Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 (14 page)

“You’re blushing.” Troy Lee reached out to flick him on the ear, and Rob knocked his hand away. Troy Lee’s rich laugh rumbled between them. “Imagine if someone had to pull your phone records.”

“They would find my lovely wife likes to get my motor running by sending me very naughty texts.” Rob turned his attention back to the computer.

“I’m a little jealous, Bennett. The extent of my wife texting me is usually a grocery list to pick up on the way home from my shift.” Troy Lee reached for the folder once more. “But I’m definitely going to suggest she expand her repertoire.”

“Let me know how that works out.” He closed out the report and navigated to the home screen. Leaning back in his chair, he tossed his pen on the desk. “I got nothing.”

“Which is why investigations is boring. It’s usually days and days of nothing.”

“No, usually you have something. Having nothing here is not good.” Rob chafed a hand over his nape. “Most missing persons turn up on their own within a couple of weeks, like Brittany. The others are usually dead within the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Zeke has no reason to leave. The marriage isn’t good, but by all accounts, he’s a good dad and he loves that kid. His relationship with his parents is good, he has friends… I just don’t think he took off. We don’t have an inkling what happened or where to look, and that’s not good for him because time is ticking.”

“You know what’s weird?” A slight frown wrinkling his brow, Troy Lee flipped through the next couple of pages. “He texts Britt, he texts his mom, he texts Blake Calvert and his other buddies. He doesn’t text Mike Smithwick.”

“Really?” Rob paused with his water bottle halfway to his lips again. “That is weird.”

“Maybe Smithwick isn’t techy.” Troy Lee shrugged. “My younger sister doesn’t text. Makes Montgomery nuts.”

“Maybe.” He opened an email tab and typed in Vaughn’s email address. This late in the day, he doubted he’d get a reply, but it made him feel like he was doing something, at least. He tapped out a request for the lab to send him a list of the apps on Zeke’s phone.

“The river’s four feet over flood stage.” Troy Lee gestured toward the television in the corner. “And rising.”

Rob sent the email and glanced at the meteorologist. They’d spent part of their shift yesterday checking roads near the river for localized flooding. In low-lying areas, the river and its tributaries were already spilling out of their beds and creeping across the surrounding land. “Hope that dam holds.”

“Or that they don’t have to breach it. Either way, we’ll be pulling doubles.” Troy Lee stretched. “Are you about done here?”

“I’m going to start asking you that every time you pull over to run radar, but yeah, I’ve done about all I can do.”

“Great. Let’s call it 10-6 and go home. My shift ended a half hour ago, and you need to spend some time with your wife.”

Chapter Nine

Amy dropped her shopping bags on the floor, set the pizza box on the island and went in search of her husband. She found him in front of his laptop in their office, elbow on the desk, chin in hand. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey.” He slanted a smile at her. “So was I.”

“I brought us a pizza.” She crossed to kiss him. Her gaze fell on the multicolored columns on the screen, and she cringed. “Oh God. The budget spreadsheet.”

“No worries. I’m not asking you to look at it tonight. I’m only paying the light bill and updating everything.”

She toyed with the edges of his hair, damp from a shower. On a sharp swallow that hurt her throat, she launched into the subject that had haunted her all day. “Rob? Do you want me to call the agency Monday and withdraw our application? I mean, we’re on hold and everything, but if you’re not sure, maybe we should pull it.”

“What? No.” He spun the chair and drew her to stand between his denim-clad thighs. He settled warm hands at her hips. “Amy, I never said I didn’t want kids. I said maybe we jumped into the adoption process at the wrong time for us.”

She ran her fingers through the hair at his temple. “So you do want us to have kids someday, right?”

“Yes.” He gazed up at her, his expression earnest. “But if I’m still figuring out what it means to really be your husband, how can I be ready to be someone’s dad? I don’t want to mess that up.”

“You are going to be a great dad. You’d never mess that up.”

His brows dipped into a small frown. His throat flexed with a swallow. “Why were we trying in the first place?”

“What kind of question is that?” Irritation pulsed to life under her skin. She hated those searching questions, this whole why-do-we-want-this process. She lifted a hand and let it fall against her hip. “Because…”

She cast about for the right words. She would not squirm under that calm, collected, knowing gaze of his.

“Because it was scheduled into the plan, right?” His voice was gentle. “Eighteen-month engagement while we finish college and you plan the wedding of your dreams, wait two years to start trying, have a baby before our third anniversary.”

“You make it sound so cold and calculating, and it’s not. My setting goals and having a plan isn’t that far off from your precious budget spreadsheet.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” He exerted tender pressure to pull her toward him, and his head fell back, their eyes meshed. “But we’re different people than we were five years ago. Maybe it’s time for a different plan.”

“Let me guess.” She rested her finger at the spot where his dimple bloomed when he smiled. Her irritation faded. Yes, she hated the introspection because it required her to look at her own motives, but truly, having a husband who wanted to strengthen their marriage was pretty damn irresistible. “What do we want and why do we want it?”

The dimple appeared beneath her fingertip. “Exactly.”

She let her hands fall to his shoulders, the fine cotton of his shirt smooth under her palms, and leaned forward, her mouth close to his. “I really want that lounge chair. Because I really want you to—”

“God bless America, you cannot text me like that when I’m trying to work.” His shoulders shook with laughter. “And honey, I already ordered you that chair.”

“Wonderful.” She settled on his lap and wound her arms around his neck. “So what do we want, other than really hot sex on the balcony at the beach condo?”

“That’s a great question.” He swept her hair away from her neck and drew a caress down the line of her throat. “I want to spend my life with you. All the ordinary days, but the for worse times too. I don’t want us to do those alone.”

Like he’d felt he had to the last few months. She struggled against the smothering guilt. She couldn’t change that. All she could do was make sure she didn’t let him slip away into isolation again.

He fiddled with the collar of her shirt. “I’d like you to get your master’s degree if you want.”

She smiled at that. He’d finished his graduate degree during their first year of marriage. “Grad school is a great idea, but that’s later. I want to travel with you. And I want us to be a family.”

“I want that too. Only when we’re sorted out and stronger.” He trailed a finger down to where the edges of her blouse met above the line of her cleavage. She sizzled under the simple touch. Oh, she loved having this attention from him once more. “What if we revisit it in six months? See where we are then?”

“We can do that.” She slipped her phone from her pocket and opened her calendar app.

“You’re putting it in your phone?” His laughter rumbled through her.

“Yes, I’m putting it in my phone.” She dug her elbow into his ribs and wiggled her butt into him, relishing his groan. “Come on, let’s eat before that pizza gets any colder.”

“Let it get cold. I missed you today.” His voice hoarsened, a raw note that spoke of his hunger for her, and he tangled his fingers in her loose knot. “Let me take you in the bedroom, and we’ll practice for that balcony.”

“I have a better idea.” She laid her phone on the desk and busied herself unbuttoning his shirt. Heavy excitement bloomed, an ache spreading between her thighs. She separated the soft cotton and raked gentle fingers over his chest and abs.

“Oh? What’s that?” Smiling, he pulled her blouse free of her waistband and laid warm fingers on her skin.

“We haven’t christened this room.” She tugged his unbuttoned shirt from his jeans and ran her palms over his shoulders, pushing the smooth cotton down until it caught on his triceps.

“Are we christening every room?” His thumb took up a maddening slow rhythm at her waist.

“We are.” She rose to stand between his thighs and unbuttoned her gauzy blouse. She shrugged out of it while he reached to unfasten her slacks. She slid them over her hips, let them fall to the floor and kicked them aside. “Don’t you remember how much fun that was when we moved into our place in Valdosta?”

He fought free of his own shirt. “Maybe you should remind me.”

“So you don’t remember what we did in our office there?” She explored the bare expanse of his chest and abdomen, loving how his muscles contracted and quivered under the gentlest of touches. At his waistband, she paused and curled her fingers around the rough fabric. She knelt between his thighs, his jeans a delicious rasp on her bare skin.

“Which time?” His dimple flashed. She undid the fastener on his jeans and lowered his zipper before edging the fabric down just enough to free him. He was hard, veins showing under silky skin. Looking at him, imagining him thrusting inside her, made her feel swollen—wet and open. With a fingertip, she circled the head, and he hissed in a sharp breath.

“Let’s see if I can jog your memory.” Kneeling, she took him into her mouth and earned yet another harsh inhale. Slowly, she reacquainted herself with the taste and feel of him, the warm skin over hard flesh, the way he tightened and hardened even further against her tongue. He tasted of salt and soap and male. His shaking fingers danced through her hair, scattering pins until it fell loose about her shoulders. He buried his hands in it, his hips moving in easy thrusts into her mouth. She rasped gentle fingernails across his abs and brushed a kiss across the head of his erection. “Is it coming back to you yet?”

“You skipped a part.” Eyes burning with passion, he gazed down her, his fingers massaging her scalp. “The way I remember it, you did that after you walked up behind me and bit me.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She rose and walked around him, trailing her fingers across his chest. She tilted his head back to afford her greater access to the corded muscles in his neck. “Like this.”

Hand on his chest, she sank a soft bite into his skin. On a groan, he reached an arm up to cup her head with one hand. He flexed the other hand back to skim up her thigh and stroke her through satin panties. At the first electric touch, her knees threatened to buckle, and he laughed. In retaliation, she bit him again, harder, suckling at the tender spot. He rubbed at the thin, damp fabric covering her and circled his fingers around her clit. He tugged and moved the fabric, a slow abrading that made her wild. Heaviness bloomed low in her belly.

“You were just this wet that night.”

“You always make me wet.” She whispered the words against his skin. His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties to delve into her, his thumb continuing to slide over her satin-covered clit. She tightened her arm around his shoulders. “Take me against the wall.”

His dark chuckle vibrated through her, and he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her. “I think you have your memories mixed up. That was another night.”

“We’re making a new memory.” She closed her eyes and bit back a moan as his thumb pressed harder against her.

“I like that idea. We need lots of those.” He rose and turned to gather her in his arms, lifted against him chest to chest. She wrapped her legs about his waist and nipped at his throat. This strength and security she cherished, as she adored being completely loved by this man. Two long strides and he braced her against the wall, her legs draped over his thighs. He shoved her panties aside and positioned himself at her opening. Twining their fingers together, he pressed her arms against the wall on either side of her head and pushed home. She cried out.

Now, her neck was vulnerable to him, and he nuzzled at the spot where her throat met her shoulder. He moved his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, driving him deep inside and pressing his pelvis against her swollen clit. Still clad in her satin bra, her breasts rubbed his muscled chest with each thrust. She wrapped her fingers tightly around his to match the pressure building and coiling within her. How had they let go of this?

“Harder,” she murmured at his ear. He complied, and sweat dropped from his brow onto her skin.

“You feel so good.” He kissed her shoulder, plunging into her. He lifted his head, hands pressing hers harder against the wall. His green gaze was soft and slumberous with lazy passion. Her breath caught. She knew that look, knew this man.

That was her Rob looking at her.

The realization pushed the tension inside into a climax. She dug her nails into his hands, meeting each of his thrusts, his name falling from her lips on a long moan.

He gasped against her ear and pushed deep, spilling within her. She sagged into his arms and cupped his face with shaking fingers, eager to see his eyes once more. Satisfaction and affection glinted in his gaze, and he leaned in to take her mouth in a sweet kiss.

His stomach growled between them.

Laughter bubbled in her throat, and he chuckled as he lowered her gently to the ground. “Let’s see how cold that pizza is.”

Stepping away, he zipped his jeans. She gathered his shirt and slipped it on. After buttoning three buttons, she cuffed the sleeves and soaked in the sensation of having his clean scent surrounding her, mingling with his sweat and their essence on her body.

He held out his hand. “I love that look on you.”

“Your shirt?” She curled their fingers together.

“That too.” He smiled, dimple flashing. “But I meant that well-loved, well-taken-care-of look.”

Hands clasped, they meandered to the kitchen. There he lifted her onto the counter and stepped between her thighs. She wrapped her arms about his waist and curved her feet around his calves. He flipped the pizza box open and snagged a piece. He offered her a bite before taking one. Tomato and a hint of garlic exploded on her tongue. Suddenly, she was starved.

She rubbed her fingers over the inside of his elbow. “I love you.”

He smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I love you too.”

They shared another bite of pizza. The exquisite intimacy of this, savoring a casual meal together after lovemaking, settled deep inside her. She curled her palm around his shoulder blade. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel less, Rob. You could never be less to me. Never.”

“Baby, it wasn’t you.” He offered her the sauciest bite near the crust. “I let the situation make me less, let it screw my head up. Almost let it screw us up for good. I won’t let it happen again, ever. I promise you.”

She swiped a smear of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth, and he turned his head to lick her fingertip. “From now on, you have to promise to talk to me.”

“I promise.”

“So how about this week?” She rested on her palms as he turned to lift them another slice from the box. She rubbed his calf with her foot. “More good or bad days?”

“Definitely good.” He held the pizza so she could take the first bite. “I’m still tired and my concentration was shit today, but I’m feeling better than I have in months.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned up to kiss him, then laughed against his lips. “I don’t know about these pizza kisses.”

“Food sex.” He chuckled and rested his chin atop her head, rubbing his free hand up and down her back.

“Food sex is not supposed to involve pizza.” Laughing with him was so good. She pinched his side. “I’ll come up with a food-sex scenario and text you.”

Deep rumbles of laughter shook his lean frame. “You do that.”

His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his back pocket to look at the screen. His brows dipped in a frown. She stroked her palm over his waist. “What?”

“Troy Lee says to check that Susannah Hartley news show.” With the remote app on his phone, he turned on the small television on the opposite counter and tuned to the round-the-clock news station. His phone clattered to the countertop, and he leaned on his arm. “Hell.”

She twisted on the counter to see, pizza forgotten. Susannah Hartley’s perfectly groomed blondeness took up one half of a split screen; on the other a haggard couple shared studio space with a young man in his late teens or early twenties. A bulletin at the bottom of the screen read
Young father disappears days after wife fakes kidnapping
.

“Holy heaven above,” Rob breathed. His jaw tensed. “Faked kidnapping? That stupid little son of a bitch.”

“What are you talking about? Rob, what is it?”

“That”—he pointed a hard finger at the television—“is Zeke Jenkins’s parents. That’s Mike Smithwick with them. He dropped Britt and that baby off in Haynes County, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. And now he’s on there, laying the blame with her?”