Loving Lucas (23 page)

“Hey.” She raises her head. “Those are new.”

“Not anymore.” I dip my head between her thighs, savoring that sweet Karlie scent. I growl when I taste her, my tongue spiraling gently over her clit. She’s swollen and wet, always ready for me. She writhes and whimpers. “Shit, Karlie . . .” If she keeps making those little noises, I’m gonna lose it before I’m even inside her.

I ease two fingers in, paying her full measure for teasing me about another man. I’m the
only
guy who will ever be where I am now. She’s mine. The future Mrs. Lafontaine. The woman I’ve been waiting for all my life.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Over here,” Marie calls, standing. “You’re late.” She pouts, but I know she’s joking.

Occasionally we indulge on calories and meet for lunch at the Olive Garden—bottomless salads and breadsticks. I slip into the booth, hardly able to contain my joker smile. She has no idea what’s on my finger, and I waste no time thrusting my hand under her nose.

“What—what did you do, Karlie Augustine? Did you fuck him into oblivion?”

Give credit where credit is due,
I tell myself. “That’s part of it.”

“Spill.
Now.
”

“Well . . .” I start. “We went out for dinner last night and after we finished our appetizer and wine, he admitted to love at first sight and slipped this ring on my finger.”

She exhales, still examining my ring. “That’s so beautiful. See, virgin girl—one orgasm and Lucas was hooked.”

Marie has a loud voice, and I gaze around the packed restaurant, making sure no one overheard her crude observation.

“What are you worried about?” she asks. “This is
your
moment. Own it. Love it.”

“I know,” I say sheepishly. “It just feels so surreal.” If she doesn’t stop looking at me so intensely, I’m going to cry. We’re both engaged. Our futures are set. My best friend, the only person who ever loved me before Lucas, was right. She knew the moment she met him that we’d end up together. I have to know . . . “What tipped you off, Marie? How did you know Lucas wanted me?”

She sits back. “Gypsy blood.”

“I’m serious.”

She wraps her sexy lips around her straw and takes a long pull of water. “Remember that first night at the track when I called you?”

How could I forget? I nod.

“I’ve never seen anyone look at a girl the way Lucas was staring at you. It took my breath away. Brandon doesn’t even look at me that way, unless he’s pissed off.”

I chuckle, touched by her words. “Thank you,” I say. “I’ll include your sentiment in my journal.”

“You’re keeping a diary now?”

“Considering your threat to disown me if I ever reconciled with Connor, I decided to embark on a therapeutic exercise. Counseling isn’t my thing, so I researched some options. It seems writing down my deepest, darkest secrets and feelings have given me a sense of peace.”

“This isn’t a religious thing, is it?” She smirks.

“No.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t take my journal to confession.”

“Good—because I’m pretty sure the priest would excommunicate you if he read about your sexual escapades.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” I chastise. “Maybe you should try confession with me sometime.” Marie isn’t a religious girl.

“All things aside,” she says, looking more serious, “what about setting a wedding date? I don’t think you should wait, Karlie.”

“Why? Everything happened so quickly, I was hoping for a little time to get to know Lucas better.”

“Big mistake.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“I know you better than anyone, baby girl.” She fills my bowl with salad. “You thought I was clairvoyant before; trust me on this. Take your vows and live happily ever after.”

“But—but . . .”
 

“Vegas—that’s a perfect place for you.”

Maybe she’s right. Who would I invite to a wedding anyway? The groom’s side of the church would be filled with Lucas’s family and friends. My side . . . practically empty. My shoulders sag. Even though I’m happy beyond expression, that feeling that has stayed with me all my life, that emptiness that sits inside my gut like a ten-pound weight, just won’t go away. “Any suggestions?”

She whips out her iPad. “Give me two seconds.”

I didn’t want to discuss my issue about Karlie’s father with anyone, but I’m really conflicted on what to do. I’m sitting in Craig’s living room. Marisela is seated next to me on the couch, holding my hand, and Craig is pacing.

“If I were Karlie,” Marisela offers, “I’d want to know. She doesn’t have any family to speak of, but a father, however broken and unredeemable, is better than no father at all.”

“He obviously cares,” Craig adds. “But if Karlie is as emotionally fragile as you say, it might push her over the edge.”

“I wish you would have brought her around before all this happened,” Marisela says.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “We’ve been busy.” The same lame excuse I gave Craig at dinner the other night. Translation: I’ve been too selfish to share her. “Maybe I should go home and just give it to her straight. There’s no hiding it. Eventually Steven Augustine will find her. He’s quite determined to meet again—as her father, not as a race fan.”

“Whatever you choose,” Marisela says, “I’m here for both of you. She’s family now. Congratulations, Lucas. From what I hear, she’s a lovely girl.”

I gaze at my cousin. He grins. “Just told the truth.”

“I’m glad,” I say, standing. “Time to go.”

Karlie’s truck is in the driveway when I get home. I kill my engine and heave a sigh. I don’t want to do this—not now, not after such a romantic night together. We’ve connected so much over the last few days, our love and admiration reaching a pinnacle. I drag myself inside, the aroma of another excellent meal making my stomach growl.

She greets me in the entry, her brilliant smile contagious.

“Good evening, Mr. Lafontaine.”

I hug her close. “Missed you, baby. What’s for dinner?”

“Homemade turkey vegetable soup and French bread.”

“Delicious.” I lick my lips in appreciation. I grip her hand and guide her into the living room. She sits on the sectional. “We need to talk.”

“Is everything all right?” She looks so worried.

“Between us, yes,” I assure her. “But we need to discuss your past, Karlie.”

“There’s nothing . . .” Her voice rises an octave. “I don’t have
any
history.”

I kneel between her knees, staring into her luminous eyes. She’s on the defensive already, her shoulders rigid, her mouth clamped shut.
Shit, just what I feared.
I squeeze her arm gently. “Do you remember the guy we met in the parking lot at Roper’s the other night?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“I responded to a public intoxication call the other day . . .”
 

“And?”

“It was the same guy.”

She throws me a look. “I don’t understand.”

“I checked his ID, Karlie. His name is Steven Byron Augustine. He doesn’t have a son.”

The emotions flashing across her pretty face cripple my mind and heart. Confusion—anger—pain . . .

“What are you saying, Lucas?”

“Steven Augustine is your father.”

She bristles, her eyes keenly focused on mine. “That’s a lie.”

I expected denial. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Karlie. God help me, I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I don’t believe you. I’m an orphan—a ward of the state of Texas. My parents died in a car accident after I was born. Why would the Johnsons mislead me?”

I suck in a ragged breath. “Didn’t you ever wonder why a precious little baby girl like you never got adopted?”

She grimaces. “Mrs. Johnson said I was sick as a child. No one wanted to take on that responsibility—face potential medical bills.”

“She’s correct, Karlie. You were sick.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your father told me.”

“Don’t call him that!”

“All right.”

“He’s a goddamned liar, an imposter.”

I try to hold her hands, but she snatches them away. “There’s more, baby.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s my responsibility to tell you. Please.”

She fists her hands, shifting uncomfortably. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re strong, baby. The sooner it’s out in the open, the quicker we can deal with it.”

“Fine.”

I share the rest of what I know—minus the part that her foster parents are really her aunt and uncle. Too much information at once will break her spirit. Why they denied their flesh and blood a true home, I don’t know. And I’m still not sure how to manage it.

She’s deathly pale and quiet. I attempt to touch her, but she shakes me off.

“Karlie . . .”
 

“Shut up, Lucas.”

“Please, let me help you, comfort you.”

She shakes her head, pushing herself up. “I-I need to get out of here.”

I grip her legs, still kneeling. “You can’t drive in this condition.”

“Condition?” She laughs. “I’m not sick, Lucas. I’m fucking devastated.” She brushes past me, running to her bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I hear my alarm clock going off in the distance. I rub my eyes, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. I’m on the couch in the living room and don’t know what time I fell asleep, but I kept vigil outside Karlie’s door for hours. Her loud, violent sobs kept me awake for a long time. I check my watch: it’s early, half past seven. Sitting up, I’m surprised to find her bedroom door ajar. Maybe she’s making breakfast?

I check her room first, then pad into the kitchen. It’s quiet and dark. Next, I search upstairs; not a trace of her. “Karlie?”

Making my way out back, I traverse the grounds—even look inside the RV. When I head to the front yard, I realize her truck is gone. I swallow the lump in my throat.
She’s
gone. And somehow, it feels like she’ll never come back. I curse, then storm back inside, ransacking her bedroom, searching for a clue. There’s no note and only half her stuff is missing. Clothes, her laptop, cell phone, books, and jewelry box. Things people take when they’re determined to disappear.

I punch the wall, leaving a hole in the sheetrock. “Fuck!”

I can’t let this happen. Where is she? I sit on the edge of her bed, resting my head in my hands. Maybe I should never have told her.
No.
That would have been dishonest. And if she found out from someone else, especially Steven, my silence would have come back to haunt me. That’s a coward’s way out.

I race upstairs, grab my cell, and call in to work—taking the day off.

I don’t bother changing or brushing my teeth. I grab my wallet and keys from the entryway table and take off, headed to Marie’s.

I screech into her parking lot and race upstairs, banging on her front door. She opens it, staring at me. “What’s wrong, Lucas? Where’s Karlie?”

I don’t answer, but force my way inside, eyeing the small space. Brandon is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” he says. “You look like shit.”

“Where’s Karlie?” It comes out sounding accusatory.

“Not here,” he says. “Why? Is she missing?”

I scrub my face with both hands. In order to get their help, I need to explain. I give them a condensed version.

“Jesus,” Marie says. “No wonder she ran away.”

“What do you need us to do?” Brandon asks, putting his windbreaker on. “Want me to ride with you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m headed to A&M now, then the beach. I’m sure she’s gone somewhere to think. Is there a special place she hangs out?” I ask Marie.

“N-no.” She appears devastated. “She likes Cole Park and the aquarium, but it’s too early to go there. Karlie is a creature of habit, Lucas. What you see is what you get.”

“I know. That’s why I love her.”

I reach the college in fifteen minutes and drive through every parking lot, one row at a time. I don’t see her vehicle. Next, I search fraternity/sorority row, getting the same result. She’s not here. I pull off Ocean Drive and call Craig; he answers on the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“Karlie is gone.” I fill him in on what transpired between us last night.

“Shit—want me to put out an APB?”

I don’t want anyone at work knowing about this yet. She’s such a private person, and although I want to find her, need to before I can’t fucking breathe anymore, this is something I’ll deal with as the man who loves her—not as a cop. “No, but I’d appreciate you keeping your eyes open today while you’re on patrol.”

“Hell, I’ll take the day off.”

“No,” I say, appreciating the offer. “You’ll cover more ground on duty.”

“All right.” He sighs. “Don’t do anything stupid, Lucas.”

“I just want her back.”

“We’ll find her.”

I hang up.

After checking all the parks on the south side and downtown, I head back to the island. There’s too much ground to cover out here. She has a four-wheel drive and could go anywhere. She could be in Portland, Rockport, or bloody San Antonio. I slam my palms on the steering wheel. I didn’t want to do this, but it’s the only option I have. I drive back to town, determined to talk to Steven Augustine and his cold-hearted sister.

I ring the doorbell three times. A woman wearing a pink robe and matching slippers answers the door. She eyes me head to toe.

“I think you have the wrong address.” She starts to shut the door, but I thrust the tip of my boot in the doorjamb.

“No, I don’t.” I’m close to losing control. “I’m here to discuss
your
niece, Mrs. Johnson.”

She gasps, placing her hand over her heart. “Steven came home the other day spouting off about meeting Karlie’s fiancé. Are you a cop?”

I flash my badge. “Let me inside.”

She steps aside.

Her home is unremarkable, not too clean, but not filthy. There’s cheap artwork hanging everywhere and pictures of dozens of children.

“Foster kids?” I query.

“These four are my natural children.” She preens like a goddamned peacock. “The rest, we took in.”

I don’t see a photo of Karlie anywhere. “What about Karlie?” I growl.

Her eyes dart around the room. “We don’t keep one.”

“Why?”

She swallows, hard. “You know the story.”