Return to Poughkeepsie (48 page)

Eyes wide and basically panting, Beckett was obviously as undone by her presence as she was by his. She smiled at him, breathing erratically. She pulled her hands toward his face, working against his tight grip. Finally, she rested her palms on his cheeks. He fought against her, making her work for this intimate touch. Then he pressed himself over her, steel against her curves. She looked from his eyes to his lips, over and over, trying to make a choice. He was made of venom and primed for an attack. She came close, their lips almost touching, her nipples pressed to his hard chest. She licked her lips, and the tip of her tongue made contact with his bottom lip because they were so close.

Her tongue was his fuse. And like a bomb had been lit, he punched the wall on either side of her head. She didn’t flinch. He slammed the wall again, unable to channel his emotions properly. Every strike came so near, his violence timed with her rapid heartbeat. They had such fucked-up foreplay. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her body. Finally, he stopped, and with almost superhuman effort he pushed away from her, grabbing his hair.

“Damn it, Eve. Why’d you come here? Why are you here?” His eyes raged with suspicion, hurt, and lust. He stepped behind his couch, giving them both a barrier.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself.” She hugged her arms to her chest. Just a taste of him was crazy. Her body shuddered with want.

“How’s your boyfriend, the cop? Does he know you’re here? I sure as hell wouldn’t want my girl at a criminal’s house.” Beckett threw his hands up and gave her a hard stare. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

Eve walked straight to him, jumping the couch and finding his arms again. Here she couldn’t think, only feel. Her voice was filled with tears. “Fuck you. I love you, and you know it. And you left me
for years
. I thought…” She gently clawed his face. He looked at the ceiling, hands jammed in his pockets. “I thought you were dead.”

Beckett exhaled, still looking at the ceiling. “I was dead without you. Every day.”

She tilted his face to hers and touched his lips, his chest, his gunshot wounds. She pulled his hand out of his pocket and turned it to reveal his brand. Eve put her lips against the outline, grazing the wound with her teeth, then met his gaze.

“I never wanted you to give up your freedom for mine.” She let go of his hand and stepped back. Her words were out there. He knew how she felt.

He looked at his feet as her emotions began to burn from the center out.

“Did you ever…” He looked at her hard and stepped into her space. “…for
one
second…” He put his hands behind her neck. “…think I wasn’t coming for you? In New York? At the Vitullos’? Here?”

“Yes.” She nodded. His face was every conundrum she’d ever had. Murder and love. Vengeance and forgiveness.

“You’re a fucking liar.” He kissed her so hard and fast, she couldn’t even take a breath. His oxygen became her nourishment. The burning center of her emotions flamed over. He tore her clothes from her body. Not for a second was he gentle, and she returned his fervor. Finally, they were naked together. Windows uncovered, lights blazing. Making every mistake in the world.

“I love you, Eve. You’re the only heart I have.”

The only thing that could stop him from making love to her now was a SWAT team, and that’s exactly what burst into his house—through the door and the windows.

Cops screamed, “Freeze!”

“Hands in the air.”

“Get on the floor right now.”

Eve and Beckett went to their knees and then to their bellies. The red and blue lights reflected off their naked skin as they looked into each other’s eyes.

Eve looked over to see John McHugh crunching through the broken glass. He approached her, knelt for a moment, and covered her with his jacket. She watched as he picked up her clothes scattered around the room and directed her to the bedroom. There he offered them to her and averted his eyes so she could change.

“What are you looking for?” she asked once she’d dressed.

“Taylor,” he answered. “It wasn’t my call to have it happen like this, but he’s wanted for questioning in the murder of Chris Simmer.”

She followed him back to the living room in time to watch Beckett be cuffed in the nude on the floor of his living room.

“Can you get my dog from the basement and keep him?” he called to her.

She nodded as an officer put Beckett’s pants in his hands and marched him out the door.

As the house emptied, Captain McHugh lingered for a moment. “Officer Morales know you’re here?”

Eve watched through the broken window as Beckett was put in the back of a cruiser. She didn’t answer out loud, but in her head, as she watched a fellow murderer be driven away, the answer was no. No, Ryan didn’t know. And she felt like a fraud and a cheat and a junkie.

McHugh took her silence for the answer it was. “You need to leave here tonight. There’s no good way to lock up.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I should take you to the station too. There are quite a few questions you should answer. How about you and I have a quick heart-to-heart here and we spare you that?”

He didn’t need to explain further, and Eve appreciated his kindness. The station would always be where her life had changed.

They sat together on Beckett’s couch, and she gave him a carefully edited account of the last few weeks of her life: She’d been hired for some event work and security by Mary Ellen, who quickly proved herself completely crazy. Yes, she’d been held for a time by Mary Ellen’s father after her murder. No, she did not care to press charges or discuss further what he had wanted from her. No, she was no longer employed by the Vitullos. Yes, she planned to stay out of trouble, perhaps stick closer to home and take care of her father.

When she’d finished, he was silent for a long time. “I can’t promise we won’t revisit all this again,” he said. “But I can’t bring myself to book you right now. No one’s pressed charges, so let’s leave it at that. Please let me know if you find you have relevant information for me in the future.” He walked out and left the door open, an obvious invitation and reminder for her.

The flashing lights faded until she was alone. After brushing the glass off Beckett’s couch, Eve sat down. Her shirt had to be held together, and she just threw out her bra. She’d been so close to losing control with Beckett. Hell, it took an army to stop what was set in motion by her impulsiveness.

And where had it come from? For the past few weeks, once she’d confirmed Beckett was alive and had returned to Poughkeepsie, she’d practically lived with Ryan—cuddled into him for no other reason than to feel the comfort of his arms, laugh with him, and avoid thinking about what she’d done as they both healed. Ryan was easy. He was a good man, and he reminded her of who she’d once been, the woman she might have become. But damn it all to hell, in her heart she knew he would never be enough for her now. It was just a version of her who fit with him, never her whole self. Only Beckett understood the person she’d become, the reasons why she’d done what she’d done. They had always been a sexual tsunami. Sometimes pain felt better than nothing real at all.

But what if it was time for her to be the stronger one? Could she step away, as he’d tried to do—leave him to find his way without her misery as a burden? They loved each other, but what if that was a death wish?

She had no answers, but there was no reason for her to stay here. And yet she was powerless to move. She brought the snorting, slobbering dog up from the basement when he barked, and after a short romp in the backyard, he curled up in his dog bed like it was his job. She sat with him for hours until the sun rose, the morning breeze laden with dew. Beckett’s house, and the stuff inside, had no barrier now to the weather, to strangers. She was still sitting in glass, watching the curtains blow when she heard gravel popping under tires.

She heard his mutter of thanks before he walked through the open door. Beckett was already back—now wearing his pants and a scrub shirt. He looked ridiculous. The dog hopped up from his bed and charged Beckett like a bull. As he scooped him up, he locked eyes with Eve, his face strangely vacant.

“Funniest shit. I get there, and I already have a lawyer. Super fancy. They were barely allowed to ask me shit, and it seems the evidence from the crime scene has been compromised somehow.” Beckett set the dog down and picked up a piece of glass, turning it over and over in his hands. “So I’m back.”

“Rodolfo. He was teaching you humility. And he may have actually been useful for once.” She tied her shirt in a knot in front of her boobs as Beckett sat on the coffee table.

“True. Or maybe he gets off on body cavity searches.” He put his head in his hands. “Honestly, I can hardly believe it. McHugh didn’t look happy, but he didn’t vow to hunt me down this time.”

Eve pulled her hair from her face and twirled it like a rope, tying it in a knot.

Beckett sighed deeply. He didn’t seem nearly as relieved as he should have. “Why is it I’m not a strong man? Do you have a clue?” He looked at her as if she might have an answer.

“Not sure what you mean.” She stood, and there was the gentle sound of glass shards hitting the ground, like angels losing their wings.

He watched her stand but remained seated. “I promised in my head to leave you be. And when I saw you…I was supposed to be man enough to turn you away. Fuck, I’m not a horny teenager. It’s just you.” He finally did stand. “You break me. You break everything I think I stand for.”

“I know how you feel. I’m the one who showed up here, remember?” It was this connection that bound them. Their sentence. If there was such a thing as soul mates, there must be hate mates too. Even a knock on the badly damaged door couldn’t drag her eyes from his.

The dog’s barking and Ryan’s voice filled the room. “Eve, you ready?”

She felt a smile on her face. Ryan had read the situation and was here to save her from herself. But she reached out for Beckett, trailing her fingers down his arm. It wasn’t goodbye or a promise—just a touch. Then she turned her back on him and took Ryan’s outstretched hand. He stepped behind her and guided her out of Beckett’s new house.

Beckett watched her leave with the cop. In him a war was raging—that she would leave. That she
could
leave. It would take a pack of rabid zombies to tear him from her. Maybe she was only in his veins, and he wasn’t in hers. He clenched his fists, forgetting about the glass shard he still held until he noticed blood dripping down his forearm, covering his new brand and his old
Sorry
tattoo.

He looked despondently at the mess for a while before finding a broom. It took him hours to rectify the destruction, and all the time his mind flashed through stills of her here: opening the door, her naked breast, the way her skin goose-bumped as his fingers touched her, gasps, growls. All of it so Eve. How she could walk out his door, that she was strong enough to break the connection his body was glued into, even when she wasn’t there, had stunned him stupid. He’d always figured they’d drown together in the endlessness of their attraction. He loved her so much—it was like the devil himself was squeezing his heart. And she’d said she loved him…

How could something he felt this intensely, this impossibly, be wrong? His love had to be right for her. Wasn’t there a way to make it right for her?
Be a better man.
His vow from long ago echoed in his head. But although he could find a way to accomplish most tasks, that one had eluded him. And now—even more so after this latest police station stunt—he was chained to the soul-sucking Rodolfo Vitullo. Maybe his love just wasn’t enough.