Blood And Bone (26 page)

“The apartment in the garage.” He nodded at the building they’d parked in front of.

“Who’s that woman?”

“My landlady, Rose.” He waved, and the woman pulled back from the window. “She’s probably hurrying off to call Heddi to let her know you’re here.”

“Rose knows who I am?”

He shook his head and started for the door around the side of the garage. “No, she’ll tell Heddi I have woman with me, and Heddi will put two and two together.”

Des unlocked the door, pushed it open, and flipped on the lights before moving aside to allow Shayne to enter. She stepped into the small square hallway. To her right, a flight of narrow, steep stairs led up, to her left, a small tidy kitchen with her boxes piled on and around the old chrome-and-Formica table.

“I dropped them off before heading back out to the police station,” Des said, closing the door behind them. “I didn’t want to miss you. I’ll move them upstairs later.”

She swallowed the inexplicable lump in her throat. She was touched he’d thought to bring her things from the cabin so she wouldn’t have to deal with it all herself.

Maybe he went through everything, read all your notes and reported back to his grandmother while you were busy explaining to the police how you wound up discovering two more dead bodies.

She cleared her throat. “Thanks. I appreciate it, but when I move into the hotel tomorrow, it’ll be easier to load them if you leave everything here.”

“Listen.” Des took her hand in his, his grip warm and strong. She had to battle the urge to entwine their fingers and cling to his touch. “I know you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you.” She almost wished she did. It would make being near him easier. She wouldn’t be craving the feel of his arms around her, or wishing she could crawl into bed and wrap herself in his warm body.

“Okay, but you don’t trust me.” True, she couldn’t argue that. “And I don’t blame you. But until you get what you need to finish writing your book, I don’t want you out of my sight.”

“Des.”

“I mean it, Shayne. If he’d hurt you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Des.” She sharpened her tone to get his attention. “I’m not your responsibility. It’s not your job to take care of me. I can do that myself.”

Though, hiding in a cistern with a couple of dead bodies and hoping the psycho didn’t stumble upon her wasn’t exactly proactive in the self-care department. But she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t let herself end up in the same situation again.

“I won’t let Tic hurt you,” he vowed.

“If Tic had hurt me, it wouldn’t have been your fault. You understand that, right?”

He swallowed. “My family is paying him to drive you out of town, and they don’t care what he does to make you go.”

“Your family. Not you.” Despite her better judgment, she slipped her hand from his and cupped both sides of his face, smoothing the line of his cheekbone with her thumbs. “You should have warned me about him sooner, but I know now. If anything happens to me, it’s not your fault.”

He gripped her hips and jerked her closer, their bodies, their faces, only inches apart. Despite her exhaustion, liquid heat pooled low in her belly.

“I don’t give a shit about fault,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I won’t let him anywhere near you again.”

He lowered his head and caught her mouth with his.

Chapter Twenty

“Cases of familicide often result from a buildup of frustration challenging the husband/father’s already-damaged ego, which results in an eruption of brutality. The murders release the building pressure, and the assailant will often feel a great sense of relief, having once again regained control over his world.”

—excerpt from
Blood and Bone
by Shayne Reynolds

Shayne’s blood roared in her ears, her head spinning as Des’s hungry lips drew on hers. She should stop him. End the kiss. Pull away. But she didn’t want to. In that instant, he was everything she craved. Home. Safety. Life.

She tilted her head, opened her mouth, giving him better access. And he immediately took advantage. His tongue swept inside, slipping alongside hers. He tasted sweet, faintly of mint.

Dull, gnawing need drove her onward. She slid her hands into his hair, curling her fingers around the soft strands. Arching against him, the friction from their clothes lit her already oversensitized nerve endings.

She wanted him naked. She wanted to be naked. She wanted to feel his smooth, hot flesh moving on hers. After the terror she’d faced today, she wanted to lose herself in this moment, in him.

And that’s exactly what he’s counting on
.

The hateful little voice was as effective as a bucket of frigid water. A chill blew through her, snuffing out the heat simmering in her system like an icy, winter wind.

He sees you’re vulnerable, and this is his best chance to get back into your good graces
.

She turned her head and pulled away. His predatory gaze tracked her movements. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. God help her, he looked hot. She almost ignored that horrible little voice and picked up where they’d left off.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Des rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was rough and gravelly. Goosebumps shivered over her skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s…” Okay, she didn’t have a clue what
it
was. She opted to change the subject instead. “Could I use your shower? I feel like I’m still covered in cobwebs and skeleton dust.”

Lame, but mentioning the bodies she’d been sitting on should be enough to cool them both off.

“Sure.” He crossed the black-and-white checkerboard tile to the far side of the kitchen and a door at the back of the room. Inside was a small bathroom, consisting of a narrow corner shower, pedestal sink and toilet.

“Towels are there.” Des pointed to a pile on the shelves mounted over the toilet.

“I’ll need something to change into. Where did you put my suitcases?”

“They’re upstairs.”

She followed Des up steep steps to the loft, a single, narrow room that ran the length of the garage. Des had set up his furniture to give the illusion of separate living spaces. A blue sectional sofa and television near the stairs, bed and dresser in the far corner, his desk and computer in the middle. Mismatched bookcases ran the length of one wall, the shelves packed tightly with an eclectic mix of titles.

He’d set her suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed. She knelt and unzipped the flap of the largest case and pulled out a pair of pajamas, stood and started for the stairs. As she passed Des, he reached for her hand.

When she met his gaze, his eyes were dark and intent. “For whatever it’s worth, I swear I’ll never lie to you again.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She swallowed hard, nodded and hurried downstairs.

Once alone with the bathroom door closed, she gripped the sides of the sink and let out a long sigh. She wanted to believe him, and not just to assuage her wounded ego or because he was damned good in bed. She liked being with him. His company. His humor.

Just what do you see for the two of you? Domestic bliss? He’s seven years younger. How long until he wants a family of his own? How long until he’s shopping for a younger model to give him all the things you can’t?

Her stomach twisted, and she pushed away from the sink. She couldn’t deal with all of this now. Her skin itched beneath the layers of grime, and her scalp crawled. She wanted to get clean and get a decent night’s sleep.

She pushed back the blue shower curtain and turned on the faucets. While she waited for the water to heat, she tugged off her clothes and dropped them into a heap on the floor. A light knock sounded on the door, and she started.

Relax, it’s Des
. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pounding heart to slow. “Yeah?”
 

The door opened and Des stood in the threshold. “Are you hungry at all? Can I make you something…?”

“What are you doing?” she snapped, scrambling for a towel from the shelf and wrapping the rough terrycloth around herself. When she faced him, his features were taut, his brows pulled together in a deep frown.

“Did he do that to you?” Des strode into the bathroom, his presence massive in the small space.

She backed up, but the edge of the sink hit her backside, preventing her from moving farther away. “What? Who? You know, I’m naked here.”

“Believe me, I noticed.” Wry humor dripped from his voice. His mouth twitched, but the intensity in his eyes did not ease. He pushed open her towel and she sucked in a breath, her face warming. Not that he noticed. The thin scratches running the length of her belly, dotted with tiny, hardened beads of blood had his full attention. “Did Tic do this?”

“No,” she said on an exasperated sigh, pushing her towel back in place “I did it, when I was jumping the wall into the cistern. It’s a few scratches, no big deal. Can you get out now, so I can shower?”

He stared at the closed towel for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. Are you hungry?”

She should be. Between yesterday’s bombshell and this mess with Tic, she’d barely eaten more than a yogurt and half a turkey sandwich, but she was too damned tired to manage anything else tonight. “No, I’m okay.”

Des nodded and left.

By the time Shayne had showered and dressed for bed, she could barely keep her eyes open. She climbed the stairs to the loft. Her legs weighed heavily, as though they were encased in cement. When she reached the top, Des was stretched across the sofa, absently scratching Bigwig between his tattered ears and watching television. The cat, curled in a ball on Des’s lap, purred loudly, like a badly-tuned engine.

“Where am I sleeping?” she asked.

“The bed.” He shifted the cat, which yowled in protest, set him aside and stood. “But first let me put this on your stomach.” He grabbed a thin tube of ointment off the coffee table and held it up for her to see. “Now, I’m not as well stocked as your first aid kit, but this works and it’s ouchless.”

“That’s probably because it’s for kids. I’ll put it on tomorrow. Right now, I want to go to sleep.”

He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. “Lie down and I’ll do it.”

She should do it herself, or at the very least protest. But she couldn’t work up the energy. She flopped onto the bed, and the moment her head sank into the soft pillow her eyes closed. Des’s spicy scent, imprinted on his bedding, teased her nose. Her muscles softened like warm wax.

The mattress next to her hip dipped, and she managed to force her eyes open long enough to see Des kneeling next to her and pushing her shirt up. Cool air swept over her skin, goose bumps stippling her flesh. Her lids drooped closed.

Gently, Des dabbed on the ointment with his fingertip. And as advertised, the cool cream tingled on her skin, but didn’t sting.

“It really is ouchless,” she murmured.

He snorted. “You may want to mention that to your dad the next time he restocks your first aid kit. Done.”

She cracked an eye as he pulled her shirt down to cover her belly. His hair fell into his face and hid his expression. She reached out and pushed the thick strands back. “I want to believe you. That’s why it’s hard for me to.”

He nodded and turned to meet her gaze. “I meant what I said before. I will never, ever lie to you again.”

Her heart warmed in her chest. “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead.

“I don’t want to put you out of your bed.”

He shot her a wry grin. “Don’t worry, my couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the front seat of my car.”

“I want you to sleep here with me.”
You’re making a huge mistake
, that horrible voice in her head shouted. But she didn’t care. “Would you?”

He leaned down and caught her mouth in a soft kiss. “Okay.”

Shayne woke to the smoky scent of bacon and a dull rumble in her stomach. She was starving. She pushed back the heavy quilt and sat up. Warm sunlight spilled through the gabled windows, falling on her boxes piled up by Des’s desk.

She shook her head and smiled as she stood and crossed the room. The man was nothing, if not determined. Not that it mattered now. She’d spent the night with Des’s hard frame wrapped around her. She would spend her few remaining days with him.

She nipped at the corner of her lip and peeled back the tape holding one of the boxes closed. Her decision was not merely based on an emotional, knee-jerk reaction either. Though she wished she didn’t sound so defensive—even if it was just to herself. Staying here with Des made more sense than staying alone at a hotel. Until the police arrested Tic, she didn’t want to be caught on her own again. Des knew Tic, knew what the man was capable of, and Des knew better than anyone what his family’s next move would be to get rid of her.

And, apparently, Heddra Grey was willing to do her worst—or Tic’s worst, as the case may be. The woman must be desperate to stop Shayne from writing the book.

As she bent and lifted a stack of files from the box, she froze, a frown tightening her features. Why
was
the woman so desperate to stop Shayne? Merely to protect her daughter’s memory, or could there be something more?

Shayne dropped into Des’s chair and set the files on his desk. According to Annie Mumner, Heddra had been terrorizing Gwen and her family for months to force her daughter back in line. Was it that big a stretch to imagine the woman was capable of something more? What if Gwen and Christian were the victims of a scare tactic gone wrong?

But why would Robert confess?

Absently, Shayne tapped her fingernail on the top file. Robert’s confession was always the stumbling block. Though, the fact he’d been murdered too, after claiming to be innocent, seemed like a pretty big coincidence.

She dropped onto the floor next to the boxes, reading her handwritten labels scrawled in black Magic Marker across the sides. When she found the one she was looking for, she peeled back the tape and picked through the contents until she found the oversized envelope.