“Never.” She met his stunned gaze, her eyes challenging. “I’ve never had sex, and I’m not planning to.”
JULIA went directly to the Missing Persons Unit at the southeast substation. Missing Persons was part of the juvenile division, which seemed odd. But Barbara said more juveniles went missing than any other group of people. Frightening—and sad.
Barbara had spoken with John Cavender, and he came out immediately when Julia asked for him. He was a bear of a man, with a massive frame, and somewhat overweight. He had sandy brown hair and somber hazel eyes. He wore a rumpled navy suit that did nothing for his coloring.
But his gaze was steady, his handshake brief but firm. “I understand you believe your sister has gone missing,” he said.
“I know she has.”
“Then let’s fill out a report.” He shifted the folder he had in his hand and indicated a small table in the corner of the waiting area. He pulled out some forms. “What is the missing person’s name?”
“Marla Reynolds.”
“Physical description?”
Julia answered his questions—and there were a lot—some eye opening and some that would have been insulting if the situation had been different. But she understood that people and situations were complex, and that some motivations weren’t logical or ethical, or were emotionally driven. So she tried not to take offense as they waded through numerous questions.
Finally, Investigator Cavender put down his pen and looked at her. “Ms. Reynolds, I have to tell you that it looks like this may be a voluntary absence. Your sister’s things and pet are gone—”
“And I’ve explained she would never have taken the dog into Mexico. Bryony always stays with family if Marla has to go somewhere.”
He held up a placating hand. “So you told me. But your sister might have decided to take the dog this time. Some of her personal items are also gone. She’s off work this week and she did send you an e-mail.” He tapped the printed message that Julia had provided. “Her absence appears to be aboveboard.”
“But it’s out of character. If you knew Marla, knew our circumstances—” Julia paused. She wasn’t going there, not with this man. “We’re a very close family, Officer Cavender. Marla would never tell us she was going off through an e-mail.”
He nodded patiently. “I understand. We’re certainly not going to ignore this, and we’ll do some preliminary checks of hospitals and the . . . uh . . . morgue. I don’t think there’s any need to look at her house, since you say there’s nothing suspicious there.”
She stiffened as his gaze softened with what appeared to be pity, which she despised. They didn’t need pity, they needed action.
“I will do my best, Ms. Reynolds,” he said. “But I really don’t expect to find anything that will indicate foul play. Hopefully, your sister will return home safe and sound by the end of the week.”
“Sure,” Julia said, uncharacteristic anger filling her. “That’s what we’ll hope for, won’t we? Well, I won’t waste any more of your time.” She pushed the chair back and started the laborious process of standing.
He stood and offered a hand, which she shook only because ingrained manners demanded that she do so. “It’s not a waste of time, Ms. Reynolds. It’s just . . . well, people go missing for a lot of reasons. I hope this is just a case of your sister wanting to enjoy her time off.”
Why won’t anyone believe me?
Julia made her way out of the building, blinking against the bright glare of the sun. Even though she was upset, she knew that Barbara Gray and Investigator Cavender meant well. But there wasn’t much they could do, under the circumstances.
Julia would have to continue on her own. She looked at her watch and wondered when the Red Lion Pub opened for business.
STILL staring at Marla, Luke upgraded that kick in the pants to a gut punch. “You’ve
never
had sex?”
“I just told you that,” she said, throwing his words back at him.
“But—” He ran his hand through his hair, trying to assimilate the shock. “How can that be? You’re thirty years old. In this day and time, no one your age is a virgin, unless there’s something wr—”
Damn!
Shock was overriding clear thought and tact. He clamped his mouth shut, before he blurted out something really stupid.
Her eyes narrowed to glittering points. “Unless there’s something wrong with me?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just—” He paused again. There was always the possibility that Marla had been simply waiting for the right man to come along, but he sensed that wasn’t it. “I didn’t expect this.”
“That’s very obvious.” She jolted up from the chair.
This was going well. Hell, from the start, nothing had gone as planned with Marla. Resisting the strong urge to bang his head against a wall, he tried to marshal whatever good sense remained. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . you’re attractive and smart and sexy and . . . I don’t understand.”
Her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Look, we’ve already established why you’re interested in me, so quit lying to me, all right?”
“But I’m not lying.”
“You know what? You’re just like every other man who wants something from a woman. Go to hell.” She whirled toward the back door.
He couldn’t let it go. “Is it a religious thing?”
She halted, laughed harshly. “Oh,
yes
, that’s it. I worship at the altar of the goddess of purity and chastity.”
“Marla, I’m trying to understand. Do you dislike men?”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “I don’t prefer women, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then why?”
Her expression became shuttered. “It’s none of your damned business.” She spun and slammed inside the house.
Yeah, this was really going well.
THE bastard!
Marla stormed in the house, ready to kick something. She had more sensitivity in her little finger than the big oaf had in his entire body. She welcomed the anger coursing through her, because it was exponentially better than the pain.
She intended to take refuge in the bedroom and hoped Luke would have the decency to leave her alone. But her gaze fell on the laptop sitting on the kitchen table. If she was fast, she could take it into the bedroom and maybe get off an e-mail before he noticed it was missing.
She reached for it, hitting the stack of papers beside it. They slid, some going on the floor, some fanning across the table. Marla picked up the laptop, but the headline blaring from part of a newspaper peeking out of the papers stopped her in her tracks.
School bus explodes, killing twenty-two children.
She shoved the page aside, saw beneath it:
Bus explosion not an accident. Evidence of a bomb discovered.
And below that, another newspaper article:
Bomb used in school bus explosion was a sophisticated device.
Why would Luke be interested in the school bus explosion, unless . . .
he was the bomber
. The laptop slid from her hands, crashing to the floor. She took a step back, panic roaring through her.
She had to get out of here.
But even as the near hysteria and the urge to flee had her stumbling toward the front of the house, an inner voice rose above the pounding of her heart.
No. That’s not right. Luke wouldn’t do this.
She’d been around him less than two days, but she already knew he wouldn’t harm an innocent person. So why the interest?
Realization hit her like a tidal wave, and she froze, the ramifications tumbling through her mind. She turned, looked at the papers scattered on the table. Luke must be tracking the bomber.
Which meant the bomber was the Belian.
That must be why she’d seen the body parts in that vision from hell at the shack.
Oh, God
.
“Marla? You okay?” Luke’s voice came from the back doorway.
That was a short-lived reprieve. She stared at the last article, her vision blurring. “The bomber,” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s him, isn’t it? The Belian.”
“Yeah, that’s the monster I’m tracking.”
It was the whammy that put her over the edge. Pain and fear combined and exploded like a geyser through her chest. Hot tears filled her eyes.
No
. She was
not
going to cry in front of Luke. She spun from the table, intending to head for the sanctuary of the bathroom, but careened into the counter. Stifling a sob, she stumbled the other way.
“Are you crying?” He stepped toward her.
“No. Leave me alone.” She headed the other way around the table. Hiccuped back another sob.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, and she suddenly found herself wrapped in powerful arms and pressed against a hard chest. How had he moved so fast? This guy could catch the proverbial speeding bullet.
She tried to shove away, but it was like trying to move a two-ton wall. She settled for balling up her hand and hitting him on the shoulder. He didn’t react. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and she sensed his sincerity. “I was out of line, and I’m really sorry.”
So was she, because she was about to embarrass herself big time. She felt the tears overflow her eyes, and her body shuddered from repressed sobs.
He sighed, and his hand stroked her hair. “You might not believe this, but I’m normally not this inept. For whatever reason, I haven’t been able to do anything right with you.”
She caught a breath, managed an indignant “I’m not something to be handled!”
“Don’t I know it. Believe me, babe, if you could be handled, we wouldn’t be having these missteps. And if I get out of line again, feel free to bite me. Or sic psycho dog on me.”
An image of the places where she could sink her teeth on him flashed into her mind. It wasn’t helped by the barrage of sexual energy their close proximity swirled into the emotional mix. She was
so
not going there. “I think I’d prefer to knee you somewhere crucial.”
“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that. I might need those crucial parts in the future.”
She couldn’t help it—she smiled despite herself. He must have sensed her tension lessening, because his grip eased. “You going to be okay?”
She took a deep breath, felt her control returning. “Yes. I’m sorry I lost it.”
“You’re entitled.” He released her, and she stepped back, scrubbing away her tears.
Unable to look at him, she gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “I need a few moments.”
“Sure. Take all the time you need.”
She escaped to the bathroom, closed the warped door and leaned against it with a shuddering sigh. She felt fragmented, like she was in a surreal experience—which she was. Lowering the toilet lid, she sank down, buried her face in her hands. This was beyond nightmarish. The Belian was the bomber, the monster who’d blown up an entire busload of innocent children last week.
She was in a position to help track he/she/it—whatever it was—except, freak that she was, she wasn’t capable of the basic male/female sexual relations apparently required in a conduction. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, or how far she tried to run, the past—specifically,
that
night—caught up with her.
Funny how one event could impact a life so irrevocably, even eleven years later.
Somehow, she was going to have to overcome it. She wasn’t a deeply religious person. After sustaining her own horrendous injuries and then witnessing the assault on Julia, she’d questioned God’s existence. Yet how could she explain being at the Red Lion Pub—when she
never
went to bars—the same exact time as Luke? Or taking the seat beside him? Or the apparently precise Sentinel/conductor match between them?
If one believed in things happening for a reason, then she had been divinely guided to the Red Lion Pub and to Luke on Friday night. And if she was supposed to help him track down a monster capable of killing twenty-two innocent children, then she had better get with the program.
Even if the thought of having sex, albeit with a guy as hot as Luke, made her stomach clench and left her nauseous. All she had to do was keep from throwing up until afterward.
