She Can Scream

by Melinda Leigh

  Right now, Brooke waited, her eyes turned up expectantly toward him.

  “Sometimes I have nightmares. I’m sorry that I woke you.” He explained. He crossed the room and rummaged for a pair of sweatpants.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t go back to sleep. I usually go for a run.” He pulled the pants over his hips and went back to the dresser for socks.

  “It’s the middle of the night.” Brooke shifted to dangle her legs off the edge of the bed, holding the covers up over her breasts against the chill in the room.

  “I know.”

  Brooke turned her head toward the window. “It’s also cold and pouring rain outside.”

  “That’s OK.” He shivered and reached for a shirt. “I’m sorry, Brooke. A couple of miles ought to do it. I won’t be long.”

  Luke pulled away, drawing back into that lonely, painful place like a wounded animal seeking its den. Last night he’d talked with her, laughed with her, made love to her, but as soon as his memories resurfaced, he slammed himself shut. He didn’t want to close himself off from the world; he couldn’t help it.

  “Stop apologizing. And stop getting dressed. You can’t go running in the freezing rain. You’ll get pneumonia or hypothermia or something.” Her matter-of-fact tone left no room for argument. She rose, letting the quilt fall away from her body, and strode, naked, to stand in front of him. She was beautiful and wholesome, the exact opposite of all the visions swirling inside his head. “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  More guilt. He clenched his hands in his shirt to conceal the shaking. Not possible. No doubt Brooke noticed but was kind enough to pretend she didn’t. Denied his routine energy outlet, he was lost. His heart raced through his chest, as if looking for a place to hide.

  “What you need is a hot shower. Come on.” She grabbed a condom off the nightstand, took him by the hand, and pulled him into the bathroom with her. He followed with no resistance.

  He eyed the condom she set on the shower ledge. “Brooke, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “Sh. Just relax. That’s just in case. I know you’re probably not in the mood.” After leaning in to turn on the spray, Brooke turned and tugged his sweatpants down his legs.

  She pulled him under the warm water with her. Her hands slid up and around his ribs. Moving up his back, her fingers passed over a burn scar. Luke flinched.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Is the water too hot?”

  Unsettled and speechless, he simply shook his head, trying to concentrate on Brooke instead of his still-weak knees.

  The warm water sluiced over their bodies, and a few moments was all it took for Luke’s lagging brain to figure out that it had a wet, naked woman at its disposal. His hand drifted toward her breast, then stopped.

  “You can touch me if you want.” Her voice was husky with desire.

  “I’m too sweaty.” His voice strained in his throat as he reached for the soap.

  “Hey, one of the rules for showering with another person is you’re not allowed to wash yourself. It takes all the fun out of the experience.” She took the soap from him and lathered his chest and arms, massaging the muscles firmly as she moved across his skin. As Brooke’s hands slid over his torso, his empty ones sought her body automatically, running on pure primal instinct.

  Something shifted inside him, from helpless confusion to arousal. His hands stopped trembling and squeezed her flesh with purpose. They kneaded her breasts and slid down to her hips. For a brief second he slid one hand between her legs, stroking, testing. Then, his control shattered. He dropped to his knees and pressed his mouth against her center. His mouth suckled and his tongue lapped with a desperate need to replace every sense—every memory—with Brooke. The scent and taste of her flooded his nose and mouth. Her soft moans filled his ears. His hands held her smooth skin. He looked up. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. Her body bowed back against the tiles as he devoured her, drove her. Her back arched and her hips jerked uncontrollably against his relentless mouth.

  Luke lurched to his feet. His slippery fingers fumbled with the condom. Finally, he curled his hands around the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, pinning her to the cool tile, burying himself deeply with one desperate thrust.

  Need made him huge and hard. Fresh, deeper pleasure speared through Luke from his toes to the base of his spine. He’d never wanted a woman with this intensity, needed her for his very survival.

  “Shit. Brooke.” Still for a moment, he panted in her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  His heart galloped toward the finish line, and fresh sweat broke out across his back as he fought for command of his body. His control slipped through his grasp like water.

  “You’re not. Please, Luke. Harder.” Brooke gasped, holding on to his shoulders as his pace quickened, arching her back and wrapping her legs around him to take him deeper into her body. “God, yes. That’s it. Just like that.”

  He responded to her encouragement with the force of the tide, driving harder and deeper with each thrust. Her back slapped against the wet tile. She clung to his shoulders and rode out the storm. Her body tightened around him, the pressure bringing him to the precipice. The tension deep in his spine coiled tighter until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. It burst forth with lightning speed. His muscles gathered and heaved. He shuddered and jerked, surging against her and shuddering again before quieting.

  His depleted body pressed against her, his forehead resting on the smooth skin of her shoulder. Air bellowed in and out of his lungs. Drained, Luke shivered violently. The water pounding on his back had grown ice cold.

  She pushed lightly against his chest and he released her, letting her slide slowly to the floor. His thighs Jell-Oed as he reached behind him and turned off the spray. No wonder. After what had just happened between them it was a miracle his legs would hold him upright.

  He’d never experienced anything like that ever before in his life.

  Luke shivered again. He brushed a hand across Brooke’s wet shoulder. Goose bumps had broken out all over her arms. Leaning out of the door, he grabbed two thick towels, wrapped one around her body and rubbed her from head to foot. When they were both dry enough, she took the lead once again, leading him back into the bedroom and pulling him down to the bed. She tossed the heavy comforter up over their chilled, damp bodies.

  Luke wrapped his long arms around her and held her against his chest. He tipped her chin toward his face, momentarily speechless. That had been the most amazing sexual experience of his life. Nothing in his history could even come close. It felt as if he’d never truly made love to a woman before tonight.

  Sex with Brooke was a miracle. She was a miracle.

  Luke concentrated on the woman in his arms. He inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her sex into his nostrils. He could still taste her on his lips, feel her soft skin pressed against him. She filled his senses with pleasure and blotted out the pain.

  He would never have enough of her.

  “Brooke. I…” He didn’t know how to express the gratitude that swelled in his chest and clogged his throat.

  “Sh.” She pressed her finger against his lips. “I’m going to consider what just happened as one major benefit to dating a younger man.”

  “Thank you.” Luke lightly kissed her temple and pressed his forehead to hers. She had no idea what she had just done for him, what he felt for her.

  “I wouldn’t thank me just yet. Now that I know what you can do, I’m going to want a lot more of that.” She smiled up at him.

  He grinned back at her. “Sure as hell beats a ten-mile run in the freezing rain.”

  “I should hope so,” she answered with mock indignation and smiled up at him.

  He tucked her against his chest, her body soft and warm against his, her scent in his nostrils. And for the first time since he returned home, he fell back to sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Th
e basket of laundry dug into her hip. Selena Vasquez trudged down the three flights of stairs to the basement of her apartment building. Her slippered feet scuffed on the dingy blue carpet, worn to a muddy gray down the center of the treads. In the vague light of the stairwell sconces, she rounded the last turn, the metal handrail wobbling under her grasp. At 5:45 a.m., the sky was still dark. Her aching head and feet yearned for sleep, but she didn’t have a clean uniform for tonight’s shift. She just couldn’t bring herself to put one on that already stank of grease. It didn’t matter that the fresh outfit would absorb the oily odors within minutes of starting her shift at the diner. She just couldn’t do it.

  Nor could she rest well with chores undone. She blamed her mother, who had ruled the family house with a combination of hard work and Catholic guilt. Selena would wash the scent of French fries from her hair and finish her English paper while her clothes washed. Then she’d sleep until her night class at the community college and yet another shift.

  Two more years.

  She bumped the door open with a hip and flipped the wall switch. The bare bulb flickered and went out. Awesome. Just what this creepy room needed—more creep. She propped the door open. Light from the hall trickled in. The pocket full of quarters jingled as she crossed the concrete and dumped her clothes into the empty machine. She added detergent and closed the lid. Six coins were inserted in their slots. She slid the metal tray in with a click. Water rushed into the tub and the machine churned.

  Dust tickled her nose. She sneezed and sniffed. Another odor reached through the dust, something simultaneously sweet and raw. She set her basket on top of the dryer and scanned the space. Dirty and dark, it was not a room she cared to dwell in any longer than necessary, but something was wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. A primitive alarm cramped her belly. Was someone hiding in here? She squinted into the shadows. Her gaze fell on a form in the corner.

  A sheet draped over something.

  She shuffled two steps forward. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her gaze fell on a lock of dark hair poking out from under the gray fabric. Her belly clenched tighter. Her eyes refused to believe what her instincts were telling her. Her slippers scuffed the concrete until she stopped a foot from the base of the bundle. She reached forward and tugged on the bottom hem of the sheet. It slid down to reveal the bloody face of a dead woman.

  Selena stumbled backward and screamed.

  Gray light washed over the stark bedroom. Brooke moved her legs under the covers. The crisp sheets slid, smooth and decadent, against her naked skin. Luke’s apartment was stark, but she couldn’t deny enjoying the luxurious linens and fixtures, like an indulgent vacation in a five-star hotel. She felt safe here too. Isolated from the fear that had taken over her usually routine life, but also separated from the responsibilities of single motherhood and her teaching career.

  When was the last time she’d slept naked? She couldn’t remember, which was just plain sad. Nudity was something a mom of teenagers just couldn’t indulge in outside of the shower. But here, with Luke, she wasn’t just someone’s mom. She was a desirable woman.

  She turned her head. Next to her, Luke slept on, the covers pooled around his waist, his bare torso on display. Her hands itched to stroke the sinewy muscles of his chest and shoulders, but he needed the rest after last night’s panic attack—and all that had come after.

  He hadn’t shared the source of his pain, but he’d no doubt dreamed about the explosion. The incident had left deep scars on his back—and in his soul. Strangely enough, his vulnerability had drawn her closer to him, like she wasn’t the only one with a violent past she couldn’t shake. In sharing his pain, she was less alone.

  She snuggled back down into the duvet and pillows. One heavy arm was thrown across her waist, and the possessive feel of it pleased her more than it should. This was temporary. She shouldn’t get used to it. But a warm bed and a sexy man were an intoxicating combination she hadn’t experienced in many, many years. She deserved some time to enjoy it, but the fact that this moment was fleeting dimmed her pleasure.

  Luke had grown on her more than she should have allowed. The joy booming in her chest after last night’s lovemaking blindsided her. One night together and she was this attached? How would it feel when he left for another continent?

  Buzz.

  She tracked the sound to the nightstand, where her cell phone rested next to the clock. She hadn’t slept until nine in years. Of course, she hadn’t exactly slept through the night. Satisfaction and heat pulsed through her veins at the memories. Her heart might be timid, but her body was definitely not. Maybe he could be persuaded to take another shower together this morning. She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the phone. It vibrated again, and the irrationally worried mother inside of her reached for it on instinct.

  The number read TOWNSHIP OF WESTBURY. Her heart jolted as she pressed the green ANSWER button. “Hello?”

  Luke stirred. Bedding rustled as he turned toward her.

  “Brooke?” A male voice asked.

  “Yes.” Brooke’s voice quivered with nerves. She cleared her throat.

  The caller exhaled hard. “This is Mike O’Connell. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, why?”

  Next to her, Luke rose to his elbow and watched her with groggy but worried eyes. She lifted the phone an inch from her ear so he could hear.

  “We called your house, but no one answered,” Mike said.

  “I took your advice and left town for the night.” Why would the police be calling her house? Fear pulled Brooke to a sitting position. She tugged the duvet up over her breasts and hugged her knees. “What happened?”

  “That was smart. I need you to come down to the station and answer some questions.” The chief evaded. “Where are you?”

  “New York City.”

  “It’s important, Brooke.” Mike’s tone was dead level. “Can you come in later this morning?”

  Brooke’s empty stomach clenched. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Mike hesitated. He breathed the words out in a sigh. “A woman was killed last night.”

  “Maddie?”

  “No. Maddie is fine.”

  “Who?” Brooke felt Luke’s hand on her arm, steadying, calming. She took it in hers and held on.

  “We don’t know yet.” Mike said in a soft voice. “We were hoping you might help us figure that out.”

  “Why do you think I might know her?” Panic rose in Brooke’s chest. Luke squeezed her hand tighter. He scooted over to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. Brooke leaned into him as she waited for an answer she knew was going to be horrible.

  “Because she was laid out like your roommate.” The chief paused. “And your name was carved into her skin.”

  Brooke shielded her eyes against the late morning sun as she got out of the car in the Westbury police station parking lot next to a Coopersfield PD cruiser. The breeze that swept dead leaves across the asphalt was bitterly damp and cancelled out any warmth the sunshine could have provided. She burrowed deeper in Luke’s borrowed sweater.

  Luke opened the door and steered her through the entrance. In the lobby, Brooke wiped her shaking hands on her jeans. The rest of her body was twitchy too, each round of trembles started in her bones and radiated through the rest of her before fading like the final tremors of an earthquake. Her knees were loose as yarn. She hugged her arms and concentrated on the warmth of Luke’s hand at the small of her back. It was the only part of her anatomy not freezing cold, and those six square inches of support might be all that was between Brooke and the floor.

  Ethan spotted them and waved them past the counter.

  “This way.” He led them to a small conference room. Chief O’Connell and another man in his late forties sat on the backside of an oval table. Officer Kent occupied the chair on the right. Open files and papers were strewn across the pale gray laminate.

  As they entered, O’Connell closed a file of photos. He
stood, his face straining with the effort, and shook their hands. “Thanks for coming.”

  Ethan followed them inside and closed the door.

  “You know Officer Kent from Coopersfield.” The chief introduced them. “This is retired Philadelphia homicide detective Jack O’Malley. Due to his experience with violent crime, I’ve asked him to consult on this case.”

  The former cop was tall and thin, with some gray mixed into a head of short, dark hair. A cane hung on the back of his chair. “Call me Jack.” He stood to shake their hands.

  “Please sit.” The chief waved toward the empty chairs opposite him. “Thanks for driving back.”

  “After the break-in last night, I wanted to get Brooke away from here.” Luke pulled out an office chair for her.

  “I can appreciate that.” The chief frowned. “Unfortunately, it gets worse.”

  Brooke sank into the cushioned seat. Luke sat and edged his chair closer. Under the table, his hand found hers and gripped it tight. She gathered strength from her reserves—and from him. After last night, she knew he had faced enough horror to understand. “What happened?”

  The chief began. “A woman was found in the basement laundry room of an apartment building early this morning. She was positioned similarly to the mannequin in your basement.”

  Brooke held on to Luke’s hand. “Do you know who she is?”

  The chief’s fist balled up and thudded once on top of his file. “We’re waiting on confirmation.”

  “I don’t understand.” Terrible-information overload was frying Brooke’s brain. “Why wouldn’t you…?” The dots connected themselves. Her empty stomach rolled over, and her head did a quick swim. She hadn’t even been able to get a cup of coffee down this morning.

  “Her face was too damaged for a visual identification,” the chief confirmed. “But there is a local woman who’s been missing since late Wednesday night.”

  “Who?”