Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  They were both silent for a while as they struggled with emotion. She picked up her glass, took a sip of the chilled wine to ease her throat. “This actually explains some things. Like why you were so cool to me at the funeral and when you first came here. I couldn’t think what I’d done to aggravate you.”

  “I was being an idiot. I didn’t know you, except from what Josh told me, which was obviously biased and—”

  “And you were understandably upset that I didn’t return his feelings the way he wanted me to. And he was gone and he’d never have a chance to move on and love someone else.”

  “I don’t blame you anymore.” He sat back, his wine untouched. “I know emotions can’t be ordered up, and I know you have really good reasons for not wanting to get involved with anybody.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed back tears. “I appreciate your saying that. And I am sorry I didn’t return his feelings the way he would have liked. But I did love him so much.”

  “He was happy being with you,” Boyd said. “I mean, he’d have been happier if you were his girlfriend, naturally, but he got so much joy out of being around you.”

  “Did he think that might happen, eventually? That I’d come to love him romantically?”

  He dropped his gaze. “He hoped it would.”

  She blinked again. “I wonder now if I shouldn’t have pushed him away after he . . . you know, kissed me. I should have known. And he did so much for me, made my life so much easier. I thought he was taking care of me like a brother, but—” She broke off and took another sip of wine to wash the lump from her throat. “Maybe if I had pushed him away, he’d have moved on, met a smart, nice woman . . .”

  He shook his head. “No. He was happy being around you. And he certainly wasn’t going to fall out of love with you and into love with another woman in a few months. Eventually, I’m sure he would have, but not nearly that soon.” He lifted his glass and had a healthy sip of the wine. “Okay, have we cleared the air? Said all we need to say?”

  Hayden almost smiled. Poor Boyd. He so hated conversations about emotion. Josh had loved to bait him about it. He’d said Boyd thought it was better to keep that stuff safely bottled up, instead of “wearing it on your fucking sleeve and winding up bleeding that emotion all over innocent people who just want not to be bled on!” It probably had something to do with Josh’s abduction way back when they were children. Josh had emerged with the optimistic, caring nature reinforced, while Boyd’s less trustful, closed-off nature had been cemented.

  She smiled. “Yeah, we’re done. We can talk about something else.”

  They talked some more about Hayden’s hairy shift. Then she asked him how he and Detective Morgan were making out with the phone numbers.

  He pushed to his feet. “How about dinner first? It’s in the toaster oven under tinfoil. I shoved it in there when you called to say you were getting in the car.”

  She started to get up and he gestured for her to stay.

  “Just relax. I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you.” She sank back against the couch cushions and sipped her wine.

  He was back quickly, with a tray and the bottle of wine to top them up. “I didn’t realize you were vegan.”

  “I’m nowhere near vegan. Not even vegetarian, although I usually only eat fish and chicken.” She took the tray from him and placed it on her lap. “The thing is, I do love vegan cuisine. It’s usually organic, which I like.” She peeled the foil back on the hot plate to reveal a sizeable piece of tempeh crusted with pea and cornmeal on a bed of what she knew would be Thai sticky rice and a side of sautéed bok choy. The smells of garlic and ginger rose up in the curling steam. “See? What’s not to love?”

  He leaned closer to look. “That chunk of . . . what is it?”

  “It’s tempeh, fermented soy. And I bet you could learn to like it.” She took a bite of the rice. “Mmm.”

  “Absolutely. Right along with learning to like the captors who were feeding the stuff to me. I think it’s called Stockholm syndrome.”

  She laughed spontaneously, then coughed as she almost inhaled some rice. “God, Boyd, could you give a girl a warning when you’re going to say something like that?” She reached for her wine to wash down the rice.

  “Sorry.” He grinned, but, again, it seemed slightly forced. Was he still feeling bad for telling her about Josh’s feelings? Surely not.

  As though sensing her concern, he grabbed the remote. “How about some TV while you eat?” The small flat screen sprang to life on the guide channel. “Any preference?”

  She realized he was trying to divert her attention from him, but she went along with it. “How about the news?” She checked her wristwatch to see the time was about right. “I haven’t seen or heard anything all day.”

  He tuned in to a local CBC station and she ate in silence as she took in what was happening in the world. There was also coverage of the accident that had tied up the ER.

  After both her meal and the news were done, he offered to take her tray, but she insisted on dealing with it herself. “If I don’t get up and move, I’ll crash. Especially after that chocolate mousse dessert.”

  “Can you even call it a mousse if it’s made with coconut milk?”

  “Absolutely. I should have saved you a taste.”

  “Uh, that’s okay.”

  He followed her to the kitchenette, where she rinsed the dishes and left them in the sink. She left the tray for him to deal with, since she had no idea where it went. When she turned around, he was leaning against the counter.

  She leaned her butt against the counter too, turning her head to study him. “Are you okay, Boyd?”

  He glanced sideways at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Do we need to talk more about Josh? I know you don’t—”

  “God, no.”

  “Then what is it? You seem a little down.”

  He looked like he was going to deny it. She could almost see him doing the emotional cost-benefit analysis. Finally, he looked away, sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m feeling discouraged, I guess.”

  “Nothing with the phone numbers?”

  “Not so far.”

  “But you can’t have exhausted all those months’ worth of phone records yet?”

  “No, not by a long shot. But we’ve been through the most recent ones. I was hoping there’d be something there in the last days or week before Josh’s death.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “By the way, Josh did have an appointment with the car dealer to get that rear passenger door lock fixed. He’d also ordered a new two-hundred-dollar pair of high-tech running shoes with gel insoles.”

  She ignored that useless information. “Couldn’t it still be there, but farther back? You’ve said yourself you don’t know when a piece of information is going to click into place. Maybe that happened for Josh.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe the caller dialed in to Josh’s phone, in which case we’re shit outta luck unless something breaks and we can get a court order.”

  “What does Detective Morgan think?”

  “He thinks I’m being unduly negative.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” she said. “You still have a lot of numbers to run down, right? And something will connect to something else and you’ll be off on the right track.”

  “I hope so.” He passed a hand over the back of his neck again, making her wonder if it was stiff. Probably tension. “I just wish I could have found that damned notebook. But I’ve searched everywhere I can think for it.”

  “And you’re not learning anything from me.” Saying it aloud gave her a pang of hollowness. If he had nothing to learn from her, there was no need for them to hang out, was there?

  That brought his head back around again. “That’s not true. I’m learning lots from you about Josh and his life here. Probably more than you or I yet know.�
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  “Really?” The hollow feeling began to recede. “Because the last thing I want to do is waste your time. If it would be better used—”

  “You’re not wasting my time, Hayden. You’re giving me the context I need. Yes, I knew the basics about his life here from our phone conversations over these past months, but it was a pretty bare sketch, compared to what you’ve told me. And, yes, I can get pieces from Sylvia Stratton and her staff and Josh’s coworkers. But no one knew him like you did. And it helps knowing his life here was happy, thanks in no small part to you.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Thank you.”

  “The rest of it . . . it’s just frustrating. I don’t seem to be making much progress. We’re stuck waiting for those reports, but at the same time, I’m fucking dreading them.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I’m afraid the coroner’s office is going to take one look at them, pronounce natural causes, and the file will be closed.”

  She couldn’t deny that possibility, so she said nothing.

  He looked off toward the sitting room, leaving her free to look at his profile. He looked tired, she realized. Lines of fatigue etched his face. Was he not sleeping?

  “I can’t help but think if it was me lying in the ground in that family plot, Josh would have done a better job getting to the bottom of what happened.”

  His words throbbed with so much emotion, Hayden felt her own throat grow painfully tight. Say something! “Oh, no, Boyd. No.”

  He bent his head, massaged his temple. “If our positions were reversed, he’d have answers.”

  “I don’t believe that. Josh was an amazing investigator, but he wouldn’t be any further ahead right now than you are. He still would’ve had to deal with funeral arrangements. He’d have had to help your parents through those initial days. He’d only just be getting started, like you are.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.

  In that moment, she felt the edge of his grief as keenly as her own. Without thinking about it, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

  His head was still bent, and she saw him transfer his focus to their joined hands. Then, almost in slow motion, he lifted her hand and turned so he faced her. For a wild few seconds, she thought he was going to press his lips to the back of her hand. What he did felt even more intimate. He unlinked their fingers and pressed her hand to his chest.

  The feel of all that solid, warm muscle through his shirt was somehow shocking. As was the eye contact. It was electric. She couldn’t look away. But if she didn’t, he would kiss her. That’s where this was going unless she stopped it. She could pull back now and he’d let her go. He wouldn’t say a word about it or make things awkward. But dammit, she was tired of always guarding her reactions. And God help her, she wanted to know his kiss. A real kiss this time. She burned for it.

  Then she became conscious of the thudding of his heart beneath her palm.

  His heart. It felt so strong, so alive.

  Suddenly it seemed crucial to get closer to him, closer to his vitality. To feel alive herself.

  She leaned in, brought her other hand up to his chest.

  With a groan, he released her hand that he’d been pressing to his chest so he could draw her fully into his arms.

  Yes! At the full-body contact, every hormone, every nerve bundle in her body joined the chorus. Yes, yes, yes, yes.

  But despite the desire she’d seen darken his eyes, all he did was press her body to his—warm, living flesh against flesh, as though he sought only to comfort or be comforted. It was she who went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. There was the slightest hesitation on his part, long enough for her to wonder if she’d made a horrible mistake. Before she could retreat, he lifted his hands to her head, holding her in place as his mouth crashed down onto hers.

  The thrill that forked through her was almost painful, leaving her nerve endings feeling singed. Her heart thumped so hard, she could feel her pulse throbbing in her fingertips. And his smell! So like Josh’s scent, it was comforting and familiar on the one hand and confusing on the other.

  Then he urged her lips apart and his tongue swept into her mouth. The taste of him exploded on her senses. There was no echo of Josh here. Only Boyd. She pressed closer, sliding her arms up around his neck. Conveniently, that brought the aching tips of her breasts into contact with his chest. A bolt of desire shot straight to her womb. Without conscious thought, she rubbed her breasts against him.

  He growled against her lips, sending another thrill zinging to her core. One of his hands fisted in her hair. He broke the kiss and urged her head backward. The arm that encircled her pulled her closer, and he bent to kiss her exposed throat. Delight shivered through her at the contrasting sensations of his hot, silky mouth and the abrading rasp of stubble. She arched against him as he explored the delicate skin, then found the sweet spot below her ear. The heat of his mouth, the warmth of his breath on her skin, the vibrating urgency of his body beneath her hands . . . Dear Lord, it was almost too much to bear. But the alternative—stopping him—was unthinkable. She couldn’t even remember why she might want to.

  “Touch me,” she commanded.

  He didn’t need any more encouragement. Or a road map. He released her hair and dropped that hand to clasp one of her breasts. His thumb found the stiffened peak through the thin fabric of her bra and T-shirt, and she gasped softly.

  Then his lips were on hers again, as though he wanted to take the sound into him. This time, she met the demand of his mouth with demands of her own. Her tongue tangled with his, stroking, tasting. All the while, his hands moved over her, her breasts, the dip of her waist, her ass, setting up a tingling arousal everywhere they landed.

  She slid her hands under his T-shirt, gliding them greedily over his skin. She’d seen his bare chest at the beach, knew it was mostly hairless except for the dusting of hair on his pecs and the thin arrow of hair pointing south. But touching him was still a revelation. Her palms transmitted the information to her brain and to other parts of her anatomy. The smooth texture of the bare skin, the rougher texture of the haired area, the thrilling hardness of his abdomen—it was sensory overload, but she craved more.

  Oh, God, she needed to get horizontal with him.

  She pulled her mouth from his, her eyes fixing on his damp kiss-reddened lips. “Tell me you have condoms.”

  She felt the change in him immediately, but it was still a shock when he released her and stepped back.

  “Oh, Christ, Hayden. I’m sorry.”

  He was stopping? “Sorry? What for?”

  “For all of that.” He dragged a hand through his hair. Hair that she’d already done a pretty thorough job of mussing. “You don’t want to get involved with anyone—much less with your dead best friend’s brother. I respect that. I respect you. This was . . . I’m sorry. I don’t really have any defense, except—”

  “Defense? Boyd, you don’t need one. I’m the one who started—” She looked up at him, horrified. “Oh, crap, I jumped you. You’re grieving, feeling low, and I freaking jumped on you. I am so sorry.”

  Boyd was so fixated on the battle to keep his hands off her, it took a few seconds for his brain to process her words. “Wait, what? You didn’t jump me.”

  “Yes, I did.” She put a hand over her mouth. “Omigod, I so totally did. You were feeling discouraged and I took advantage of that. All you wanted was comfort and I—”

  He wanted more than ever to draw her into his arms. “Hayden, what just happened had very little to do with comfort. And nothing to do with you taking advantage of me.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. That was me doing what I’ve been wanting to do since the first moment I saw you at the hospital.”

  “What if I said I changed my mind?”

  “Changed your mind?” His heart lea
pt. As did another part of his anatomy. But holy shit, how can this be happening? He’d specifically told her about Josh being in love with her, thinking that would somehow kill this attraction. “I’d say you’re smarter than that.”

  “I’ll ignore that insult, mainly because I haven’t been very smart. Not smart at all. You’ve been right in front of me, and the attraction has been there, but I haven’t done anything about it. The whole keeping my distance from romantic or physical entanglements—it’s become such a habit. It really didn’t occur to me that you’re the perfect candidate.”

  Perfect candidate? She couldn’t be serious. Could she?

  “Oh, Hayden, no. I am so not a good bet.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Can I count on you to leave when the investigation is done? Go back home to your life?”

  “Well yes, but—”

  “Then you actually are a very good bet. Because that’s just what I need.”

  Dear God. Had he heard that right? The hottest, most gorgeous woman he’d met in years had just propositioned him, offering a no-strings sexual relationship with a wide-open exit clause. But she was also the nicest, most amazing woman he’d ever met. And oh God, she’d been Josh’s love. How was he supposed to reconcile that?

  How could he start an affair with the woman Josh wanted to marry?

  Because you want her.

  “Boyd? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  No. No, he wasn’t going to say anything. He was done thinking too.

  He reached out and hauled her to him. She made a little squeak of alarm when she collided with his chest, but he swallowed it, crushing those soft, cushiony lips beneath his in a kiss of pure, searing demand. She opened her mouth to him immediately. His tongue swept in, claiming her. And Christ, she tasted good. Heady and female and fucking fantastic. Her arms snaked up around his neck, and she clung to him. Which gave him perfect access to her back, the curve of her hips, her firm, luscious ass.

  Yeah, he was toast. No way in this life or the next was he about to say no to Hayden.