Damage Control
Page 7
He means no condom, because he trusts me with my birth control. And while it seems a small thing it is not. It’s trust, he gives me. That’s what he’s telling me. He has, and does, trust me. And trust is a powerful, sexy thing. “Can you please hurry,” I whisper, my body suddenly achy and empty, in a deep, burning way.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I want you inside me. I need you inside me.”
“Need,” he repeats. “I like that word.” He kisses me again, a deep passionate kiss that is over too soon. “I have on too many clothes.”
He lifts off me and I ball my hand between my breasts, willing my racing heart to calm and trying to think, but he is already back. He is leaning over me, the thick ridge of his erection pressed against my sex, the heavy weight of him on top of me absolute perfection. And he stares down at me. I swear I can see what he wants from me in his eyes, and it’s everything. He wants everything, and that should scare me, but right now, I want that too. Right now, I feel like it’s possible. Seconds tick by, and questions and answers flow between us, and they all end in one place. How right we feel with each other. How connected.
He leans in, his lips at my ear. “Everything has changed,” he says again, and I don’t need to ask what he means, nor do I have time. He presses inside, filling me, stretching me, completing me in ways no other man has or ever could. He’s different. We’re different and the many ways that is true, are not all good.
“Shane,” I whisper, burning with the need to hold him, not to lose him, and he responds, leaning back to look at me.
“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, but you need to say the same thing. No more running. Not from me.”
“I’m not.”
“Say it.”
“This isn’t a fair time to—”
“Ask me if I give a fuck about fair right now. Say it.”
“I’m with you.”
“You’re staying.”
“Yes. I’m staying, Shane, but you—”
He kisses me, and there are no more words. There is only passion. So much passion. It’s like someone snapped their fingers and we exploded into want and need. His fingers are in my hair. Mine are in his. Our bodies are moving and swaying. And we don’t start slow. We press our bodies together. We touch each other everywhere, anywhere. The feel of his taut muscle under my hands makes me want more. The feel of his cock driving into me makes me want him deeper. Harder. I think I say that. I do. I say it. I say it over and over. Except, I still feel like this is good-bye, like this is the only time I will ever touch him again.
Too soon, I feel the ache in my belly that I know is another orgasm, and I pant out, “Shane,” trying to get him to slow down, but he answers with a deep thrust, and then another, and his tongue—his talented, demanding tongue—licks into my mouth, and I explode. I tumble over into the depths of pleasure, and my sex clenches around his shaft, and the sensation of him inside me, still pumping, still pushing, is almost too good to allow me to breathe. Then he is shuddering, a low, guttural growl escaping his lips, so raw and animalistic that it can only be described as pure sex.
When finally we collapse together, we don’t speak or move. We hold each other, absorbing everything that has happened between us, but I do not feel anger from him. I don’t feel accusation. I feel … us. I feel closer to him than I ever have and I don’t know how that’s possible. I lied to him.
He lifts his head, kissing my forehead in a tender act I feel as readily as I did that orgasm, but this time in my heart. “Stay still,” he orders. “I’ll get you a towel.” He lifts off and out of me, and I can already feel the sticky warmth of his release, but there is so much more going on with me in this moment. I start to shiver, and I do not believe it’s from the cold air blowing from somewhere in the room. I hug myself and images I’ve suppressed for weeks on end come at me. My father’s casket. My mother’s casket. And that night. The blood. So much blood. Nausea and panic overcome me, and I shoot to a sitting position, hunching forward.
Shane is there instantly, pressing the towel between my legs, and then his shirt is suddenly over my head, falling down to drape my body, a shelter that I want, but cannot have. A cold breeze blasts over us again, and he glowers in its direction. “Why the hell is the air on in the middle of the winter?” He stands and walks toward the thermostat in all his naked, leanly muscled glory, his backside a work of art. He is perfect, and not just his body. The way he controls everything around him. He is sex, power, and passion.
He adjusts the thermostat and grabs his pants, shoving his legs inside them before snatching up my sweats and bringing them to me. “Put these on so you can warm up.”
I don’t argue. Why would I? He’s protecting me, and in this, I can actually accept the gesture. Reaching for my pants, I maneuver to pull them on and then he is on the bed in front of me again, and in his eyes, there is possession I should reject, but there is more. There is this sense of him feeling I am his to protect, to please, to hold on to, and somehow, that feels right and good. But I am wrong to feel this, to jeopardize his safety.
“No,” I say, as if he has spoken those things, my hand settling on his chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm. “I can’t pull you into this. It’s wrong.”
He covers my hand with his. “You aren’t pulling me into anything. I’m here of my own free will.”
“You have to have plausible deniability. You have to, Shane.”
“Nothing that is spoken between you and I goes anywhere but you and I.”
“If you were put on the stand that would change. You have a legal obligation. A code of honor.”
“My code is to protect those I love and care about, even my family, who as you know, don’t even deserve it.”
“I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“I am,” he assures me. “And I should have found out the truth a long time ago.”
“I didn’t tell you because—”
“You didn’t have to tell me. I should have seen your fear. I did see it, but I let it lead me to the wrong conclusions. I was so damn wrapped up in my family’s war that I didn’t let myself know what it meant.”
“Let’s keep it real, Shane. It meant I was lying to you. You will never trust me again. Not when everyone around you lies and cheats, and cuts each other’s throats just to watch the other bleed.”
“I’d bleed for you. That’s what you don’t seem to understand.”
“I don’t want you to bleed for me. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. That’s the whole point. Damn it, Shane. This is as real as it gets. This is not about something you can fix.”
“Tell me. Tell me and let me try.”
“Murder. It’s about murder.”
CHAPTER SIX
SHANE
Murder. It’s not a word I expected to hear from Emily’s lips. That she has spoken it and that I am this surprised is a come-to-Jesus-moment for me, and not because of a murder I don’t believe she committed. Not unless it was self-defense. It drives home how right Emily was about how the lies and deception of my family have shrouded everything else before me, including her.
“You’re not saying anything,” Emily says, her fingers curling on my chest beneath my hand. “I bet you’re sorry you came after me now.”
“What I’m sorry for,” I say, “is not seeing how much you needed me.”
“I don’t understand you right now. I said the word ‘murder.’ How can you be this calm?”
“Overreacting doesn’t solve anything.”
“Damn it, Shane,” she hisses, shifting to rest on her knees. “This isn’t me inviting you to solve anything. It’s me telling you why I kept you out of this. This isn’t a problem you can fix. You can’t fix this.”
“I told you, ‘can’t’ isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“It needs to be. Let me say this again. Murder, Shane. This is about murder and you have to distance yourself, something I should have done for you already.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“It’s not my money now. It’s yours. Now give it back to me and tell me I’m hired as your attorney.”
She blanches. “No. No, that is not happening. You can’t be my attorney. We practically live together.”
“We do live together because you are never going back to that apartment.”
“You already went to my apartment?”
“Yes. I did, and I saw how you were living. And from this point forward, my home is your home. You live with me now and not because of what I saw in that apartment. It’s the natural next step for us.”
“It’s fast.”
“But it was going to happen anyway. Hire me, so you can talk to me without worrying.”
“No. There are ethical codes for attorneys. Your family might cross them, but you don’t.”
“Representing you is within those ethical codes as long as we were together before you hired me and I disclose that information under the necessary circumstances, which I will.” I take the money back from her. “I accept the job.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
She shifts and pulls her knees to her chest under my shirt, successfully creating a barrier between me and her. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
My hand slides under the T-shirt to rest on her naked ankle. “Like I told you in the bar bathroom. Not a chance in hell. I’m in this with you now, which means it’s time to give me real answers.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“So are you but it’s time to talk.”
She inhales and lets it out. “You’re right,” she agrees. “I know you are, but I don’t even know where to start and I don’t think I want to see your face when you realize all the wrong moves I made. I think. I’m not even objective anymore about what happened and how I got into this.”
“All the more reason to tell me.” I wrap my arms around her calves and pull her closer. “Let’s start simple. Were you here when you called me?”
“No. I was in a coffee shop beside the train station, in the bathroom. I knew I’d be on a train in a matter of minutes, and you wouldn’t find me. Distance seemed the best way to keep you from finding me.”
“But you didn’t get on a train,” I point out.
“I thought if I paid cash, I wouldn’t have to show identification,” she explains, confirming my assumption to be correct. “That wasn’t the case, and I have enough respect for your resources to be sure you’d be waiting on me on the other side of the ride if I identified myself.”
“I would have been,” I confirm. “But staying here at this hotel wasn’t putting distance between us. What changed?”
“I’d lost enough time that I knew you’d have the streets covered. I needed a place to rest and think. I needed a plan I didn’t have.”
The certainty that someone, most likely her brother, has been directing her actions comes to my mind. “No one told you to come here?”
Her brow furrows. “Who would tell me to come here? What kind of question is that?” Her eyes go wide. “Do you think I’m supposed to be meeting someone?”
“Emily—”
“You do.” Anger flashes in her eyes, and she tries to move away, but I tighten my grip around her legs.
“Emily,” I try again.
“Let me go,” she orders, pressing on my shoulders. “This is what I was talking about. Even if I tell you everything, you will never trust me.”
“It’s not like that. I admit that when you first came here, I thought you were meeting someone. Perhaps someone who was blackmailing you, but that isn’t why I’m asking now. You call someone on that extra phone of yours, I assume to be your brother, and I need to know if he or someone else is involved.”
“My brother is who I’ve been calling.”
“No one else?”
She shakes her head. “No one else.”
My questions are many, and I start with the most basic. “What’s your real name?” She hesitates and I press. “You need—”
“I’m not that other person. I can’t ever be her again.”
“You can be her with me. Just me. Right here right now. What is—”
“Reagan Morgan,” she blurts out.
“Reagan,” I repeat, squeezing her legs. “Nice to meet you, Reagan.”
“Emily,” she corrects. “That’s the name I have to keep if I’m going to stay safe.”
“If you’re staying Emily Stevens, then you need the holes in your identity fixed. Did you call your brother tonight?”
“Over and over,” she says, and I don’t miss how her fingers curl into her palms where they rest on her knees. “But as always, he’s impossible to reach.”
“Why is that?”
“He says he’s fixing things, but he told me he’d fix things weeks ago. That’s why I stayed with you. I thought this would be over, and then I could tell you everything. But it’s not over and I’m starting to wonder if it ever will be. Honestly, I don’t know how I thought it would ever be over.”
“It will be,” I say, cautiously moving toward the meat of her story, slowly gathering facts. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Rick,” I say. “Also Morgan.”
“And your stepfather?”
“Cooper Wright.”
“I need the name of the hacker group you’re running from.”
“I can’t give that to you.”
Again, I tighten my grip around her legs, but I soften my voice. “I can’t protect us from an enemy I don’t know. I won’t see them coming and neither of us can know if they’ve found you or me. And if they haven’t, they still might end up right here.”
She pales. “They could already know who you are, and I let that happen.” She doesn’t give me time to reply. “The Geminis,” she blurts out. “And they’re powerful, Shane. Really, scary powerful.”
I know her and she doesn’t spook easily, but she’s close to this. Maybe too close to see a solution, or a weakness, in what could be a two-bit hacking operation. “Why are they after you? What did you see?”
She presses her hands to her face. “Something bad. Really bad.” She looks up at me. “I was in law school, Shane. Two years in and now I’ve thrown it away.”
“Where?”
“The University of Texas, but I got accepted to Harvard.”
Her eagerness to talk about my Harvard experience comes back to me. “Why didn’t you attend?”
“I was worried about my brother. I just … I knew he was headed into trouble. He’s not like me. He’s impetuous. He’s wild. He’s into hot cars, hot women, and money. He’s addicted to the money the Geminis represent to him. I think he’s addicted to the danger.”
“You can’t save someone that doesn’t want to be saved.”
“In my mind I know that, but in my heart, he’s my baby brother, and I’ve been protecting him since my mother checked out.”
“Checked out?”
“She was different after my father’s suicide and blind to any flaw that was my stepfather’s. Therefore, with my brother working with him, learning a craft, she wanted to believe it was all legit. She all but pushed my brother into a life of crime.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“She was an English professor, and it’s the one thing she hung on to. Everything else was about my stepfather. He ordered her around. She almost seemed scared of him at times, but she was head over heels.”
“How was it when he took over guardianship?”
“He barely spoke to me. He kept me around to satisfy my brother and I’m pretty sure he had my brother try to recruit me to work with him.”
“But you refused.”
“Of course I refused, but I darn sure took all the cash he threw at me as
a method of parenting. I saved twenty thousand dollars for school that way.”
I whistle. “That’s a lot of cash to throw at a kid.”
“That was nothing compared to what he gave my brother. And like I said. My brother likes the cash.”
“Tell me how you got here.”
“I hadn’t been able to reach Rick for weeks and I was starting to fear he’d taken a job for the Geminis that had gone wrong. I went by his place and he wasn’t there, and I was desperate enough to swing by my stepfather’s.”
“Your dead stepfather?”
“He wasn’t dead until that night, Shane.”
Murder. The word rips through my mind.
“No one was answering when I knocked, and I walked around to the back and the glass door was open. Making a long story short. My brother was there and my stepfather was dead. It was horrible, Shane. I’ve never seen anyone dead like that. There was blood. So much blood and his eyes…” She presses her hands to her face. “They were open.”
I take her hand in mine. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding this inside.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think about it. I couldn’t or I’d lose it. I honestly don’t know how I’ve blocked it out. I mean, how do you block out someone you lived with for years, lying in a puddle of his own blood? What kind of person can do that?”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” I say, resting my hand on top of her knees. “The mind is an amazing thing. It protects us. It compartmentalizes so we can stay sane. You’ve survived when many wouldn’t have. You’re stronger than I think you realize.”
“I wasn’t strong that night, or I might have made different decisions. I was freaking out. Crying. Screaming. Losing my mind.”
“Why did he kill him?”
“He claimed that he found out my stepfather stole money from him and the Geminis and made it look like my brother did it. They fought and came to blows, and my stepfather ended up with a statue in his head.”
“So it was self-defense.”
“He says it was.”
I arch a brow. “That sounds like doubt.”
“I don’t know my brother anymore, and the past few weeks have really driven that point home. I mean, my first reaction was to go to the police. I wanted, no, I begged him to go to them, but he wouldn’t.”