Latimer's Law (18 page)

“Yeah,” Cade said. “I hear they’re bad for you.” He kept his tone neutral, but the information about the silver Honda’s repeated appearances shifted him from mild curiosity to hyperawareness.

“Bad, but so damn good.” The manager offered a handshake, and Cade took it. “Well, I’m gonna go call the sheriff again. That guy just don’t take no for an answer, looks like. You have a nice night, now.”

“Thanks.” Cade turned and went slowly back to his truck with Mort and opened the hatch to the pickup bed. He reached inside for the container that held Mort’s kibble, and scooped out a handful. He leaned against the side of the truck, where he could keep an eye on the convenience store. He fed the dog his entire dinner bite by bite, giving Mort hand commands, drilling him in the basics. Mort, as always, was all business, even when he took the kibbles one at a time. Cade remembered afresh how much he’d enjoyed the weeks he and Mort went through K-9 training. Drilling kept them both sharp, and they did it often, but tonight it seemed especially meaningful, since he’d told Abby about the months after the task force pulled the plug on his undercover work.

It wasn’t long before the sheriff’s car pulled into the convenience store parking lot and blocked in the silver Honda. Cade watched in the gathering twilight as the deputy got out of his car and went to lean in the window of the Honda. He remembered stops like that, where all that was needed was a little demonstration of police presence to make someone straighten up and fly right. Shortly the deputy headed back to his patrol car. The silver Honda’s lights came on, the car backed up and a few seconds later the car was on the ramp to the interstate, red taillights disappearing into the dusk.

Gone.

South, toward Wildwood.

Cade shook his head. He’d probably never know what that was about, but at least the crawly feeling of alertness was fading, and he didn’t think there was any way the driver—if it had been Marsh—could have seen Abby getting out of the truck and going into the room. The timing had simply been wrong, which was in her favor, even if by some strange coincidence Marsh knew what kind of vehicle Abby had driven away from the Wildwood convenience store. Cade reached into the truck again, gathered up his duffel with the gun inside, put Mort’s food container under his arm, locked up the truck and walked to the motel room door. He tapped softly on the metal door before turning the knob.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he said to the quiet room, which was lit only by the light from the open bathroom door and the faint light from around the edges of the closed curtains.

“It’s about time,” Abby said, from where she sat in the bed, with the white sheet pooled at her waist. She was naked above it, and Cade’s mouth went dry. In the shadowy gloom, the bruises on her breasts and torso didn’t look so bad. She held out her arms.

Cade all but dropped everything he was carrying. Mort swished past him and headed straight to his blanket bedding with a put-upon sigh. Cade double-locked the door with every intention of falling into those soft arms. He knew it really would feel as if he’d come home, all humor aside. He had one more night, and he was going to make the most of it.

“What took so long?” Abby asked, grinning as he kicked off his shoes and fumbled at his belt buckle.

“Blame the dog.” Cade decided not to mention the Honda and the deputy. He was here with Abby now, and with him to protect her, even if Marsh had been driving the Honda and might return at some point, there was nothing to worry about. Men like Marsh folded the minute an authority figure called them on their bad behavior.

“Poor Mort.”

There was a soft sound from behind the bed, where Mort’s tail brushed the wall as he wagged in response to her sympathetic tone.

“Traitor,” Cade told him. “Never let a woman sweet-talk you like that.”

“How about you? Could I sweet-talk you, Cade?”

“Baby, you never even had to open your mouth. Look at you.” His jeans hit the floor, belt buckle clinking against the zipper, and he pulled his shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it. An opened condom packet lay on the bedside table next to the lamp, its contents ready and waiting. Cade crawled onto the bed wearing nothing but his briefs, and caught her mouth in a kiss. She’d brushed her teeth, which made him aware of his own after-dinner taste, but before he could think about a fast trip to the bathroom, her hands were sliding up his bare chest and all rational thought departed.

Abby sank back onto the pillow. Cade followed, never releasing her mouth. The bedclothes were between them, but he was content to take it slow and savor the sensations one by one. This time there wasn’t a reason to hurry. She was warm and willing and there was nowhere they had to be except in the here and now. He knelt above her, elbows keeping his weight from crushing her, letting the tight-furled peaks of her breasts brush against his chest. Where they touched, scorching lines of fire followed. She wasn’t as shy as she had been yesterday, or even this morning. Her hands explored more freely, slipping along his ribs to toy with the elastic at the top of his briefs, and then moving beneath, one cupping his hip bone, the other cradling his erection in her warm palm.

Now he did pull back, just enough to look down into her gray eyes as they opened, drowsy with desire. Her mouth pouted open softly, wet and reddened from his kiss. The fan of her hair on the pillow invited his nuzzling, but he restrained himself. “Abby.”

“Mmm.”

The sound alone nearly made him come, her voice was so filled with deep pleasure. Cade’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He stilled for a moment, looking down at her. She took advantage of the moment to push his briefs down as far as she was able—not very far, given his position with his thighs straddling her own, but his erection bobbed free of the cloth. Her gaze moved downward to where she grasped him, and she smiled.

“I...uh, was going to take it slow,” he managed to mumble. Her thumb stroked over the tip and circled there gently. Cade had to bite down on his lip to stop the grunt of pleasure rising in his throat at her touch.

“Okay.” She kept her thumb moving, and now her other hand joined it, sliding over his belly, her palm flattened and hot against his skin. She looked up into his eyes again and he saw a mischievous look growing in her face. “Can I ask a favor, Cade?”

“Another one?”

“I know I’ve used up my quota. I’m counting on your generosity.”

“Ask, and I’ll decide. Baby, if you don’t stop touching me like that—”

“Don’t you like it?”

He gritted his teeth at her. “What do you think?” he asked, when she squeezed her hand, and his erection pulsed and flexed. “But if the goal is to go slow, you’re going to have to stop doing—that—”

“About that favor.”

“Anything.” He swallowed hard as her hands stroked upward, not too softly, not too firmly, but with a strength and steadiness that nearly blinded him with sensation. “Oh, anything.”

Her laugh was rich and happy. “Get these briefs off. They’re in my way.”

In less than thirty seconds, though he hardly had brain enough to count them, Cade was naked and Abby had rolled the condom on and flipped back the covers. Underneath, she was as naked as he, and as he turned back to the bed, she opened her legs and whispered, flushing red as she spoke, “Please come inside me. We can go slow, but I need you inside me now.”

“Have mercy, woman,” he said for the second time that hour.

She took hold of him one more time and guided him in where she was warmest and wettest. Her legs wrapped around his waist to lock him to her, and she arched upward in ecstasy at his long, slow push. “No mercy,” she breathed. “Just...oh,
Cade.
”

* * *

“I’m keeping my eye on you. You’re causing trouble in my town, and I don’t like that.”

That’s what the deputy had said as he leaned on the top of Marsh’s Honda and smiled. The words rang in Marsh’s ears as he pulled out of the convenience store parking lot.
I’m keeping my eye on you.

Damn it. Damn it. Double and triple damn it.

Marsh had to concentrate to herd the Honda onto the interstate. He kept a watch on his rearview to be certain the sheriff’s deputy wasn’t following him.

He knew who had reported him. It could be only the clerk at the Rest-n-Refresh Motel, the one who didn’t understand how critical it was for Marsh to find Abigail. It was a shame, too—the store’s parking lot had a perfect view of the motel. Marsh’s heart had pounded when he pulled in, because the red pickup was already parked at the end unit. The third time he’d come back to the motel to look for it had been the charm, hadn’t it? He didn’t see Abigail, but there was a man with the truck, a tall, fit-looking man with a German shepherd dog. That didn’t make sense to Marsh. Abigail didn’t know anyone who had a dog, as far as Marsh knew, but since she’d been keeping secrets from him, there was no knowing what she’d done, whom she’d met.

His gut told him Abigail was in that motel. If only he hadn’t lost his temper and tried to open the motel room door so soon after he left the motel office. If only he’d waited a little, the clerk would have forgotten all about him, and he’d have had his chance to get into the room and see what he could find.

Too late now, too damn late.

His brain whirled. He turned off the radio because it was interfering with his driving. The last thing he needed right now was a traffic ticket. Usually he enjoyed country music. The songs were about the right things, women who understood that their men knew best, men who might have troubles but would win out in the end. Right now he had to think, though, think hard. Think how to find out once and for all if Abigail was there. But with the motel clerk shoving his nose into Marsh’s business, how could he?

I’m keeping my eye on you.

Marsh hadn’t even had a chance to get close enough to write down the truck’s license plate number, just in case. The deputy hadn’t been satisfied with Marsh’s explanation that he was just taking a breather before he checked the air in his tires and headed out. Now the deputy would be watching for him. Marsh didn’t like the idea of the law coming down on him—the law didn’t understand how much Marsh loved and needed Abigail, or how she wouldn’t listen and had to be made to pay attention.

Exits flicked by with Marsh on autopilot, driving south, thoughts chasing themselves like crazed animals through his brain, biting and clawing.

By the time he reached the Wildwood exit, he had no better plan than catching a couple of hours of sleep at home, then getting up before dawn to drive back to Micanopy before Abigail left that motel, so he could follow her—follow
them,
Abigail and whomever she was with—to the next place.

The streets were dark at last as he pulled into the driveway, hitting the curb and popping it in his distraction. He killed the Honda’s engine and sat staring at the house, imagining Abigail somewhere inside, maybe humming a little in the kitchen, or bent to pull clean clothes out of the dryer, putting a casserole in the oven for their supper, which they never cooked until the clients had all gone for the day. He liked watching her at those small, ordinary tasks, because she was making a home for the two of them.

A ragged gasp broke from him. He loved her so much.
So damn much.
Right now he was terrified she was being taken away from him.

His head swiveled back and forth to check the neighboring houses for onlookers, but it seemed as if everyone was inside, probably eating their own late summer suppers. Marsh got out of the Honda and went slowly up the front walk.

I’m keeping my eye on you.

Yeah, if he went back to Micanopy, even at three in the morning, he bet the deputy would be watching for a silver Honda. So would that lackey at the motel. Between now and dawn, he’d have to think about a good place to watch for Abigail to leave in the truck. Maybe the far side of the interstate from the hotel... But what if Abigail went the other way, into Micanopy, and took some miserable little back road...

Marsh groaned and let himself into the house. He was hungry, that’s why he couldn’t think straight. He needed some decent food, not gas station junk and too many sodas.

The house still felt as empty as a beach shell. Two days she’d been gone, and the scent of her was already diminishing. He gave the door a kick to close it, pleased when it slammed and echoed his bad temper. He stomped into the kitchen and banged open cupboard doors. Even a sandwich was too complicated, now that he was in this mood. He grabbed a box of cereal and ate it dry, roaming the house, checking for Abigail, even though he knew she wasn’t there.

Marsh wandered into the living room, ignoring the shredded wheat falling behind him like bread crumbs in Hansel and Gretel’s forest, and stopped dead.

Gary smiled at him from the picture over the television; Gary and Abigail in one of those stupid, hokey lean-on-the-fence-rail photos every professional photographer seemed to take.

Except Gary looked happy, and pleasant, and obnoxiously in love with Abigail, whose smile was wider than Marsh had ever seen it in person. Gary had never been handsome, but he had looked friendly and approachable, and girls had always been at ease around Gary in a way they never had with Marsh. Girls bumped shoulders with Gary as they walked next to him, even girls who weren’t his girlfriends.

I’m keeping my eye on you.

The cereal box fell to the floor and spilled as Marsh lunged for the photograph and ripped it from the wall. One good whack on the TV console was enough to shatter the protective glass and put a long white crease mark in the image, right through the fake autumn leaves behind Gary and Abby, and through the dark brown of Gary’s shirt. Marsh’s hand became a claw digging into the photo’s surface, dragging away the colors, scraping across Gary’s face.

I’m keeping my eye on you.

“No, you’re not, not anymore,” Marsh rasped, panting. When Gary’s face was a scratched, scarred mess, Marsh let the photo drop and went looking for another one. Gary wouldn’t be looking at him, not anymore. Not ever again. No more happy Gary. No more judgmental stares. Marsh would replace every photo of Gary and Abigail with a picture of Marsh and Abigail, better pictures, more expensive ones, taken by better photographers than the itinerant ones at cheap hometown department stores.