Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  Lancing agony stabbed Maggie. She’d have clutched at her chest if Emma hadn’t been in her arms. It couldn’t be. It had to be.

  “I wouldn’t have missed the dance,” she whispered.

  The officers and Harte turned to her.

  “It was Mike’s last father’s day gift. He had this thing for Garth Brooks and a few times the week before he died he'd quoted that line before going to work.” It was the only thing that hadn’t been returned to her after the wreck. It hadn’t been in the car when the police searched it, so when had it been taken?

  Tears she hadn’t shed since Harte held her a year earlier built in her eyes.

  “Maggie.” Harte reached out.

  She stepped back and swiped at her eyes before meeting his piercing gaze. Focus on control. “I’m fine. Grace knows about the woman in the park, but not her identity. She knows about the raccoon, but not the paper. I want to keep it that way.”

  He pointed toward her house. “There are gunshot holes in your door and a bloodstain on your porch. How are you going to hide those from her?”

  “Thank you for the reminders.” Her skin itched at the thought of the raccoon blood still lightly staining the porch. “I patched and painted the door frame. As far as she’s concerned the raccoon was a kid’s prank. I need her in the dark or my family will become…difficult.”

  Harte took the evidence bag the officers had slipped the envelope into. “After I have this processed I’ll get it back to you.”

  “Thanks. Listen.” She shifted Emma and looked over at Grace still talking to Craig. “This crap is really beginning to freak me out.”

  “I’ve upped patrols.”

  “And you’re spending the nights in your car. Neither’s helping me sleep and frankly, the neighbors are going to begin noticing things. Then they’ll be freaking out.”

  “I—”

  “Surely don’t want everyone aware that you are on the lookout for…something.”

  “Maggie.”

  She railroaded ahead. “You want to believe you’ll do a better job of keeping an eye on things from your car. That it’s enough to stop whatever you’re expecting.”

  She shrugged and patted his arm. The brief touch was enough to register how big and hard his arms were and to make her wonder what it would be like to have them around her. Naked. Not now!

  “The truth is, everything seems to be happening when you aren’t around or watching. As if the person you suspect is watching closer than you.”

  “I could assign someone else.”

  “Like Detective Pritchett?”

  His face hardened. Officer McClain stiffened and growled. Clearly Harte wasn’t alone in his hatred. It was a low blow to mention him, but she had to make her point. She didn’t trust her kids to someone else.

  “The neighbors have seen you around.” She nodded to the house across the street where an elderly couple watched from behind their blinds. “More cops will raise suspicions. If you intend to stake out my house again tonight, you may as well do it inside the air conditioning where there’s a bathroom, food and fresh coffee.”

  He stood and stared and started to speak several times before finally saying, “I’ll see you tonight,” before he turned and headed over to his car.

  Well, she’d won. Sort of. He would be in her home, around to disturb her mind on a constant basis. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best plan and she may seriously regret it, but at least now she had a better shot at learning what he knew. And how it tied back to her or Mike.

  She would just have to hope Jared didn’t get too attached and, of course, be careful to avoid touching.

  Chapter 3

  “Sullivan should have helped. The wife will, or she’ll meet the same end.”

  —Adalia

  For two days following torment after torment culminating with the iPod toss, Adalia remained silent—probably to needle her way into Maggie’s conscience and get her wondering. Worrying.

  Mike’s death hadn'tbeen an accident. Maggie's, if they failed to stop Adalia, wouldn't be anaccident. Figuring out how Mike had known Adalia, and who had tossed the iPod, would put them closer to puttin Adalia back behind bars.

  An agreement to stay at Maggie’s home became inevitable when she’d recited the inscription from the iPod. In that moment, remembering the man he’d met a year earlier as well as his regretful gaze, taking the song quote as a final message from Sullivan, BD knew why Mike had worried about her safety. With the acceptance came uncomfortable reality. There was no backing down and someone was going to get hurt.

  He’d been back over and over the case files and still couldn’t see the connection between victims. His gut, and ten years of police work, pointed to Mike as the key. How? How involved had Maggie’s husband had been with Adalia? How did a linguistics professor with a gorgeous wife and kids in the suburbs get tangled up with a killer?

  Shifting facts around in his mind, BD considered the background checks he’d run on Maggie and Mike. Rockewell-esque family history and solid financials, without any large deposits leading up to or following Mike’s death aside from the life insurance payout. Thanks to a healthy policy and smart decisions, Maggie wouldn’t have to worry about money, but BD had more to consider than her financial state.

  Whatever Adalia wanted had to be money driven. Did Maggie know about it? Did she have something without realizing it?

  Things in the Sullivan house seemed fairly settled emotionally, but loss had a way of sneaking up, busting through egg-shell fragile memories and ripping new craters of grief in the heart. He worried he’d crack the shells if he worded a question wrong or came home when the kids were awake.

  Not home. Can’t think of it that way.

  Even now, with the warning playing in his head as he sat in the circle driveway of her home, he couldn’t stop wondering. Wanting.

  He tried avoiding Maggie and the kids, staying close enough to protect yet distant enough to evade attachments. To her, her sad son, her blue-eyed daughter. The risk of attachment was huge for him. Maggie scared him, made him feel things, emotions, he’d long ago buried.

  Time did not heal all wounds. Some experiences and losses cut too deep, until the slightest trigger rekindled a memory, good or bad. Like Emma with her breathtaking blue eyes. Jared with his wounded spirit trying to break free. Maggie caring for and playing with her kids.

  Maggie.

  She smiled sweetly, smelled heavenly and cared openly. Her brightness fractured his inner darkness and awakened the desire to touch her every time he got close. Too long in her company and he’d be a goner. This case needed to be solved fast, and that wasn’t going to happen with him hiding in the car outside.

  Renewed determination to do anything necessary to stop Adalia gripped him, propelled him out of the car and to the front porch.

  Feeling like an intruder, even though Maggie had given him a key, BD stepped into the entryway and looked around her perfectly organized house. Earlier than normal, expecting some sort of chaos or drama, he instead heard silence.

  Rather than set his bag of clothes in the entryway, he carried it to the guest room to his left. She’d move it the first second she saw it anyway if he left it out. Any little thing that got nudged out of perfect alignment was quickly righted. Couch pillows sat a certain way, foods in the pantry were faced and categorized like in a grocery store. He didn’t remember the house being quite so precise a year ago. Was her OCD a coping mechanism? A grasp for control?

  Stepping back into the living room, he again noticed the quiet. Too quiet.

  It wasn’t a simple silence from no one being home or from everyone being asleep. There was more noise in the middle of the night. Now there was nothing. His neck tingled with a sudden chill of dread.

  Unsnapping the safety on his holster and drawing his weapon, BD stepped down into the living room.

  Adalia hasn’t gotten to them.

  He moved silently through the house, checking the office and bedrooms. Empty. His insti
ncts hummed more with each room.

  I didn’t fail to protect her so quickly.

  Hustling through the dining room, he heard an almost imperceptible clicking from the kitchen. With his gun lowered to his side he looked in.

  Sitting cross-legged on the dining room table, pristinely dressed in pleated slacks and a satiny looking blouse, with her long hair neatly braided, Maggie focused on her laptop screen. Emma slept next to her in the carrier. A plastic tote tub with a garden hoe across the lid sat by a table leg.

  Relief followed by curiosity rushed through him with a release of adrenaline. His muscles trembled as he reholstered his weapon. “What are you doing? Where’s Jared?”

  “Neighbor’s.” She chewed her lower lip. The skin flashed white, her jaw tightened. “If he stayed here I might have strangled him.”

  Another prank. BD resisted asking if the kid had smiled—the boy was eerily serious more often than not. Asking meant caring. Caring meant involvement. Involvement meant danger.

  The unconsciously erotic way she chewed on her lip, occasionally wetting it with her pink tongue, shot straight through BD. A pool of sweat formed at the base of his spine. The air conditioner made it impossible to blame the heat on anything other than arousal.

  How would she taste? Would she quiver if he tried to find out?

  Too late to dodge danger.

  He licked his lips and blinked to break his stare and thought process. Maggie was built for long-term relationships while he chose short-term ones. Still, she appealed to him, disturbed him, threatened his focus. And he hadn’t spent any real time with her.

  He didn’t do the damsel in distress, but twice now, she’d been cast in the role. Twice now he found himself turned on by the idea of saving her. Twisted bastard.

  BD walked toward the table. Her radiating warmth and sensuality teased his senses and tempted him again to discover what she would be like when aroused. Curious to know how much exposure he could handle, just how long he’d last before his brain short circuited, he leaned in close and looked at the screen.

  His body sizzled as if he’d grabbed hold of a live wire. Vanilla and rose scents floated around her, feminine and spicy. Arousing.

  “Mags.” He cleared his throat and looked at the snake on her screen. “I had no idea you were into snakes.”

  She freed her bottom lip, swollen from her own teeth. A drop of blood lingered where she’d bitten too hard. His tongue swiped across his own mouth, wishing it were hers. Sweat dripped along his spine. He should be focusing on the job. Not her.

  “I’m not. Jared snuck one in.”

  He looked away from the image. He didn’t have many fears, but those icy, reptilian eyes made his skin crawl. “What kind?”

  “Copperhead.” She clicked a picture to enlarge it. Cold, black slits stared back at them.

  “What? How… Those things are venomous.”

  “Apparently, he and his friend chased it into his backpack. I swear the kid’s not going to the park for a month.”

  “Here? Copperheads don’t live around here. Do they?”

  “Not typically. I however seem to have one as a pet.”

  “You aren’t keeping it.” The panic in his voice irritated him even as he scanned the room and corners again, looking for any signs of the slithering, cold-blooded serpent.

  She looked at him with a startled and suspiciously humored gaze. “Do I look like an idiot? Now, my neighbor across the street who’s into fetishes might want it.”

  Okay, good to know she was mentally sound. And he’d heard about that neighbor from Craig after their door-to-door. No thanks. “How did they not get bitten?”

  “He claims he propped the bag open with some sticks and put a dead rat in it.” She shuddered. “I’m not thinking about how he zipped the bag without incident. Or unzipped it.”

  Thinking up the logistics of stunts like this before he hit ten? The kid was going to be trouble when he got older. He needed a new direction for his imagination. “Where did you find it?”

  “It went under the couch.”

  “Where is it now?” BD looked around the room. No sign of it. A careful maneuver had him briefly brushing against her. Harmless. His system remained somewhat level.

  Hmm. If he could be close to Maggie, maybe touch her while his nerves hummed with snake awareness, and stay in control then he could survive his stint in her home.

  “Still there as far as I know.”

  It could be anywhere. Ready to strike. He could have walked right by it… No. He’d have noticed. Jared may be the culprit this time, but this was the kind of stunt Adalia would pull. Only she’d put the thing in the bed.

  “I needed to verify the species before trying to catch it.” She scooted over, presumably to give him more room, though he already had a foot of space on his other side and could easily have moved away from her.

  Would she really just grab a snake like it was no big deal? Even non-venomous ones bit. And the bites hurt. BD pushed his shoulder blades back in an attempt to dislodge the shirt now stuck to the stream of sweat running along his spine.

  “You know, the city employees people to handle these things. They’re known as animal control.”

  “I grew up on a farm.”

  “So you’ve captured a copperhead before?” BD searched the floor again.

  “No, but I can do this.”

  In other words she wouldn’t back down from a challenge. He admired her even while he wished she’d leave the task to the professionals. He pointed to the tub and hoe.

  “Now that you know what you’re after, the kids are safe, and you seem prepared—” he couldn’t believe what he was about to ask. She’d already rewired him somehow. “Do you want some help?”

  “That would be great.” She hopped off the table, handed him the hoe and picked up the tub. “You pin it. I’ll handle the lid.”

  “Pin it and pick it up.”

  A wave of bile rushed into his throat. They were talking about catching a venomous snake and she seemed more excited that freaked. Something had to crack her elaborate mask of control.

  They headed toward the living room with her slightly behind him. “You think it’s still under the couch?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Not certain how best to approach a confirmation, he sure as hell wasn’t sticking his face down there, he edged toward the back of the sofa. “Get behind me.”

  Once she’d done as he said, he backed them both up. Hoping they were out of striking range, he used the hoe to lift the fabric skirt at the bottom of the sofa and bent at the waist.

  Nothing, not even a dust bunny was under the couch. A slight scuffling came from behind the entertainment center. He straightened and watched the snake slither from behind the massive piece of woodwork. A long, shiny, white-tipped, red tongue followed by a copper-colored head and a long body slid around the wall toward the bedrooms.

  “They seem so harmless from a distance,” she mused.

  BD turned his head. Slowly. Gorgeous. Brave. And off her rocker.

  “It’s headed to my room.” She moved past him. Her curvy hip brushed against him. A blast of heat shot through him instantly awakening his body.

  He blocked her, not caring if she noticed his arousal. Maybe she’d be shaken to know he’d pictured her in bed. It was certainly a more appealing image than the current activity. “Doesn’t anything rattle you?”

  “No.” She stepped aside to circle around him.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “It is.”

  “Bullshit.” No one could be so cool all the time and, snake be damned, he’d prove it.

  BD grabbed her arm and yanked her around. She dropped the bin. He dropped the hoe, pulled her against him and kissed her honey and cinnamon flavored, plump lips. His blood surged.

  If she’d only open up.

  Stepping closer, needing to feel more of her, to be closer to the fire, he picked her up and sat her on the back of the sofa. He stood between h
er thighs and wrapped his arms around her. Her satin blouse slid against his palms as soft as what he imagined her skin would be when he got the chance to touch her. Sinking deep into her, his mouth playing over hers, he enticed her to open.

  Scents of hot summer, vanilla and roses engulfed him. Maggie dug her blunt fingernails into his shoulders, clinging. The heat in his veins raged like a blue flame begging for more fuel.

  He pressed against her, molding himself to her pliant curves that fit him like heavenly sin. He moaned as his tongue swept across her slightly parted lips, seeking an entry he wasn’t sure she would give.

  She did.

  She opened her mouth and invited him in as a quiver racked her body.

  Triumph echoed in his chest. Breathing grew difficult within his shrinking ribcage. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed against his erection. Tingles spread along the top of his scalp.

  “I want you. Here. Now.”

  Her quiver turned into tremors racking her body. More than arousal drove her. Fear? BD raised his head. Her eyes were wide, her breath was ragged and her fingers shook as she hung onto him.

  Never should have kissed her.

  He’d rattled her and himself. He knew her taste, her feel, her smell. He’d never forget them and he wanted them again even while telling himself a repeat was too pricey.

  “That was a mistake.” BD stepped back and set her on her feet. Unable to look at her flushed cheeks, or name the look in her eyes, he picked up the hoe and slowly moved toward the hallway.

  Idiot. Stick to safe women. No more thoughts of getting Maggie naked.

  Catch the snake. Re-establish a professional distance. Repeating the orders in his head, he stepped into her room. Don’t look at the bed or think of her in it.

  She came in behind him. Their prey was coiled in a corner. Perfect striking position.

  Maggie set the bin down and peered around BD. Her lush breast brushed lightly against his arm. The erection straining against his zipper throbbed.

  “It’s huge,” she whispered.

  The snake. She means the snake. BD rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Stupid kiss had his mind too far south. “He’s not that big.”