by M. S. Parker
She was shaking.
Fuck, she could actually see her body quivering. She was cold to the bone, so cold she ached with it, even though her flesh was pink from the heat of the water pouring over it.
“You’re not going to keep haunting me like this,” she muttered grimly. “You’re not.”
She grabbed the shampoo and dumped some of the pale pearlescent liquid into her palm, scrubbing it into her hair, soaping the long brunette tresses. It hung halfway down her back now. Slowly a smile spread across her face as she smoothed her hair down over her breasts.
Long, dark hair, and round curves instead of the near anorexic body she’d sported since she was eighteen and had been discovered by a modeling agency. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair and then turned her back to the spray, staring down at her body.
Her breasts were just a little fuller now, thanks to the weight she’d put on. Fuller, just a little less perky than they had once been—damn, she was glad she’d refused that damn breast implant surgery Vincent had demanded she have. She’d gotten his fist in her gut over that.
“Stop it, Tracy… Emory. Stop it. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.”
Slicking her hands over her flesh, she rubbed in the simple, vanilla scented soap. Brushing her fingers over her nipples, she shivered at the small sensation that went through her.
Closing her eyes, she pushed Vincent Grainger’s face out of her mind, summoning Joel’s image as she circled her fingers over the hard little bud of her clit, shivering as pleasure streaked through her.
She liked touching herself—it wasn’t as sweet as Joel’s hands on her, but at least she knew how to feel pleasure, not just pain. Sliding her fingers over her breasts, she cupped them, tugging on her nipples until the aching spread down to her belly, and lower.
The slick folds of her sex were getting wetter and it had nothing to do with the shower. Pumping two fingers in and out of her pussy, she moaned as the tightening increased, until she could hardly breathe from the sensations coursing through her.
But her hands on her body just weren’t enough.
Joel…where are you!
With a groan of frustration, she reached for the massaging shower head and tugged it down. Aiming the hot spray to her sensitive folds, she cried out as the hot, rapacious feelings spread.
She moaned as she climaxed under the spray of water and her knees gave out. Slumping to the floor of the shower stall, she leaned her head back against the wall, a wobbly smile on her mouth.
“Hmmm…oh, yeah, that was nice,” she murmured.
A few minutes later, knees still a little wobbly, she climbed from the shower and dried a circle on the moisture fogged mirror, staring at her reflection with somber eyes.
“Tracy died,” she whispered to herself. “She just now died. Tracy didn’t know how to have pleasure, how to do anything but hate, and hide, and hurt. She’s dead now. You are Emory.”
Slowly, her mouth curled into a smile and she closed her eyes, tipping her face back. “Emory…”
And Emory wanted Joel.
* * *
The apartment was almost a mirror image of the one he’d grown up in. A little newer. It didn’t stink of Mom’s cigarette smoke or her alcohol.
But it had the same bland beige walls, the same threadbare carpet.
Walking through the door, Joel glanced at the two feds outside the door.
“Any idea how long I’m going to be stuck here?” he asked. He had been given a reprieve. He didn’t feel he deserved it, but he had taken the deal. The feds would grant early, conditional parole if he helped them put away the crime lords. His parole required that he cooperate with the federal government and he had to testify. He had. Grainger was the only one left, and he was still a damned vegetable from what he had heard. Now he was itching to go after Tracy.
He wasn’t staying. But he had to make them think he was.
The DA moved in behind him, smiling a polite, professional smile. “That depends on Grainger’s recovery. Relax. It’s almost over now. Once he’s considered fit to indict and stand trial, you’ll be home free.”
A cynical smile edged up the corners of his mouth.
Home free.
He had sent three crime bosses to prison. They needed his cooperation to get a fourth one in there. He was now a convicted felon and although his debt to society was considered paid, that rap would follow him the rest of his life. And he’d deal with his own guilt for as long as he lived.
Home free.
Sighing, he shoved that aside. Tracy—he had to concentrate on Tracy.
The skin on the back of his neck prickled as the DA moved into his line of sight. “I’m a little curious—one of the people we’d love to question, we’ve never been able to find. I heard you had a relationship with her. Tracy Grainger, Vincent’s wife?”
Joel cut his eyes to the DA. Lifting one brow, he said flatly, “Ms. Grainger is one thing I will not discuss. Period.”
Mike Chaumers’ face went cold. “It doesn’t work that way. I have to know the details. Because if I’ve heard rumors, the defense will have heard them, too. I need to know what was between you two. So I can figure out a way around it. I also want to know where she is. We need her on the stand.”
Joel smiled coolly. “I don’t know where she is. And I don’t know what rumors you’re talking about.”
Chaumers narrowed his eyes. “Don’t dick around with me, Lockhart. I know what Grainger did with her—practically handed her to you on a silver platter.”
Arching a black brow, Joel asked softly, “Have proof? Are there pictures? A movie? Eyewitnesses?”
The DA said nothing, just glared at Joel angrily. Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Joel turned his attention back to the window and stared out at the gray vista of the parking lot. “Then, like I said, I don’t know what rumors.”
A hand came down on Joel’s shoulder, and Chaumers swung him around. “You’re supposed to be cooperating with us, buddy. You want me to throw you back in jail? I can do that—for a very long time.”
Joel dropped his eyes to the hand lying on his shoulder and then slowly looked back at the attorney.
Chaumers paled and slowly backed away until he bumped into the two feds who had stepped into the room.
“Is there a problem here?” A new voice spoke up, but Joel never took his eyes away from Chaumers to look at third fed, Agent Casey Dowling.
It was Mike who slowly turned to look at the petite black lady. Only then did Joel look at her. She was having a stare-down with Mike though. Turning away from them, Joel went back to staring out the window.
He was a little sorry that he’d have to leave Dowling empty-handed. He liked her.
She had a serious grudge against Grainger.
But she had enough to put that fuck in jail without him.
“What’s the problem here, Mike?”
“No problem.”
“Then why did it sound like you were telling Mr. Lockhart he was going back to prison? He kept his end of the bargain. We’ve got three big, nasty fish off the streets, thanks to him. And one left to go—what’s the problem?”
Mike hesitated a little. “We need the wife. Lockhart knows where she is. He’s been holding back information.”
“We don’t need the wife. And she disappeared. Nobody has been able to find her.”
Joel closed his eyes, tuning Dowling’s voice out. He couldn’t listen to that again. Tracy had done what he’d told her to do. That’s all—nothing had happened to her.
Damn it, Carly said she was safe—
She is safe, baby…
The cold settled in but this time it came almost like a comforting hug as Carly wrapped her presence around him. She’s safe, honey.
Where is she? he wanted to demand. He wanted to leave right now. Hell, he could get out of there. Three federal agents and one DA. Dowling was the weak link. Grab her, get her gun—but she was also the soft spot for him, because he couldn’t hurt her.
Their voices murmured in the background, making no sense even when he tried to focus. He needed to get to Tracy.
Grainger wasn’t a threat now, not while he was still out of it. But the minute he started recalling things, Tracy could be in danger.
Joel needed to get to her before that happened.
You will, baby…
“We need the wife, damn it! And the hell he doesn’t know where she is. Half of Maine knows he was fucking her—”
Joel moved. Grabbing Chaumers by the neck, he slammed him into the wall, pressing against the DA’s windpipe and watching as his face went red and then purple. “You don’t want to talk about her again, Mike. You understand me?” Joel said, his voice casual, an easy smile on his face.
Footsteps moved up behind him, but then they stopped. “Back off guys. He’s not hurting him.”
Chaumers’ eyes wheeled around, staring at somebody behind Joel and he heard Dowling laugh. “I told you, we don’t need the wife. You can’t find the wife. How is he supposed to know where she is? He’s been in prison for almost three years and nobody came to visit him, nobody wrote him, nobody called. So how is he supposed to know?”
Joel smiled at Chaumers as he let go. The DA clutched at his throat, gasping for air and staring at Joel with wide, terrified eyes.
“Yeah, how am I supposed to know?”
Casey gestured to the two agents. “Why don’t you all take Mike down to the café and get him a coffee or something? I need to talk to Joel for a bit here.”
One of them paused only long enough to study her with a lifted brow. The other was already assisting the attorney to his feet.
By the time they were out the door, Joel was back to staring out the window.
“There’s really nothing to see. It’s a parking lot, Joel. Boring, gray. We don’t have the budget to get you anything worth looking at.”
Glancing at her, Joel shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Hmmm.”
Hearing that tone in her voice, he finally turned around and leaned back against the wall, staring at her with an expectant look on his face. “What?”
“There was something between you two. What was it?”
Joel studied her closely. “If I tell you, will you answer a question for me? Honestly, no lies? No FBI evasions?”
Casey arched a brow. “Well, I guess that will depend on the question. But I am very nosy. Sure—but I want the answer first. I don’t trust you entirely.”
“I love her,” he said quietly, simply.
Casey’s lashes lowered briefly. “I thought so. You have an excellent poker face, Joel. I’ve only seen it crack on rare occasions. And usually when it involves her. What would you do for her? What would you give up?”
Scowling, Joel shrugged, spinning away to pace the tight confines of the apartment. “Hell, what kind of question is that? I’d give up anything for her—everything.”
“And you did—didn’t you?”
Driving a hand through his hair, he turned and glared at her. “Hell, what are you, a fed or a shrink?”
She smiled, revealing dimples on either side of her mouth. “Both. I’m not wrong, though, am I? What aren’t you telling us, Joel?”
He stared at her blankly.
Casey finally sighed, shifting on the couch. She propped her arm on the back and stared at him, her eyes dark and brooding.
“You have secrets in those eyes, Joel. I see them. I don’t need evidence to know that.”
He laughed bitterly. “You’re a fed. Evidence is all you know.”
An odd, secret little smile curved her lips upward and she shifted her gaze, staring past him into the corner. Joel’s skin started to prickle and he felt that odd chill in the air again. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that, Joel. I know a little bit more than just evidence…now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”
Narrowing his eyes, he stared at her. His skin felt tight and it was cold in the room. Very cold. Carly was there, hovering just beyond where he couldn’t see her and although she wasn’t afraid, she was—something. Worried, intrigued, curious.
Something.
Damn it, he needed to get Dowling out of here before she started wanting to check the air conditioner or something.
“Why do you want Grainger so much? He’s your hot spot. You wanted the others, but him…” Joel shook his head. “You wanted him the most. Why?”
Casey’s smile faded. “You sure you aren’t a shrink?” Her eyes closed. “He’s a criminal. That alone should be enough. But there is more. You are right.”
Her eyes closed, her arm straightening out. She laid her head along it, looking vulnerable, and much younger. “I met him in high school—we were so alike. Two kids out to save the world. His name was Joshua. My dad almost had a heart attack—I think his did, too. I was a black girl, he was a white boy. Not what either of our parents wanted. But we loved each other. That was it for us—all that mattered. They came to accept that, even as young as we were. We got into college together, both wanted to become lawyers. It was our senior year. We both had gotten accepted into Harvard. We were going to get married that summer.”
Her voice got softer and Joel watched as a tear slid out from her closed eyes. “One night, he never came home. We’d been living together since our sophomore year. I called the cops. You know the drill—forty-eight hours for a missing person. Then I get a phone call. There’s a body.” Her voice cracked and she fell silent for a minute.
Slowly, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, staring sightlessly into the distance. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, but the silent rain of tears continued. “He saw a drug deal—they shot him. There were witnesses but none of them would testify. I begged them to—and they wouldn’t.”
She started to speak again, but a sob choked her.
Joel walked away, leaving her alone for a few minutes while he went into the bathroom, getting a washcloth and wetting it.
By the time he reached the living room again, she was a little more composed. He held out the cloth and she accepted it silently. He turned away, waiting until she spoke again.
“I couldn’t become a lawyer. They can’t make you speak, Joel. No matter what—they can put you on the stand, but they can’t make you talk. And if we can’t make the people who see things talk, we can’t put the bad guys away.”
Guilt churned inside of him. One arm propped against the wall, he closed his hand into a fist, hiding his face from her. She’d lost just as much as he had. And instead of turning into a vigilante and going after Grainger like Joel had, she’d used the law.
There was silence behind him and then a hand brushed his shoulder. “I know bad guys, Joel.” He stiffened under her hand, then slowly edged away, turning to face her.
She smiled at him, a sad smile that only added to the delicate beauty of her face. “I do. I’ve seen too many of them not to recognize them. You’re no knight, but you’re not the bad guy, either.”
She stepped away, pausing to look down at the coffee table. He looked down.
There was a plain manila file there. It hadn’t been there five minutes ago.
Her eyes lifted and met his.
“We all have our ghosts, don’t we, Joel?”
She walked out, leaving him alone in the room.
Well, not alone. Joel was rarely alone. Carly’s misty white form shimmered into view and she said in a puzzled tone, What an odd woman.
Joel ignored Carly as he bent down and took the folder, flipped through it.
His breath froze in his chest as he saw a photograph. She didn’t look the same. Not at all. But it was her. The soft dove gray eyes didn’t look quite so haunted, and that wide, mobile mouth looked softer in her face.
She had changed—but it was Tracy.
“She knows where she is.”
* * *
Casey looked over
the rim of her coffee cup at Bryson. “Yes, I know he’ll take off. We don’t need him. Not anymore. There’s enough evidence, more than enough to convict him.” Then she paused and lifted one shoulder, smirking a little. “That’s if Grainger is ever found well enough to stand trial.”
“You really want to let our star witness just walk away?”
Casey sighed. “He’s not our star witness. What he is, is an ex-con. He’s served a prison term and worked for us, I know that. But every time we put him on the stand, the deal we made with him was thrown back at us. We don’t need him—not with the evidence he gave us, not with the witnesses we’ve unearthed from that evidence.”
A knot formed in her gut and she sat back, rubbing at her belly. “Besides, you saw Grainger the other day. It’s like looking at a blank slate. There’s nothing there.”
* * *
For the longest while, there was nothing.
No memory, no thoughts, no faces.
Just an empty fog.
But out of that fog came something ugly and black, a festering anger that ate away at him. Beyond that, it took longer for anything clear to emerge.
He’d waited though. There were people around him. He didn’t trust them—too many people, coming at him, probing, asking questions. He stayed quiet, stayed silent, waiting for the fog and anger to clear.
When it did—he saw their faces. Not the people around him.
But them.
A man.
A woman.
They had to die.
He didn’t know where they were. The man would be harder to find—in his gut, he knew that. The man was dangerous. Find the woman. She was the weak link. Find her and he’d get the man.
He had to get strong though.
First he had to get strong.
Chapter Six
Yes, Agent Dowling sure as hell knew where Tracy was, but all she’d left Joel were breadcrumbs.
He could follow them, but it was eating away time he didn’t have.
Frustration ate at him the weeks he’d wasted tracking Tracy to the small town in southern Indiana. By the time he approached realtors, hoping for clues to lead him to her, he knew he had wasted too much time.
