Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Define quickie.”

  She put a little more husky tone to her voice, and pronounced each word with great care, “The opposite of slow, taking your time like before, putting all that control you’re so famous for to good use.”

  “Depends on how comfortable this desk is, don’t you think?” Letting go of her breast long enough to run one hand over the desk, he added, “Feels pretty comfortable to me.”

  “If it feels so comfortable then you take the bottom.”

  He shrugged. “Not a problem, baby; I like you on top. I thought I proved that already.”

  With both of his hands resting on her hips, he brought her closer, nudged her top up slightly, then set to work with his tongue exploring her belly button, licking, sampling, tasting.

  “Your belly button is a real turn-on. I’ve got this thing for it,” he teased. All the while, Kit enjoyed the motion of his tongue, kept his head in place between both hands, as if he might somehow get away from her. For the second time that day, he unbuttoned the top button on her jeans, ran the zipper down to its base, and was just moving down to enjoy the possibilities when a knock at the door interrupted their play.

  “Go away,” they both shouted in unison. Clearly annoyed with the intrusive knock, he made his intentions clear, “That’s the second time today we’ve been interrupted. Tonight, we’re having dinner on the boat, sleeping on the boat; no phones, no cops, no well-meaning friends or co-workers. If I have to take us five miles out of port to do it, we’re going to be alone. Got it?”

  Smiling at the prospect, she quickly buttoned her jeans and said, “That’s a great idea. I’ll leave early, go home, and pack a bag. I’ll stop by the market, pick up some groceries. We can fix dinner and have the whole evening to ourselves.”

  When Kit took too long to open the door, it opened anyway, and Quinn stood in the doorframe, obviously just as annoyed. “What are you guys doing in here?”

  “Geez, do you need me to draw you a picture? Jake and I were just…talking…we were talking…about…books. He wanted to know if we had Bruce DeSilva’s latest novel.”

  Quinn looked around the tiny office. “Yeah. Right. And there are just so many books stored back here. This must be where you keep the sale items, right?” She cocked her head and looked at Kit. “You always were a terrible liar.” Then to Jake, “It’s been awhile.”

  “It has. How are you, Doc?”

  Quinn grinned as if she just remembered. “No Dr. Quinn medicine-woman jokes, okay? I heard them already.”

  “What are you doing here?” Kit finally asked.

  “Got an update from Baylee, came on the fly. Seems like there’s something you two have completely forgotten about.”

  Kit’s face tightened. She blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a good thing I have a memory like an elephant. Do you remember spending a very weird Fourth of July weekend at your dad’s house when we were fourteen? Well, you weren’t, but Baylee and I were. He was leaving after the holiday for another shoot, on location, somewhere overseas. Anyway, it was the summer before he died. Your dad had been drinking. He took a phone call, a long distance call, just as we were about to go surfing. Afterwards he was so upset, he started rambling, even started crying. We were so freaked out we didn’t know what to do.”

  A chill went through Kit. She closed her eyes briefly before asking, “What else do you remember?”

  “He started talking to himself about some guy named Benny who lived all the way over in Ireland. Benny, Kit. Baylee told me Jake uncovered a son who’s getting your dad’s residuals, a son who lives in Ireland. I remember because, hey, born in Ireland here. But then your dad started talking about how he couldn’t live with himself because of what he’d decided to do.”

  For a moment Kit had a stunned look on her face, but then a light went off. Slowly, she turned to Jake. “We need to find Ben Griffin. He might hold some of the answers.”

  CHAPTER 19 Book 1

  That night on board the Sea Warrior, they shared the cramped space in the galley preparing dinner. As she watched Jake whip up a marinade for their sea bass, squeezing fresh limes into a bowl before adding garlic into the juice, a thought occurred to her. “You’re left handed.”

  When he just looked at her strangely, obviously puzzled over her observation and didn’t say anything, she pursed her lips and said, “Well, haven’t you noticed?” She stopped slicing veggies in mid-chop long enough to hold up her left hand, which held a very large, sharp knife.

  “Noticed what?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, I am too.”

  She was getting wound up. Amused at her behavior, he teased, “Am too what? Are you left-handed, too? Huh. I hadn’t noticed.”

  In the tiny galley, she was an arm’s length away. He didn’t hesitate to bring her into him, knife and all. He nibbled at her lower lip before telling her, “I’ve been much more interested in other areas of your body to notice which hand you use. But if you’ll drop the knife, I’ll be happy to show you how good I am at using both hands.”

  As the knife clattered to the cutting board, in between his nips and kisses, she pointed out, “Well, I think it’s cool, even if you don’t. No bumping into each other when we eat. And it’s a known fact that left-handed people are much more creative.”

  At the moment, he was showing her exactly how creative he could be. His hands roamed down her body. When she giggled, sudden heat spread over him that had nothing to do with cooking. He’d been put off all day. All he could think about was having her right here, right now. But she’d wanted food and they had to eat at some point. Besides, she looked so happy in the galley, so comfortable in this domestic scene after the kind of day she’d had, that he tamped down his desire and turned back to the marinade.

  She poked him in the ribs, telling him, “You said that omelets were the only thing you could cook; yet, you look like you know your way around that marinade.”

  “Marinade is for grilling. Beach bums grill―anything.” He spread a little butter on both sides of the fish before dropping each piece into the marinade to saturate. After wiping his hands, he took a long pull on his beer, watching her finish chopping the mushrooms. She dumped them into a skillet to sauté for lobster bisque.

  While the veggies cooked, she mixed together the rest of the ingredients for the cream sauce, before adding chunks of lobster meat to the thickening mixture. While the soup simmered, he watched her throw together a batch of homemade cornbread from scratch. Jake stared at the woman in wonder. She could flat-out cook. After several minutes, he said, “Not only beautiful, but you move like a five-star chef.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. But if you enjoy the food, next time you see Glo you should thank her. She’s the one who showed me preparing a meal could be like an art form. Glo not only taught me how to cook, she made me feel good about myself. I didn’t have that until Glo. She gave up owning a bed and breakfast in Maine to move here. Imagine that, and she was a pretty good cook.”

  While the cornbread baked, Jake slapped the fish on the grill and turned it to low heat. He sat back to watch the fish and realized Kit was talking a mile a minute about setting the table. No, she was talking about decorating the table. He’d never seen a woman get such a kick out of finding a festive blue tablecloth and matching napkins in one of the lockers than when she discovered red dishes and an assortment of red candles to go with it.

  As she chattered on for five minutes about the red and blue color scheme, Jake watched, loving every minute of her enthusiasm over something so mundane. She got so much pleasure out of the smallest ordinary things most people took for granted. But then he realized that she hadn’t grown up with many chances at ordinary.

  After Kit ladled out lobster bisque and sliced off chunks of warm, steaming cornbread, Jake opened two more beers.

  Kit watched with satisfaction as he hungrily dug into the soup and cornbread, stopping long enough to tell her, “This soup is delicious. And this
cornbread’s as good as my mom’s.”

  Kit liked this homey setting. Preparing a meal for Baylee and Quinn had always given her a kick; however, cooking for Jake was more like cooking with love. She had to admit everything she did with him was unlike anything she’d ever done before. Okay, she had it bad.

  Forcing her mind to think of other things, Kit asked, “Do you think we’d get anywhere if we found Alana’s ex-husbands, starting with the first one? That environmental engineer, what was his name, Forrester? Start from the beginning.”

  “Good idea. I checked McKetrick Construction and it’s no longer in business.” When he saw the surprised look on Kit’s face, he added, “It seems the company lost a major lawsuit in ’67 to BBG&G and was bankrupt by ’70. I’m still digging, searching in between everything else. I’m trying to locate Forrester.” As he finished off the meal, he asked, “If you’re thinking the killers of that old couple were women, are you going to tell me who you think they were?”

  He thought he already knew.

  “Good ol’ Lana and Jess. I just can’t figure out why, although my guess would be money. I’ve never seen two people love money more than they did. It was like a competition with them, who could get it, who could keep it, who could spend it in record time. Did you make any progress on finding out when her bank balances went south?”

  “No. And I’m not sure I’m ready to hack my way there yet. But even though we don’t have access I’d bet money that someone dipped into those accounts recently.”

  “Any progress finding Ben Griffin?”

  “No. What I can’t figure out is the residuals are going to an address in Galway. Slam dunk there, but I can’t get a phone number. If it’s a P.O. Box that would explain why. You know, we might have to hire a private investigator to go over there and check it out. We could use the guy I hired to look into Claire’s murder. Jordan Donovan works with Reese.”

  “No offense, but he didn’t exactly hit a home run there. Maybe I could go over, check it out.”

  “Alone? No way. We’d both go.”

  She sighed and picked up her wine glass. “I doubt St. John would be happy to see me board a plane and leave the country just now. Until I’m no longer that person of interest, I’m not going anywhere. You know, I’ve been thinking, the land that ranch sat on had to be worth a small fortune. With Alana in real estate maybe...”

  “Was Alana into real estate back then, in 1969 I mean? I thought she was still acting and that came later as a sideline.”

  “You’re right. She often said as a single mother she needed the extra income after I came along. Well, it was just a thought.”

  After they finished eating, they both began to clear the dishes. Kit opted to wash while Jake dried. Soon, it became a game. Whenever Kit had her hands submerged in the water, Jake took full advantage. Standing behind her, he did his best to toy with every part of her he could reach.

  Alternately, she would wash a plate while he nibbled at her ear. After he’d dry whatever she’d washed, he’d go back to nibbling the back of her neck, dry a dish, then gnaw at her shoulder, dry something else, and then chew on the tender part of her arm. It was the most fun she’d ever had doing dishes.

  But after nibbling her ear once too often, he finally threw the towel down on the counter and cleverly moved his hands to cup her breasts; his fingers found her nipples through the fabric of her top, rubbing back and forth until he felt the peaks go hard.

  She finally leaned her back into him, dried off her hands on the towel he’d thrown down, and teased, “Show me what you got, Sailor Boy.”

  “My kind of woman,” he said huskily as he turned her around to face him, dragged her into him, found her mouth, and devoured. They began to move toward the stateroom wrapped up in each other and worked at getting each other’s clothes off.

  By the time Jake got her to the bed, all she had on was a pair of black panties. He unzipped his jeans, threw them in the corner, pushed her gently to the bed and followed her down.

  He covered her mouth with his, rode the kiss out before sliding her panties past her long legs. Then his fingers dug into moist heat. Kit rode each stroke out, lost in the pleasure, matching his pace until she hit the curl in one big O. As soon as she came, Jake moved to a breast, began to lick and taste there.

  But Kit used her newfound confidence to take the reins. Wanting him inside her, she began to stroke him, taking him out of his rhythm. Struggling to maintain control, he slid his hands around her body and rolled her to her stomach. Running his hands up and down her back, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

  “Show me…I want you. Now, Jake.”

  He nuzzled her ear, brought his hands around between her silky wetness. He lifted her hips and in one smooth motion slipped inside her from behind. She was wet and tight. He tried to slow his pace, slow his thrusts, but Kit would have none of it. When she began to rock back and forth into him, they both lost the battle and rode the peak toward completion.

  Moonlight drifted through the room’s skylight, bathing them in shadows. As they lay on the bed uncoupled, content, and sated, Jake recovered on his back, while Kit lay on her side with her head resting in the crook of his arm. Her hand draped across his chest, she toyed with a few hairs.

  “You know I’ll always remember my first time making love on a boat. Without much effort, a woman remembers moments like this—I’ll be eighty, sitting around the nursing home. Someone will be talking about boats. The conversation will remind me of tonight and I’ll tell them I remember the first time I made love on a boat.”

  Entwined in each other, he took her chin, turned her face up to his and looked into her jade eyes. “We’ll be in the same nursing home. I’ll be the guy talking about boats. You’ll turn to me and ask if I remember the first time we made love on a boat. I’ll say, of course I remember that first time. I may be old, but how could I forget that? It was spring, a beautiful May evening, but as beautiful as the night was it could never compare to how beautiful you are now and how beautiful you were the first time we made love on a boat.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. The usually talkative Kit went silent for a long time before telling him, “No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”

  He kissed her brow. “I know, but it’s time someone did.”

  “Do you really think it’s possible to stay together with someone for that long?”

  “If you’d have asked me that question years ago, I’d have said no way…” He chose his words carefully. “But now…I’m beginning to think if you find the right person...” He didn’t tell her he hadn’t felt this way about the woman he’d married. When it came to Kit, he felt a rebirth, energized, as if all he’d ever need was her.

  But he didn’t say that to her now.

  “Maybe it’s just sex.”

  He put his fingers to her mouth. “Hmmm, don’t you feel it every time we’re together?”

  “I thought it was just me.”

  “It isn’t.” He yawned. She yawned. Two days of not very much sleep finally caught up with both of them. Happier than she was used to feeling, she stretched out her long legs and curled up into his pillow.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  The little four-year old girl with a tearstained face sits on the floor of the black hole closet with her arms tightly wrapped around knees drawn up to her chest, gently rocking back and forth. Surrounded by blackness, in the dark, confined to the small space, she uncurls her little legs long enough to kick at the door to no avail.

  Locked inside its parameters, unable to get out, she sits, lies, crawls a short distance on the floor, which is hard and unyielding. The hardness of the floor prevents the child from getting any actual rest or finding any comfortable way to sit or sleep.

  There’s no pillow for her head, no blanket to wrap up in, no toys to play with, no stuffed animal to keep her company. As part of her punishment, it’s always the same. She is never allowed
to bring anything into the closet with her. Crying has made her eyes hurt, and her thin face shows puffy red cheeks. But she knows there isn’t much she can do that will bring anyone to the door to let her out of the darkness anytime soon; even when she has to go to the bathroom, no one will come. When she gets hungry, no one will bring her food. No matter how long she cries, or how loud she screams, no one will open the door and let her out of the black hole closet.

  Jake woke to an empty bed. He turned on the bedside light. Looking around the stateroom, his eyes locked on Kit, sitting on the floor hugging her knees, rocking gently back and forth next to the cabin wall.

  In the sudden bright of the room, her eyes met Jake’s. The look of pure panic in her huge green eyes told him this wasn’t like the dream from the other night. And the time wasn’t three minutes past three, but rather one-thirty in the morning.

  And this was different, her face looked—terror-stricken.

  Jake crawled out of bed, slipped on his boxers, and went around to the end, approaching her with care. In an even voice, he asked, “Kit, are you all right?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you have a bad dream?”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around her naked body.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  Some of the fear left her eyes momentarily because she looked at him as if he’d asked a really stupid question. “Your boat. I woke up and wanted to go up on deck, to get outside, but it was dark…and I couldn’t find my way…I got…I couldn’t find my way out, couldn’t find my clothes. I’m not…I’m not used to your boat. I got…confused… I just needed to get outside, but I couldn’t. I just wanted to go up on deck…get out...”

  “If you’ll come over to me, I’ll get you outside.” He said this as he pulled a T-shirt over his head and put one leg then the other into a pair of shorts.

  “You’ll take me outside?”