by D. C. Stone
Tears fell in rivulets down her hand that still clutched the phone. She struggled to breathe. Fought to gasp air. “She didn’t come home last night. She wouldn’t j-just disappear.”
“Oh hell, I’m getting up. When was the last time you saw her?”
“Yesterday, before school. I don’t know what to do,” she cried. The words ripped from her mouth. Helplessness tore at her, and she drew her legs up, tried to keep her chest from splitting open.
“Listen, Brooke. I understand you’re upset, but try to take a deep breath. We’re gonna figure out what’s going on.”
“Dwayne?” a sultry, feminine voice asked on the other end of the line. Brooke closed her eyes, and a wash of heat flamed her face. Of course, she should have thought it through before calling him. Known as the village’s playboy, there was not a single night—she was sure, at least from the rumors—he went cold.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Dwayne.”
“No, wait, don’t—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I shouldn’t have called. I’ll figure out something.” Hope, the little flame that sparked upon hearing his voice, sputtered. Her world, the light at the end of the tunnel so to speak, cast into complete darkness. She didn’t know what to do, but she would figure something out. Oh, God, what could she do, though?
“Brooke, hold on.”
“It’s okay,” she said around another sob. “I’m sorry.”
She hung up and tossed the phone across the room, despair eating her alive.
Chapter Nine
The sun shined on the back of his neck, doing nothing to warm the chill in his blood, the one present since he’d heard her sob just before she hung up. He rushed up the front steps to Brooke’s peach-colored rambler. The echoing sound of her despair rang through his head, causing very real panic to run through his veins, so much so that he pounded his fist a little too hard against the wooden door.
“Brooke! Open up.” Come on, sweetheart. Get the damn door. Inches from the bright red paint, he waited with screaming impatience for her to answer. Mere seconds passed and his patience snapped. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. He cursed, opening it. While Nyack wasn’t like the city, or most villages around the area, the fact she left her house unbolted spoke volumes of her state of mind. His Brooke—and didn’t that grate on his nerves, her not being his—never left her door unsecured. She was the most careful person he had ever met.
Sunlight doused the front room in fresh light. A quick scan revealed it devoid of her and he pushed past furniture, glanced in the blue-and-white kitchen, and continued his way down the long hallway leading to the back bedrooms. Dwayne went motionless at Hailey’s room and his heart stopped. It did not stutter, didn’t skip, but just stopped. In that one moment, no blood pumped through his system, and the life-sustaining beat of his heart ceased. He thought of all the regrets he would have—many involving the sweet, petite woman laying still on top of the cream-colored carpet.
Her face tucked into her elbow, her form did not rise and fall with steady breathing. Maybe it was his already jumbled nerves, but he didn’t see any movement coming from her.
“Brooke!”
He dove into the room and tumbled to his knees next to her prone figure. When she—thank God!—lifted her head, her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes stared up at him. They welled with moisture and as the tears fell, he gathered her into his arms and breathed out a sigh of relief. Only then did his heart start to beat again.
“What the hell is going on?”
She clutched at his shirt, and each sob made his stomach curl in on itself, a sickening feeling growing with each sorrowful sound. He tugged her closer, set her on his lap, and straightened his legs as he leaned against Hailey’s bed. Dwayne scrambled for purchase as his fears raced to the surface. He studied the room, looking for a clue, anything to tell him what the hell was going on.
“Sweetheart, Brooke, where is Hailey? Is she hurt?”
A sound reminiscent of a wounded animal tore from her. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips on the top of her head. “Come on, I need to know what’s going on. Let me help.”
“She’s—she’s gone. She never came home last night.”
He frowned. That wasn’t like Hailey. Hell, he had practically raised her himself, and her not coming home was out of character.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Brooke sat up, pushed damp tendrils away from her face, and wiped her nose with the back of a hand. “Yesterday morning. When she left for school. We had a huge fight. Nothing physical,” she tacked on. “But an argument. She promised we would talk about it when she got home, but she never came home last night. Something is wrong, I know it.”
He ran a palm up and down her back and drew his thoughts back to yesterday. “Before school yesterday?”
She nodded and swiped at the tears trailing silvery tracks down her cheeks. “Yeah. I don’t know what to do. She wouldn’t stay out all night. You know she wouldn’t.”
He nodded, his mind playing over the events on the lawn. “That kid she’s been hanging out with was there yesterday. At the school. I remember not liking the way he handled her, but when I went after them, they had already disappeared.”
Brooke frowned, tiny arched eyebrows scrunching together. “What do you mean how he handled her?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, nothing violent. But the grip on her arm stood out to me, but then Lucy intercepted, and in those few moments, I lost them.”
“Lucy?”
Yeah, he didn’t miss how her spine stiffened. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her and spoke in the same tone he would use to talk someone away from the ledge…or into putting down a gun.
“You met her two days ago. She teaches at the high school.”
Recognition dawned across her features. “Oh you mean the girl whose house you were at when I ran—literally—into you?”
He nodded. She tilted her head. Uh-oh.
“Was she pissed I woke you up this morning?”
Shit, there was no easy way of saying this, but growing up the way he did, and being the man he was, didn’t allow him to lie. “I wasn’t with her.”
“But I thought…” She trailed off. Her lips thinned and she scrambled off his lap. He sighed.
“Brooke—”
“No, no, you don’t need to explain. It’s nothing new. Really, I’m glad you came over to help.”
Why the hell, then, was she avoiding his gaze? He unfolded from the floor as she practically sprinted for the kitchen. He followed her, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, pacing back and forth, her gaze darting to the clock every few seconds.
“Something is wrong. I tried calling Jaxon, but he doesn’t pick up. Not even the voicemail picks up. If something has happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Rambling, her voice grew louder, her sentences jumbled together. He itched to take her in his arms but understood it wasn’t time.
“She’s my world, and yesterday, those hateful words. Good God, what if that was the last thing we said to each other? What if that was it? Oh, God!”
The tears started again and this time he gave in to temptation and rushed across the room, drawing her against him. Tiny fists pounded against his chest, pushed at him, but he didn’t let go.
“Hush,” he soothed. “We’ll figure this out. You’re gonna drive yourself nuts.”
Heart-wrenching sobs tore from her again and finally—thank fuck—she fell into his embrace and clung with desperation against his chest. Despite the situation, he could not help but notice their perfect fit. Their bodies came together like two halves of a puzzle. He stroked the back of her head and held her, unknowing of how long they stood there. When she calmed and the tortured sounds stopped, she drew away.
To him, it happened too soon.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” The cop in him took over. “You, sweetheart, I’m sorry to say, look like hell. Unsurprising under the circum
stances,” he tacked on. “When was the last time you got some sleep?”
She shook her head, golden tumbles of orange flying around like a halo. “I won’t be able to sleep, not with her missing.”
“I understand. How about trying to get something in your stomach?”
She grimaced, features tightening in a pained expression. “I don’t think I could.”
“Okay.” He stepped away. It was either that or pull her against him again. To keep from reaching out, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “How about I make you some toast, maybe a cup of tea?” It was not a question, but her features scrunched up again.
“You make tea?”
That earned a laugh, despite everything. “Yes, I do know how to make tea. Boiling water isn’t that hard,” he said wryly.
A ghost of a smile flittered across plump lips, and bright blue eyes the color of pure Alaskan waters looked away. “I wasn’t making fun.”
He leaned into her gaze and smiled. “I know, I’m teasing. How about you go take a shower, I’ll make you something to eat, and then we will get a plan. My momma always said best laid plans are made when you have something in your stomach, and a clear head. Okay?”
She glanced at the clock again and worried her lip. He gave in and took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, turned her sweet face back to him. “Trust me. We’re gonna work this out.”
Her face relaxed and—thank you, Jesus—she nodded.
“I’ll take a quick one.” She stepped away. At the kitchen archway, she turned. “Dwayne?”
Still in the same spot, he lifted a brow. “Yeah?”
Sad eyes met his, but hers held an expression close to gratitude. “Thank you.”
Unable to say anything past the sudden lump in his throat, he nodded.
Several minutes later with two pieces of toast buttered and set on a white porcelain plate, a cup of steaming tea next to it, along with milk and honey, he pulled out his phone and placed a call to Agent Trent Rossi with the FBI. The guy had helped on a large-scale case last year and was now engaged to his best friend, but more, he had access to things Dwayne couldn’t get his hands on.
“Six o’clock in the morning, this better be good.”
“Nice greeting, Rossi.”
“When you call at the butt crack of dawn, it’s the best you’re gonna get. Especially when you interrupt something a whole lot warmer, and better, than hearing your voice.”
That earned a quick smile. “Is my Charlie in bed with you?”
The growl on the other end had his grin widening. “Your Charlie, my ass.”
A low, throaty feminine chuckle sounded in the background. “Play nice, D!”
His grin grew. “Good morning to you too, sexy.”
“You know,” Trent began, “I should kick your ass, but I realize and recognize how very much you like to get under my skin. And as much as I’m enjoying this foreplay, I take it you didn’t call to flirt with me at six o’clock in the morning.”
Dwayne laughed, surprised at the release of pressure it allowed, then sobered. “No, I need a favor, though.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of a thousand boulders on his shoulders. “It has to do with Brooke.”
“The cute little redhead?” A muffled sound followed. “Ow, babe, I’m just saying, it’s not like I’m dead.” The phone was covered while more smothered talking occurred. “Hell, babe, I’m sorry. Come back to bed. I promise I’ll make it up.”
Dwayne shook his head. Like that was going to happen.
“Fuck, Dwayne, now you’ve gone and done it.”
“What? I didn’t say anything. And I know enough about females to never mention another one while in bed.”
“You know, I seem to remember you needing a favor from me.”
“I do, sorry. Look, Hailey, Brooke’s daughter, didn’t make it home last night and I realize we need at least forty-eight hours before a missing person, but this is really out of character for her. Something isn’t sitting right.”
“If my memory serves correct, and it usually does,” Trent started.
Dwayne resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fucking feds and their egos. Having four brothers working in the same capacity, he had grown used to it.
“Her daughter is seventeen,” Trent finished.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, you sure Mom and kid didn’t get into a tuffle and now she’s sleeping it off somewhere?”
“No.” He shook his head again. Then, remembering Trent couldn’t see, he said, “It isn’t Hailey. I know this girl, have helped raise her when her dad skipped town ten years ago. Hailey is smart, has a good head on her shoulders, and is one of the most empathic teens I know. She wouldn’t let her mom worry like that.”
“Okay, what do you need me to do about it?”
“I need you to look into the background on her boyfriend. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“All right, let me get a pen, seeing as my morning doesn’t seem to be looking like I’ll be staying in bed.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, and Dwayne flashed another quick grin. “Give me what you got, I’m ready.”
He relayed the kid’s information and turned at the shuffling steps behind him. Brooke stood in the entranceway, cheeks flushed from the shower. Long, orange hair kissed with color lay in wet tendrils around her face. A pink thermal and black yoga pants framed her curvy body. He swallowed the lump of hard need in his throat and watched her cross the room to take a seat on the stool behind her plate and mug.
His attraction to Brooke had grown year after year, getting steadily worse as time passed. He tried to ignore it, tell himself she was taken by another when they were younger, and again, that they were better off as friends when she left the cheating bastard. Instead of this gripping craving disappearing, it surged like a tsunami, but in this instance, hadn’t receded.
“All right.” Trent pulled him from the trance Brooke managed to ensnare him in, every damn time. “I’ll run a few things and get back to you.”
“I appreciate it.”
He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket, gaze trained on Brooke again. She looked better than before, but sadness and worry lurked behind her eyes. He tried not to think about the hot shower she came out of, the way her skin would still be holding the warmth from the spray, how fresh she would smell, how supple she would feel pressed against him.
Christ!
He closed his eyes, urging the traitorous thoughts out of his mind.
“Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat and focused on her again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
He pushed off the counter, ignored her question, and crossed to the center island, then pushed her plate closer. “Eat.”
Her cheeks puffed and she exhaled in a slow breath of air. “What am I going to do?”
She looked so lost, adrift at sea. Unable to help it, he walked around the counter and drew her into his arms once again. Giving in to the urge, he brushed his lips against her temple. “We’ll figure something out.”
She did not draw away. At least he would have this.
Chapter Ten
Worried about Hailey, exhausted to the bone, and slightly swaying, Brooke clung to Dwayne, took strength from this solid, very real protector. She would have to be dead not to notice his firm body beneath her fingertips, the hardness of his chest pressed to her breasts, and the wicked, clean scent drifting from his skin. While they were no longer hugging, but more her clinging to him, she didn’t want to turn away, couldn’t find the power to do so. How easy would it have been to end up with this man? She’d caught the looks he had given her before. But that had all been in the past, a separate life for them both.
She had become a mother, someone who dedicated her entire being to making sure her daughter was well-rounded, cared for, and knowingly loved. Not only that, but she wasn’t a young pup
any longer, and from the few women she’d seen Dwayne with, his type seemed to have a list of traits all very similar: young, perky breasts, tight asses, single, and free of major responsibilities.
His hand tightened on her back and she held her breath, waiting to see if he would push her away.
Just a few more minutes, please.
She needed him, this close contact with another being. It had been so damn long.
Hailey refused to slow down to cuddle on the couch as she had once done as a young girl. Her daughter had her own life now¸ one currently held in peril, but Brooke had faith they would find her. They had to. Failure wasn’t an option.
Dwayne trailed his hand up her back and pressed a palm to her head, his other arm tightening around her waist. She went with the direction, pressed her face into his warm neck, and breathed. His skin emitted heat rivaling the summer’s sun. She grasped the back of his suit jacket, wishing she could be closer. He shifted their bodies, and her aggravation spun to something else. His lips brushed her temple, and moist air fanned across the side of her face. He hovered there. So close, all she had to do was turn her face and take his mouth. She knew he would let her, too.
So near to him, starved for human contact, she wanted to get lost for a while. She trailed her nose along his neck, took another deep breath, and pressed closer.
He grumbled something unintelligible, the sound coming from his chest more than his mouth. His hand at her waist laid flat on the small of her back and urged her closer still.
The situation was moving fast out of control. Tendrils unraveled, but she was helpless to stop it. This strong male held her as if she were a treasure. He had the power and ability to make her forget everything, to make all the stresses and danger go away.
His hand slipped beneath the back of her shirt and made direct contact with her skin. They both hissed and his breath pushed her hair from her face. His cruel yet sensual mouth continued to drift in a teasing caress across her temple. She turned her head, like molasses on a cold day, up and toward him. Her lips tingled in anticipation, waiting for his kiss. She brushed her mouth across the line of his jaw, a hairsbreadth from his skin.
