Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (21 page)

He thought she needed help, and she might, just not the type Wayne envisioned. She turned her head away from the window and glanced at her husband’s slim but strong arms. No. She didn’t need a head doctor examining her thoughts.

She needed help hiding the next body.

A fat raindrop hit the windshield. Followed by another, then another until the sky opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour. As Wayne put the windshield wipers on high, she glanced out the back window. Nothing but clear blue skies.

“This looks to be a bad storm. Maybe we should stop at the next town and ride it out,” she suggested.

“No way.” He exited onto another road. “Grab the GPS from the glove box. We’re gonna go around it. I want to be as far away from Montour as possible. Which is exactly where the storm is heading.”

She considered pointing out that, once again, this was God’s way of intervening. He was sending the storm west, bathing the land with his goodness and covering their tracks. For the moment, though, Wayne had fallen away from God. He’d come back around. After all, how could he not see the joy and beauty of the Lord when he looked into the eyes of a child? And she
would
give him a child. Very soon they’d be a family again and their lives would be complete.

Yes. Once they reached Chicago and settled themselves into an apartment, she’d begin her hunt. Beneath the tall skyscrapers and bright city lights was a woman who didn’t deserve the child she carried. And with God on her side, she’d find that woman. She’d find her and take what belonged to her.

Her unborn baby.

Chapter 8

RAIN POURED FROM the sky. The wind blew in strong gusts, ripping the small purple flowers from the Pagoda Dogwood trees lining the front of the Lamoni police station. The flowers stuck to the black asphalt and the police cruisers, while small tree branches caught on the wind and tumbled across the parking lot.

Jessica moved away from the double wide glass doors when a big, burly uniformed officer rushed into the building. The man blew out a deep breath and brushed the rain droplets from his shoulders. “It’s starting to get nasty out there,” he said, plucking a flower from his shirt.

She turned to Dante, who was still talking to Phil. “We better go before the storm gets any worse.”

“Where are you folks heading?” the officer asked.

“Hey, Steve,” Phil greeted the officer. “This is Agent Dante Russo from CORE and Chicago Detective Jessica Donavan. They’re the folks helping us with Elton.”

Steve gave her an appreciative smile. “Thanks for coming here. What happened to that boy—it just ain’t right.”

“Steve was the first officer on the scene the night Elton was found. By the time I got there, Elton had taught him all the words to Thomas the Train’s theme song.”

The big man chuckled. “Don’t remind me. It took nearly twenty-four hours before I could get that song out of my head.”

“Welcome to my world,” Phil said with a grin. “Do you know how many times in the day I catch myself singing Dora the Explorer?”

Unfortunately, Jessica had been deprived of Phil’s world and would never know. Anxiety over the storm forced her to push the never-ending sadness over what she’d lost to the back of her mind. With every second they stood in the foyer of the police station, the storm grew stronger.

“So did you folks meet Elton?” Steve asked.

“We did,” Dante answered. “He’s a great kid and I definitely think coming out to see him could be beneficial for the investigation.”

“Really? How so?”

Oh, geez. Did Dante not realize they needed to leave? The man acted as if they didn’t have a six-hour drive home or that, within the next hour, they were going to start seeing animals, rushing two by two to an ark.

“Not to be rude,” she said before Dante wasted more time. “But we need to head back to Chicago. I’m sure Phil can tell you everything we’ve learned.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving now?” He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

“No, it’s not,” another officer said from the reception desk. “I just heard a tornado touched down in Cedar Rapids about an hour ago and is heading west. We’re catching the front of it. If you’re heading to Chicago, you’ll be driving right into its path.”

Damn it.

“Do you guys get a lot of tornadoes in Lamoni?” she asked, hoping that the storm might change directions.

“We haven’t had one in about four years,” Phil responded, and thumbed toward the officer at the desk. “But Bob’s the wannabe meteorologist. He could give you the stats.”

“Hey, it’s good to keep an eye on the sky,” Bob said, then looked to his computer screen. “According to the radar, it doesn’t look like we’ll get much more than the storm we’re having now. But if you drive to Chicago, you’ll be taking a risk.”

Dante shrugged. “It’s already almost three-thirty. Let’s just get the rooms Phil mentioned earlier and wait it out. We can leave first thing in the morning.”

Great. So her choices now boiled down to risking being blown away by a tornado or the temptation of hotel sex. Then again, Dante did say rooms. She’d just make sure they were on the opposite ends of the hotel.

“Okay,” she said, her practical side winning. “Phil, do you mind reserving those rooms for us? No worries about you guys picking up the tab.”

“Not a problem.” He pulled his cell phone off his belt clip and stepped away from the foyer.

While Phil took care of their rooms, Bob continued to educate them about Lamoni’s past tornadoes and weather patterns. By the time Phil had finished the call, they’d just finished hearing about the EF-4 that had killed three and injured six, ten years ago.

“Sorry,” Phil said, returning the phone to his belt clip. “There was only one room available.”

“You’re kidding.” Jessica didn’t dare look at Dante. She didn’t want to see the smugness or promises in his eyes. If they were back home and she was tempted to cave into her sexual needs, she could easily hop in her car and drive away, or if they were at her apartment, she could kick him out the door. But she was stuck in Lamoni, Iowa, with a storm outside and the threat of a tornado preventing them from leaving.

Phil held up a hand. “Since I assume Dante’s wife wouldn’t be keen on the idea of you two sharing a room, I figure one of you could stay at the Super 8, while the other could use the guest room at my house.”

She made the mistake of finally looking at Dante. And there it was, the smugness, the promise that she might not sleep much tonight. Damn if her body didn’t come alive at the thought of him stripping her naked and tossing her on the bed. Spreading her thighs and—

“Since Jessica
is
my wife, that won’t be necessary.”

Phil’s cheeks grew beet red. “I…ah…sorry.” He puffed his cheeks and let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s times like these I wish Carrie was around. She could help me pull the foot out of my mouth.”

Jessica considered wiping the self-assured look off of Dante’s face by telling Phil that they’d been heading for divorce for over three years, but thought better of it. She really liked the detective and didn’t want to add to his embarrassment. And if she did tell Phil that she’d prefer it if Dante stayed in his guest room, that would only make her look like a bitch.

“You didn’t put your foot in your mouth,” she said. “Thanks for reserving the room for us.”

Phil’s face returned to its normal shade. “You’re welcome. Since you’re stuck here, you’re more than welcome to come for dinner, or there’s a nice steak house attached to the hotel.”

“They have a band on Saturday nights,” Steve offered. “Although with the weather, they might cancel the show.”

“I think we’ve already imposed too much.” Dante took her by the elbow. “We’ll head on out and check into our room. Neither of us brought a bag with us, is there a drug store nearby?”

Phil nodded. “On the way to the hotel. If you change your mind about dinner, just give me a holler.”

After thanking him and saying goodbye to Bob and Steve, Dante opened the umbrella Phil had loaned them, then opened the door. Rain and wind pelted the umbrella, but Dante wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close and keeping them both as dry as possible. When they reached his car, she hopped over a puddle and quickly slid inside. After Dante closed her car door, he rushed around the back end, opened the driver’s side door and plopped onto the leather seat.

“Damn it,” he swore, and tossed the drenched umbrella onto the floor in the back. “Can you hand me the napkins in the glove box?”

She passed them over to him and rolled her eyes as he dried off the interior of his door. Dante had always been car crazy, but for whatever reason, the man had become fanatical about his bitchin’ Camaro. The last car he’d treated like a trophy had been the cherry red 1988 IROC-Z Camaro he’d been driving when she’d first met him. The car had been flashy and fast, and he’d looked so damned hot and badass behind the wheel of it. She used to love it when he removed the T-top and took her for a drive. Back then, they’d coast along Chicago’s Outer Drive, pull off at the beach and have serious make-out sessions.

But those days were long gone, never to be recaptured. Which was just as well. She wasn’t a smitten nineteen-year-old, who loved love, who fantasized about a big princess-like wedding celebrated in a majestic ballroom, about carrying Dante’s babies and raising them in a grand home in Hyde Park. Out of all of those fantasies, only one had come true. Because her parents couldn’t afford it, and neither could Dante’s, they hadn’t had a majestic wedding. She hadn’t cared. Her dress had been beautiful and the old gals at the VFW had helped throw them one hell of a great party. And Dante…he’d looked so handsome in his rented tux.

She caught her wistful smile in the passenger side mirror, only the raindrops trickling down gave the illusion that she was crying. As she stared at her image, her chest filled with a sense of unease. The woman in the mirror looked so much older, harder and too damned cynical to be the dreamy-eyed girl from her memories. She looked away from her reflection, just as Dante started the car.

He turned on the wipers, then the defrost. Taking the napkins he’d been using to dry the door, he wiped the fog from the window. “I can remember having to do this many times when you’d been in my car.”

“Drying the door?”

“Smart ass.” He grinned, then dropped the wad of napkins in the center console. “Wiping the steam from the windows after we were finished fooling around on my back seat.”

She looked to the mirror again. What did he see in her? Why had he continued to hang onto their marriage? She didn’t want to be that young girl again, but she also didn’t care for the way she looked now. The years of anguish and resentment, of sleepless nights had created premature wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, and made her frown line prominent. “Yeah, those were the days,” she said on a sigh. “Can we just go? If this storm is going to get worse before it gets better, I want to stop at the store before we check in to our room.”

“Look, if you’re mad about the room, I’ll take Phil up on his offer.”

“And explain what? That your soon to be ex-wife is a bitch who can’t handle being around you?”

“Well, that clears everything up for me. Maybe a little harsh, but at least now I know how you feel about me.”

“Oh, geez,” she mumbled on a sigh. “Here we go again.”

“What does that mean?”

She made a loop in the air with her finger. “You just have to keep circling it back to you. Why don’t you take a second and think about what I said.”

“My soon to be ex-wife can’t stand being around me,” he repeated—incorrectly.

“You have an issue with selective hearing. Because it’s always about you and how you feel, you took what I said and misinterpreted it—manipulated it, really—to suit you.”

“Trust me. It doesn’t
suit
me to know my wife can’t stand me.”

“But I didn’t say that. What I said was that
I
can’t handle being around you.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He nodded. “Because being around me is so damned miserable.”

“You know what? You’re such a girl.”

“That’s not what my dick says.”

Unable to help herself, she started laughing. “Do you and your dick have many heart to heart conversations?”

“No. He doesn’t talk much. Besides, my hand might get jealous.”

Her cheeks grew hot. He wouldn’t need to use his hand to release himself if she’d been warming his bed, and she wouldn’t need to own a vibrator for the same reason. Then again, she and Dante had had quite a bit of fun experimenting with toys. Wow, the things he used to do to her, the orgasms he would give her, the way he used to—

“I don’t want to talk about your hand or your dick anymore.”

“Okay, then do you want to talk about your pussy and vibrator?”

She gave his arm a light punch. “God, you’re such a pig.”

“I’m sorry. That was crude.” With a grin, he glanced at her. “So, do you want to talk about it or not?”

If her face became any hotter, her wrinkles might melt away. “I don’t want to talk about anything having to do with the subject of masturbation.”

“Sex, then?”

“You’re relentless,” she said with a chuckle. “But, okay. Here’s what I have to say on the subject. We are sharing a room, because we have no choice.”