"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)Chapter Fourteen The ride to the restaurant had been completed in what Jenna could only call contemplative silence. She wished she understood why he'd pulled back from the kiss in her apartment. He clearly wanted it as much as she had. He'd asked if she'd loved Adam. She wondered if he still loved the wife he'd lost, the mother of his sons. She wished she knew what was going on inside his head. She sure as hell knew what was going on inside of hers. And if his thoughts were anywhere near as confused and… erotic as hers, well, this would certainly be an interesting evening. Wherever it led. At the moment it was leading to dinner. He'd chosen the new Italian place on Capitol, ironically enough. Jenna took the chair he held for her, then met his eyes as he pulled his own chair to the table. His beautiful brown eyes that made her heart beat faster. That made her want to leap over the table, straddle him where he sat, and take the kiss from which he'd backed away. So she said, "This is nice. I haven't been here before." "Neither have I, but one of my coworkers just raved about it last week." He ran his long fingers over the white paper covering the tablecloth, then pointed over to another table where some children were decorating their own white paper with crayons provided by the restaurant. "Looks like they provide pre-meal entertainment." Jenna smiled at him simply because it felt right to do. "Nicky would like that, I think." "I don't know," he said, his gaze still fixed on the giggling children. His shoulders sagged. "Nicky doesn't seem to enjoy much of anything anymore." "I don't know about that, Steven. He got very excited about training Cindy Lou." Steven looked back at her, his brow raised in dubious question. "You think you can train that blubbering, drooling pile of hair?" "That eats your shoes?" He grimaced. "Dumb dog." "Nicky loves her." His face softened. "Yeah, he does. It's the only reason she stays. So can you train Cindy Lou?" Jenna grinned at him. "I don't think so. She's kind of a dumb dog." And that made him smile. Which took her breath away. Which must have shown on her face because he got that same look that he'd had in her apartment right before he didn't kiss her. Once again she steeled herself against the overwhelming compulsion to jump the table and wrap her legs around his slim hips. "Hi! My name is Amy and I'll be your server. How are you folks tonight?" Jenna jerked her gaze up to the pretty young waitress who was bending over their table, entirely too close to Steven, writing her name upside down on the white paper with a handful of crayons. Unfamiliar jealousy surged until she looked back at Steven and found his eyes fixed on her own face. He didn't even seem to notice the waitress was there. Just kept looking at her as if she were the only person in the room. As it maybe he was thinking about coming over the table for her. As if maybe he wanted that kiss after all. The throbbing became a painful ache. "We're… um… fine," Jenna managed, the inside of her mouth as dry as cotton. "Just fine." "Well, good," Amy said cheerfully, and Jenna just wished the girl would go away. "Can I tell you about our specials this evening?" Steven shook his head, his eyes still locked on hers, dark and intense. "I'll just have spaghetti," he said and held the menu up for Amy to take away. He'd never even opened it. He just kept staring. Jenna swallowed hard. "Oh," said Amy, nonplussed. "With tomato or meat sauce?" "Tomato. Jenna?" Looking at the menu would mean looking away from his eyes which at the moment seemed impossible. "The same," Jenna murmured and handed the waitress her menu. "Can I get you some wine?" Amy persisted. Steven tightened his jaw and huffed an impatient sigh. "Jenna?" "None for me, please." No way was she adding alcohol to what felt like a fire ready to consume her from the inside out. "Just water." "The same." Then Amy was gone, leaving a few crayons on the table and the two of them quite alone. Unable to bear the intensity any longer, Jenna looked away, fixing her eyes on the bright white paper covering the table that was becoming wet as condensation dripped from her water glass. Wet and dripping. Somehow the visual didn't help. After a few beats, Steven broke the silence. "I didn't tell you that you looked very nice tonight," he said quietly. "I guess I'm out of practice." Pleasure coursed through her at the simple words. "Thank you." She looked up to see that whatever spell had held him seemed to be broken. Gone was the intensity that had turned his brown eyes almost black. Disappointment mingled with relief. "Thank you." He tilted his head to one side and frowned a little. "Mrs. Kasselbaum told me about the water in your gas lines. Are you all right?" "I'm fine," she reassured him. "I've been doing what you said and parking close to the school and having someone walk me out after closing." "Good. I heard about the vandalism in your class. Have they confronted the Lutz boy or any of his friends?" "No, and I don't think they're going to." She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Principal Blackman says we can't prove who did anything. They're trying to force my hand, but they'll find out I'm tougher than I look." She took a thoughtful look at him across the table. "What about you? How's your big case going?" His face tightened. "Not well." "I'm sorry. I saw you on CNN on Sunday morning. You looked… tired." "I was. I still am. But we don't have anything definite to go on right now even though we're all pulling double shifts. It's small consolation for the Egglestons," he added bitterly, looking away. Wanting to comfort him, she reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. The action was a reflexive one, a friend supporting a friend, but the feel of her skin on his was anything but friendly. The back of his hand was warm, rough, the reddish gold hairs coarse. Her palm… tingled. But her response was out of place at the moment so she swallowed it back. "I know you're doing all you can," she said softly. His eyes snapped back to hers, then dropped to her hand resting on his. Suddenly feeling awkward she started to pull away, but he caught her, twining his fingers with hers and for a moment she could only stare at the sight. Her fingers and his. Together. It had been a long time since she'd held hands with a man. She hadn't realized until now just how much she'd missed it. "Thank you," he said and she looked up to find him focused on her once again. And once again her heart raced. She opened her mouth to say something, but then his cell phone shrilled. Jenna jumped while Steven swore. He pulled his phone from his pocket with one hand, still holding her hand with the other. "Thatcher," he barked, listened, then grew grim. Still one-handed he finished the call and dropped his phone back into his pocket. "What's wrong?" Jenna asked. "I have to go," he answered. "I'm sorry, but 1 have to go to the Egglestons' house. I can drop you off at your apartment on the way." She stood up when he did because he still held her hand. "Will you be long?" she asked. "I don't know. Why?" Concern for him edged out the tingle of his hand on hers, the nearness of his body. "You need to eat, Steven. If you'd like I can make us something at my place after you're finished." He looked down at her, worry in his eyes. "You don't mind?" "Of course not." He motioned to Amy the waitress who came hurrying over. "Cancel the order. We need to go." He let go of her hand only long enough to draw a bill from his wallet for the waitress's trouble. He tossed the money on the table, took her hand again, and led her to his car. Sheriff Braden, Anna Eggleston's brother, met them at the Egglestons' front door and looked at Jenna, a question in his eyes. "She's with me," Steven said. "I can wait in the car," Jenna offered and Braden shook his head. "That's not necessary, ma'am. It's getting cold outside. Please make yourself comfortable." Braden gestured to a sofa covered with dainty little flowers, then turned to Steven. "Thanks for coming here to the house, Agent Thatcher. Anna didn't want to take Serena into the station." Serena. Samantha's little sister. Steven's brain jogged to life. Four years old. The Egglestons had kept their youngest daughter far away from the investigation, shielding their baby from the ugliness of the situation, a response Steven certainly understood. But tonight Serena had burst into hysterical tears and her parents had been able to glean only that their littlest daughter knew something she should tell the police. What had the little girl heard that night? What did she know? "Where is she?" "In the kitchen." Braden looked at him helplessly. "She's just a baby, Thatcher." Steven grasped Braden's upper arm and squeezed. "I know. Let's see what we can get without making this any worse than it is." There was a crowd around the kitchen table Marvin and Anna Eggleston sat on either side of Serena, creating a human protective wall around their daughter. Serena herself sat quietly, her little round face streaked with tears. She was a beautiful child, with large blue eyes and dark, dark hair that fell in damp baby ringlets around her shoulders. Steven looked from the Egglestons huddled around their daughter to the older woman that sat on Anna's left. Anna's and Sheriff Braden's mother. Mrs. Braden looked at him defiantly, as if daring him to harm her granddaughter. Then someone stepped from the shadows of the back door. Mike Leone looked at him with worry in his eyes. Of course this family had called their priest. Of course it would be Mike. Steven quickly looked back to the table where Serena stared up at him, her blue eyes huge and teary and terrified. He smiled as he sat down. "Hi, Serena. My name is Agent Thatcher." The little girl sniffled. "I know." Steven leaned forward, pressing his forearms into the table. "Serena, honey, can you tell me why I'm here?" he asked gently. Serena's lips quivered. "Because I've been bad," she whispered. "I'm sorry." "Now, Serena," he said softly, "there's nothing you did that could be that bad. The bad person is whoever took your sister. Samantha didn't do anything wrong and neither did you." Serena was clearly unconvinced. Her lower lip thrust out and her delicate eyebrows bunched. But she said nothing. "Serena, tell the officer what you heard," Anna said, her voice a shaky tremble. "Please." Serena looked up at her mother, who forced a smile. Then she looked up at her father who put his arm around her tiny shoulders. "It's okay, honey." Marvin said. "You're not in trouble. Just tell Mr. Thatcher what you know." Serena turned her dark blue eyes to Steven and he smiled again, even more gently than before. "See, honey? Your mom and dad aren't mad." Serena's lip quivered and Steven understood. At four years old, of course Serena would interpret her family's wild grief and anger to be her fault. It was normal. "Honey, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" Serena nodded. "Yes, sir." Steven ducked his head closer. "Good. Now I know you're a big girl, and a smart one. I want you to think about your friends. Do you have a best friend?" Serena blinked, confusion in her eyes at the unexpected question. She nodded uncertainly. "What's your best friend's name?" "Carrie." Serena looked down, then back up. "We play dolls and video games." "Good. You know who was my best friend when I was your age?" Serena shook her head and Steven winked at her. "Father Mike." Her blue eyes grew round in disbelief. "Priests don't have friends." From the corner of his eye Steven saw Mike hide a smile behind his hand. "No, it's true," Steven insisted. "When Fa-ther Mike was a little boy we'd catch frogs in the creek behind the elementary school down the street from the church." "I'll go to the elementary school next year," Serena declared proudly, then narrowed her eyes. "If you and Father Mike were friends, how come you're not a priest, too?" Again Steven glanced at Mike from the corner of his eye. "Busted," Mike mouthed silently. "Well, I thought about it, but then I decided to be a policeman instead. What do you think priests and policemen have in common, Serena?" She thought a moment, chewing on her lower lip. "They help people," she decided. Steven nodded. "That's exactly right. See, I knew you were a smart girl." "I can count to twenty," Serena said with a decisive nod, then shook her head in disgust. "Carrie can only count to ten." "Well, I'm sure Carrie will catch up soon." "I don't know." She shook her head and her damp ringlets bounced. "She can only make it to level one on Sonic Two." Steven was well acquainted with Sonic the Hedgehog, a video game character who, although capable of racing at sonic speeds, looked absolutely nothing like a hedgehog. Sonic was one of Nicky's favorites. Had been anyway. "So you're pretty good at Sonic?" Steven asked and Serena nodded hard. "You practice a lot?" Serena's face abrupjly changed. She looked down at the table and said nothing. And Steven thought he knew what had happened. "Serena, are you allowed to play video games at night when you're supposed to be in bed?" Serena stared hard at the table and shook her head. Marvin Eggleston opened his mouth to say something, but Mike stepped forward and put a restraining hand on the man's shoulder. "But you were up playing Sonic the night Sammie disappeared, weren't you, honey?" Steven asked quietly. Serena said nothing. Made not a single move. Steven leaned closer and laid his fingertips against the little girl's cheek and she looked up, misery in her eyes. She blinked and fat tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. Steven felt his heart clench. What the public never seemed to realize is that crime happened to people. It wasn't sensational, it wasn't thrilling. Crime happened to people, to families, tore them apart. Made little four-year-old girls feel responsible and afraid. Made them cry. He softened his voice. "Serena, honey, this is important. You will not get into trouble for playing video games. But, sweetheart, you need to tell me what you heard that night." Her lips trembled and more tears flowed. "Sammie was on the phone," she whispered. "Did she know you were there?" Serena shook her head. "No." "Do you know who Sammie was talking to, Serena?" Again she shook her head. "No, sir." Impatience simmered and he clapped a tight lid on it. "Did it sound like she was talking to one of her friends? JoLynn or Wanda, maybe?" "No, sir." Steven leaned closer still. "Was it a boy, honey?" Serena looked up at him, her eyes filled with guilt. "Yes, sir," she whispered. Anticipation sizzled across his skin. They were on to something. "Did she say his name?" "No, sir." "What were they talking about, Serena?" She looked down at the table. "Kissing and stuff." Steven glanced up to find Marvin's face pale and his body trembling. Silently, Steven shook his head, then hooked his finger under Serena's chin and gently tipped up her face. "What else, honey?" Serena stared up at him and again his heart clenched at the misery he saw there. She was just a baby. No child should know this kind of devastation. "She didn't want to go," Serena whispered and Marvin and Anna looked sick. "What do you mean, she didn't want to go? Go where, Serena?" Serena lifted one thin shoulder. "To meet him. She kept saying, 'I don't know.' She knew Mommy and Daddy would be really mad." Tears rolled again. "But she finally said yes." Anna swayed and her mother put her arm around her for support. "Serena, I need you to think very hard," Steven said, his voice barely a whisper. "Did Sammie mention where she was meeting him?" Serena nodded. "Behind the McDonald's." Steven forced his voice to be very calm. His gut told him Serena was on the verge of remembering something critical. "Did she say which one?" She frowned. "Behind the railroad tracks? I don't know." She looked up at her father, panicked. "I'm sorry, Daddy." "It's okay, pumpkin," Marvin managed in an even voice and Steven respected him for the effort. His father's heart had to be shattering, visualizing what happened at the McDonald's behind the railroad tracks. "You're doing just… great." His voice broke on the last word and Mike put both hands on Marvin's shoulders. The big man managed a smile of encouragement for Serena, but his throat worked viciously as he struggled not to cry. Steven touched Serena's hand lightly and she looked back at him. "Your daddy's absolutely right, Serena. You are doing fabulously. Now, can you remember anything else?"' Her feathery brows scrunched as she concentrated. Then she looked up sharply and Steven knew this was what he'd been waiting for. "Sammie told him he played a good game." Steven tried not to let his excitement show. "Did she say what kind of game?" "No." Her lower lip quivered again as more tears fell. "I'm sorry." Steven cupped the child's face in his palm and gently wiped her tears with his thumb. "You did all the right things, Serena. You're a smart girl, and a brave one. Telling me took a lot of courage." "Will Sammie come home now?" she asked and Steven heard Anna muffle a sob. Serena was a smart child. He had no idea what her parents had told her, but he'd be damned if he'd tell this child anything other than the truth. "I don't know, honey. All us policemen are trying our hardest to find her." Her eyes filled again. "I should have told before. If I'd told before you could find her faster." Mike put his hand on Serena's shoulder. She looked up, biting her lower lip, and Steven felt his heart lurch. For the rest of her life this poor child would live with unearned guilt caused by a sadistic bastard that thrived on the misery and fear of others. Mike smoothed a lock of tear-drenched hair from Serena's cheek. "Serena, you know I would never lie to you, don't you?" She nodded. "You're not allowed." Mike smiled ruefully. "That's true. So I want you to believe me when I say there is nothing you could have done to make them find Serena faster. God is with her, wherever she is." Serena nodded, then buried her face in Marvin's shoulder and Steven pushed back from the table. The little girl had been through quite enough tonight. He stood up and leaned over the table, brushing his palm over the little girl's dark curls. Jenna's children would look like Serena Eggleston, he thought, then physically jolted from the unexpectedness of the idea. He cleared his throat and met Anna Eggleston's eyes as he said to Serena, "You were wonderful. Serena. Your mommy and daddy are very proud of you." Anna jerked a nod, then put her amis around Serena and together she and Marvin held on to the daughter they had left. Steven looked at Anna's mother and the sheriff. Mrs. Braden was crying and Sheriff Braden looked like he was fighting not to. "She did great," Steven said quietly. "I'm going to send a team over to the McDonald's to see what we can find first thing in the morning."' Mrs. Braden bristled. "Why not now?" she demanded in a hushed whisper. "What's wrong with right now?" Sheriff Braden put his arms around his mother's shoulders. "It's not a good idea to investigate a crime scene at night. Mom," he told her. "They might miss something, or worse, destroy it because it's too dark to see." "I will make sure the area is roped off, Mrs. Braden." Steven assured her. "And I'll make sure nobody goes near it until dawn." Mrs. Braden jerked a nod, looking very much like her daughter as she did so. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse. Her eyes filled. "I know." Then she stifled a sob ind turned to bury her face against the starched fabric of her son's uniform. Sheriff Braden looked at Steven, and once again he saw helpless misery. Steven squeezed Braden's shoulder. "I'll see myself out." "I'll walk with you," Mike said behind him, then added to Braden, "I'll be right back." Mike paused in the darkened hallway just outside the kitchen. "You did great, Steven," he said, and Steven heard pride in his old friend's voice. "That little girl was terrified, but you made it as easy as you could." He forced a grin and threw his arm around Steven's shoulders in a clumsy hug. "Y'done good, boy." "Thanks." Steven looked back at the kitchen with a frown, then back at Mike. "You know Sammie's probably dead by now," he murmured. Mike swallowed and his forced grin disappeared. "I know. So do they." Steven sighed. "I need to go." He stepped from the darkened hallway into the light of the living room where Jenna stood next to the sofa covered in dainty little flowers, quietly waiting. The tortured look on her face told him she'd heard every word. Beside him Mike stopped and Steven found his friend's face lit with a genuine smile. "Well, hello!" Mike drawled and Steven's face heated. "Do you plan to introduce us?" "There are some times I wish you weren't a priest," Steven muttered. "Steven, Steven, Steven," Mike said, quiet humor in his voice. "Five Hail Marys for just thinking what you just didn't say." He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Father Mike Leone, an old friend of Steven's. You must be Jenna." She shook Mike's hand. "That's right. But, um, Steven didn't mention you." Mike laughed softly. "No, I don't suppose he would. It's very, very nice to meet you, Jenna Marshall." He held on to her hand, still smiling broadly. Jenna frowned a little. "It's nice to meet you, too, Father Leone." "Father Mike is fine. Yes, I've known Steven since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Oh, the stories I could tell. Where do you want me to begin? Pick a year, any year." Steven gritted his teeth. Jenna glanced over at Steven with a look that seemed to say Steven felt a rush of appreciation. She'd felt his discomfort, but instead of exploiting it, she turned the focus to Mike. "Probably because our mothers knew we'd be as heavenly as the archangel Michael himself," Mike declared reverently, looking up at the ceiling. Jenna snorted in a delicate, ladylike way. "Your mothers had their hands full with little boys bringing home frogs from the creek in back of the school down the street from the church." Mike looked impressed. "Wow, good memory." "She has a Ph.D.," Steven replied, as if that explained everything. "Well, we need to be going. I have a lot of work to do." Jenna frowned again. "You have dinner to eat," she said firmly and Steven didn't miss the satisfied gleam in Mike's eye. Meddling old fart. He'd have to make it six Hail Marys. Mike looked back at the Egglestons' kitchen door, sobering. "I have to be getting back to the Egglestons. It was nice to meet you, Jenna. Make sure he takes care of himself, okay?" She nodded. "I'll try, Father." And Steven got the feeling she really meant it. She'd put a frozen pizza in the oven. The aroma met Steven's nose as he closed her front door behind him for the second time. He patted the head of whichever dog he'd just walked and looked longingly at the soft brown sofa. He'd bet a week's pay he'd fall asleep as soon as he sat down on it. He was bone-tired. It had been one hell of a long day. The area behind McDonald's near the railroad tracks was sealed off, a patrol car assigned to assure no one further contaminated the scene. Steven honestly didn't believe they'd find anything in an open area after five days, but stranger things had happened. There was almost no chance they'd find Samantha Eggle-ston alive. He could only hope they found her dead, so at least they could find any clues the sick bastard might have left behind. The killer had left nothing behind at the clearing where they'd found Lorraine Rush. No hairs, no footprints. Nothing but an eviscerated body. And a fresh tattoo, half of which had been scavenged as the body lay out in the open, unprotected. The picture of Lorraine's mutilated body flashed in his mind and he wanted to close his eyes, but knew it would only make the picture clearer. More ghastly. More real. He shivered, suddenly cold. Jenna stuck her head out from the kitchen, her smile a beacon in the darkness of his thoughts. "Supper's in the oven. Do you want something to drink?" He stood still, just enjoying the warmth of her smile, which faltered when she saw his face. Sobering, she came all the way out of the kitchen. "Are you all right, Steven? You look like you've seen-" She broke off abruptly. "A ghost?" he asked, a sardonic edge to his voice, remembering the expression Melissa's face would take when he came home late, tired, his mind full of images. Vile, inescapable images of what one Homo sapiens could do to another. At first Melissa's smile of welcome would falter, just like Jenna's had. Then, after one too many late nights, Melissa stopped smiling. Then came the frowning, followed by the sneering. Melissa hadn't had what it took to be the wife of a cop. He looked at Jenna's pensive expression. Maybe no woman did. "Something like that." Jenna tilted her head. "What's wrong?" Jenna watched his face change from tortured to carefully blank, watched the light in his eyes shut off, just as if he'd flipped off a switch. "Just the day catching up to me," he answered, then added abruptly, "Do you have any scotch?" Jenna nodded, studying his face. He looked so incredibly tired. Worried. Consumed. She wanted to walk straight up to him and put her arms around him and just hold him until whatever images haunted him went away, but something told her that he wouldn't accept her concern at this moment. There was a sharpness to him, an edginess that went way beyond simple weariness. An anger, deep and intense. He reminded her of a caged cat even though he hadn't moved a muscle. "Neat or on the rocks?" she asked. "Neat," he answered and bent down to scratch Jean-Luc behind the ears. Jean-Luc responded by flipping to his back, presenting his belly for more scratching. "Coming right up." She went back to the kitchen. "Jenna, why do both your dogs have the same name tag?" he asked. He looked up when she approached him with his filled glass. "And why do both tags say 'Captain'?" "You don't watch much television, do you'" Jenna responded, holding out his drink. "Not anymore." He absently swished the scotch in the glass. "I used to enjoy old movies." Jenna stowed that common interest away for a different day. "But not sci-fi?" He looked appalled. "God, no." Jenna chuckled. "Then I won't even ask if you're a His mouth tipped up. "I admit I have watched a few reruns. I remember a green lady…" Jenna tried to look severe. "The makeup artists must have used a year's supply of green paint on that woman," she said. "She showed an awful lot of green skin." His smile went just a shade naughty and her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah," was all he said. She hugged herself to keep from throwing her arms around him and narrowed her eyes in mock ire. "Forget about the green lady and think about the captain." His brows bunched as he thought. "Jim, wasn't it?" Jim perked up his ears. "And, Steven shrugged. "Counselor Troy, skintight uniforms?" she prompted and he grinned again. "Matt "And her captain's name is…?" He snapped his fingers and both dogs sat up. He looked impressed. "That was pretty good." "You should see what they do when I pop the bubble wrap at Christmas," she said wryly and he threw back his head and laughed. And once again took her breath away. "The bald guy was the second captain, right? He must have been Jean-Luc." Jean-Luc nuzzled his hand and Steven stroked the dog's soft muzzle. "Sucker guess," she said, her voice coming out a little huskier than she'd expected and he chuckled, making her feel ridiculously clever for having made him laugh. For making the worry go away for just a little while. "So much for the power of my honed deductive reasoning," he said mildly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He cast his eyes aside, scanning the items covering her walls, and once again she felt the switch go Maybe all cops did that. She wondered if he did that at home, llicking the switch, cutting off his kids. Then again, maybe it was just her. He'd been throwing mixed signals all night, by turns hot-she swallowed, remembering the restaurant-then… nothing. So maybe it was just her. He was standing poised on the balls of his feet, hands in pockets, eyes looking everywhere but at her. She waited for him to "come back" or whatever it was he did when he flicked the switch back on, but there was only awkward silence. She cleared her throat. "Can I take your coat, Steven?" His eyes glanced toward her, then away again. "Sure. Thanks." He shrugged out of the tweed jacket and she wanted to groan. Yards of muscles stretched and moved and flexed under his crisp white shirt. She bit her tongue. She hoped he'd follow her, but instead he released the clasp on his holster and draped it over his coat before wandering over to the wall where she kept her diplomas and awards. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Camel trousers that clung to the nicest ass she'd ever seen. '"Duke for your bachelor's and UNC for your doctorate." he observed from the dining room. "And Maryland for your master's degree. Why did you go all the way up there for your master's?" "My dad." The memory of her father put a chill on the heat. "My dad was sick and we lived in Maryland," she said, still remembering the day she got the call to come home. It was the worst day of her life. At the time. "He had a stroke shortly after I left for Duke. I wanted to come home then, but he wouldn't hear of it." She looked over her shoulder to find him still staring at the diploma, his hands still in his pockets. "I had a scholarship and Dad didn't want me to lose the opportunity. He had another stroke right before graduation, so one of my profs pulled some strings and I was able to get into Maryland's master's program at College Park at the last minute." "What happened to him?" Steven asked, his voice softer, the edginess gone. "He died before Christmas that year," she answered. "I'm sorry," he said, and after a moment turned back to the frames cluttering her wall. In the past she'd gone more for a tasteful print here and there, but when she'd moved into this apartment, days after Adam's death, the empty walls had mocked her. Cluttering the walls had made the place seem a little less empty. A little less… dead. At a minimum it provided distraction when she thought she would lose her mind from the loneliness. 'Thank you." "Who's Charlie?" Steven asked. He was looking at a certificate Charlie had made for her birthday the year Adam was sick and no one had known what to say. But then-eight-year-old Charlotte Anne had managed where all the grown-ups failed. "My niece. Well, actually she's Adam's niece, but I'm still very close with his family. She's eleven. She made that for me when Adam was sick." "So it's priceless," he said, and her heart clenched a little knowing he understood. He took a few steps to where her mounted patent awards hung. "You have patents," he said with surprise, changing the subject. He bent closer to read the fine print. "What did you do to get them?" "Pharmaceutical research." She donned oven mitts and took the pizza out of the oven. "In a previous life," she added. Bending over, she searched her lower cupboard for a pizza cutter in the box of utensils she never used. "I know it's down here somewhere," she muttered, clanging pots and pans. "Steven, this pizza is half supreme and half pepperoni," she said to the inside of the cupboard. "Which do you want?" No answer met her ears. She put her hand on the pizza wheel and straightened, turning at the same time. "Stev-?" The second syllable of his name evaporated from her tongue. He stood in the open doorway of the kitchen, filling it with the breadth of his shoulders. His chest heaved inside the starched white shirt as if every breath took superhuman effort. He was… interested. That look of his could melt solid steel. That look made her heart pound, her nipples hard, made every ounce of sensation pool between her thighs. One throbbing, aching mass of sensation. He took a step forward and she met him halfway, taking the leap she'd wanted all evening, throwing her body against his, feeling every incredible inch of him pressed against her. It was incredible. But it wasn't enough. Then he was kissing her, finally kissing her, and she whimpered. His hands pulled her closer to him. His lips were hot and hard against her mouth. Incredible, but not enough. In one movement she opened her mouth beneath the pressure of his and slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. The oven mitt dropped to the floor behind him and she vaguely heard the clang of the pizza wheel against the linoleum as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, seeking, finding a mate as she again met him halfway. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, still closer. Her tongue tangling with his. Exploring. Learning. Harder. Deeper. Still not enough. Not close enough. Then his hands took a rapid slide down her back to flatten against her butt and pull her up into him. A wild little cry escaped from her throat and he ripped his mouth away to look down. His eyes dark and intense, pupils dilated, nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe. "Please." The single syllable was rusty, ripped from her throat. She had no idea what she was asking for, had no thought beyond In answer he took her mouth again, hotter, harder, and in two big steps backed her against the refrigerator, pressing hard between her thighs. Against the place that throbbed and wept for him. She thrust back, as hard as she could, leaning into the refrigerator for leverage. It was a strangely erotic mix of sensations. Cold, hard machine at her back, hot, hard man at her front. Hard big hands against her, kneading, pulling her closer. Then one of his big hands freed its hold on her butt, and she wriggled against him in protest, making him groan, so deep she could feel the vibrations rattle against her breasts. But a moment later the groan was hers as he covered her breast with his hand. But not enough. Not nearly enough. His other hand left her butt, but instead of claiming the other breast that felt like it would burst, he pulled at her dress, straining the buttons. Some released. The others made a clatter as they rained to the floor. She pressed her head back against the refrigerator as his mouth moved from her bruised lips down her throat and his hands fumbled with the front clasp on her bra. If she said the words aloud, she didn't hear them over the panting. Hers. His. With a curse he gave another yank, tearing the delicate lace and her breasts fell free. Into his hands. And into his mouth. The strangled cry was hers as he sucked, lashing the nipple with his tongue. All feeling clenched between her thighs and she felt her body tighten with need. Greed. She was almost there and he hadn't even touched her yet. Not yet. Please. She looked down, the sight of his golden head at her breast more erotic than anything she'd ever seen. "Please," she whispered. "Steven." He pulled back far enough to look up, his lips wet, his eyes almost black. Without saying a word he took the other breast in his mouth and his hand fell to her hip, ran down her thigh as she bent her knee, trying to get closer, her legs wider. His hand pushed at her dress, up her stocking to the bare inch of thigh between her garter and her soaked panties. Then his palm was on bare skin, cupping her ass and she cried out. His hand froze on her butt and he pulled back from her breast, his eyes taking in the sight of her bare breasts, wet and swollen from his suckling mouth. Then they lifted to her eyes and Jenna felt her body go cold in an instant. He was angry. His jaw clenched until a muscle in his cheek spasmed. He pulled his hand away and pushed at her thigh, straightening her leg, pulling her dress back in place. "No," he ground out from behind clenched teeth and stepped away, leaving her trembling against the refrigerator, her legs barely supporting her weight, her breasts wet and cold. Her senses frozen. She said nothing as he marched into the dining room and grabbed his holster and coat from the back of the chair with jerky movements. She flinched at the sound of the slamming front door. Then unable to stand a moment longer on legs that felt like jelly, she pressed her back against the cold refrigerator and slid to the floor. |
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