Mind Games (14 page)

“Damn.”

Even with all of those menacing thoughts, Sparrow lingered in the back of his mind, and overpowered the tornado blowing across it.

Her long, lean body had contorted around him in seconds. She’d effortlessly knotted her feet around his neck and had her thighs pressed against her chest, so he could drive deeper into her. The sensation of her tightening around him pushed him over the edge. He lifted his head and dropped his hands to his sides.

Idiot.

She’s just beyond the door. Go out there and get her. Forget about work. Forget about the Mobile Health Clinic RV. Forget about Angel. And, for God’s sake, forget about Dr. Von Langley for tonight.

There’s always tomorrow.

Sparrow grabbed the short pink silk robe from her closet and went out to the kitchen to make them a light lunch. Derrick had been taking a little longer than she’d expected, and her stomach had started making strange growling sounds. Unpleasant tummy noises would not make for another round of hot sex with Derrick.

She gathered some light fare of Brie, crackers, grapes, and a bottle of white wine. Gray clouds hung from the sky, but a trickle of sunlight beamed in and out. She set down the tray of food on the small table on her balcony. The ocean view was magnificent, even on an overcast day.

She couldn’t believe her mind had jumped from sex to food within minutes, but they needed to keep up their energy. Sex with Derrick made her giddy. She couldn’t believe they’d finally made love. She giggled like a lovesick school girl.

A cool breeze wafted past her. She ran her hands down the front of the robe, pressing the cool silk over her breasts. She missed Derrick’s touch. She had the sudden urge to skip the dining and coax him right back into bed. Fortunately, the balcony right off her bedroom made things convenient. She’d never considered what a great setup she had until now.

She spread out the feast on the tile-topped table and brushed off the cushioned chairs. It was too breezy to light candles—not that they needed them, but it would help set the mood. Her robe blew up behind her. Derrick’s hands clasped her waist.

“Glad you could join me.”

“The view from here is magnificent.”

“Very funny.”

His hands caressed her stomach then dipped lower until his fingers reached between her thighs.

“Seems like we both have the same thing in mind,” he said.

His hardness pressed against her. She parted her legs, giving him easier access, and lifted the robe over her hips. She bent over the chair and arched her back so he could fully view her. The towel he had been wearing fell around their feet.

The secluded balcony and ocean view made for a breathtaking experience, but she couldn’t believe she was having sex outside for possible public consumption. The salty ocean air lapped at their bare skin. Swirls of sands kicked up from the beach. The sights and smells of nature surrounded them.

Erotic.

Wild.

Freeing.

She pushed her backside against him.

He removed his hands from her and stretched toward the cement, picking up a condom concealed in the folds of the towel. She shuddered when the slick, warm latex sheathing him slid inside her.

She felt like a feral animal mating in the open wilds, taken by the prey that stalked her. His hands gripped her hips, his breath heavy against her back and neck.

He thrust into her. “Ow, oh, oh…” The pain and then pleasure of his lovemaking rocked against her.

His rhythm slowed. He trailed kisses down the side of her neck to the top of her shoulder. He slowly withdrew from her. His hand dipped between her thighs and caressed her need.

“No, not like this, I want you,” she pleaded.

He eased back into her and took things nice and slow, placing one hand on her right shoulder and the other against her left hip. She swiveled her hips, meeting his motion, relaxing into the natural movements her body urged her to make. Derrick growled into her ear then sank his mouth against the crook of her neck and shoulder, kissing and nipping at her skin.

*               *               *

Derrick’s hands clung onto her hips for support, and he curled his body around her. He pressed his cheek against hers. Her hands gripped the cement balcony. The ocean waves crashed in front of them. He dropped his hands from around her waist and clasped them over hers. “I can’t remember the last time I had such an amazing afternoon.”

“Mmm.” She nuzzled her cheek against his. “Me either.”

He pulled her closer to him. He didn’t want to let her go. He could hold her like this forever. Her warm skin against his body and the cool breeze coming off the ocean was all he needed and wanted.

Several minutes passed before he released her. He admired the severe dents in the small of her back and the riverbed of muscles spanning her upper back. He traced a finger along the side of her spine to the sculpted muscles between her hips. She twisted at the tickling motion.

“You’re incredibly sexy.”

“Thank you. It’s a simple movement called swan that makes those tiny, dimpled muscles.”

“I’d love to stay right here forever, but I’ve got to get rid of this mess.”

He pulled the silk robe down to cover her exposed body and slipped into the bedroom.

He returned wearing his boxer briefs, surprised to find her standing facing the ocean with her robe billowing open in the breeze. Her arms spread wide in a T. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. She jumped and closed the robe. He turned her to face him and pulled her into his arms.

“I didn’t hear you come back.”

“I guess not. You nearly jumped out of your skin.”

She smiled up at him, a contented expression on her face.

“I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s freeing.”

She leaned back against his knitted hands. “Ah, so that explains it.” She blushed at his comment. “Hey, don’t stay dressed for me. It’s your place. Besides, your neighbors can’t see us.”

“I think I got carried away. Let’s sit down and eat.”

She wiggled out of his arms and thrust the bottle of wine at him. He popped the cork and poured them each a glass. Even in boxers, he remained a perfect gentleman, and pulled out her chair. He took a seat across from her.

“I’d like to propose a toast, to an exquisite woman and a wonderful day.”

She raised her glass to his. “I’ll drink to that, and to a terrific man and caring doctor.”

Their glasses clinked. His heart beat a little faster after finally having made love to her and hearing her toast. Everything about her intrigued and excited him. Her reserved personality and innocence were a vast contrast to the sexual creature she’d become in the heat of passion. What red-blooded man wouldn’t fall in love with a woman who had the face and heart of an angel but was a total seductress in the bedroom?

Angel.

Reality shattered his loving thoughts of Sparrow. He needed to call Dr. Von Langley.

“Earth to Derrick.”

“Um, I’m sorry, baby, I was drifting.”

“What were thinking about?”

He slid his chair back from the table. “Come here.”

She bounded into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I was thinking about you and how lucky I was to find you. Sparrow, in a city this big, I’d say it was fate.”

She gazed lovingly at him and then nuzzled her face against his neck, kissing him.

For a minute he feared she’d say those three words he wasn’t ready to hear. Sometimes he learned they just spilled out of a woman after making love. It wasn’t like they meant it. They were simply caught up in the moment.

He plucked a grape from its perch and popped it into her mouth. Problem solved. She couldn’t say anything she didn’t mean with food in her mouth.

When they said those three words to each other he wanted to make sure they meant it and didn’t blurt it out because their heads were clouded from two rounds of sex and multiple orgasms. His logic wasn’t scientific. He hadn’t learned this in medical school, but he was fairly certain making love caused your brain to turn to mush.

They nibbled the light lunch, and Derrick helped her clean up. The afternoon passed too quickly, and by the early evening, he had resigned himself to taking the day off.

Before he got caught up in her essence again, Derrick decided to call Dr. Von Langley and check on Angel. He took a glance at his schedule for tomorrow and was glad he did. He had two appointments. If he spent the night at Sparrow’s, he’d need to leave early in the morning to drive home, shower, change, and get to his first appointment by nine.

Sparrow emerged from a fresh shower wrapped in a red silk kimono. The phone call he placed to Dr. Von Langley started to ring. She came up behind him and started massaging his shoulders.

“Mmm, that feels good. You smell nice.” Her fingers ran through his hair, and she teased his neck with kisses. “You better be a good girl. I’m calling your daddy.”

The wonderful scalp massage ceased, and she jumped in front of him, appearing defensive. “Why are you calling him?” She slammed her fists against the side of her hips.

“To check on Angel.”

“Why? Don’t you
trust
my father to care for her?”

He raised his index finger to her. Someone picked up the other end of the phone. “Hello, Dr. Von Langley, I was just calling to see how Angel’s doing?”

His conversation continued while Sparrow’s heated eyes bore down on him. According to Dr. Von Langley, Angel had followed Derrick’s instructions concerning her ankle, and she’d spent most of the day reading and working on a puzzle. Von Langley commented that she was a bright girl, and he was enjoying her company. Things sounded okay on the surface, but Derrick asked to talk to Angel anyway.

Sparrow’s eyes narrowed. Derrick burned under her heated glare. By the time he’d ended the conversation with Dr. Von Langley, Sparrow’s steady stare had nearly fried a hole through him. Concern for Angel was getting the best of him, and because of it he’d managed to upset Sparrow again.

“Baby.” He extended his hand. She didn’t reach for it. He yanked it back and raked his hair. “I had to make sure she was okay. She’s my responsibility, not your father’s.”

She dropped her hands from her hips, but her eyes maintained direct contact with his. “Derrick, is that all it is, or is it really because you have issues with my father?”

He exhaled loudly. He didn’t want to ruin their perfect day, but lying to her was no way to start a relationship. “I’ve read about some of the treatments he administers and I’m concerned. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve been reading about my father’s treatments?”

He dragged his hand through his hair and down his face. Damn. They were going to get into this and all he wanted to do was make love to her again. “I was curious about his ‘rice’ method. I started reading about that and I came across other things.”

“Other things? What kinds of
other
things, Derrick?” She spread her arms open and pushed at the air in disgust. Her citrusy scent drifted past his nose and stirred his desire for her.

Derrick dropped his head to his chest and then looked up at her. “I read an article that says he recommends deep meditation, yoga, and visualization to kids with borderline personality disorder. There was even a comment from a patient saying it works.”

“And because it works that’s what bothers you? I’m a highly trained yoga instructor. Do you think I’m committing some kind of crime by practicing yoga and meditation that transcends my mind and body?”

*               *               *

Her response to Derrick set a horrible thought in motion. She slumped down next to him on the sofa and dropped her head into her hands. He wrapped his arm around her, his big, strong hand resting on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

She shook her head. Until now, she hadn’t made the connection between her father’s interest in yoga and meditation and her own.

She appreciated the fact that Derrick allowed her a few minutes to collect her thoughts. They sat in silence, maybe because neither of them knew what to say next. Her curiosity regarding her father’s recommended yoga and meditation therapy mounted. She’d have never considered the powerful effects it could have on one’s mind, including her own.

The night Dana had died she had sat in a lotus pose and practiced a common Buddhist mantra. Dangerous, negative thoughts had entered her mind. She’d pushed them out. Black thoughts about Dana had replaced them. His hand had plucked petals from the potted plant she’d imagined herself. The white light had dimmed. She’d transported to his backyard, where he’d planned his suicide. She could have stopped him, but her mind coaxed him to his death. Ice-cold shivers ran down her spine.

“Dana,” she whispered.

Only a few days had passed since the funeral. The reality of Dana’s death hadn’t set in with his brother, Tony Sargent. The Crystal Cove detective had witnessed numerous crime scenes, but he’d never imagined discovering the hideous suicide of his own brother.

He paused and looked at the tree where Dana had taken his life. Tony hated that in his mind’s eye he could still see Dana’s lifeless body hanging from the thick tree branch. He remembered how he’d rushed over to Dana, yelling, “God, no. No. No. No.” His hand had shaken uncontrollably when he dialed for backup and to report his brother’s death.

Sirens had wailed. He’d never forget the grim expressions on his colleagues’ faces. They solemnly approached him. Tony had hated for them to see his brother like this. Dana had defecated upon impact. Wet piss had dripped down his leg. If only Tony had been there sooner, maybe he could have stopped him.

He’d been minutes too late.

Paint still outlined the crime scene area. Tony wanted to look away from his brother’s lifeless body dangling from the tree, but he couldn’t. What had possessed Dana to end his life? The police had ruled his death a suicide, although they hadn’t discovered a note at the scene.

Dana had come so far. Tony shook his head. Maybe he didn’t want to believe his brother had problems. What was it Sparrow had said to him during Dana’s funeral? Something about not only city kids had problems. Had she known Dana’s state of mind? What made him so desperate that he took his own life?

He turned his back on the crime scene and twisted the key in the back door. He was not eager to start the awful process of going through his brother’s personal belongings. For the first time in his life, he was grateful his parents had died before their youngest son. Dana’s suicide would have killed them.

Alone in Dana’s bungalow, he reflected inside the small kitchen. His hands and back braced against the scratched laminate kitchen countertop. The strange way Sparrow had looked at him the day of Dana’s funeral bothered him. She had been distant. But there was something else. When he coaxed her to kneel in front of Dana’s casket, she’d appeared apprehensive. Then she had some sort of breakdown, gasping and falling back against his arm.

What he thought had been anguish in her gleaming eyes had been fear.

She’d acted more dazed than distraught. She’d shed a few tears, but her outward appearance of sadness had seemed contrived. His cop instincts told him Sparrow knew Dana better than anyone, and the odd awareness he’d come to know as a detective sizzled through his internal system, warning him she knew something.

He tapped his finger against the counter, thinking more about Sparrow’s behavior and her actions. He’d been devastated after planning Dana’s service, and during the funeral his emotions had been running high. Could he have misread Sparrow’s aloofness?

She’d been curt with him, suggesting he’d failed to recognize Dana’s problems. Had she been referring to Dana’s past history with drugs and his reputation for being a heartbreaker? His anger had surged when Derrick showed up, and Sparrow rushed off.

Derrick didn’t have the balls to come to Dana’s funeral. What did he have to hide? Did the guilt from his spoiled friendship with Dana eat at him? It was a shame Dr. Derrick Sloan didn’t have the decency to pay his respects. He and Dana had been nearly inseparable those years Derrick had spent in Crystal Cove.

Tony turned to face the laminate countertop, spreading his hands against the cool surface. He leaned forward to stretch his back and tried to release the tension creeping into his shoulders. His reflection caught in the front of the silver toaster, looking distorted but clear enough to project the strong resemblance he and his brother shared. They both had charcoal-black hair, and people had always commented on their ice-blue eyes framed in thick lashes.

He and Dana had both suffered through jealous girls playfully teasing them about the “natural curl” of their hair and lashes. He shook his head, thinking,
What guy cares about hair and eyelashes?
The family resemblance started with their faces but ended with their bodies. They had both inherited their dad’s height, but Dana had been long and lean where Tony was thick and bulging. Their muscle tone was like that of basketball player versus football player. Thinking about Dana brought a smile to his face. He smirked at the shadowed circles under his eyes and pushed away from the countertop, tired of looking at the hard angles of his serious face, brought on by years of being a cop. Dealing with Dana’s death had caused even more sleepless nights.

The toxicology report on Dana hadn’t come back from the lab. As a favor to Tony, the department placed a rush order, and he should have the results any day now. Then he’d have some answers. Tony wasn’t expecting to find drugs in his brother’s system. He’d been clean. At least that was what he’d told Tony.

How could he have not recognized the telltale signs of drug abuse? For God’s sake, he was a detective. It was his job to know these things. On a typical drug addict, he’d shine a light in a suspect’s eyes, and the size of the addict’s glassy and diluted pupils would give him away. Tony worried he was losing his edge.
Why wouldn’t I see those signs in my brother?
He’d answered his own question—Dana was his brother, not some suspect he’d dragged in for questioning.

How many times had Tony witnessed a suspect’s family, grief-stricken and shocked because they hadn’t recognized the villain before their eyes? And how many times had he said to them, “No one wants to see it in their own family.” His own words made his blood run cold.

Dana, what the hell was going on that was so bad you couldn’t even tell me?

He rolled his eyes up to heaven and shook his head, searching for an answer he hoped would fall from the sky.

A tingling sensation prickled his fingertips and spread quickly throughout his whole body. The odd sensation he’d felt earlier surged. Some cops referred to it as instinct that had been developed, learned, and recognized over time, but the dread zapping Tony was a force to be reckoned with. It was setting sparks off around him, illuminating his mind, and asking he look further into his brother’s death.

Something about Dana’s suicide didn’t quite fit.

With a heightened sense of awareness, he walked through the kitchen, ignoring the living room and making a beeline for Dana’s bedroom. Inside the darkness of the room, the prickling sensation increased. He was getting closer to learning more about his brother’s death. He flipped on the light switch, but even in the dim light’s warm glow, the blackness lingered.

Something was in the room.

He scanned the area with laser eyes. Unease electrocuted his brain. The zipping and zapping shocked his system. Even though Dana wasn’t coming back, he hated disturbing his brother’s things, knowing this was how Dana had left the room.

Tears filled his eyes, a combination of guilt and sadness that he hadn’t been more aware of his brother’s problems.

His intense suspicion blew the fuse on his moment of grief. He swiped his eyes with the back of his hand and obeyed the warning. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and stretched them over his hands. If he found anything suspicious in the room, he didn’t want to risk contamination.

He yanked open the nightstand drawer beside Dana’s bed. It was empty. Void of pen and paper, tissues, books, condoms, nose spray, or any of the other common items he’d discovered inside strangers’ nightstands. He slammed the drawer shut.

It was the one place he’d hoped to find a note explaining his brother’s mood and providing some insight about his suicide.

“God, Dana why’d you do it?” he muttered. Tony contemplated his next move. His anger and sadness battled each other. Going through his brother’s personal things proved more difficult than he had imagined. He needed to separate himself from the situation. Treat this like any other investigation. Tony shoved his raging emotions aside and got back to work.

A large dresser stood against the adjacent wall. He started with the top drawer and worked his way down, feeling in and around Dana’s neatly stacked underwear, socks, T-shirts, and sweatshirts. He probed each drawer, searching for some buried clue.

The bolt of electricity zapped him again and made his skin crawl. His mounting frustration didn’t help. The urge to pull each drawer out and dump out the contents on the floor gnawed at him. He needed to get a handle on his elevating emotions. He wanted to treat his brother’s things with respect.

Something crinkled under his probing fingers, and he yanked out a folded magazine page.

… Many recovered patients agree a combination of yoga and chanting can bring the body, mind, and spirit into harmony. “The feeling of pervasive emptiness and the need to fill that void with some dangerous activity can be overcome with this kind of treatment and in my case psychotherapeutic drugs,” says a patient of Dr. Von Langley.

“This patient couldn’t regulate himself. I taught him how,” says Dr. Von Langley. “Other approaches I find helpful are called RICE and visualization therapy.”

He slumped down onto the bed and stared at the wall in front of him. Why in the hell had Dana kept this article? A faint seam in the plaster next to the large wardrobe closet caught his eye. He lurched forward and pressed two fingers against the crack. He yanked open the wardrobe closet doors and revealed a hollow interior with an entrance to a room on the other side. He stepped inside and moved deeper into the darkness of the secret chamber.

He’d visited his brother often, especially after their parents had passed away, but he had only seen Dana’s bedroom a handful of times. They usually hung out in the living room watching sports, unless they were in the kitchen filling their faces. He couldn’t recall thinking the architecture of the house didn’t match with the interior, or vice versa. How long had Dana had this hidden room?

The electric sensation pulsed. Tony took a deep breath and exhaled. He was getting closer to finding out a disturbing truth about Dana. He couldn’t turn back and ignore what he’d discovered, and for the first time in his life he wished he wasn’t a cop. Tony had the weird feeling that Dana had left the room for him to find.

But why?

Frustration joined the zipping and zapping sensation running through his system. He hated thinking Dana couldn’t come to him and tell him about whatever was going on, or why he needed this hidden room.

Standing in the darkness, Tony pulled out the flashlight pen clipped to his back pocket and illuminated the stuffy space.

Slowly he shined the light in front of him from the floor to the ceiling. The dark-painted wall nearly snuffed out the light. Tony walked over to the wall and touched it. He ran his fingers along the gritty surface but noted the wall was not textured. There was white residue left behind on his gloved hand. He raised his hand to his face but couldn’t smell anything but rubbery latex from the glove.

He tested the wall to his right, expecting to find the same white residue on his other gloved hand. When he examined his hand under the dim flashlight pen’s light and rubbed his thumb across his fingers, there was nothing there. He shined the light toward the ceiling and noticed something that looked like a rolled-up projection screen. He pulled it down and realized it was some sort of a backdrop in muted shades of gray.

He stepped back from the wall and shined the light down at his feet and along the floor. The finished burgundy and gold swirled cement floor shone. He hunched down and ran his hand along the smooth, cool concrete. His eyes followed the beam of light, scrutinizing all four walls’ corners and the floor. Specks of white residue caught his eye under the wall where he’d found the substance. He reached for an evidence bag crammed in his jacket pocket and carefully pushed the particles into the baggie with his index finger.

His knees cracked. He shined the light on the wall behind him. There was a plain four-legged desk with a center drawer, laptop computer, and a jar filled with something on the desk’s corner. He walked a few paces to the desk and picked up the jar. He squinted and wrinkled his nose, examining the jar’s contents. The jar was filled with rice.

Why in hell would Dana keep a jar of rice on his desk? Puzzled, Tony shook his head and set down the jar. He pulled the plastic baggie filled with the suspicious white powder from his pocket and shined the penlight on it. He looked from the crushed rice particulars in the baggie to the jar of rice on Dana’s desk. Tony didn’t know what to make of what he’d discovered, and at the moment he didn’t know how to proceed with the evidence he’d collected to further his investigation.

He slid back the leather desk chair and pulled open the center drawer, surprised to find photos of several women. His brow furrowed. Tony pulled the photos from the drawer and tossed them on top of desk. Shock split through him at what the photos revealed.

The women had posed suggestively. There were group shots of females seeming to enjoy the girl-on-girl contact, and single shots of women making love to the camera. Tony guessed Dana had been the photographer. Which meant a digital camera hid somewhere in the room.

Last time Tony checked, Dana had not been hired as a photographer for a men’s magazine.

He shot the slender light beam to the left, expecting to find the bed featured in several of the photos. He discovered a large bookcase filled with books. His gaze tore from the bookcase back to the photos. Many of the photos were taken against the muted gray screen. With his gloved hand, he separated the photos, in search of the woman he’d seen sprawled on the bed. He shined the light down on the photo and rushed to the bookcase.