
A distant ringing broke through their cloud of desire. It was then she realized she didn’t want him to go anywhere. She craved for him to stay, to kiss her, to give her enough passion to override the pain she still had lingering in her mind. They broke apart as if torn from each other by invisible hands. She wanted to keep holding on to him, but she pried her fingers open and stepped away. His gaze burned her flesh, trailing down her body.
Both panted like a pair of teens after their first make-out session. She watched him clench his jaw and lick his lips, rubbing that sexy tongue over his scar. Tight, feral hunger turned his face into a mask of need. His nostrils flared, and storminess filled his eyes, turning them glowing brown. The way he devoured her with his gaze made her panties even wetter and her nipples tighten into pebbled buds under her tank top. That look! Dios. So possessive, hungry, and wicked, it made her consider running back into his arms and asking him, no begging him, to help her forget.
It pained her, but she turned away from him and headed toward the bed. The cell phone rang again, louder, almost trying to tell her that whatever was going on wouldn’t go away. She sat down and stared at the screen. Brock. Trent stood there, watching her. She pressed the button to return Brock’s call, put the phone on speaker, and noticed Trent take steps to close their distance.
“Erica?” Brock sounded concerned.
She knew he was wondering how she was handling what she’d seen. They couldn’t discuss that now. Trent was in the room with her and she didn’t want him to know.
“And Buchanan.” Trent added, before she had a chance to say the words herself.
“Good. I won’t have to make two calls.” Brock sighed.
Trent sat down on the foot of the bed. The movement made her lean into his side. Her entire body screamed with longing wanting his hands on her and her hands on him. Oh how she wished they could go back to where they had been moments before.
She cleared her throat, attempting to calm the ragged racing of her heartbeat in her chest. “What’s going on?”
“We found a new victim.”
Fear slashed through her body. Sweat gathered in her palms, and the room spun momentarily. God, she was going to be sick.
“Who is it?” Trent asked, still watching her.
“The girl that went missing before Lisa Summers has been found. Gina Torres. Freshman. Same school. Looks physically different than Summers.”
“What are the circumstances of her death?” She finally found her voice, although it was hard to get the words out from under the iceberg chilling and numbing her throat.
“I’ve sent the pictures we have to your secure emails along with the file.” The sound of paper shuffling filled the line.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Trent got his words in ahead of her. “How was she found?”
Brock’s somber tone was the only noise inside the small motel room. “We got a tip. Like I told you both before you left, I had a feeling Summers was not victim number one. If I’m correct, it was probably Gina. Someone called it in to 911. She was left in a public place. The placement of the body mimicked that of Summers. Open arms and legs, displaying the scars and bruises, completely naked.”
“You mean she was being shown off just like Lisa?” Erica replayed the crime scene shots in her head. Her mind whirled with questions and visions of Lisa Summers. “Do we know yet if they had anyone in common?”
“Too soon to tell. We just got the call about an hour ago. You both know what to do. You can go see the body in the morning. For now just get some rest.”
Erica removed the phone from speaker and placed it by her ear, knowin
g Brock have some other personal questions. Questions she didn’t want Trent listening in on.
“Are you okay?”
Brock had always been that way with her. Since she had met him on her first day in the academy, he’d taken her under his wing. She’d been scared, but he’d introduced himself and had never been far way, helping her cope with the new environment. He taught her she could count on him, even if it had taken her years to realize how honest he was, how much of a friend he was. She’d always wanted to be part of the bureau, but being in Brock’s team was better than any job she could have imagined.
“Calmate. I’m fine, Brock. I’m a big girl you know.” She grinned, knowing he always got a kick out of her saying that. “I can take care of myself. Now stop worrying so much, it’s not good for your health.”
She didn’t look at Trent but knew he was listening to her side of the conversation.
Brock sighed. “Don’t overdo things, please. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
She shut the phone, sprung to her feet, and made a beeline for the door. Once there, she removed all traces of emotion from her face, which was incredibly hard, and turned to Trent. “I’m tired. We’re up early tomorrow to see Torres’s body, I need to sleep. Thank you for coming to see me, but as you can see—” She swung the door open, holding the handle in a death grip. “I’m fine. Good night.”
Trent took his sweet time standing up and strolling toward her. Each move made his muscles ripple, his body calling, inviting her to feel his strength again. He stopped right at the entrance, their bodies just inches from each other, and said nothing until she glanced up at him. Her body tensed, waiting—no, hoping—that he’d make a move. He dipped his head until they were breathing each other’s air, until her body temperature skyrocketed.
“This isn’t the end of us.”
His vision strayed to her lips. She held her breath, already picturing him kissing her and saying to hell with her words.
“This is only the beginning.”
He walked out at the same leisurely pace.
It took her a moment to realize she was standing there like an idiot.
“There is no us!” She threw the door. Estupido! Men always had to make things difficult by causing havoc with a woman’s emotions and body.
All her hormones were still racing through her, flushing her with desire from the kisses and touches he’d given her. Every pleasure cell had liquefied and traveled down to her shorts. She jumped on the bed, punched a fist into a pillow, and growled. How the hell was she supposed to get any sleep like this? And she hadn’t even packed her vibrator. Dammit.
After another cold shower and some manual stimulation, she turned up the pathetic air conditioning until there was a decent breeze. Then she finally fell into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep.
Chapter Three
The next morning dawned bright, hot, and humid. She sat in the backseat and prayed for a break in the case as they headed to the morgue. Sipping on her iced coffee, she glanced out the window. Her mind replayed everything she knew about the victim while she scanned the passing trees, small businesses, and dense forest. It was easy to ignore both men in the front, talking sports and general things she had no interest in. She yawned.
“What’s wrong, Villa? Man, you look like shit!” Ramirez said from the driver’s seat. The laughter in his voice only added to her misery. Great, now they were going to turn her into the butt of their jokes.
Not bothering to reply, she lifted her hand and extended her middle finger. She was too tired to tell him to fuck off. A loud smack drew her attention.
“What the hell was that for?” Ramirez complained, rubbing a hand over the back of his head, a deep frown creasing his forehead.
“She does not look like shit.” Trent growled, turned toward her, and winked. “She looks like Sleeping Beauty.”
“Yeah, um, I don’t remember Sleeping Beauty looking like she got run over by the prince in the story.”
Slap. Her lips quirked, and a smile broke free. She knew what Trent was doing, and she appreciated him for it. Fatigue beat at her muscles. However, she was so horny that if Trent let her hump his leg, she’d find the energy from somewhere.
“What the hell? You know I’m the one driving. Cut it out. I’m sorry, Villa. You know I still think you’re hot.”
Slap. Erica swallowed the laughter threatening to choke her.
“Now what?” Ramirez protested. “I said she looks hot!”
“I know. That’s why I hit you.” Trent sounded annoyed.
“Oh man, you’re in deep shit, bro. Seriously, I know you like her and all, but are you blind? Poor Villa might be hot but she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week.” He grinned at her through the mirror.
“Boys, if you make me pull out the ruler someone is getting spanked.”
“Me!” both men yelled at the same time.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. Her lids dropped closed, and she let the two men’s complaints over who should get spanked lull her to sleep.
The sound of harsh breathing filled her ears. Darkness was thick around her, driving her fear, curling around her gut and settling in with a heavy knot. Someone screamed. The sound so painful, so filled with agony and anguish, that tears filled her eyes. She raised her fists and beat at the wooden wall in front of her.
“Let me out!” Lisa Summers screamed. “Please!”
“Erica!” Trent’s voice seeped into her subconscious, pulling her from the dreaded darkness of her dream. Something shook her, hard. She blinked her eyes open and saw Trent’s worried brown eyes. “You’re fine, sweetheart.”
He pulled her out of the Jeep and into his arms.
What the hell just happened? “I know I’m fine. What’s wrong with you?”
He glanced down at her with a frown. “You were screaming to be let out.”
They were parked in front of the Main Street store next to the police station.
Ramirez strolled out of the store with two bottled waters, stopped, and handed one to her. “Jesus, Villa. If this is how you get when you don’t get enough sleep, I don’t want to see you when you break night. Your eyes are all raccoon-like. You’re zombie movie material for sure.”
She glared at him “Que chistoso. Real cute.”
She drank the water, but after a few sips she stopped, remembering they were about to go look at another body.
Trent watched Erica walk into the morgue like she was on death row. Her face was pale, and her lips were pursed. She curled her nails into her palms. He frowned. Had she done that before? He couldn’t recall if her nerves had been that obvious the previous day. Fear came off her in waves. Ramirez, ahead of them, opened and held the door. His need to protect her, from whatever it was making her scared, made his animal pull at the skin cage. It was hard for him to breathe and took him a moment to calm his wolf and focus on the body. Her gaze fastened on the metal table holding the body of Gina Torres.
“I need a moment alone with the body.” Her words were soft with a mild wobble to them.
Maybe he was examining everything she did with too much interest. She stared at the sheet-covered lump, waiting for them to do as she requested.
“I’m going to get some details from the front desk on her address. If we’re here it must mean she lived nearby. From what Deputy Owens stated only people who live in this area would have been brought here. There’s a bigger precinct with a large morgue one town over. Maybe she and Lisa Summers knew each other.” Ramirez said and walked out.
“I’m coming too.” Trent added. He headed for the door and shut it behind Ramirez. It didn’t matter that he never walked out because Erica was still focused solely on the table. He folded his arms in front of his chest and stood quietly, watching her. The scent of the bleached corpse was nothing compared to the panic drifting from Erica. His wolf wanted out. He wanted to push her behind him and protect her, but from what?
She dragged her palms over the sides of her Bermuda shorts. His br
eath froze. Something big was coming, but he didn’t know what. She raised a shaky hand toward the sheet, stopped mid-way, and cursed.
“Get a hold of yourself, Erica. Hazlo. You can do this.” She said, softly.
Instinct told him to go to her. He tugged the leash on his animal and kept control. The wolf wanted near her. He waited, wondering what she planned to do next. He observed while she took deep breaths, her fear diminishing slowly. Finally, she straightened her spine and pulled the sheet back. Her arm shook before the sheet was fully off the body. He took a step, stopped, and waited to see what her next move would be. Her hand shook so badly he had a hard time not rushing to her, holding her, and easing her stress. She quickly reached out and grabbed the dead girl’s arms. She froze in place.
A soft, pain-filled scream filled the room. It took him a second to realize it came from Erica. Propelled into action, he was next to her in the blink of an eye. In the time it took him to reach her, she had started to shake like a leaf and tears began to rush down her face. Unsure of what to do, he did the only thing he could think of and pulled her away from the body.
Once she let go of the Gina’s arm, her body slumped toward the ground. Had he not been holding her already, she would have knocked her head on the floor. He picked her up and headed toward a wooden chair tucked in a corner. Shoving papers off the chair, he sat down and held her tightly in his arms. Her features took on a sickly color, and her already-pale complexion had a waxy grey tone. She really did look like shit. What he didn’t know was why.
He rocked her in his arms and called her name softly, but she didn’t respond. After a few minutes she blinked her eyes open.
“What are you doing, Trent?”
“Darlin’, if you want to get into my arms, you don’t need to keep fainting to do it. You can ask me to hold you whenever the mood strikes without going to these lengths.”
He joked to lighten the mood, but it was starting to stress him out that she kept passing out at the sight of a dead body.
