Saving Grace (11 page)

“What was that all about?”

Walker slides a pair of dark sunglasses on and ignores me
while pulling out of the parking lot. I fume, but don’t prod him. Bugging him
won’t get me answers. Why waste my breath? But at the earliest opportunity I’m
gone. I don’t need this shit.

“He was just telling me who is at the funeral home.”

Shocked, I jerk my gaze to his face. I can’t believe he
opens up at all, much less this little bit. I can’t see his eyes, but his hands
are clenched tight around the steering wheel and I know what the statement
costs him.

“Anyone of interest?” I ask lightly.

He stops at a red light and turns to look at me. I wish I
could see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses.

“Brady. Along with half the Vice squad and IA apparently.”

Internal Affairs. Is Lynn right?

“IA is looking at Jonas and Becker for Manning’s murder?”

The light turns and looking forward again Walker drives on.
He shrugs. “Makes things more complicated for them, doesn’t it? If Jonas and
Becker killed Manning, then their getting killed out in the middle of nowhere
could hardly be random could it?”

I study his profile. His jaw flexes briefly after he
suggests Jonas and Becker killed Manning. “You don’t think they did it, do
you?”

He is silent so long I don’t think he is going to answer.
“They were a lot of things, but not killers.”

I keep my opinion to myself. How can he know for sure? He’s
been gone for years and I’ve seen people under duress do things completely out
of character. Things their loved ones and friends don’t believe even with video
evidence. You never really know the heart of a man until he is tested. A harsh
lesson I learned in the Army, in a war zone half the world away.

He remains silent until we pull into the funeral home
parking lot. The pristine white sign proclaims it
Fann
and Brothers. I reach for the door handle but he stops me before I exit.

“Remember, Grace. Stay by my side,” he says in that cold remote
voice he adopted after he read the news article. I only nod in response. What
is the point in arguing now?

We enter the building and in the small vestibule, he takes
my hand before walking through the open double doors. The low murmur of many
voices is silenced one by one as they see him. Some cast their eyes down and
turn away, some nod acknowledgement of his entrance. He ignores them all and
heads for the inner door that leads into the viewing room. It is a long
hall
, with the casket surrounded by flowers at one end. I
ignore my sense of foreboding. The last funeral I went to was an Army friend’s.
I’ve been to too many of those. It makes perfect sense for me to be
uncomfortable now.

Walker goes straight to a slight brunette woman standing to
one side. I study her carefully. This is Janine? She looks small and fragile
and she is covered in tattoos. Well, what I can see in the short sleeved, knee
length black dress is. She has a hard, furious glint in her eyes. Walker leans
down to whisper to me.

“Janine. She owns a tattoo parlor.”

Well, that certainly explains the body art. The crowd around
her shrinks and disappears as we approach. Walker releases my hand and steps
forward to embrace the other woman. I push away a spurt of jealousy. She’s just
lost her husband. She deserves the comfort of an old friend. Oh, but the way
she looks up at Walker makes it clear it had once been more than that. I look
away. And meet Carlos Beaumont’s gaze across the length of the room. He nods
once then steps through a door. Walker is leaning close to Janine, asking if
she needs help or money, and I slip away. He doesn’t even notice me leave.

I walk through the door onto a large partially covered back
deck and look around. There is a small group of people smoking on one end, but
on the other is Beaumont, standing alone. I can feel his glare even from
several yards away. I approach but stay out of arms reach.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say mildly.

“Jonas and Becker worked for my father. I’m paying my
respects. You showed up here with Walker Graham.”

I cock an eyebrow. Such venom for a man he shouldn’t know.
He wraps his hands around the railing and stares out over the small lawn.
Sensing movement behind me, I turn my head slightly to see Walker standing in
the open doorway. I flick my wrist, attempting to wave him off. He steps back
into the shadows.

“I’m investigating, remember?” I ask Beaumont.

He glares at me and I shiver at the odd glint in his eyes. A
little bit of digging has disclosed interesting things about Carlos Beaumont.
He has a long unstable and criminal past. And Birmingham is not his territory.
He has an older brother that runs things locally. Why is he really here?

“Graham is dangerous. You should keep that in mind, Miss
Monroe.”

I almost smile. Amazing how many people keep trying to warn
me away from Walker. It makes me even more determined to prove his innocence.
In Hugo’s murder, at least. It is pretty obvious he isn’t innocent of much
else. I don’t let any of those thoughts show, however.

“I can take care of myself, Mr. Beaumont. You hired me to do
a job. It’ll get it done.”

“We’ll see,” he mutters and walks to the end of the deck
that disappears around the side of the building.

When he is gone from view I turn back to the door and find
Walker waiting for me. He holds out one hand and I step forward. Hesitant.
Halting. He says nothing, but there is no denying the fury in his stare. My
fingers touch his and his grip immediately tightens, pulling me close to the
shelter of his body.

“Let’s go.”

I frown. “I’m sure there are people we should talk to here,
Walker.”

“Not now.”

He strides forward, pulling me behind him through the room.
I see him nod at Janine and near the door at
Roddy
.
He is silent and tense. I figure I’ll save the argument for a bit more privacy.
I don’t get the chance any time soon. He insists on dinner before we return to
the hotel room, but it is a quiet, strained affair. I pick at a pasta dish.
Breathe a sigh of relief when he pays the bill and we leave.

We return to our hotel room and I move away. Nervous.
Skittish. He hasn’t said a word in over an hour and the look he gives me is
filled was such anger I can’t control the involuntary flinch as he steps
forward. He freezes.

“We’ve been through this before, baby. I would never hurt
you.” He shakes his head. “Which doesn’t mean I don’t plan to punish you.”

I gasp. The nerve. And why do those words not fill me with
fear? Adrenalin? No. I carefully catalogue my body’s responses. My nipples are
hard. My pussy wet. It worries me. I should be outraged at his suggestion, not
turned on.

He moves again, this time stalking me. I retreat softly,
carefully, and gulp back a sob when the backs of my knees hit the bed. His eyes
are no longer angry. They’re hot. Carnal. Promising a thousand delights and
just as many torments.

I stand still, rooted to the spot as he quickly strips me of
my clothes. He drops my gun on the bedside table and reaches for the buckle on
his belt. It comes off in a long smooth slide and he nudges me down,
positioning me in the center of the bed.

Chapter Fifteen

Walker

The rules are simple enough, aren’t they? And for her own
protection. So why does she insist on defying me? I wasn’t joking when I said
I’ll leave her tied up if necessary. I stand next to the bed and look down at
her. Naked, with her arms pillowing her head and her legs slightly parted, she
is every fantasy I’ve ever had and she seems determined to get herself killed.
Well, not on my watch.

She arches one perfect eyebrow when I reach for her hands,
stretch her arms above her head and loop the belt around them and then through
the slats of the headboard, but she doesn’t utter a protest. Her first smart
move of the day. I don’t have any mercy and not much restraint in me right now.

I almost wish she’d object. I want to show her just how
demanding and unreasonable and territorial I can be, but realize that might be
a bad idea. Might only push her farther away. I’m probably going to do it
anyway. That switch I developed in the last few years, the civilized one, went
MIA when she was shot. When she disobeyed me today, I almost lost it. I just
want to take care of her, protect her. She’s mine. I feel that with every fiber
of my being and I am damned well going to show her if it is the last thing I
do.

I watch her while I remove my jacket and tie, as I reach for
the buttons on my shirt and quickly pop them free. I hold her gaze, see with
satisfaction her eyes widen with heat and interest as I drop it to the floor
before turning to the dresser where my bag is.

I dig through a side pocket until I find the lubricant. I
have no idea why I packed it, but I’m glad I did. I know she’s had anal sex,
had done it me all those years ago during that weekend fling, but how does she
feel about now? I try not to care, but it’s important. To me at least, it is
the ultimate show of trust, of surrender.

I return to the bed and her eyes narrow a little as I place
the tube on the nightstand but she doesn’t comment. Good. I’d be tempted to gag
her if she did. I am still so angry and it is past time she learns she can
trust me.

“Do you remember that weekend at the beach?” I unbutton my
slacks.

“How could I forget?” she answers, eyes lingering on me as I
shove my pants and underwear off.

“Do you, Grace? Do you really remember?” Does she dream of
it like I do? Replay every moment of perfection the way I do? I lean over,
hands braced on either side of her torso, and suck one of her nipples between
my teeth. She moans, thrusting her chest up and I release it with a slow lick.
“You trusted me then. With your body at least.”

“I still do.”

She is such a beautiful liar. I move so that I can whisper
in her ear. “No, you don’t. But you will, Grace. Bet on it.”

And I set about showing her what she means to me, how
consuming my need for her is. How she can,
will
, submit to me. Because
she is the love of my life. Because I worship her. Because I can’t breathe
without her. Can’t function, can’t exist.

I know exactly how to bring her right to the brink of orgasm
and hold her there, refusing to let her come until I’m ready, and I set about
doing just that. I start with her lips. Kissing, licking, biting as I work my
way down.

Then I drop light kisses on her eyelids, her nose, her chin.
Avoiding her tempting mouth, I move to her neck, to that sensitive skin under
her ear and bite, sucking it between my teeth before moving on. Her pulse
hammers as I swirl my tongue over it. I smile against it and continue moving
slowly, languidly down her body.

I trace my tongue over her collarbone, draw a slow wet line
down the center of her chest. Linger over her breasts. I suck. Nibble. Revel in
her sounds of pleasure before moving on. I swirl my tongue over her navel, drop
short kisses over her abdomen as I continue on. By the time I spread her pussy
lips, she is panting. When I flick her clitoris with my finger, she whimpers
and when I suck it between my teeth biting down just a little she cries out. My
name on her lips, the desperate edge to her voice, echoes inside me. I don’t
want it to ever stop.

I replace my finger with my tongue, building a slow steady
rhythm. Enough to keep her on edge, but not enough to push her over. I want her
to come screaming, but not yet. Not until I’m inside her and we can go
together. I reach for the lube on the table and flip the top open. Squirting a
bit onto the tip of one finger I explore her ass, rubbing the cool liquid
around the opening before pushing the digit inside. She keens, bucking against
my hand and driving it in further. I increase the pressure on her clit as I add
a second finger. I have a flash of memory, of another place, another hotel
room, and what it feels like to be buried, to move, in that tight place. It
almost undoes me.

Shaking, I pull away and sit up, reach for the lube and
apply it liberally to my cock while holding her gaze. She doesn’t say a word,
but there is no fear in her expression. Only lust. Understanding. As if she
knows we both need this show of faith.

Grace

I am relieved when he reaches up and loosens the belt. My
arms are beginning to ache despite the pleasure I’m feeling. I work my wrists
free, but I don’t get the chance to touch him. Instead he takes my hands and
puts them on my knees, pushing them back and leaving me wide open and exposed.
Vulnerable. When he removes his hands, I don’t let my legs fall and he smiles
his approval.

“You can take direction, after all.” He holds his cock in
his hand and moves between my legs.

My voice flees. I jerk my head once as I feel him push at my
ass.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers as he starts to push in.

I groan, not sure if it is pleasure or pain I’m feeling. He
pushes farther, inch by inch, and I press my lips together, try to force my
body to relax. I remember the last time I had sex like this. Years ago. It was
with Walker. I only trust Walker like this. I recall how at first it hurt, but
the pain gave way to incredible pleasure, to an explosive orgasm. My body
relaxes at the memory and he slides inside my ass, grunts at the easier access.
As he does, he reaches a hand between us and rubs my clit softly, slowly.
Groaning, I let my knees fall and buck against him.

It seems to be the signal he is waiting for and he begins to
move. A long slow slide out, then an easy thrust back in. It is the most
exquisite torture I’ve ever experienced. Ten times more intense than the last
time. My ass is so full. My clit too sensitive. I feel the orgasm rising in me,
but want to wait. Want to drag it out. I know as his pace increases it will be
impossible to do so. I scream as I come, my entire body seizes up with the
pleasure. He comes right after me, his head thrown back, the muscles in his
neck corded and tense, with a cry that is more a loud groan.

After a few minutes, he moves. Standing up, he leans over
and scoops me up then carries me to the shower where finally he kisses me. A
sweet gentle kiss I wasn’t even aware I’m missing until his lips touch mine.

Grace

I wake up a few hours later, no longer tied down but still
wrapped in Walker’s arms. My stomach grumbles and I slide out from under his
arm careful to not wake him. I scoot off the end of the bed and look for my
bag. I saw a twenty-four convenience store across the street when we arrived
and I want something to eat. I pull shorts and a t-shirt out of my luggage,
slide on some flip-flops, grab the keycard and slip outside.
Roddy
is outside the door.

“Where do you think you’re going,
Miz
Grace?”

I roll my eyes. Another keeper. Just what I need.

“I want a snack.”

I don’t wait for a response, just step around him and go on
my way. He follows, but doesn’t bother me. Chimes jingle over the door as I
walk in and I pause long enough to scope the place out. Empty and therefore no
threat. Certainly not with the hulking biker behind me. The clerk gives us both
a bored look.

I head for the coffee area and look at the various machines.
I find the one I want, get a cup and go to the junk aisle. Nothing like a late
night cappuccino and some chocolate to revive a girl.

After paying, I return to my room and fire up my laptop. An
hour later I slam the lid down. There is nothing new in the papers. Frustration
makes me pace but it isn’t very rewarding in the small space. Too bad I can’t
go for a run. Nothing like pounding your problems out on pavement. Finally I
lie down, on top of the covers and roll to my side to watch Walker. What am I
going to do about him? It is my last thought before I nod off to sleep.