Wicked Lies (44 page)

So damned male.

As if he read her mind, he grinned, his teeth a slash of white in his beard-darkened jaw.

“Important call?” she asked, the back of her throat dry as the Sahara.

“Umm. Making sure the follow-up story on the bandits made it in.”

“And . . . ?”

“We’re golden.” He slid the cell into his pocket. “And why are you up at the crack?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

He cocked a dark brow. “I could make coffee . . . or . . .” His eyes glittered in the half-light.

“Or?”

To her surprise, he slid his arms around her waist, the T-shirt bunching, and he rested his forehead against hers. “Well . . . it’s still early. We could go back to bed.”

“Back to the couch and the floor,” she reminded him, and he snorted a little laugh, his breath warm against her face.

“Not the best situation.” The tip of his nose touched hers.

“And then there’s Didi and Kirsten,” she said a bit breathlessly. “They’ll be getting up soon.”

“I can be incredibly quick.”

She smiled. “That’s just what a woman wants to hear.”

“Foreplay is so overrated,” he said but chuckled deep in his throat, and his hands slid up her bare arms, silently telling her he was kidding, that their lovemaking could last for hours.

Her blood was running hot.

And then he really kissed her, gathered her closer still and pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and supple, promised sensual pleasures that made her head spin with images of wet skin, and hot desire. She thought of where he would touch her and how she would return the favor.

Closing her eyes, she let herself go and leaned closer, felt the length of his body against hers, the heat from his torso permeating the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

Don’t do this,
her mind warned.
This is dangerous, Laura. You know that you’re already treading in emotional and perilous waters.

But she couldn’t stop and let herself get lost in the feel of him. His male scent filled her nostrils. One hand twined in her hair; the other pulled her tight to him.

She responded, opening her mouth, feeling his tongue slide deftly between her lips. Her breasts tightened, her nipples stiffening, desire pulsing deep inside.

“Lorelei,” he whispered, and she groaned softly, felt her knees weakening.

Before she could say a word, he’d scooped her up and carried her through the open door.

“Mommy?”

Didi’s voice was like a splash of cold water.

Harrison froze.

Laura scrambled onto her feet, straightened her T-shirt, and turned to the kitchen, where she grabbed the coffeepot and switched on the water just as the sound of tiny feet hit the floor.

Three seconds later Didi appeared, dragging her blanket. Chico was on her heels. He glanced up at Harrison, then made a funny, snarling face before streaking outside.

“Hey, kiddo,” Harrison said and scooped her into his arms. “Got a kiss for your favorite uncle?”

“No!” she said, scowling at him, but he blew a horse kiss on her arm, and she began to giggle, her bad mood disappearing.

“What gives?” Kirsten stumbled out of her bedroom and glanced at the kitchen clock. “It’s only six,” she groaned.

Harrison said, “I thought people who worked in a bakery were up at two in the morning.”

“Old school,” she mumbled, yawning and stretching one arm over her head. “Coffee on?”

“Just about.” Laura, sensing that her cheeks were hot, turned toward the cupboards and poured the carafe of water into the coffeemaker. Kirsten was already digging in a cupboard near the stove. She came up with a filter, lined the basket, then found beans and measured some into a grinder on the counter. With a press of a button the grinder shrieked into action. She poured the ground beans into the coffee machine, hit a button, and in less than a minute coffee began to drizzle into the glass pot.

“Now we’re cooking,” she said, then plucked her daughter from Harrison’s arms. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room as Chico returned and Kirsten closed the door behind him. “So what about you?” she said to her daughter. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” Didi said brightly.

“Big surprise. Get dressed and I’ll make a batch.” She glanced at her brother, then swung her gaze to Laura. “For all of us.”

Didi was off like a shot, and with a nostalgic smile twisting her lips, Kirsten said, “Oh, to have her energy,” slanting Harrison a knowing look. “And your damned passion.”

Laura flushed, but Kirsten waved off any protests and warned her, “Just be careful.” She found three cups in the cupboard and set them on the counter, near the slowly filling carafe. “My brother is a helluva guy who has this problem thinking he has to protect everyone close to him.”

“That’s a problem?” Harrison said.

“That you don’t know it, that’s a problem,” Kirsten said.

Savvy Dunbar drove past the motel that Madeline Turnbull had called home before Justice’s vicious attack on her that had sent her to the nursing home. The place was a shambles, individual cabins falling in on themselves, porches sagging, the fence barely existent on this cliff overlooking the sea. The land had to be worth a fortune; the dilapidated buildings were not worth a plug nickel.

She pulled into the once-gravel drive. Now weeds and beach grass choked the rutted lanes, and her squad car bounced and jostled through the potholes. No other police cruisers were nearby; there was only so much surveillance possible on the department’s limited budget. Twenty-four/ seven just wasn’t in the cards.

After checking the grounds and peering into the few windows that weren’t boarded over, she drove along the highway to a turnout where she could spy the lighthouse where Justice had squatted before his incarceration. It had been abandoned for years, aside from harboring the killer a few years back. Now, from the shore, it appeared empty again, a lonely, graying tower on a rocky island in a white-capped sea, a solitary reminder of an earlier era that brought up thoughts of clipper ships and wrecks upon the rocky shoals.

“Where are you, you miserable son of a bitch?” she said as the wind, fresh with the scent of the ocean, caught her hair and slapped at her face.

She was tired, as was everyone working for the TCSD these days. With their increased workload, the officers were running on empty.

And still Justice Turnbull ran free.

Somehow, someway, she and the department had to catch him.

Before he started killing again.

The sun was climbing high overhead when Laura finally stood at the gate of Siren Song. Her heart was pounding, her nerves stretched tight. Harrison was leaning against his car, eyeing the grounds beyond the wrought-iron barrier.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked and she forced a smile.

“I’m not sure about anything,” she admitted.
I wasn’t even sure about spending last night at your sister’s house, with you staring at me from the floor . . . and then that kiss . . .

She cleared her throat, dragged her gaze from his. “But this is where it all started,” she explained. She’d decided she couldn’t let Justice rule her life. For most of the past week, she’d been dodging him, fearing him, calling him, then running away.

No longer.

She couldn’t stand being terrorized, and it wasn’t fair to everyone inside these gates. After breakfast, she’d asked Harrison to drive her here. He hadn’t argued, only insisted that they stop and assess the damage to her house before they drove to Siren Song.

Neither of them had mentioned their kiss and what might have happened if Didi hadn’t come bouncing in from the bedroom. Laura figured it was just as well. She wasn’t going to pretend the kiss and her response to Harrison hadn’t happened; she just didn’t want to think about it too much.

For now.

At her little cottage, he’d come up with the name of a glass company that would drop by later to replace the shattered window. He figured he could replace the lock on the door himself. Laura had left a message for her landlord on his voice mail; then they’d driven the remaining miles to the lodge, and now she stood on the outside of the gate, wondering what answers lay on the other.

“I guess it’s now or never,” she said.

Since there was no bell to call the inhabitants, she wrapped her fingers around the thick wrought-iron bars and jangled the gate and chain, while calling, “Catherine! Catherine!”

Before the words were out of her mouth, Isadora appeared at the front door. Long skirts rustling, she racewalked across the porch and quickly along the stone path to the gate. “Lorelei,” she whispered, clearly distraught as she unlocked the chain and yanked hard on the bars. With a groan the gate opened, and she flung herself into Laura’s surprised arms. “We heard what happened,” Isadora said, her throat obviously thick. “I was so worried . . . so . . . oh, dear God.” She was shaking under the canopy of trees, light from a pale sun piercing the leaves to dapple the ground.

The ground was still damp, smelled of earth and water, and the scent of the sea wafted through the old growth that surrounded the lodge.

“I’m fine,” Laura said. “Really, Isadora, don’t worry.”

“I can’t help it. He’s a madman!” As if realizing they weren’t alone, Isadora looked over Laura’s shoulder to spy Harrison standing near his car. “Oh . . . sorry.”

“Harrison’s trying to help.”

Isadora shook her head. “No one can.” Her suspicious gaze cut to Harrison as he walked forward and extended his hand to her. “Harrison Frost.”

Isadora reluctantly took his fingers in her own. “You’re the reporter.”

“Yes.”

“But more than that,” Isadora said aloud as she let her hand drop and her pale eyebrows slammed together thoughtfully. “He’s the one Cassandra talked about. The truth seek . . . ?” she started to ask before seeing the warning glance in Laura’s eyes and let her voice fade. Isadora had been in the room when Cassandra had made the prediction. She’d also heard about the pregnancy, and Laura fervently willed her sister to be quiet.

“I need to see Catherine,” Laura insisted and was vaguely aware of the sound of tires crunching on the sparse gravel of the lane, the sound of a smooth engine.

Isadora looked up and cried, “Justice . . . !”

Harrison and Laura both stiffened, staring down the drive.

“Come inside,” Isadora instructed. “Hurry!” To Harrison, “You, too!” She was already stepping through the open gate, intent on slamming it shut, when the nose of a Jeep appeared through the trees and Laura saw a tall man behind the wheel, a man with dark hair and a grim expression, the shadow of a beard darkening his strong jaw.

Not Justice.

A woman sat in the passenger seat. She, too, appeared worried, and before the Jeep slammed to a stop and she climbed out, Laura knew who she was. This woman was related to her, her sister. Fascinated, she noted the newcomer’s large hazel eyes. Streaked blond hair. Firm, pointed chin. And that certain, indefinable resemblance in her carriage.

The gate was creaking shut when Isadora suddenly stopped the motion. “Becca?” Isadora whispered, her eyes rounding as Catherine walked from the open door onto the porch.

“Isadora?” Catherine called out to them.

“Who’s Becca?” Harrison asked.

“One of my sisters,” Laura said as the man behind the wheel climbed out and rounded the Jeep. She’d never met Becca before, but she knew she was her sister. She’d read about Becca Sutcliff and Hudson Walker a couple of years earlier, during Justice’s last bloody rampage.

Becca, who had been adopted away from Siren Song before Catherine had closed the gates forever, had never lived at the Colony, nor had Catherine ever spoken of her, but the sisters had whispered between themselves about those who had grown up on “the outside.” Even though Becca had been adopted, Justice had discovered her and she’d been the object of his deadly rage once already.

Now, as sunlight pierced the towering fir trees, Becca lifted a hand and flashed an uneasy smile, her hazel eyes worried. The man with her, presumably Hudson Walker, opened the back door of the Jeep, and Becca reached inside only to retrieve a curly-headed girl of about two who had been strapped into her car seat.

He smells them when they’re pregnant.

Justice’s terrifying claim sizzled through Laura’s head, and she felt a new, chilling fear. Had Becca been pregnant with this little dark-haired girl when Justice had been tracking her down? Was that why she’d been his primary target?

Laura’s blood turned to ice as she looked at the toddler. Pale. Wan. Listless. Oh, God . . .

Becca gathered the child in her arms, but her gaze found Laura’s and she stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re Lorelei,” she guessed. “You’re the one he’s after.”

“You know?”

She hesitated, seemed to want to lie, then finally nodded. “I have visions,” she admitted carefully. “I saw him chasing you . . . Lorelei. . . .”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harrison asked her.

“We all have ‘gifts,’ ” Becca said. “Didn’t Lorelei tell you?”

“Well . . . yeah, but . . .” He looked nonplussed.

“She’s not the only one.” Becca was walking forward again.

“Isadora!” Catherine yelled. Spying the group gathered at the gate, her back stiffened and her face lost all color. “Oh, Lord!” Holding her skirts high, she stepped off the porch and marched purposely toward them, her linen-colored dress rustling, her hair pulled back in a silver knot pinned at her nape. “What is this?” Anxiety twisted her features.

Laura sneaked a peek at the house and saw the faces of her sisters in the window—Ravinia and Cassandra. Lillibeth had wheeled her chair onto the porch, her face turned toward the gate.

A prisoner.

Of the chair.

Of Siren Song.

Of fate.

Catherine came blistering through the gate. “What’re you doing here?” she demanded, her face a mask of concern as she glared at Becca. “Don’t you know he’s loose again? Haven’t I warned you that you can’t come here? That it’s not safe?”

“We couldn’t wait.” Holding her daughter protectively, she glared at Catherine.