Don't Tell (39 page)

„It wasn’t your fault,“ he interrupted harshly. „You didn’t make yourself lose that child.“

She leaned her forehead against his chest, shuddering when his hand brushed up her spine to cup the back of her neck. The tears came then, hot and fast. „I never told anyone that part, Max. Not even Dana. I was so ashamed.“ She gritted her teeth, trying to stop me sobs that shook her body, stole her breath. „I had a little girl. She lived a few hours and she had all her fingers and toes and blond hair and – “

He pulled her to him, cradling her in his lap, rocking her against his chest. „Dammit, Caroline,“ he said, his voice breaking as well. „That was not your fault. It was the bastard you married. He was responsible. Not you.“ He buried his face in her hair. „Not you. Please don’t cry. Don’t cry like this anymore. Please.“

Caroline drew a deep breath and held it in, battling for control. Failing miserably. „I got to hold her once before she died. She was so incredibly tiny.“ She gulped back the sob and turned her face into the strength of his chest. Her arms wound around his neck and he held her, rocking her, one hand threaded up through the hair at her nape, holding her head against him, the other rubbing the length of her back, up and down, his touch desperate.

Finally, he twisted his fingers in her hair and gently tugged her head back, covering her lips with his, the desperation of his touch flowing into the possession of his mouth. He kissed her until she pulled away to catch her breath, then took her mouth again. He kissed her until the torrent of her grief gave way to something new, something… tender. It consumed her, filling her up until there was no room for the grief or the memories. Until there was only Max holding her, running his hands over her body. Until the tenderness bloomed into desire and she swung one leg over his lap to straddle him, fully participating in the kiss that continued to gather strength.

Until Max pulled back, each breath he drew expanded his chest to the point of straining the buttons that ran up the front of his shirt. Caroline paused, her hands splayed against his chest, looking down into his face, her body poised over his. Every nerve sizzled. Every muscle vibrated. She was ready. God, she was ready.

His eyes bored into hers, his face harsh in the flickering firelight. „Say it, Caroline.“

There was only one response. „I love you,“ she whispered. „I do.“

„Then let me make love to you.“ His hands ran down her back, cupping her bottom, stroking, claiming her. Inflaming her. „Let me make you fly.“

Caroline slid from his lap and stood before him, amazed her legs actually held her upright. Bending over, she grabbed his cane from the carpet and held it out to him with one hand, her other extended open-palmed. He grasped her open hand, then pulled himself to his feet with his cane.

And as they made their way up the stairs to his bed, stopping to kiss, to caress, to whisper words of longing, Caroline focused on Max alone, steadfastly ignoring the small voice that reminded her the rest of the story was far from complete.

Raleigh, North Carolina

Saturday, March 17

9 p.m.

„No, Helen.“ Steven took another dead fish from the cooler and cleanly sliced off its head, making Helen grimace. „I am not interested in whatever her name is.“ He threw the fish head into the bucket at his feet. Normally sitting in a faded lawn chair in his driveway cleaning the day’s catch marked the quiet end of a good day of fishing. Normally Helen never came near him when he was cleaning the fish, so he had anticipated a momentary respite from the constant matchmaking she’d subjected him to all afternoon. He’d been ready to throw her in the river along with OP Granddad who, like Winters, remained stubbornly at large.

„Her name is Amanda, and she’s a very nice woman. Look, I know your date with Suzanna didn’t go that well.“

„My date with Suzanna was a complete and total disaster.“ Understatement of the day. If Helen insisted on matchmaking, why couldn’t she turn up at least a few women who’d been standing in the brain line on Creation Day?

„Still, that doesn’t mean you should give up on women entirely. Lordy, Steven, do you have to do that while Pm talking to you?“

„Do you have to talk to me while I’m doing this?“ he snapped impatiently and her shoulders sagged. His heart melted even though he knew Helen was a better con than most of the criminals he’d busted over the years. „I’m sorry, Helen. I don’t mean to be rude here, but you continue trying to set me up with every available female in Raleigh.“

Helen’s nose crinkled as Steven gutted the hapless fish. Not as big as OP Grandad, but with the others he and the boys had caught they’d have a nice fried fish dinner after church tomorrow.

„Not every available female,“ Helen insisted primly, her face going slightly green in the yellow glow of the spotlight over his garage door. „Just the ones who’d be good mothers.“

„God.“ Steven fought for patience. „I’m happy the way things are.“ He scowled up at her, frustrated when his frown appeared to have no impact. He’d intimidated big huge men into confessing with that look. Helen just looked determined as ever. Dammit anyway. „But I will become decidedly unhappy if you continue to push women into my path against my will.“

Helen crossed her arms over her chest, one gray brow elevated in challenge. „And then what will you do, Mr. I-think-I-know-everything? Remember I – “

„Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.“ Steven blew out a weary breath. Now she was fighting dirty. „You changed my diapers – even the really dirty ones – and you tanned my hide with a switch when I was bad – even though you cried yourself. Helen, please.“ He stood and looked down at her, going for his most desperate, pleading look. „I just want to be left alone.“

Helen pursed her lips, clearly still unaffected. „Wait too much longer and you will be.“

He hated that smug tone. „That’s fine with me.“ Clenching his jaw, he sat down on his lawn chair and pulled another fish from the cooler.

„Steven, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know why you have to make this so hard.“

And if he had his way she never would, he thought, separating the fish from its head with one clean swipe of his knife. Nobody would.

„Fine,“ Helen said, wincing when the fish head sailed into the bucket. „Be miserable alone, Steven. See if I care.“

She turned for the front door of the house. „See if anybody cares. You’re becoming a bitter man, Steven Thatcher,“ she added, her voice trembling. And leaving Steven to the debatable comfort of dead fish, she went into the house.

He was on his final fish when his cell phone jangled in his pocket. „Damn,“ he muttered, reaching for an old towel and wiping most of the fish guts off his hands. No matter. His cell phone had been covered in worse things man fish guts over the years. „Thatcher,“ he barked.

„Agent Thatcher, this is Detective Rodriguez. Did I catch you at a bad time?“

„No.“ Steven looked over his shoulder to see Helen sadly staring at him from the picture window in the dining room and again his heart tugged, even though he knew he was still being manipulated. „Yes, actually. My hands were covered in fish guts.“

Rodriguez coughed. „I can think of several dozen ways I’d prefer to spend a Saturday night.“

„Did you call me to criticize how I spend my recreational time, or did you have something specific to say, Rodriguez?“ Steven asked, only mildly annoyed.

Rodriguez chuckled. „I wanted to bring you up to speed on results of our search of Livermore’s computer.“

„Good stuff?“ Steven asked, resolutely turning from the picture window. Let Helen stand there all night if she wanted to. He still wasn’t going out with her Amanda or any other woman.

„Yeah. Too bad we can’t use everything we found. The warrant was too damn specific. But we did find enough to nail Mr. Livermore for conspiring with Winters. He had indeed broken into the personnel files at Asheville General. We found a file he’d downloaded with the name of every nurse that worked there nine years ago.“

Steven straightened in his lawn chair. „Excellent.“

„We also found he’d tapped into the Illinois DMV and searched dozens of names.“

„All female?“

„Yes. But we found something else you need to know. Livermore sent a fax of a shorter list of names and addresses of the women to a Mailboxes USA store in Chicago. The names matched the pictures we found this morning. I called the store and found that a man about the size of Winters signed for the fax yesterday afternoon. He had an ID, Mike Flanders. Everything had been in order so the store owner didn’t think anything about it.“

Steven closed his eyes and saw the photo of the Mike Flanders persona flash behind his eyelids. Simple, but effective. Winters had the names and addresses. But not the pictures. That was something at least. Still, a detail nagged at his gut. „Why a shorter list of names?“ he asked.

„The women on the short list were all between five-two and five-five, no pun intended.“

Mary Grace Winters was five-four. „Sonofabitch,“ Steven muttered. „He’s hunting.“

„With a better map than we thought,“ Rodriguez said grimly.

Chapter Nineteen

Chicago

Sunday, March 18

8 a.m.

„Good morning.“

Caroline opened her eyes at the sound of Max’s voice. And sniffed. Food. It smelled wonderful. She blinked in the bright morning light and focused on him standing next to the bed, buck naked, positioning a breakfast tray on the nightstand. From her vantage point she got a view of broad shoulders and a tight rear end that made her mouth water more than the pancakes and syrup he’d piled high on two plates.

It had been quite a night.

He was quite a man.

She pushed herself to sit up against the pillows, automatically pulling up the sheet to cover herself. She wasn’t as comfortable with her nudity in broad daylight as he obviously was. Her fingers toyed with her hair, surreptitiously pulling it down to cover the side of her neck.

„You made me breakfast?“

Max poured her a cup of coffee. „Don’t get your hopes up too high. It was a mix my ma found on sale. She must have had some coupons or something. I just added water.“ He sat down on the edge of the bed and he bent over the tray, pouring his own coffee.

Caroline reached down to the floor next to the bed and retrieved his shirt.

„Don’t put that on,“ Max asked quietly. His hands had stilled on the coffeepot he held as he looked over at her. „I want to see you. In the daylight.“

Caroline bit her lip. In the daylight. Up until this moment they’d made love at night. In the darkness. By firelight. Even yesterday morning he’d kept the shades pulled low, keeping his bedroom in semi-darkness. But this morning all the shades were pulled high, letting in every beam of morning sunlight. All her scars would be visible in the daylight. But he’d see them sooner or later, she told herself. She dropped the shirt back to the floor.

„All right, Max.“ Nevertheless she clamped her arms over the sheet, holding it in place as she took the plate he offered. „Smells good. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.“

He raised a wry brow. „We worked up quite an appetite last night.“

Caroline felt her cheeks burn, but couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips. „I guess we did.“ Oh, boy, they did. Her body still tingled from the exertion. Muscles ached that she hadn’t known existed. Max certainly didn’t let his handicap stop him from full mobility, in bed or out.

Mercy.

He was a most generous man, many times over.

Max chuckled and sipped his coffee. „You have the most adorable blush.“ He leaned over and covered her lips with his, almost knocking the plate from her lap. He glanced down at the plate. „Have you had enough to eat yet?“

She’d yet to take a bite. „Depends. What are you suggesting we do instead?“

„Mmm,“ he murmured, running his mouth up the curve of her jaw to her ear, wringing the most delicious shiver all the way through her body. „Obviously you weren’t paying enough attention last night. Some after-school instruction is in order.“

She smiled against his cleanly shaven cheek. „More places?“

The plate was moved from her lap and pushed onto the nightstand where luckily it stayed.

„You’re going to have sticky sheets if you’re not careful,“ she admonished.

„I’ll wash them,“ he muttered, as he pulled her back down on the bed until she looked up into his face. His eyes had the look she’d come to know so well over the last forty-eight hours. He wanted her. Again. Her body grew warm just from the way his eyes took her in, as if she were… precious.

He made her feel precious. And suddenly all the guilt that had been building assaulted her in one big wave. She owed him more honesty than she’d given him so far. She’d let this go way too far without telling him about that damned marriage certificate in the Buncombe County, North Carolina courthouse. She owed him the rest of the story, and she owed it to him now.

„Max,“ she began to say, but he interrupted her with a kiss so possessive it stole her breath. She reached for his shoulders to push him back – to talk to him, but her hands, treacherous hands that they were, continued across the breadth of his back. The heels of her hands dug into powerful sinew and muscle, drawing an appreciative groan from deep within his chest. His mouth left hers only to nibble a trail down the side of her neck.

She tensed. In the morning light he’d see her scars plainly. But there was no shocked cry of disgust. He never even skipped a beat as his mouth heated her skin anew. He hadn’t noticed. Or if he had, he wasn’t so repulsed after all.

She relaxed, sinking into the sensations he created simply by the touch of his lips. Her hands wandered, exploring him with a newfound freedom, sliding across his back, his hips, his buttocks that abruptly tightened in response to her feathery caresses.

He lifted himself so that he was looking down at her, sexual tension making the lines of his face harsh. Without saying a word he brushed the hair from her face, so gently that her eyes filled from the beauty of the gesture, so at odds with the ferocity of his expression.