Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series (26 page)

She reached for him, and he went willingly into her arms. “I love you so much. I thought I knew how much until it was possible I might never see you again. And then I realized it’s a million, billion,
trillion
times more than I thought it was.”

“Me too, baby. Quadrillion.”

She thumped him on the back. “Of course you know what comes after trillion!”

Laughing softly, he said, “Only because I’m keeping an eye on the federal deficit.” He held on tight to her, overwhelmed with love for her and gratitude that she was safely back in his arms where she belonged.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sam knew she was dreaming. It had happened this way before, after the disaster at the crack house the night Quentin Johnson had died in his father’s arms. The nightmares had been relentless. Now there was a new nightmare. She was back in the Springers’ basement, tied to the chair, at the mercy of a madman who was playing with matches.

The stench of gasoline burned her nose and made her eyes water.

Stahl lit a match and waved it around in front of her face.

Sam watched the flame dance before her eyes, the strong scent of sulfur overpowering the gasoline for a second. Then he looked directly at her and dropped the match into the puddle of gas at her feet. As the flames exploded around her, Sam screamed.

“Baby, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Sam came awake sweating and crying and gasping for air. “Nick.”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” He held her tight and stroked her back while she sobbed helplessly. “You’re safe.”

How would she ever feel truly safe again? How would she ever trust the instincts that had guided her career up until now but had failed her so spectacularly in this case? Stahl had played her—and the people around her—like a well-tuned fiddle.

She pushed those disturbing thoughts from her mind, determined to focus on her loved ones and not give that animal one more second of her mental energy. He’d already gotten far more than he’d ever deserved.

Sam squirmed against Nick, trying to get closer to him.

He gasped at the press of her pelvis against his. “Samantha.”

“Need you.”

“Baby, you need to rest and recover.”

“I need
you
more than I need anything else.” With her face nestled in the curve between his neck and shoulder, she took a deep breath of his endlessly appealing scent and then bit the tendon at the base of his neck.

Nick sucked in a sharp, deep breath. “Christ, you ruin me.”

“No, I don’t want to ruin you. I just want to love you.”

“You’re hurt, honey. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Please, Nick.” Her mouth found his in the dark, the kiss frenzied—and painful, thanks to the punch Stahl had delivered to her face. But Sam didn’t care. She needed the connection to him more than she needed her next breath.

“Easy,” he whispered. “Nice and easy.”

She wanted fast and furious but would settle for whatever he was willing to give her.

He kissed her gently, his tongue soft and undemanding against her bruised lower lip.

Sam strained to get closer to him. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.

His big hand cupped her bottom as he slid his leg between both of hers. For the longest time he only kissed her while holding her as close as he could. Then his hand moved from her bottom up her side to cup her breast.

Breaking the kiss, Sam drew in a greedy deep breath.

Easing her onto her back, Nick pulled her T-shirt up and over her head and her panties off.

The stitches on her right thigh tugged painfully, but she paid no mind to the pain, preferring to focus on the pleasure of his mouth, hot and tight around her nipple. She grasped a handful of his hair to keep him anchored to her chest as he drove her crazy with his tongue and the light bite of his teeth.

He kissed his way down the front of her, softly, gently, reverently.

For hours the day before she’d wondered if she’d ever see him again, let alone make love with him. This felt like the first time all over again, as if she’d been reborn and given a second precious chance.

Settling between her legs, he opened her to his tongue and drove her crazy with the way he licked and sucked and worshiped every sensitive inch of her. When he drove two fingers into her, she came with a startled cry that had him shushing her, reminding her that they didn’t have the house to themselves.

Sam pressed her own hand to her mouth to contain the cries that wanted out. Nothing had ever felt the way he made her feel, every damn time. Then he was above her, pressing into her, moving above her in the dance that had become as familiar as anything in her life. He dazzled her with the all-consuming way he loved her, and this time was no different. In fact, it was better than ever as the powerful emotions of the last couple of days fired their passion.

She held on to him and let him take her away from it all, swept away in a sea of the combustible desire they generated together.

“Samantha.” The single word, whispered against her ear, sent a tingle of sensation all the way through her, landing in the place where they were joined.

Running her hands over his muscular back, she cupped his ass and pulled him deeper into her. She couldn’t get him deep enough.

He held on tight to her as they came together, something she’d never experienced until she’d loved him. Like every other time they made love, Sam harbored a secret hope that maybe this might be the time they created a new life together.

She held on tighter than ever to him in the aftermath, feeling him deep inside her as he pulsed and throbbed, his body hard and heavy above her.

“I’m crushing you,” he muttered after a long moment of contented silence.

“I love when you crush me.”

His deep chuckle rumbled in her chest.

“Thanks for this.”

“It was a terrible hardship, but I’m always happy to serve you, my love.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

She caressed his back, from the base of his neck all the way down to his hips. “Insomnia?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it because you’re worried about me?”

“Could be. But you know how it is. It’s never predictable.”

“How about a back rub from your favorite wife?”

He raised his head to kiss her. “My favorite wife needs to go to sleep.”

“I’ve got plenty of time to sleep. Let me take care of you for a change.”

“You take care of me all the time.”

“Um, no, I really don’t.”

“You just did.”

“Oh, so we’re talking about sex again?”

“Aren’t we always?”

Sam laughed and pushed at his shoulders. “Off me, you oaf, and onto your belly.”

“Sam, really. I’m fine.”

“Do what you’re told.”

Sighing dramatically, he withdrew from her and flopped onto his belly. “There. Happy now?”

“Yeah, I’m really happy.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Me too.”

Sam got up, slowly and painfully, and went to retrieve the massage oil from the bathroom. She returned to the bed and straddled his hips.

“If this is supposed to settle me down enough to sleep, you’re going about it all wrong.”

The gruff tenor of his voice made her laugh as she spread the massage oil on his back, digging her fingers into the stress knots at the base of his neck. His deep moan let her know he was enjoying her efforts. She moved down, digging her thumbs into the grooves under his scapula.

“God, that feels so good, babe.”

“Shhh, you’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Um, news flash—I’m never going to sleep with you naked and straddling my back.”

She bent over him, letting her breasts rub against his back.

“Not helping.”

Laughing, she sat up and finished the massage by giving his perfectly perfect ass some attention before moving off him to settle next to him in bed. He’d been quiet at the end, leading her to believe he might be dozing. Then he turned over and reached for her.

“Nick! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”

He took hold of her hand and brought it to the erection that pulsed hard and thick against her palm. “How am I supposed to sleep with this?”

“Does he want a massage too?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

She reached for the bottle of massage oil and squirted some into the hand she then wrapped around him.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Sam... God... This is going to be fast.”

She loved knowing that she had this kind of power over such a strong, controlled man. She loved that only she could break that legendary control and make him let go so completely. She loved that she was the only one who would ever again know him like this—hot and full and all hers.

He came hard, gasping as she tightened her grip for maximum effect. Closing his hand over hers, he stopped her from moving. “Can’t take anymore,” he said between deep breaths.

She kissed his chest and got up again to find a towel to clean him up. Then she got back in bed, crawled into his arms and held on tight to him. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Yeah.”

“Nick?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember what you said to me when I had the dream? That you were right here and everything was okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Same thing. I’m right here and everything is okay. It’s safe to go to sleep.”

He drew her in even closer to him, pressed his lips to her forehead and seemed to drift off.

Sam was awake for a long time, lost in the simple pleasure of being close to him, listening to his heartbeat, breathing in the familiar scent of home and knowing that for now, right this minute, everything really was okay.

* * *

Avery took Sam’s statement during a three-hour marathon that took place in her living room with her on the sofa under a blanket and him in a straight-back chair. He recorded the session and took notes, but mostly he listened, letting her take him through the sequence of events. She spoke in a cool, detached tone, but every so often he heard the underlying emotion—and the fear—in her voice.

For the first time in his life, he felt capable of committing murder. Every cell in his body was on fire with rage and disbelief over what she’d been made to endure.

“Then the windows burst open, and there you all were,” she concluded. “The SWAT guys threw themselves on the fire before it could really ignite, and they neutralized Stahl. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”

“I bet.”

“That’s the whole thing.”

“And you believe he was also behind the killings of Lori Phillips and Bill Springer?”

“Yes, as well as the orchestration of the assault on Cruz’s girlfriend. He wanted him out of the way when he came at me. And he also knew Cruz would go into the jail to tune up the guy who hit Elin. I’m sure the plan was for Elliott to go to the media about police brutality the minute he was released from jail.”

“He had it all planned out.”

“Yes, and lucky me. I was the big prize.”

“How do you suppose Marissa Springer went from being a housewife to a killer?”

“Rage,” Sam said simply. “She was fueled by rage, and Stahl gave her a chance to get even with the cops who’d killed her precious Billy.”

He could see that she was starting to tire, so he turned off the recorder. “Thank you for taking the time. I’ll write up the report and run it by you before I submit it.”

“Okay.”

Avery unplugged the recorder and stashed it in his bag.

“How’s Shelby?”

“She’s okay. Her knees and hands are a mess from a fall.”

“And she’s furious with all of us.”

“That too.”

“I don’t know what the hell would’ve possessed you to tell her what you did.”

“I care about her, and we’re building something together—something that could be lasting. We can’t have a secret like that between us if we’re going to make this work.”

“Is she ever going to talk to me again?”

“Yes, I believe she’s hoping to check on you in the next day or two.”

“Great. I’ll do what I can to fix the damage you’ve inflicted.”

“I know you’re pissed and you have good reason to be, but I’m not sorry I told her.”

“As long as it’s all good for you.”

“Sam.”

She shook her head. “I told you once and I’ll tell you again—this shit needs to stop. There’s never going to be anything between us except collegial friendship. Unless you want my husband to have you transferred to Siberia, you need it to let it go.”

“Siberia, huh?”

“Unless he can find somewhere farther away from here.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry to have caused you any trouble.”

“You’ve caused more trouble for yourself than you have for me. You’ve got a wonderful woman who is crazy about you. Go home to her, Avery.”

“I’m going as soon as I can.”

After twenty-four hours on duty, handling the paperwork on the resolution of Sam’s kidnapping and assault, Avery drove home the next morning, exhausted and spent. He’d volunteered the FBI’s services on the case since Stahl had deep ties to the MPD and none of them wanted conflicts of interest to derail their slam-dunk case against the disgraced lieutenant.

Stahl had been disgustingly unrepentant in the wake of his arrest, refusing to answer questions until his lawyer was present and even then, stonewalling them every step of the way. Didn’t matter. Sam had lived to testify, and Marissa Springer, while in grave condition, was expected to live as well, so Stahl was screwed every which way to Tuesday and he knew it.

Sam
.

Though he’d tried valiantly to hold on to his professional demeanor, the fact that Stahl had slapped and punched and terrorized her made Avery insanely angry.

He wanted to beat Stahl’s portly face to a bloody pulp for daring to lay a hand on her. And yes, he knew it was wildly inappropriate for him to be so fucking furious over what had happened to her.

Once again he had to remind himself he had no right to feel that way about her. None at all. She was home with her husband, and he had Shelby waiting for him at home, possibly pregnant with his child.

The rage had no place in his life, he reminded himself as he pulled up to his house and killed the engine, taking a moment to calm down before he went inside. Before he could use his key in the door it swung open, revealing the tiny sprite of a woman who’d become so important to him.

“You’re home.”

Avery closed the door and leaned against it, exhausted all the way down to his bone marrow. “So I am.”

“Is everything okay? Is Sam...” Her chin quivered. “She’s really okay, right? You’d tell me if she wasn’t?”

“She’s had better days, but she’ll be fine.”

“And you. You’re so tired.”

“I could sleep.”