by Karen Fenech
“I’m glad you’re all right, Agent Marshall,” Gentry said quietly. The lawyer appeared shaken himself as he slowly left the room.
Clare braced her hand against Jake’s arm in another attempt to gain her feet.
“Take it slow,” Jake said.
With Jake’s help, Clare made her way to a chair, the chair Gentry had vacated, since both Clare’s chair and Dannon’s had toppled to the floor.
Her jacket was dotted with Dannon’s blood. Repulsed, she couldn’t get it off quickly enough. The dress beneath had no sleeves and the room was now too cold. She shivered. Jake removed his jacket and draped it across her shoulders. Clare clutched the two ends tight around her.
Jonathan wheeled in. “Ambulance is on the way.”
Clare shook her head. “I don’t need an ambulance.”
But her words were ignored as a few moments later two paramedics arrived. One man bent to examine her while the second crouched over Dannon.
“You’re having a hell of a week, Agent Marshall,” the young, curly-haired man said.
Clare couldn’t dispute that.
Jake placed his arm around Clare’s shoulder and crouched beside her. “I’ll drive you back to my place, then I’ll come back and take care of the paperwork here.”
Clare pushed the medic’s hand away from her neck. “I’m not leaving.”
“Clare—”
“I’m fine. Let’s get this done.” She regarded Dannon who was now beginning to stir. “I want this bastard to go away for a long time.”
* * * * *
When they returned to Jake’s house night had fallen. Jake went next door to get Sammie. The child was bouncing with excitement over the arrival of Fluffy’s kittens.
“Can I sleep over at Heather’s tonight, Uncle Jake?”
Jake was distracted. And edgy, Clare noticed. He’d hardly spoken a word since they’d left the Bureau office.
He faced Sammie. “I don’t know, honey. Heather’s mom is pretty busy this week with Heather’s cousins visiting.”
Sammie tilted her head and fixed Jake with the full force of her endearing six-year-old gaze. “Her mom said it was okay.”
“I’ll talk with Heather’s mom then.”
Sammie raced into the yard and called out to Heather. The phone rang at Jake’s a few minutes later. It was Laura North. The sleepover was a go.
Jake packed a few overnight essentials for his niece then escorted Sammie back to the Norths’ house.
Clare was still wearing Jake’s jacket. She rubbed her arms. She couldn’t get warm.
A glass with an inch of soda left in it was on an end table in the living room. Clare wanted a bottle of water and retrieved the glass as she went by on her way to the kitchen. The moon lit the kitchen softly and she didn’t bother with the ceiling light as she placed the glass in the dishwasher, then went to the fridge.
A casserole was on the top shelf, ready to be heated. Clare didn’t feel like eating, which was likely a good thing, since her throat felt raw. Her hands were still a little shaky and it took longer than it should have to uncap the bottle.
The back door opened and Jake entered the house. His gaze landed on her with the weight of a truckload of bricks. “What are you doing in here?”
His muscles were tensed. His features taut. She raised an eyebrow at his harsh tone, but held up the water bottle.
“Want one?”
He didn’t respond. He moved away from the door. He was a couple of steps from her now, illuminated by the fridge light. His height and breadth blocked her view of all behind him. So close that she had to tilt her head back to continue to look him in the face. His hard jaw was set and shadowed with dark stubble. His dark hair was a little mussed from where he had just ran his fingers through it.
His eyes lowered to her neck, his gaze intent. She knew what he was looking at. The press of Dannon’s fingers marked her throat in vivid red bruises.
“First the fire and now this,” Jake said.
She’d cheated death twice. Clare winced. If she were superstitious, three would be the charm or, in her case, the end.
Recalling Dannon’s hands squeezing her throat chilled her. The experience had left her more shaken than she would admit. As always, she hid behind bravado.
“It’s over. Don’t think about it,” she said.
Jake shook his head and said softly, “There was an instant. Your head fell back. I thought I was too late getting him off you. I thought that son of a bitch had snapped your neck.”
Jake reached out and brushed his thumb across the column of her throat as if to reassure himself that her neck was indeed intact.
“It’s over,” she repeated, but tears burned her eyes. Her mouth trembled. She felt perilously close to breaking down and turned away from Jake. He set her crutch against the fridge then drew her into his arms and held her tight against him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
It sounded as if he were assuring himself of that fact as well as Clare.
He drew back. Their gazes locked. Clare’s heart began to beat harder. She knew where this moment was leading.
She’d just been through a near-death experience and told herself that sex was life-affirming. She needed to lose herself with Jake. She needed that excuse. How else could she justify taking a path that had left her shattered before?
A “no” from her would end this. Instead, as Jake drew her close again, she was already moving to him.
His arm slid around her, bringing her flush against him. His body was hot and hard and her breathing quickened.
His breathing was ragged as well, as his hands lowered to her waist and he lifted her away from the front of the fridge and onto the counter. She released the water bottle she still held and it thudded into the sink.
She parted her knees. He stepped between them. Keeping one arm around her, he removed his jacket from her shoulders and released it to fall behind her on the counter. He unzipped her dress and snagged the hem. She rose slightly off the counter and he drew it up and over her head. It landed somewhere on the floor.
He’d given her his suit jacket, but still wore the shirt and tie. Clare wanted to be skin to skin as well. She yanked off the tie, made short work of the shirt buttons then removed the shirt itself and pressed her palms to the warm skin and hard muscle of his chest.
He found her mouth again, parting her lips. Their tongues met and she dragged her fingers through his thick hair, down his neck, and dug them into his shoulders.
He removed her bra, filled his hands with her and Clare sucked in a breath. His lips left hers to trace the contours of her body. She bent forward, desperate to run her lips over his body as well. She wanted him with an urgency that had her panting.
His back grew slick with perspiration. His muscles taut as bow strings. Jake murmured her name then lowered her carefully onto himself, kissing her again. Harder, deeper. They fit together in the way she remembered. Found their rhythm as if they’d never been apart. She knew his touch. Welcomed his touch. Craved his touch.
When they found their release, his name was an echo in her head.
They held each other tight as they drifted back to the moment, as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing regulated.
Jake kissed her, softly this time, tenderly, a kiss she returned. She was still wrapped around him, and didn’t move away. Nor did he move from her. They remained entwined, their hands and mouths still seeking the other.
He swept her up into his arms and took her up the stairs and to his bed. The blinds were open. Clouds moved across the sky, partially covering the moon. The remaining light did little to dispel the darkness, and the room was in deep shadow.
He placed her gently on the mattress then joined her there.
“I want you, Clare,” he murmured.
In response, demonstrating her own urgency, she drew him closer and whispered. “Hurry, Jake.”
He shook his head. “Not this time.”
>
He began a slow, systematic exploration of her body. Stroking and kissing. Taking the time he hadn’t when they’d made love earlier in the kitchen.
He kissed her lightly at first. Kept the pressure of his mouth on hers a caress. He slid his mouth to her neck, kissed her there, softly, mindful of the bruising. Stroked her earlobe with his tongue.
Clare would not remain passive, and began to match him, kiss for kiss and caress for caress. His mouth returned to hers. A little more urgent. Their breaths mingled. His breath came a little harder than it had an instant earlier. Perspiration dampened his skin. Beneath her touch, his muscles quivered as he became as lost in passion as she.
In the near darkness, she couldn’t make out his features. She took comfort in that; if she couldn’t see him, then neither could he see her. More than her body was laid bare. If he looked into her eyes, what would he see?
Bodies entangled, they went on and on touching, tasting. Clare reached another level of sensation, another level of need.
Jake rolled her beneath him. Moved over her. Inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, taking him deeper, and he groaned.
He murmured something. Words she couldn’t make out through the haze of passion. Then he began to move within her. Slowly. So slowly. Drawing out the moment. Clare’s head fell back and her eyes drifted closed.
He drove deeper then. Hard. Fast. Her breath caught. She dug her fingers into his back. Jake kissed her as his body tensed, then shuddered as she did.
* * * * *
After, Clare pretended to sleep. Her emotions were too close to the surface, too raw. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Jake kissed her brow tenderly, then covered them with the sheet. Holding her in his arms like that, he fell asleep.
Listening to his deep, even breathing, Clare opened her eyes and gazed out the window of his bedroom. It would soon be dawn. Rain now pattered the glass, the sound soothing. They seemed alone, the only two people in existence. The world was so far away.
Clare focused on the drops, trickling down the glass. From what she’d observed while in the south, tomorrow’s heat would soon remove all trace of this night’s rain. Other thoughts filled her mind. Thoughts she didn’t want to ponder. Better to focus on the rain.
She didn’t want to think about the last hours with Jake. Didn’t want to think how wonderful she felt being in his arms again. She didn’t want to think about the repercussions of this night.
Jake stirred in his sleep, drew her closer. It still wasn’t close enough for her. Clare curled up against him. And focused on the rain.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning Jake led a team made up of agents, state police, and Farley law enforcement into the woods behind Dannon’s cabin to search for Sara McCowan’s grave.
Clare had wanted to be on the team, but had been forced to remain behind. Her crutch was not ideal for trudging over the uneven grounds and would only slow the others down.
Though she couldn’t take part, there was no way she could sit still and wait at Jake’s place or the office for the results. He seemed to understand that, and grim-faced, agreed to leave her in his SUV to sit on the periphery.
She sat tight-lipped, staring at dense trees. The videotape of the grave had panned the area around it, revealing that Dannon had left signs marking the location. Trees were notched. A birdhouse, of all things, had been placed in a tree near the site. It was as if Dannon didn’t want to risk forgetting where the grave was.
Still, it was a formidable task covering the area. The men and women had moved deeper into the woods in the hours she’d been waiting, and she could no longer see or hear any of them.
The sun was low in the sky when she spotted Jake coming toward her. Clare’s heartbeat felt as if it tripled. She didn’t blink, watching his steady progress to her and the vehicle.
She popped the latch on the door and left the SUV. She lurched toward him. She wanted to call out to him, but her throat had tightened, making speech impossible.
“We found the grave,” Jake said when he reached her. He gripped her shoulders. “Skeletonized remains. Dental records will give us a positive ID, but there’s a necklace on the skeleton with a name plate that reads ‘Sara’.”
Since Beth had been gone for only a couple of weeks, her body could not have been reduced to a skeleton. Clare felt a terrible sadness for Sara but clutched Jake’s forearm. “No bodies?”
“No bodies.” He held her gaze.
“Take me there.”
She needed to see for herself that Beth wasn’t in the grave.
Jake nodded as if he’d anticipated her request.
He retrieved her crutch from the back of the SUV and taking her arm, led her back the way he’d come.
When they reached the grave site, it was a hive of activity. Men and women bustled about processing the crime scene, collecting samples, and taking photographs.
The remains had not yet been removed. Clare went to the open grave and peered into the hole. One skeleton that was obviously not Beth. Some of the tightness in Clare’s stomach eased.
Jake cupped her shoulders and tugged gently, but Clare didn’t turn away. It had become important to her that Sara’s killer be brought to justice—Sara whose tragic disappearance she’d learned of only recently while searching for Beth.
Sara’s remains were clothed only in a black leather thong, matching bustier, and stiletto heels. The tough leather had held up well over the years of exposure to the moist soil, hot climate, and breakdown of the body itself. The setting sun illuminated the gold filigree necklace Jake had noted that bore the name Sara, and steel manacles around the bones at the wrists and ankles.
Clare took it all in and her resolve built. She would remember it all, and she would see Rich Dannon prosecuted.
“I’m not finished here,” Jake said, “but there’s no need for you to stay, Clare. Take my truck.” He handed her the keys. “Drive yourself home and I’ll get a ride back.”
Clare nodded as she took them.
* * * * *
Clare returned to Jake’s house. The image of Sara McCowan’s remains was strong in her mind. So far, her best efforts had not resulted in provoking Dannon to speak of Beth. He maintained that he knew nothing about her whereabouts. Of course, he’d said the same about Sara.
They hadn’t found anything of Beth’s at the cabin. No videotape or photos to remember her by. Clare hoped that meant Beth was still alive. That Dannon had wanted her available to him.
The manacles on Sara’s wrists and ankles flashed before Clare’s eyes. She hadn’t watched the videotapes, but she’d viewed the photographs found at the cabin. They were shots of Sara in life and in death. In the pictures taken while she was alive, Sara wore the necklace found on the skeleton. She was clothed in what appeared to be the same black leather thong, matching bustier, and stilettos she’d been buried in. Rouge gave her cheeks a soft blush. Liner and lipstick extended the natural lines of her lips, enlarging them, creating the illusion of a pout. Her eyes had been outlined in black for a dark, exotic look. Rich Dannon had gone all out to satisfy his sexual tastes.
Sara had been slender before her abduction. Photographs showed her deterioration as her captivity progressed. Her body had become emaciated, whittled down to bone. Bruises, welts, and burns marked the girl’s skin, skin once spotted with tiny freckles. Several close-up angles caught Sara open-mouthed, in the throes of screaming, her eyes nearly opaque with pain and terror.
