by Dea Poirier
He pulls his hands away to open his bottle of water and take a sip. “A few weeks before Tina had died, I’d caught my father kissing another woman during a party at our house. Though I didn’t really understand—he said that they were just playing a game and not to tell my mom. I didn’t, because I didn’t want him to get mad at me. But I caught him a few more times. I told my mom what I’d seen. She ended up confronting my father about it, and he said that I just made it up since I didn’t get the attention I wanted from trying to kill myself. She believed him. Or maybe she just wanted to. Our relationship had been strained before that, but at that point it broke.”
My heart aches for him.
“After that I dropped out of school, and they sent me to live with my uncle. It’s really difficult to talk about that time in my life. It’s easier when I put it all in the back of my mind and don’t think about it. Whenever I’ve spoken about it in the past, people always look at me differently. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to change how you see me. If you looked at me like I was wounded, I don’t think I could stand it.” His eyes are on the table, not on me. But when he finally looks up again, I’m conscious of how I arrange my features.
“Noah, do you think that I don’t understand the instinct to lock your past away? I struggle with that every single day. But we can’t build a relationship with only parts of ourselves. You’ve seen my shadows; you know my past. How are we supposed to build anything together if you can’t trust me with your past?” I hate that he lied to me, but I of all people understand why he did it. Isn’t it easier to let someone see the walls you’ve built than what you’re hiding behind them?
He folds his hands on the table and rests his head atop them. “I know,” he finally says. “There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you or to fix it. I’ve fucked things up with you, just like I do with everyone else.”
“And what about Emma?” I ask. That announcement of their engagement is burned in my memory.
He winces again. “It’s not what you think. Emma and I dated in high school. Then again when I went to college, after I’d moved out of my uncle’s place. She told my mom that I’d bought her a ring and I was going to propose. I don’t know if she was playing some type of game, but that was never the case. I didn’t see things leading to marriage with her. My mom and I rarely spoke, so she didn’t bother to talk to confirm it with me. After the announcement came out, Emma thought she could push me into proposing, since the world all thought it was true. But I broke things off with her.” He glances toward the door. “I understand if you don’t want me to stay. I can leave tomorrow.”
Again, it feels like the fire inside Noah has dimmed, if not died out completely. Who is this man sitting in front of me? This isn’t the Noah I know. He’s been through a lot. We both have. But this isn’t him. “When did you become such a defeatist?” I ask.
His eyes have pooled with tears when he looks at me. They’re seconds away from spilling over. “I thought that—” His voice cracks. “After last night, I didn’t think there was any hope.”
When I really think about it, when I consider where my heart lies with Noah, I know that I can’t close this book yet. I know with anyone else I’d use this as an easy out. But with Noah, I don’t think I can do that. Not yet. “My head wants to be done with you. If the logical part of me was the only part with a say, I’d never have come back. But my heart doesn’t want that. If you can drop the secretive bullshit—”
“I will,” he interrupts me. “I’ll be an open book. I’ll tell you so much about me you’ll wish I’d just shut up.”
“Will you let me meet your family?”
He nearly flinches at that. “If that’s what you really want.” His voice has an edge to it. But I know he’s not lying. It’s not like he can get out of this.
“You only get one more chance. If you lie to me again . . .”
“I know. I swear to you, Claire.” He takes a slow swig of his water. “Can I please kiss you?”
I can’t help but smile, and I have to admit that sitting in the room with him like this without touching him isn’t the easiest exercise. As soon as I nod, I half expect him to throw the table between us out of the way. Instead, he shoves up and closes the distance, pulling me into his arms. His chest crushes into mine, and my body molds into his. Noah’s warmth bleeds into me, and I realize how much I’ve missed him.
His arms tighten around my waist, and I relish being in his grip again. Though I know he wants to kiss me, I bury my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. My heart aches with how much I missed him, how close I came to never being here with him again. My eyes prickle with emotion. I hate that despite the pain he’s caused me, it feels like right here with him is exactly where I belong. Finally, when I feel settled, I look up to find him staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve just missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I admit.
He plants a soft kiss on my forehead, and I tilt my head up, seeking his lips. The first kiss is soft, delicate, like he’s afraid I may change my mind. I slip my hands under his shirt, seeking desperately the warmth of his bare skin. Something about my touch ignites him—his kisses shift from sweet to frenzied as if he’s afraid he’s imagined all this. He edges my shirt over my head, and my desire swells from my sex upward, until it reaches my head, making it swim. His tongue slides against mine, his mouth claiming me; our hands wander, and I edge him toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, I let myself fall, and Noah crawls over me.
His hands go to my pants, and he starts to unbutton them, and I notice he’s shaking slightly, like this is our first time all over again. I take his hands in mine and stare up at him, hoping the look will settle his nerves. It’s as if the weight of our time apart is still heavy in the air around us. But I’m desperate to shed it, to get back to where we were before all of this happened.
Noah’s kisses trail from my lips down my neck and breasts, until he notches his thumbs beneath the waistband of my underwear and inches it off. Anticipation builds inside me, as I remember how skilled he’s always been with his mouth. God, I missed this, him. His lips brush mine feather soft, and my sex throbs in response. Heat radiates from every place he kisses me, as if his lips are drawing a map on my flesh. I close my eyes as his fingers slide across my wetness, then inside. His tongue joins in, finding my sensitive nub. My fingers lace into his hair, and my eyes meet his. Emotion swims in his eyes, and my heart aches for him, all of him.
He works me expertly, like he knows exactly what makes me tick. Every movement builds a wave inside me, the strokes, the pressure, the feel of him against me, until finally it crashes down, shattering me, and I cry out.
Noah kisses his way back up my body, and my knees spread wider. My sex craves for him to enter. I don’t just want him—I need him. Slowly, he slides his head along my wet, sensitive folds until finally I buck, forcing him to slip inside. We groan in unison. It isn’t until he starts pistoning inside me that I realize how much I’ve truly missed this, missed him.
I push Noah back, saying, “I want to ride you.”
His eyes brighten. I don’t have to say it twice. Within seconds he’s on his back on the bed, his erection pointing toward the ceiling. My eyes crawl over him, taking in his length and his muscled body like it’s the last time I’ll ever see it. I straddle him, teasing him with my sex before I slide slowly down his cock, enjoying the feel of my body opening to him again. Once I take him to the hilt, I grind against him, until I feel the wave building again. Noah moans, his hands finding my breasts. His pleasure brings me to my own. I fall against the mattress, boneless and blissful.
“God, I missed you,” he says as he kisses my hair.
I roll over and snuggle against him, my head resting on his shoulder. “I’d say I’ve missed you, too, but I don’t want it to build up your ego more.”
For a long moment we’re silent, tangled together, panting as we
recover. His chest heaves beneath my head, and I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.
“How did things go back home?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to pry into things I know he hates talking about, but at the same time, I want to know what happened and how he’s feeling about his father’s death.
“They could have been worse, but not great. My mother and father could not possibly be any more disappointed in me. My father made it clear right before he died that his stance hadn’t softened on my career.”
I raise a brow to that. “Why did he have a problem with your career?”
“Both my parents hate journalists. They think the media is filled with nothing but liars.” There’s an edge to his voice.
“And what exactly would your father prefer that you do?”
“Go into the family business. Coal, tobacco: that’s where our family made the bulk of their fortune; now, though, he makes most of his cash on Wall Street trading this stock or another. Well, he did, I guess I should say.” With my ear pressed to Noah’s chest, I hear the echo of his voice through his body.
“And what does your mother do?”
“She sits around and hates anyone that isn’t from money.”
I grin at that. I guess technically I am from money, but I don’t feel like it. “So she’ll hate me then.” But it strikes me that she’d like my mom.
“She already does.” He laughs.
And somehow his words stoke something inside me, a challenge. Frustration ripples to the surface, and I can’t help but be defensive. “She hates me? She doesn’t even know me.”
“She doesn’t need to. She is very skilled in hating a wealth of people she’s never met.”
I prop myself up on my elbows to look at him. “Seriously, though, why does she think I’m worthy of hating?”
He sighs. “It’s just going to make you angry.” His fingers brush my hair again.
“Probably, but I still want to know,” I say.
“Promise you won’t take it out on me?” He tries to smile, but it falls flat.
“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me.”
“She thinks that the only reason you’re dating me is for the money,” he says and looks at me as if waiting for a reaction.
Anger flares inside me, but I’m determined not to let it show. “And does she know that I’m fully capable of making my own money? Hell, I don’t even take money from my own family. Why would I take it from yours?”
He kisses me softly, as if it’ll diffuse my anger. And I hate that it works. My heart rate slows, but a heat of a different sort rises in its place. “I know that. I tried to tell her as much, but there’s no reasoning with her. Know how you feel about your mother?”
I nod. It’s not that I hate my mother; it’s that I want her to stay out of my life. For her to back off and stop trying to take control. A better daughter would cut her slack because of Rachel. But I’m not a better daughter. I want her to leave me alone.
“Well, that’s how I feel about my mother.”
I try to understand, but the difference is something I can’t help but see. I never tried to keep him from meeting my family. I had no choice in the matter. But if the situation were reversed, what would I have done? Would I have had Noah meet them? I really don’t know.
“I did see my youngest brother, Cameron, while I was there. I mean, I saw Lucas and Graham too.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been working with Cameron, my brother who’s the cop, while gathering information about Tina’s case,” he says, glancing toward the files on the table.
“What have you found so far?” I ask, curious if I could help him any with it.
“Maryville PD just started trying to run the DNA they found on the new body against the familial database. They’re hoping that they can figure out who this woman is.”
“Are there not any pending missing person reports from around that time?” I ask.
“That’s the thing—there are at least fifteen open missing person reports from that year.”
My eyes go wide at that. Fifteen is a huge number, especially for a town the size of Maryville. That makes me wonder if there are more bodies that they haven’t recovered yet.
“How about we go through it tomorrow? I’ll see what I can help you find,” I offer.
CHAPTER 16
I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly eight thirty. The ferry will be running shortly. If I catch the first one, I can make it back to Camden around the time Kenneth should be getting into the office. I climb from the bed, pulling on my clothes.
“Leaving already?” Noah asks as he rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand.
I explain that I’ve got to get back to work. We’ve got to find out what’s on that burner phone.
“Want me to go with you?” he offers, sitting up in the bed.
“No, you need to get back to your case. And if you go with me on the ferry, that’ll eat up an hour of your day.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“No, really,” I say, leaning over the bed to give him a quick kiss. Then I grab my shirt.
“Want me to come stay in your hotel tonight?”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but they gave me two keys,” I say as I dig an extra out of my bag and hand it over. I explain to Noah where to find the hotel, then venture back out into Vinalhaven. It takes me a few minutes to reach the ferry, and once they pull up the gate, I walk on board.
After the twenty-minute trip across the choppy water, I find my car near the Rockport dock and then weave up Route 1, following the ribbon of road back toward Camden. Cold lashes me as I cut across the nearly empty parking lot toward the police station. After I throw open the front door, I trade the crisp air for the stuffy, overheated office. Blake and Clint are at their desks watching me shed my coat and drop it on my chair.
“Morning,” Clint says, nodding to me.
“Morning. Is Kenneth in yet?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been down that way.”
I thank him and stride across the bull pen toward the dull hum. When I reach Kenneth’s office, I find him hunched over the phone, which is still shielded inside the plastic bag. Latex gloves cover his hands, and I’m happy to see that he’s followed protocol. Though it’s already likely going to be difficult to get prints off the phone after it has been through so many hands.
“Hey, Detective,” he says as he turns around.
“We get anywhere with that?” I ask as I motion toward the phone.
“Yes and no.”
I try not to let his words knock the wind out of my sails, but we really need this phone to give us something. We have to track down the burner phone that’s been texting the girls.
“Give me the bad news first.”
“There are too many fingerprints on it to lift any good ones. Zane dusted it, and all of the prints are so overlapped even the new fingerprint algorithms aren’t going to be any help with this.”
At this point, because of where the phone was found and how many possible hands it passed through, a fingerprint would be tossed out anyway. We’d need proof that Trent purchased it, or we would need to have found this at his home.
“What else do we have?”
“This number texted Asha, Melanie, and Jessica. All the burner texts we found on their phones came from this number.”
This is the break we’ve been needing. Excitement floods my veins. With this phone, we can finally get some answers. “Are there texts to other numbers? Ones other than those girls?”
“There are texts to a few other numbers, but it appears that they never responded.”
“Were you able to find out who those numbers belong to?”
“One wasn’t an active number, but the other two are Paige Wilde and Lucy Riggs,” he says, squinting at the screen.
“Do you have a printout of those texts?”
He turns toward the printer, grabs a stack of pages, and hands it to me.
&
nbsp; “Thank you for getting this to me so quickly. Can you also check the locations that phone has been at? We need to see if it was in the motels the girls were found at. I also need you to go through the call log to see if there’s anything there.”
“I’ll get everything I can off of it.”
“Thank you.”
With the papers in hand, I walk back to my desk, grab my cell phone, and text Austin to meet me at the hospital. I let Zane and Clint know where I’m headed so they can update the sergeant. Then I grab lineup images of four random men, along with the headshot that the DA’s office took of Trent. I need to check in at the hospital and find out if Paige and Lucy were both patients there and, if so, who they interacted with. If these girls saw Trent, they may be able to give me a positive ID.
As I reach my car, I get a text from Austin telling me that she’ll meet me there soon. In twenty minutes, I pull into the visitor lot at the hospital. Snow spirals from the gray sky while I walk across the parking lot. The doors hiss open, and I find Nurse Jordan sitting at the desk. She glances up at me and sweeps her short black hair behind her ear.
“Hello, Detective. What can I help you with?” She shifts in her chair as I walk closer.
“There are two names I have, and I need to know if they were patients here.”
She furrows her brows, lips pursed. I know that look. She doesn’t want to answer me.
“You don’t need to tell me anything about their treatment. I know you can’t release that without their permission. I just need to know if they were here.”
She looks at the computer to her right and rolls toward it, clicking the mouse. “If Vera asks, I didn’t give you this information.”
I nod. “We never spoke.”
A tight smile quirks her lips as she clicks the mouse. “What are their names?”
I give her the names, and she begins typing. “They were both patients here. That’s all I can confirm,” she says, looking up at me again.
“Is there any way to determine if their records were accessed by anyone else on staff?”
