Exposure (25 page)

Some time later, Elvis slowly swam to the surface of consciousness, heavy waves of fatigue still rolling over him and threatening to pull him back under. There was a warmth against his stomach and the inside of his forearm, which he couldn't quite identify; and a singsong little voice seemed to be keeping time with the feather-light touches just above his prosthesis.

" 'Long came the wain and washed the spidoo out! Up came the sun and dwied up all the wain." Deep yawn. "And itsy bitsy spi-doo went up the spout again."

One corner of Elvis' mouth tipped up. It was Beans. His arm tightened around her fractionally and he started to sink back into slumber, but her voice pulled him back once again. "Jesus loves me, this I know," she warbled. "Fo' the Bible tells me so." Deeper, longer yawn. When it trailed off she resumed, but in conversational tones this time instead of song. "My daddy's name is Elbis Don'lee," she murmured. "He has a hook and a scaw. I have a scaw, too." She snuggled in closer to Elvis, whose heartbeat was escalating and beginning to push back the black waves of fatigue, and when next she spoke he could tell it was around her thumb. "My daddy's bigoo 'n' yo' daddy."

Ah, Christ. He felt warmth spread out from his chest and his gut to his furthest extremities. His heart seemed squeezed—and the backs of his eyes burned in a way they hadn't since he was a little kid.

Damn. Ah, dammit, Gracie. Damn.

"You think we should what? " Emma almost dropped the plate she was handing him to dry.

"Get married." Elvis rescued the plate and set it on the counter, tossing the dishtowel on top of it. He reached out his hand then and ran it down Emma's arm, encircling her wrist with his fingers. Tugging, he pulled her a step nearer. "I think we should get married."

Emma's heart began to thump in her chest. "Where on earth did this come from? I mean, you've never mentioned—"

"It's a good idea, Em," he said insistently. "Your reputation is going to be destroyed the minute word gets out about this arrangement we've currently got goin'. Besides, Gracie needs a daddy."

"Hold it." She held up her free hand like a traffic cop. "Just hold it right there; let's back up a step here. Gracie said something to you, didn't she, cher? " Emma demanded suspiciously. He simply looked at her with a blank expression, but she could read the truth in his eyes. "I knew it! Dammit, I knew it the moment I tracked her down to our bedroom." She rammed her fingers through her hair. "I told that child she had to let you make up your own mind."

"She didn't actually say anything to me, Em," he hurried to explain. Rubbing his thumb up and down the faint blue veins on her inner wrist, he added insistently in the face of Emma's skeptical expression, "She didn't. She was just talking to herself when I woke up."

Emma jerked her wrist away. "Well, thank you, Elvis," she said, as reasonably as she could. "Thank you for the offer, but ... no thank you." It was ridiculous to feel hurt, but darn it, she had kind of hoped if the day ever came when Elvis Donnelly asked her to make this relationship between them a permanent one, it would be for the usual reasons.

"Whataya mean, thanks but no thanks? Why the hell not?" He hadn't considered that she'd refuse him and was patently unprepared for it. He took a giant step forward, towering over her with his bulk and height.

It was an instinctual move, not something he gave conscious thought to. But dammit, she couldn't say no; his gut rebelled at the very idea, and he found himself crowding her even more. If he had to use a few intimidation tactics to make her see that marriage was the right move for them to make, the logical next step, then so be it. This was more than important, dammit; it was vital.

A second later his cognitive processes kicked in. He thought about what he was doing and started to step away. Ah, hell, who was he trying to kid anyhow? The Devil himself probably couldn't intimidate Emma Sands into doing what she didn't want to do.

Her chin shot up the instant before he followed through on his good intentions. Oh, perfect, she thought bitterly. This was just dandy. Never in a million years would she have expected Elvis to resort to physical coercion, yet here he was looming over her. Was this what they'd taught him in cop school? Or maybe it wasn't a police thing at all; maybe it was simply one of those testosterone-driven instinctive reactions. Macho Man Subdues the Little Woman. Well, whatever its origins, she recognized the aggressive posturing. She hadn't fallen in with his plans, so pow! Instant reversion to Dominator Dan. "I'll tell you why not," she snarled, disillusioned and incensed past discretion. Shoving him back, she wrapped her arms around herself and faced him belligerently. "Because I don't want to be wed to 'save my reputation.'

"That's not—"

"Don't do me any favors, okay, Donnelly? I don't need a mercy wedding, and I sure as hell don't want to be married because my bebe pressured some poor unsuspecting schmuck—"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! I think we're talking at cross purposes here. Sweet God Almighty, you've got it all wrong, Em."

"Ah, oui, well, there's a surprise. The woman is always wrong, is she not?"

He made a frustrated noise deep in his throat and reached out for her, but it stopped him cold when she flinched and drew away. His arms dropped to his sides. How the hell had it degenerated to this?

"Dammit, Emma," he said desperately, "that's not what I meant at all." A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"My God, you gotta know you've been ripping my guts to shreds since practically the first day we met." Seeing her open her mouth to, no doubt, express in her inimitable scathing style her objections to those words also, he held up his hand. "No, let me finish here. I've somehow screwed this all up, used all the wrong words, but can you honestly see me shackling myself to someone for life over your interpretation of my intentions?" Shaking his head in amazement, he laughed, a low rumbling expulsion of pent-up oxygen expressing ironic disbelief more than amusement. "Emma, my idea of heaven is being married to you, being a daddy to your kid. Hell. having her be my kid, too. And when I think of maybe planting another kid in here someday . . ." His fingers, warm and hard, reached out to rub her stomach. "God."

He pulled his hand away but stared down at her, blue eyes blazing. "I can understand how you might not want to tie yourself down to me or to this little nowhere town. But I love you—you know I love you. How could you possibly think I'd want to marry you out of some sense of responsibility? I mean, come on, Em, a mercy wedding?" He'd been too busy defending his position at the time to get indignant, but it pissed him off in retrospect.

Heat unfurled in Emma's midsection. Her eyes grew soft. "Well, my thinkin' that might have somethin' to do with the fact that's all you bothered to mention, I suppose," she murmured. It was only a misunderstanding, thank the bon Dieu. She raised a hand to softly stroke his face from cheekbone to scar to rigid jaw.

But he obviously wasn't buying it. He stood in front of her stiffly, holding himself still while frustration emanated from him in waves, and she considered for a moment his history, his past relationships with the people in his life. "Then again," she said slowly, looping both arms around his neck. "Maybe I just wasn't trustin' enough."

His eyes, vividly blue, skimmed every feature on her face, and slowly, so slowly, his white teeth emerged in a smile of blinding brilliance. "Yeah?"

"Oh, out I jumped to conclusions because it hurt my feelin's to be told we should marry to save my good name or because Grace Melina couldn't keep her little oar out of the water."

"Hey, those are both good, solid reasons," Elvis insisted, sliding his arms around her and squeezing.

"I don't wanna have to knock people's heads together if they badmouth you, Emma. And Beans just breaks my heart; I want to take care of her so bad. I didn't know it was possible to feel this way, Em."

He lowered his forehead against hers and rolled it back and forth. Then he gave her a quick, fierce kiss and straightened up again. He grinned. "But you're absolutely right, doll; just loving each other is a better reason. Much better. Hell, it's a beaut. So, we are getting married, right?"

"Oui," she said. "You said we oughtta. I heard it; it's a verbal invitation, and I'm not lettin' you back out of it, cher." Arms tightening around his neck, she smirked up at him. "And if the thought of squirmin' out of it somewhere down the road has wriggled across your mind, you can just forget it. I don't believe in divorce—at least not for myself."

Elvis whooped and tightened his prosthesis around her waist. Picking her up he whirled her around.

They bumped against the table and chairs in the tiny enclosure, sending them rattling, and he stopped revolving to bury his face in the curve of her neck.

The screen door slammed behind Gracie as she came running in from outside. "What?" she squealed, little feet planted and sturdy little torso bobbing in place as she sensed the excitement. "What Mommy? What. Elbis? What so funny?"

Elvis pulled his face out of Emma's neck and grinned down at her daughter. Soon to be his daughter. He threw back his head and laughed, then swooped down to scoop her up. "Ah, Gracie girl," he said, holding his woman and child. He gave them both a fierce hug. "Have we got news for you, kid."

They'd only meant to kiss and maybe pet a little before Elvis had to leave to go back on his stakeout. But Gracie was sleeping soundly and they were pumped up with the excitement of their wedding plans. One thing led to another, and before they quite knew what was happening, Elvis' jeans were down around his ankles, Emma's shorts and panties were on the floor, her sleeveless blouse was hanging open, and she was kneeling astride him in the big overstuffed chair, gripping his broad, khaki-covered shoulders in both hands. Her head thrown back, feeling his mouth on her breasts, she strove to meet each aggressive upward thrust with a fierce downward hip movement of her own.

They collapsed into each other in the wake of shuddering, teeth-gritting climaxes, their breaths rasping loudly in the post-twilight hush of the evening.

"Dieu," Emma panted, rolling her forehead back and forth against the curve of his neck while her arms clung to his shoulders to hold him tightly. "Mon Dieu, Elvis."

His arms tightened around her. "You can say that again." He blew out a gusty breath. "Maybe we should look into life insurance, doll. Much more of this and they'll be carting me outta here in a body bag."

She stiffened, and his arms immediately clenched around her in remorse. "Ah, shit; I'm sorry, Em," he whispered. He tangled his hook in her hair and tilted her head back until he could see into her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Bringing up his free hand, he stroked his fingers down her cheek. "That was incredibly insensitive—it was my exhaustion speaking, not my brain. Nothing's gonna happen to me, baby; not like it did to Charlie. I promise you that."

"Something could, though." It was her worst fear. "Something so easily could if Grant finds out about you."

He simply looked at her for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "That kinda brings up something I've been thinkin' about lately," he finally said. "Emma, we can't hide in the shadows for the rest of our lives, sneaking around to keep Woodard from learning what we're up to. We've got to put some thought into what should be done if he does put in an appearance someday."

All warmth fled her expression. "For instance?" she demanded stiffly.

"For instance," he said, looking her straight in the eye, "I think you should have a talk with Gracie. Sweetheart, if you don't warn her about Grant Woodard she's going to run to the man with both her little arms wide open."

Some of the starch left Emma's backbone. "I know," she admitted unhappily. "I've thought of that, myself. But, cher, how do I go about doing that? How does one tell a three-year-old girl that her adored Grandpapa is, at the very least, a voyeur?"

"I don't think you have to go into detail, Em," he said gently. "Just—I don't know—tell her Grandpa did something bad and she's not to go to him if he comes around. That she's to inform you immediately if she sees him."

"You're right. I know you're right," she agreed. "It's just . . . difficult, Elvis."

"I know it is, Em. But I really think it should be done.”

“Oui. So do I. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

And she fully meant to do so. She simply didn't count on something else coming up that would drive it out of her mind.

Woodard's man Conroy regarded the pay phone as if it might at any moment grow fangs to sink into his throat. Damn, fuck, shit. This was one call he'd give a hell of a lot not to have to make, and for one reckless moment he seriously considered lighting out for parts unknown. Hell, why not? Why not simply take off and just continue on until he'd put himself beyond Grant Woodard's reach?

Because he didn't know where that was.

Finally, he took a deep breath, reached for the receiver, and punched in the numbers. Much too quickly the call went through. "Woodard," Grant said crisply.

"Conroy here, sir." Conroy cleared his throat. "I, uh, seem to have lost Emma and the baby."

There was a moment of charged silence. Then deadly quiet. Finally, "What do you mean, you lost them?"

"They're no longer in their room, sir. It's been cleared out." He hesitated before adding, "The odd part is ... no one but me seems to realize they're gone. Emma's car is still out back, and I think the folks around here believe she's still livin' upstairs."

Another silence followed, this one fraught with emotions Conroy hadn't realized were possible to sense when one person could neither see nor hear the other. He began to sweat. Christ—oh, Christ. What were his chances of getting through this assignment with his skin intact?

Finally Woodard said with frigid control, "Keep an eye on things until I get there. And, Conroy, try not to flick it up. It's plain to me that if I want this handled correctly I'm going to have to come out there and handle it myself."

Conroy was still mopping the sweat off his brow when the phone in his hand went dead.