Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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“I swear to God, if I were in one of those paranormal books you’re obsessed with, he’d be a vampire looking at me like I was his future mate,” I tell Alison, my sister-in-law.

She frowns, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Don’t be ridiculous. If he’s Italian, then that’s how they look at everyone. You should know that. You’re damn terrifying when you’re tearing the crap outta someone.”

“Oh, please.” I sigh and sip my glass of wine. “I’m not that bad.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Next time you lay into someone, I’m gonna video it.”

“You do that.” I dismiss it with a wave of my hand. “He just made me real uncomfortable. You know that feeling when you wake up in the middle of the night and any number of crazed serial killers could jump out at you from the darkness as you get a glass of water in your panties? My skin crawled.”

“That’s called paranoia.”

“Are you a triage nurse or a psychiatric one?”

“Triage,” she responds without missing a beat. “But I don’t need to be a psychiatric one to know you’re a little crazy over this.”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it go. Maybe I am. But I’ve been freaked out ever since I met him yesterday.

“I think it’s his eyes. They were so black that it felt like he was looking into my soul.”

Alison tilts her glass in my direction. “And if he could, he’d be at home, because all he’d see is black, with a side of cupcake.”

I purse my lips. Oh how I wish I could argue with that.

“Come on. Do you really think Drake would have taken you to meet him if he didn’t trust him?”

“Maybe Drake is the vampire leader and he’s been luring me to my death.”

“Yeah, that theory would only work if, one, vampires existed and, two, he’d been thirty-one since you met twenty-five years ago.”

“That makes me feel old. And not at all better.”

“You’re twenty-eight. Hardly knocking on the nursing home’s door,” she snorts. “Neither of us is. You’re just skeptical of people. That’s all. I keep telling you that you need to find more lost kitties than excitable genitals.”

“Lost kitties are rarely lost. They’re usually stuck up trees. Therefore, they have something in common with excitable genitals. At least half are guaranteed to be up something they shouldn’t be.” I dip my fry into some ketchup.

“Kind of like you with Trent and Drake’s investigations.” Her grin is mischievous.

“Exactly like that.” I return the expression.

At least I can admit to being a pain in the ass. Ever tried to get a six-month-old kitten or a wayward penis to admit that?

Well, I guess it depends on the penis. They can be literal pains in the ass if they find the right woman. Or man. Or even animal, if you’re lucky enough to find the odd documentaries in the deep, dark corners of the TV subscription services of the world.

How I went from How I Met Your Mother to How I Met My Horse! I have no idea. What I do know is that, in the future, I’ll pay more attention to my search items before I click.

“I’m sure Alex is a perfectly nice man,” Alison reasons.

“If you’re the devil.”

“You mean you’re not?”

“Only on Saturdays.” I smile into my wine glass and finish the last of it.

Alison signals for the check, and when it arrives, we both throw down enough cash to cover the cost of our lunch and leave the bar in downtown Austin.

Lunch is a rare occurrence these days, mostly because Trent gets mad that she drives after one small glass of wine and a huge burger. And because Nonna tries to scope us out and join us. We agreed that, since Gio’s arrival, the prospect of her finding us with the parrot in tow is terrifying.

I still haven’t gotten over my dream.

We agree to catch up again tonight at the official opening of the fair, but I’m guessing she’s only going to see if I’ll introduce her to Alex. I can safely say that I’ll be going nowhere near his stall, because I’d like to keep the heebie-jeebies in the heebie-jeebie box tonight, thank you very damn much.

I detour to Gigi’s before I head back to Holly Woods, a box of six cupcakes on my passenger’s seat. I really am trying to cut my sugar intake. Before nine a.m.

At least I’m trying.

I just can’t help but think that a world without cupcakes would be a very boring world indeed.

Back at the office, Bek makes off with the second cookie dough cupcake with nothing but a smile and a wink. It’s a good thing I bought it for her, lest the sneaky little shit attempt to steal mine.

The afternoon passes in a blur. Next thing I know, it’s six p.m. and I’m supposed to be arriving down at the fair. My tummy is rumbling so loudly that, if I didn’t feel the distinct hunger pangs of my stomach attempting to digest itself, I’d wonder if there was a storm approaching.

Alas, it’s sunny and humid, and the temperature, even now, is as if it’s preparing for Satan’s arrival.

I’m the last person in the office, so I lock the main door behind me, new case files in hand, and cross the empty parking lot to my car. I can hear the hum of the fair from here, and I’m glad I missed the opening ceremony. Mayor McDougall would be all righteous and proud of the town to make a good impression on the media, but he won’t stay longer than an hour. With any luck, I’ve missed his pompous meander around the fields, too.

A third field has been earmarked for parking, but I choose to park down the street. I change from my heels to the flats I packed in my purse and shove fifty dollars inside my bra. My stomach growls as I get out, and the scent of hot dogs, burgers, and fries attacks my senses.

Oh, God. It smells so good, especially when Alonso’s pizza breaks through.

Oh… Pizza.

I adjust the holster on my thigh as discreetly as possible. Which, in a floral summer dress, isn’t all that easy. Still, I learned my lesson about this fair when I was seventeen and almost attacked, along with Bek. For all the good things about Holly Woods’ Summer Fair, the amount of extra people it brings makes it the most dangerous part of our year.

Given how dangerous this year has already been, this makes me nervous.

Very nervous.

I wonder if this is why I don’t like Alex. His cold, aloof manner combined with his intense stare would throw anyone off, let alone someone in my field of expertise.

I take a deep breath and push it to the back of my mind. I’m sure he’s harmless and, like Alison said, it’s just me being skeptical.

I wander by a hot dog stand and text Drake. Where are you?

He doesn’t reply for a few minutes. At the gate between the fields.

I tuck my phone into my bra, the opposite side of my cash, and order two hot dogs. It takes a couple of minutes to get across the fair, and I have to lick ketchup off my hand more than once thanks to waving at people I know and forgetting about the sticky, red sauce.

When I get close to the gate, I find Drake immediately. He’s leaning against the wall, wearing the same outfit as yesterday, but probably different items of clothing. I’d bet the man has more white shirts than I do shoes, and I am determined to count them one day. I approach him and hold out the hot dog topped with mustard, ketchup, and onions.

I swear he groans in pleasure.

“Have I told you that you’re my favorite person ever?” he asks gruffly, taking the hot dog from me and biting into it with less manners than a two-year-old and a bag of candy.

“No, but I’m assuming you’re saying it under the influence of hunger, so don’t worry. I never heard it.”

He grins, licking some mustard off his thumb. Ugh, I hate that stuff.

“I guess I can’t ask you to go to Rosie’s after this.”

I raise my eyebrows as I chew. “Her stall is on the other side. You’ll be lucky.”

He finishes his food on his third bite. Then he wipes his mouth with a napkin and holds it out to me.

I look down at it, half of my hot dog still in my hand. “What do you expect me to do with your drool-covered napkin?”

“Get rid of it?”

“Where, exactly?”

“Oh. You don’t have your purse.” He sighs. “Wait. How did you get this and text me if you don’t have it?”

I pat my boobs and grin, balling my own napkin up after wiping my mouth. I take his, walk the ten steps to a trash can, and throw the paper balls in there. Honestly, I know he’s working, but you’d think his legs were on vacation.

“Hey! You found a trash can.” The sparkle of his eyes shows me he knew that it was there all along.

“Hmmm.” I lean against the wall and look over it at the rides.

It looks bigger this year, and kids are already milling around. The shopping area of the fair will be open from eleven every day when the kids are at school, and then both sections are open from four. I guess you don’t mind taking your kids in this crazy mass of rides and people and excitement if you get a couple of hours to chill around and shop during the day.

I guess that’s why Alison is allowing Aria and Silvio to subject her to this hellhole tonight.

“Is there anything on Toni and Melissa?”

Drake shakes his head, and his lips turn down. “Nothing. Messina called this morning and said he was going to send copies of the tapes to us. We got them an hour ago. We hadn’t found a thing when I left the station.”

I pick at a loose bit of skin around my thumbnail. “That doesn’t seem good. Have y’all considered that she left the airport alone and met someone somewhere else?”

“Until we see her on camera and get our answer, we’re considering everything,” he admits. “And the longer we go without any contact with them…”

I swallow and look down. The longer there’s radio silence from them, the less of a chance they’re alive. It’s already been forty-eight hours for Melissa, and we’re touching a week since Toni disappeared.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you?”

He sighs and looks at me. His eyes are resigned, and I think he’s accepted that they’ll be lucky to find one of the girls soon, let alone both of them. If they’re found at all.

“Nope. We’re doing everything we can—tracking their debit cards, their phones, and we have notices out for Toni’s car. Melissa’s is still at home.”

“Okay.” My phone vibrates, and I pull it out, reading the message from Alison. She just arrived with the kids. “Hey, where’s Trent?” I glance up.

Drake crooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the fair part. I text her back and tell her where he is, and she comes to meet me at the gate.

“Where’s Daddy?” Silvio asks, standing on his tiptoes to look at Drake.

Drake’s lips curl up to one side. “He told me he’s hiding. You gotta go find him.”

Silvio looks over the wall. “Help?” he directs to Drake when he sees how many people are there.

“Don’t tell him I told you, yeah?” Drake bends down and whispers something in Silvio’s ear.

“Ghost train!” my nephew shrieks. “Aria! Take me on it!”

My ten-year-old niece visibly recoils. “Ew, no. Mom,” she says turning to Alison, “Please can I go and meet my friends? He’ll just make me do stuff I don’t want to.”

Alison sways over the thought for a second. “Fine. You have one hour. Check in with your father or uncles in thirty minutes. Do you understand?”

Aria nods excitedly, heading past Drake.

“Make sure your phone on loud!” Alison yells, and Aria waves the device in the air.

“Pretty sure I had a Tamagotchi when I was ten,” I muse.

My sister-in-law sighs heavily. “Me too.”

Silvio pouts. “I wanted the ghost train,” he lisps.

Drake’s amused gaze is hot on me. Dammit, I can never resist that voice. None of the Bonds can, and Silvio, the dear, knows it. So does Drake, which is why he’s looking at me like he wants to laugh.

“All right, all right,” I give in when Silvio’s dark, little gaze hits mine. “I’ll take you.”

He runs into my legs and squeezes me tight. “Oh, Auntie Noelle, you’re the best!”

“Don’t say a word,” I hiss at Drake, pointing at him as Sil takes my hand and drags me past him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Drake responds, his shoulders shaking with his silent laughter.

Bastard. Total bastard.

My eldest brother has an almost identical expression on his face when we find him standing vigil outside the ghost train. Sil is bouncing with excitement, Alison looks grateful I’m being dragged on the damn thing, and I apparently look like I’m ready to go to bed.

Seriously. I don’t know how parents do it. I’ve been with a four-year-old for less than five minutes and I need a nap.

“Have fun,” Trent says, a wry smile on his face.

I flip him the bird.

The ghost train was not fun. Neither were the waltzes, the mini rollercoaster which goes surprisingly fast, or the other ride I don’t know the name of.

The teacups were good. I liked the teacups, mostly because I was the one in control.

What? I don’t like to spin after food.

Thankfully, my best friend turned up and informed me that there is a stall here run by a Mexican couple from Austin, and they happen to be selling frozen margaritas.

Frozen margaritas. Music to my fucking ears.

I find my way back to Drake with Bek by my side as the sun is lowering in the sky. I could go home, but I love this place too much. The smell, that is. Just the smell. Sigh. I keep thinking that, but it really is the best smell ever.

Except for cupcakes. And, right now, this mango margarita.

Drake’s eyes catch mine, and he shakes his head with a smile on his face when he sees us sipping on the frozen cocktails. “How did I know you’d find that stall?”

I hold my finger up and point it at Bek. “She found it.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admits, taking a long drink. She squeezes her eyes shut. “Brain freeze. Fuck it!”

I snort, and a tiny bit of the ice-cold drink makes its way up my nose from inside. “Ouch! Sinus freeze!”

Drake’s still shaking his head, except this time, it looks like pity. Entertained pity, admittedly. Then he freezes. His body goes rigid as he glances over our heads, his eyes scanning the crowd and his lips tightened into a thin line.

Uh-oh. I know that look.

I turn just in time to see Jessica barreling toward us. Yep. Now, I’m definitely glad I have the cocktail.

I bypass the straw and drink from the cup, thankful I passed on the salt. It’s gonna be salty enough with this woman around.

Her eyes are wide and wild, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost. “Drake!” she yells. “Oh my God.”

She arrives in front of him seconds before she passes out.

“Drama queen,” Bek mutters in my ear.

I nod in agreement, eyeing Drake as he hands her limp body to a paramedic. Apparently, they decided that this was a good place for an ambulance, because Jessica is laid down on a gurney and the woman gets to checking her vitals.

Drake glances at me. “Am I really that hot?” His eyes betray his attempt at humor.

“Well, I ain’t droppin’ at your feet any time soon.”

“Good. I hate it when women do that.” He moves to the paramedic and talks.

I hand Bek my now-empty cup and, with a touch of my own brain freeze, move toward where Jessica is lying down.

“She’s just fainted,” the paramedic reassures Drake. “Shock. Whatever it is that made her pass out, it isn’t good. She’s relatively responsive. She’ll come around in a few minutes.”

I touch my hand to Drake’s lower back. He casts me a look over his shoulder and reaches for my hand. He squeezes it quickly but tight.

The few minutes it takes for her to come around seem to last forever. Each one is filled with the thick taste of anticipation, but every second that passes is laced with fear, too. It coils deep in my stomach, the heavy feeling of despair setting low.

Drake doesn’t move until Jessica finally opens her eyes. “Talk. Now.”

He’s in cop mode. I could poke him and he wouldn’t notice.

Jessica shakily wipes her hand down her face. “In the—in the field. Behind the parking lot.”

When she doesn’t speak further, Drake snaps a, “What?”

Jessica takes a long moment, focused fully on him, and whispers, “Body.”

She doesn’t need to say more than that. Like a viper poised to attack, Drake takes off in the opposite direction, his radio to his mouth.

I spare a glance at Jessica then Bek. Then I follow him.

I’m desperately hoping she’s wrong. Or that my gut is. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that my gut is rarely ever wrong.

I find Drake jumping the hedge that separates the parking lot from the expansive field behind it. My lungs are burning from the exertion of my run across the fair, and I lean against the hedge to catch my breath.

“Don’t,” Drake orders when I look up. “Do not come into this field.” He lifts his radio and presses the button again. “Trent, I need you and—”

“Here,” Trent says behind me. He draws level with me, Brody on the other side of him.

Drake beckons them over the hedge, and they jump it easily. My heart thunders as they stop dead, and I wonder what they can see that I can’t, apart from the fact that there’s clearly a dead body in the long grass.

Trent radios for the forensics team and Tim, the town coroner

Oh, fuck this.

Preserving my modesty the best I can, I jump the hedge, too, losing my shoe in the process. I manage to retrieve it and put it back on before any of them notice, and I’m halfway to them when Drake looks up with fire in his eyes.

“Noelle,” he growls.

I stop. But not because of his warning.

Because I’m looking at a dead body, and if I’m not mistaken, it belongs to Toni Thompson.

Bile rises in my throat, and I press my hand against my chest as I take in a deep gulp of air.

I’ve seen bodies in horrendous conditions. I’ve seen them burned, dismembered, beheaded, tortured. I’m not afraid of death or its many appearances. That said, I’ve never seen a dead body in quite the state Toni’s is. And by state, I mean… Hell, I don’t even know what I mean.

She’s lying butt naked, faceup, in the middle of a cut-out circle of grass. There are black marks that look awfully like scorch marks teasing the ground, both around her and under her in an undiscernible shape. Her hair is spread out in a halo around her head, and the very ends of the strands are torched. Her eyes are closed, and if I didn’t know better—and it weren’t for the upside down cross sliced into her forehead—I’d say she’s sleeping.

The cross is only one thing, I realize as my gaze traces the rest of her body. There are other shapes cut into her skin, ones I don’t necessarily recognize. The only one I know is the inverted pentagram. It’s carved into her skin right on her breastbone, just between her breasts. The blood surrounding it and all the other markings marring her perfectly pale skin is congealed, dry on top, and I can tell that this girl has been dead longer than a day or two. She’s been here, in this spot, maybe three or four days.

How many people have walked past her body and not known?

My hand slides up to my throat and rests there. There are hundreds of cars in that field behind me and not a single person knew she was here. Or maybe one of them did. I don’t know.

Someone, somewhere, knew that Toni Thompson was lying in this field.

The thought that Melissa Samuel could have faced the same fate is enough to make my hot dog threaten to make a reappearance.

I lean over the bushes, my eyes closed, and vomit.

“And she wonders why I told her to stay put,” I vaguely hear Drake complain. His strong hand moves gently over my back. “You see why you should listen to me?”

I wipe my mouth with a leaf, satisfied that my stomach is empty. “At least I didn’t contaminate your crime scene.”

“Yes. Much appreciated,” he says dryly, pushing my hair from my face.

“Melissa,” I whisper.

Sadness etches into his features. “The field and surrounding areas will be searched and cordoned off. As for the fair…” He flicks his eyes toward it and the sound of people laughing and shouting, having fun, going about their activities without a care in the world. “I don’t see that this needs to be public knowledge. Someone is taking Jessica down to the station for questioning now.”

An ambulance, several police cars, and two vans rumble up to the parking lot. Within minutes, the field is taped off and a white tent has been set up over Toni’s body. I bite my thumbnail as Sheriff Bates approaches us.

The salt-and-pepper-haired man stops in front of us and, with barely a glance at the tent, adjusts his bright-red tie. “What do we have, Detective? And why am I not surprised to see you here, Ms. Bond?”

My lips move into a pathetic attempt at a sheepish smile, and the sheriff, my father’s best friend, pats my arm softly.

“We have the dead body of a teenage girl bearing the resemblance to the description of Toni Thompson, sir,” Drake explains.

Straight to the point, as always.

“Peters!” Sheriff Bates barks.

A twenty-something year old man, or should I say boy, appears as if out of nowhere.

“Get the officers together and get this field searched.”

“M-me, sir?” Peters sputters.

“Did I mumble, boy?” Sheriff roars.

Peters shakes his head.

“Then off you go!”

As soon as he’s disappeared, Sheriff shakes his head.

“Dang rookies. Send me the worst, I tell y’all. Johnson! Get the surrounding fields taped and searched.”

“What are we looking for, Sheriff?” Detective Johnson asks him, just moving out of the way of Officer Peters, who’s bumbling his way across the field.

Sheriff rolls his eyes, something that looks odd on a man his age. “Anything that shouldn’t be here, boy! What else?”

God, I love him.

He reaches for his tie again—this time, undoing it—and meets my gaze. “They send me a bunch of damn monkeys to do a human’s job,” he mutters before turning back to Drake. “Well, Nash? What are you standing there for? Show me the body!”

Drake’s lips twitch at the elder man’s brash manner, but he’s used to it. We all are. I do particularly love the way he calls everyone except Drake and my brothers “boy.”

“Well, butter my biscuit and call me Elvis,” Sheriff Bates explodes inside the tent.

My thoughts exactly. Well, not exactly. In fact, nowhere near my thoughts, since mine contended solely of “Fuck,” and the urge to vomit. And actual vomit.

Sheriff Bates emerges and takes a deep breath. The fresh air is tainted with the scent of death, and despite the blood being dried and congealed, if you know it, you can almost taste its heaviness.

I’ve never known fresh air to be quite this stale.

Tim, the town coroner, slips into the tent with Drake and a few members of forensics. My heart clenches at the horror that girl must have gone through.

Sixteen.

Sheriff Bates takes another deep breath and reaches for my hand. He squeezes it lightly. “Nash said you were sick. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, thank you.” I offer him a small smile. “The bush was very helpful.”

“Ah, well. At least you didn’t contaminate the crime scene, my dear.”

And people wonder what influences my warped sense of humor.

After two hours of searching the field, my brother found Melissa’s body.

Trent refused to allow me to see her, an order I had no intention of ignoring. Instead, I was told that her body was in much the same state as Toni’s, thrown Drake’s keys, and bundled into his truck to wait.

I’ve been in here for a further two hours, and I’ve exhausted every radio station his truck can find. I even snuck out to my car for my purse, knowing that my Kindle was inside.

Obviously, that died ten minutes ago. I’m hungry and tired, and I’m trying not to think about those dead bodies…

And the fact that Detective Giorgio Messina has just pulled up in front of Drake’s truck and is getting out of his car.

Excellent.

Drake and Sheriff Bates walk down to the edge of the field. Messina hasn’t entered, so I’m assuming he hasn’t been cleared to enter the area. I crack my window open, sensing that Drake’s foul mood has more to do with than the fact that he has to tell two sets of parents that their daughters have been found undoubtedly murdered.

Unfortunately, I can’t hear the conversation. Whether it’s because the hive of activity still blissfully happening just over in the fair or the loud hum of voices of the police in the area, the tense words being exchanged between Drake and Giorgio are nonsense to me.

Dammit. I was kind of hoping to get an idea of why they hate each other.

Eventually, Giorgio nods tersely and gets back in his car, but not before he notices me and gives me a quick salute. I hold my hand up in acknowledgement then turn my face toward Drake.

He’s focused on other cop. As soon as the car goes, he faces me with a look that could melt stone. I avert my gaze to the center console. I have two choices: stay and feel his wrath for not leaving or leave and feel his wrath for not staying. I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils right now.

In fact, I think this whole thing reeks of evil.

Another two hours pass. One hour ago, Sheriff Bates left to see the Thompsons and the Samuels. He returned five minutes ago, right before the bodies were carted into the ambulances, ready for Tim to get into his car to lead them to the police station. I expect he’ll be up most of the night, preparing and doing the autopsies.

Darkness has fallen, the usually star-filled sky drowned out by the bright lights of the fair. A few people have tried to get information on the reason for the cops crawling around everywhere, but the roads were blocked right before the news was passed on to the families and rumors could start.

Now, I can hear Sheriff Bates ordering all of his homicide team to go home and leave forensics to finish up. Something about sleep making for sharp minds. He’s right, and several annoyed men make their way to their respective vehicles.

I brace myself for Drake’s annoyance as he yanks the driver’s side door open. He gets in, runs his fingers through his hair, dislodging a piece of grass, and leans back in his seat.

“You’re still here.”

I nod slowly and reach forward, pulling another piece of grass off him.

He turns his face to me. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are as bright as they always are. To anyone else, the anger and frustration in his gaze would be terrifying, but I know that it isn’t at me. At least, I fucking hope it isn’t.

“Why did you stay?”

“I figured you’d kick my ass if I left and if I stayed, so I thought, at least if I stayed, it might be the lesser ass-kicking.”

He runs his tongue across his top lip. “Stay with me tonight.”

I bite down on my lower lip. He notices, and his gaze becomes unwaveringly intense.

“That wasn’t a request, Noelle. I’m telling you to stay with me tonight.”

I try not to sigh. “I have nothing with me and a ton of work to do.”

“So you should have left and done it.”

I turn in my seat. “Don’t turn this around on me. If I left, you would have come storming to my house, woke up half my neighbors, and demanded to know why the fuck I didn’t wait for you in your truck.”

“Damn right I would have,” he growls, reaching for me and grabbing my chin. He pulls me in close to him. “And now, I’m telling you we’re stopping by your place, you’re getting your work and whatever you need, and then you’re staying with me.” He releases me as quickly as he touched me and jams his belt into place. “Belt up. Now.”

I hesitate a second too long as he starts the engine and slams his foot down on the accelerator. I grunt as I steady my hands on the dashboard to stop myself from flying completely forward and drop back. My seat belt is jammed, so I release it just to pull it over myself.

I hate it when he gets in this mood. Me man, you woman. Me tell you what to do, you do it. Fucking hate it. He should know better than to pull this shit with me, but apparently, he hasn’t learned how well it doesn’t go down.

He pulls into my driveway since my car is still in the fucking field-slash-parking-lot. I get out, grabbing my keys from my purse, and storm toward my front door. I’m inside and have disabled the alarm before he’s even out of the truck.

Then, for good measure, I slam the door behind me.

Childish but surprisingly cathartic.

The way my feet stomp against the stairs as I go upstairs is also a great release for annoyance. I grab an overnight bag from my closet and shove some clothes for tomorrow in, as well as some shoes. In my bathroom, I snatch up my toothbrush and hairbrush and throw them into the bag, too. I’ve barely added my makeup bag when my front door opens and shuts with a bang.

I get the distinct feeling I’m in trouble. Ah, fuck it. I’m always in trouble.

Drake thunders up my stairs. I count his steps, and he’s taking two at a time. Then he pounces on me the second his foot touches the top stair. I drop my bag as he wrestles me onto my bed.

My heart pounds as he seals his lips over mine, kissing me roughly and setting my blood on fire.

I know he’s trying to make a point. Sometimes, I’d really rather he’d make it with words. I don’t speak Neanderthal, after all.

He gets up as swiftly as he pushed me down and turns away. I touch my thumb to my lower lip and sit up gently, my eyes on him. His fingers dive into his hair, and he drops his head.

“Please,” he says huskily. “Stay with me tonight.”

“We’re just gonna fight,” I mutter.

“Noelle, two girls have been killed. Tortured.” He turns slowly. “Looks like they were raped, too. In my town. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t find them before this happened to them.”

It’s still pounding, but my heart clenches at his words. Holy shit. Those girls.

“Drake,” I whisper.

“You? I can protect you. I need to know that you’re safe tonight.”

All of my fight leaves me. Guilt and frustration seep from him, tainting my bedroom with their ugliness, and the only thing I can do is get up and wrap my arms around his waist. Quick as lightning, I’m encased in his strong arms and his nose is buried deep in my hair. He takes several long breaths, and I hear his exhaustion in each exhale.

“Come on,” I mutter, pushing away from him after a long moment and grabbing my bag.

He follows me downstairs with a triumphant smirk on his face and sets my alarm for me.

Damn male. Damn him for playing that fucking irresistible guilt card that makes me go gooey then playing the protective one.

“You’re makin’ me soft,” I huff, throwing him my keys so he can lock my front door.

He inserts the key, turns it with a click, then faces me. “The day your soul turns a little gray is the day I believe that statement.”

“You’re more likely to turn my damn hair gray first, Detective.”

“Heard that. Get in the fuckin’ truck, Bond.”

I’ve been awake ten minutes and my ass has been bundled into Drake’s truck once more. I’m starting to wonder if someone swapped me with a rag doll in the last forty-eight hours. I haven’t even changed my damn underwear and I feel gross. It feels kind of…swampy down there. I’m not gonna lie, I wonder if I’m gonna give birth to a baby crocodile.