Текст книги "Tempting Whispers"

Автор книги: T. A. Grey

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter 8

Brayden slid his feet to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Damn, if he hadn’t royally screwed up.

First, he’d had to make that phone call. He had to try that tact. He didn’t regret doing it at, and hell, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he thought his influence with the Justicars might intimidate Joseph into agreeing to the divorce. Shit, that man had sounded confident that he’d get Vanessa back, that she might just come back to him on her own. If only he knew...

No, that wasn’t what made his stomach feel like a queasy pile of shit or why he really needed to feed again, though he just did yesterday. Stress. Stress did that to him. His friend, Dmetri, had once joked with him that had he been human, he’d probably weight twice as much, because when the stress kicked in, he craved blood like nothing else.

Nah, what made him feel like shit was Vanessa. Too beautiful and way, way too young. Sure, she didn’t remind him of the teenaged girl she’d been when he first met her. She’d matured, that’s for sure. Her eyes didn’t shine as brightly as they used to. She had a shiftiness to her eyes when they were in public as if just waiting for her nightmare to appear. He had to help her; it felt like an uncontrollable force in his body to see her safe and happy. And he wanted to kill Joseph Harrington...with his bare fucking fists until the man squealed like the pig he was.

He’d definitely made one mistake, he figured, as he strode to the shower, turned it on, and stepped under the spray. He’d seriously underestimated her appeal to him. He must be some kind of sick man or just desperate. He made quick work under the cool spray. When she’d been younger, he could easily, or as easily as possible, ignore things that had caught his eye about her. Now she was older, a young woman, and living in his house. Her sweet, light scent saturated every room, and he liked it. He liked having her scent around and he really liked the way she smelled. He ground his jaw and turned the water off.

She needed a good spanking after the stunt she’d pulled last night. His cock swelled at the idea and he ran a hand over his face to try to clear the image of what her rounded ass would look like. She’d grown to be thin with small breasts that looked way too good in anything she wore. He’d tried not to notice, he’d really tried not to notice how her ass looked in jeans, but it was like trying to ignore an elephant sitting in the room with you. Impossible not to look, impossible not to stare sometimes. She had a small, rounded ass. He’d found himself wondering how much it’d jiggle if he spanked it; how it’d feel in his grip as he rode her.

“Fuck!”

He slammed his dresser door shut with a hard bang then dressed as fast as he could. He grabbed a bottle of blood out of his cabinet and started chugging as he left the room. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off of her. Especially off the idea of her naked with his hands on her—something that couldn’t and wouldn’t happen, it seemed.

Shit. The image of her lithe body writhing against his last night, her face, her pouty lips so close to his zipper wouldn’t go away. Little did she know, he’d gone rock hard and he’d had a brief little fantasy of pulling his cock out right there to feel her lips wrap around it. Old fucking pervert.

She’s mated, his mind reminded him.

She also hates his disgusting guts.

Things were going to get dangerous if he didn’t get his libido and shit under wraps. Hell, if he didn’t, then she might just find herself under him, legs spread wide.

He turned into the kitchen, then stopped dead in his tracks. All thoughts, all protests, everything, stopped. His tongue dried up like all the moisture suddenly evaporated from the air around him. Vanessa was bent over with the refrigerator door open. She had a pink strappy shirt on that clung to her back and also rode up...a lot, revealing a lot of tan, smooth skin and the indention of her spine. In a powerful rush, his cock hardened like a damn pike.

His gaze fell lower and almost everything he’d wondered about her ass was right there at hip level. If he just came forward, his hips would press tight against her soft cheeks. If he just slipped those shorts down her hips, eased his zipper down, he could...

What the hell did she think she was wearing? Pink, little shorts and tight ones, too. He could see where her thighs met the rounded cheeks. Hell, the little scrap of cloth just covered her cheeks and hips and nothing else.

Her dark hair moved as she turned, her gaze locking on him. Her amber eyes turned to pure ice and then she returned to the fridge, grabbed some juice, and closed the door. She moved around the kitchen, pouring herself a glass and returning the juice jug, never once meeting his eyes again. She steadfastly ignored him as if he wasn’t there watching her. He didn’t like that, not one bit.

“Vanessa, we need to talk.” He swigged down the last of the blood, crushed the plastic container in his fist, and tossed it into the trash.

Her shoulders jumped as if she’d laughed, but he didn’t hear a sound. She kept her back to him as she finished her drink and rinsed it out.

His eyes strayed down to her legs. They looked like they went on forever, looking smooth and shiny in the light. His voice turned deeper as he said, “You are going to talk to me, Vanessa.”

This time she did laugh. She spun to face him and what she did next made it very hard for him not to stroll right over there and keep her mouth busy with his. She leaned back against the sink, her elbows on the counter, one foot kicked back to rest against the cabinet.

“And just what did you want to talk about, Brayden?”

Her smart mouth was going to get her into trouble if she didn’t can it. “I don’t think you’re a slut and I never said that. You took it wrong.”

“Mmhmm,” she said, sounding bored.

He rolled his neck, but it did nothing to ease the tight pain there. “Next time you want to play some shit like that going to a club, you’re telling me first.”

“Why? Are you going to go with me and make sure I’m safe? Are you going to dance with me too, Bray?”

“You won’t call me that if you know what’s good for you,” he warned. “And no, I’m not dancing with you, but I’ll make sure you stay safe from roaming hands and assholes with rufies.”

She lifted her eyebrows and nodded slowly. “Well, Bray, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t plan to head back to the club any time soon. That’s not my next goal.”

The air conditioner kicked on and the vent in the kitchen blew up across her. He watched, helpless, as her shirt waved against her flat stomach like a beckoning sign to come touch her. Then her nipples puckered from the cold, turning into little hard points against her shirt.

He turned his head away which he found much more difficult than it should be. “Go get changed, then we’ll talk.”

Her low, sultry laughter rolled over him. “Why?”

“Because you’re wearing little more than nothing and I want you to change. Do it now, Vanessa, and don’t press me.”

He heard her bare footsteps coming close and lifted his gaze to watch her. She wore an angry but proactive glare. “Does Bray Bray have a problem with half-nekkie Vanessa?” She tucked her thumbs into the spaghetti straps of her shirt and tugged on them like overalls.

His chest turned into a tight mess. Every muscle in his body tensed, flexing, to keep his hands from reaching forward. Just an extension of his arm and he could have her pressed right against him. Didn’t she know that? The silly woman had no idea how much trouble she could be in. Hell, trouble she would be in if she kept up the attitude.

“Don’t call me that, woman,” he warned.

Her lips curled into a grin. “What, I need to change because Bray Bray can’t stand a little skin? I thought you were immune to such things?” Her thumbs ran up and down the strap, rubbing the cotton of her top up and down her nipple.

He couldn’t control his next response.

He snapped.

He moved in a flash and had her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers, his tongue inside in a heartbeat. God, she tasted good. Fresh, womanly, and a little like citrus. He took her mouth hard and wet. When the hands shoving against his chest stopped and reared up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer like she’d die if she didn’t, he wanted to send a prayer of thanks up above.

But the kiss wasn’t enough. His hands needed to feel. He cupped her ass and squeezed, a groan leaving him at the soft, pliable skin he found there, and lifted her up. Her legs went around him, a soft gasp blowing over him, then his mouth moved down to ruthlessly latch onto a nipple.

Her hands moved into his hair and tugged on the strands which made his cock throb. “You have sweet nipples,” he said against her breast. A whiney moan left her and she thrust her chest forward, eager.

His mind raged with need, the urge to take, and he couldn’t control it. He walked and when her back hit the refrigerator, only his hands on her lush ass keeping her up, he released her nipple. With a tuck of his chin, he caught the top of her shirt and pushed it down to reveal her breast.

“Fuck...” He met her eyes and found them hungry, soft, and more than a little needy. “I’m going to suck on that, baby. Tell me now if you don’t want me to...” That’s the only warning he could give her.

He only had to wait a second before she nodded eagerly and his shoulders relaxed. He pressed his lips to her collarbone then trailed them down. Her breasts were fucking perfect. Soft and pert and gorgeous with dusky brown nipples. His tongue darted out and lapped around the hard puckered tip. Her hips thrust against him in response and he couldn’t keep his mouth from sucking her deep, nor keep his hands from threading under her little shorts to cup and squeeze bare skin. She made soft, sexy-as-fuck sounds in the back of her throat that sent his blood pumping way too fast and his cock throbbing way too hard. God, she was soft everywhere.

She kept repeating his name, his whole name, and again with that soft, husky voice of hers. And her little body writhed and arched against him, giving him all the signals he needed. With a hard tug, he bared her other breast, then laved it with the same attention. Her aroused scent teased him, taunted him. She smelled fucking delicious. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and lick her, find out if she tasted as good as she smelled.

He couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t keep his hands still, not when they were touching bare skin and so close to her sweet spot. He dipped one hand down further, between the soft globes of her ass and eased into wetness. A lot of it.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned against her wet nipple.

Her harsh breathing teased his ears, taunting.

“So beautiful. So wet, baby.” He almost couldn’t believe his own ears, the words spilling from his lips. They were all true and none of them carefully thought about or controlled. How could he when his mind spun and need roar in his ears, in his blood, to pierce her with his cock and fuck her until they were both limp and sweaty?

His fingers slipped further down and spread through her soft sex, circling her sensitive spot once. She stilled in his arms, her breath hitching, and when he didn’t circle it again, her hands slipped to his shoulders to squeeze painfully hard.

“Do it. Do it. Oh, please, do it,” she said quickly, her words panting together.

He kissed his way up her chest, across each breast, then found her neck and licked the slender column where the tendons stood taut with strain. He panted, his lips parted, because in a second, his fangs dropped and he shook with a different need. His sac pulled tight, need screaming at him to pierce her neck, fill her with his cock.

He tried to ease one of those needs and slid a finger inside her. So hot, so wet, she engulfed him with her tight little sex. He had to slam his mouth against hers lest he dropped his pants right there and take her. Her tongue met his, taking and giving as good as he gave. Her body trembled with need, actually fucking trembled...but he wanted to see it do more. So he pumped his finger in and out.

Cries left her, meshing against their wet kiss. Her body writhed and plastered against him, her hands kneaded and dug into his shoulders in the sweetest way possible as her feet dug into his ass, trying to arch him subconsciously into her.

He tore his mouth away and stared down into her face. She was beautiful, achingly so. Her heavy gaze met his, her labored breathing panting across his lips, and still he kept his finger moving in and out. In and out.

“You’re going to come for me.” Her eyes widened and then her breaths came faster. She nodded, her thighs actually falling open even more. “You’re beautiful, baby. Beautiful and something special.” Her gaze stayed wide, then she tugged on his head and pushed her tongue into his mouth. Fine by him.

He kept his hold on her bare ass cheek, massaging and squeezing the softness as he removed his other hand and shoved it into the front of her little shorts. Of course, she didn’t have panties on. These practically were just panties. He petted the soft hair he found there and groaned into the kiss. He had to kiss her harder to keep himself from dropping to his knees and burying his tongue up inside her. Instead, he trailed his fingers through her sex, petting and rubbing her, feeling her get hotter, wetter, her hips humping against his hand.

“So eager, baby.” He trailed his lips to her ear and tugged as his fingers worked slowly, not quite touching her where she’d explode, but teasing and building it up. His lips found her neck and he licked, sucked the skin tight into this mouth, his fangs just pressing against the sensitive flesh. “I bet you taste good.”

Her breath caught. “Do it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and barely managed to close his mouth over his fangs. With a brief, hard shake of his head, he kissed her again, then sent his fingers spiraling around her needy slick sex. She came apart so easily. He couldn’t help his husky laughter as she shook and trembled in his arms; her cries made him nearly shoot. More wetness covered his hand and it wasn’t enough.

“Again,” he said. Then he rubbed her, stuffed his fingers inside and worked her up until she shattered a second time, this one lasting even longer, the shivers not leaving for a good minute. “Beautiful,” he told her.

Her head fell against his shoulder and with a wince, he let her legs slide to the floor and slowly unstuck his chest from hers. Her head lolled to the side, her lips parted and still breathing unevenly. He looked down at her. He shouldn’t have. Her breasts were bared with the little shirt stuck underneath them, her shorts were eschew and resting half-way down one hip, showing just a hint of her thatch of hair.

He turned away and closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Her image was burned into his eyes, her scent still covered his fingers, his clothes, wrapping around him in her essence. Arms wrapped around his middle and he stiffened. Her hands flattened against his stomach then delved down to cup him. He hissed and spun around, catching her wrists.

Her eyes were alight with hunger. She licked her lips at him and he had to shake his head. “You can’t still be...”

Her eyes traveled down his body, nearly making him shiver, then leveled on his bulging zipper. “Sure I can.” Her hands curled around his cock and he stepped back with a shake of his head.

“No; just no.” Thank God, those words made it out of his mouth, because it was the exact opposite of what he wanted to say.

Her eyes widened. “You can make me come, but I can’t make you? What kind of shit is that?”

He didn’t know. He just knew that his mind was really shaken up and addled right now and he needed some time to come down from the high and to assess just how much damage he’d caused. Even with his mind screaming at him to take her up on her offer, let her play with him, he knew he couldn’t. He needed to think.

“I need to think. Cover up.” He turned away and pressed his palms into his eyes sockets. It didn’t matter though; the sight of her small pert breasts still lingered there. “We have plans today. Get dressed; we’re interviewing King Brunes.”

He left the kitchen on hard steps before he did something he’d regret.

Little did he know, that later on when his ardor had cooled and his mind settled, would he realize that he’d already made an irrevocable mistake—and that was touching Vanessa Kategan.

Chapter 9

Sex was way better than alcohol. A thousand times better, no, a million times better. And that hadn’t even been sex sex. That had been foreplay...or messing around, or heck, she didn’t know what it was called. It’d been fucking incredible, amazing, jaw-dropping and better than she’d ever imagined.

And that was just with his hands.

She swooned back against her bed, freshly showered and dressed. Not for the first time that morning, she couldn’t stop grinning. No one had ever made her come before. She hadn’t been allowed to masturbate with Joseph around, or else he’d want to watch, and ew. She shivered with disgust.

Brayden had called her beautiful. He’d touched her almost everywhere. Like he couldn’t stop himself or get enough of her. He’d talked dirty... She definitely liked that, a lot. He had a great mouth and fingers and a hot body. She’d still been hungry for him after he’d set her down, reeling from two, freaking two, amazing orgasms. She’d wanted to feel his cock slip inside her because she knew that what she’d tasted had only been the tip of the iceberg.

Her whole taunting and teasing goal with Brayden had just been shot the hell out of the window and she couldn’t care less. Now, she wanted him. And he wanted her. Silly, but she couldn’t stop smiling...or thinking about him...or thinking about doing more with him. And she had to get more with him, had to. She wasn’t nearly done.

A knock sounded and she went to the bedroom door, flinging it open with a smile. Brayden looked at her for about half a second before his gaze flicked away.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Then he turned and strode down the hall.

Say what? That was it?

If he thought he could make her come like that then pretend it never happened, he had another think coming. Fuming, she stomped after him to the SUV. Neither of them said a word as he drove off. She cast scathing looks his way, all the way to the gated manor of King Brunes’ estate.

She glanced at the clock and saw it’d been nearly forty minutes since he’d knocked on her door and they took off for Brunes’. He put the car in park as an older valet man with thinning black hair strode toward the car. As Brayden’s hand curled around the door handle, she grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked back at her and the rant she’d been about to drill into him derailed like a runaway train.

“What happened at the house...that was a game changer. There is no going back,” he said.

Whoa, her breath caught in her throat and her chest suddenly felt really tight and uncomfortable because his gaze radiated with searing hunger.

“Okay,” she said.

Then he got out of the car as if he hadn’t just rocked her world upside down.

The valet managed to get to her door before she did and opened it for her, his head bowed, eyes trained on the ground. Brayden’s hard steps crunched against the black asphalt driveway as he came around the door, grabbed her hand, and tugged her to the front door.

She whistled low under breath. King Brunes had a home to fit his name. The mansion reeked of wealth. From the lavish fountain in front of the house that had a cherub with a bow across its back spurt water from his fist held in a circle around its mouth, to the utter size of the house. The house had to have at least ten bedrooms, possible more and probably just as many bathrooms. It was set back in the woods with a great expanse of vivid green grass, cut neat and short, around it. Brayden took her to the front door and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door was opened by a butler actually wearing a black suit with a white shirt underneath—everything looked ironed. For some reason, that surprised. He looked like he came right out of a movie. Then her gaze went to look inside the house and her eyes widened. Rich. King Brunes had to be rich. Rich as in everything looked very expensive and thereby very breakable. From the antique mahogany-looking hutch and side tables inside the foyer, to the rustic paintings of landscapes and people in finery on the walls.

“King Brunes is expecting you. Right this way, sir,” the old man said just as slowly as he moved.

She passed over a plush maroon rug with dangling fringe on the ends and her feet actually sunk into its softness. A twitchy feeling came over her and she scratched at her arm as they followed the butler down a long corridor complete with real old-looking floors, more art on the walls, and glass shelves with what had to be antique pieces of art. There was an old-looking pistol in a velvet-lined case, a sword with an arched blade and shiny metal handle with leather wrapped over the middle and leafy engravings in the metal. It looks like something a Calvary officer used in the Civil War. All she could think as she eyed all this stuff was that Sarina had lived here. Sweet, caring, free-loving Sarina. No wonder she’d wanted out. Everything felt stifling, like walking through a museum.

They came into another room, a large sitting room or maybe a study. The room made the living room she’d had at Joseph’s look tiny in comparison, and very, very poor. There sat an assortment of chairs, from leather that were fit for taller people than her, and several sofas with coarse-looking fabric in deep brown and a dull yellow. Though it certainly wasn’t yellow from fading with time, but it’d meant to be that color and it actually fit in well with the masculine, if not stuffy, design of the room.

A man stood from behind an expansive desk and smiled. He had long blond hair, nearly to his wait, and he wore what reminded her of a robe-style shirt that billowed around his wrists and stopped mid-thigh with matching baggy pants. Brayden released her hand to clasp King Brunes’ and Vanessa fidgeted at the loss, finally crossing her arms. She felt weird in this place, naked and way out of place in her jeans and red T-shirt.

“Justicar Brayden, good to have you here.” He waved a long-fingered hand toward the furniture. “Please, take a seat.” King Brunes folded his tall form into a chair and crossed his leg in a feminine way. He wore a cat’s smile and rested his elbow on his bent knee, his chin on his hand.

Brayden tugged her onto a seat next to him and Brunes’ gaze flicked to her as if just realizing she stood there. “Who’s this?”

“This is Vanessa K–”

She quickly spoke over him. “Vanessa Harrington.” God, she hated saying his name, especially combined with hers. Brayden didn’t look at her, but she felt from the way he stiffened that maybe he, too, forgot she’d had to take Joseph’s name when they mated.

“Is she a Justicar, too?” he asked Brayden.

Vanessa stiffened, her eyebrows rising high. She wondered if she imagined it or if he really did just speak around her when Brayden answered.

“No, she’s here in an unofficial capacity.”

King Brunes’ seemed to smile bigger. “Then, you’ll understand that I wish for this conversation to be...private.”

Brayden didn’t look happy, but nodded. He turned to her. “Wait outside the room for me.”

Her stomach danced like snakes had taken up residence, twisting and writhing her nerves into one big mess. She didn’t want to leave his side and she really didn’t want to be in this house alone, but she nodded and left. The butler waited in the hallway as if he’d known she’d be kicked out. He closed the door after her, then left her there.

She stood in the quiet hallway, unable to even hear the voices in the room, and couldn’t stand it another minute. Charging forward, she opened the front door and didn’t take a deep breath until she spotted their car parked in a small lot on the side of the house. Valet parking, she thought and laughed.

For such a big house, there was a definite emptiness. So much space, yet she didn’t see anyone else except the valet and butler inside. How could one person live in such a large house by himself? What rubbish. She crossed to the car, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Her heart started beating wildly in her chest like it was trying to break out. Her body turned cold and when her eyes started to burn from the wind blowing, she blinked then slammed her eyes back open again. No, no, it couldn’t be. She stepped closer to the car, to the item dangling from the passenger-side door handle. She stopped within fifteen feet, confirmed that it was what she thought, then started backward, her gaze scanning the outlying area.

Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Her back hit the hard scratchy brickwork of the house and she didn’t stop scanning the forest. Sweep after sweep, her panic didn’t die even as no faces appeared. She darted looks all around and started scooting sideways to the front door. Then a branch snapped. Her whole body froze as her gaze swung fast to the trees more than fifty feet behind the car. Her hands quickly patted down her pants pocket, then she stopped and almost sobbed. She didn’t bring her pocketknife. How could she be so stupid? With a final look at the mating bond, the joining of her and Joseph’s hair and clothing hanging like a tattered rag from the door handle, she turned and fled inside.

* * *

Brayden listened to King Brunes’ retelling of the night his wife died. He stated the same thing down to an exact T as he’d written in his report to the Justicars the day they’d found her body. That didn’t surprise him; he’d expected that much.

What he watched for was the subtle tells. Tells that most people couldn’t hide or master. The darting of the eyes away during a lie, the look of the eyes while describing parts of that night—were they dilating in pleasure? Many guilty people, when pressed, expressed a load of bodily ticks. A twitching foot, twitching hands and fingers, sagging shoulders with guilt. King Brunes expressed none of those tells.

He held his shoulders high, his chin up, and kept on smiling. His crossed leg didn’t bounce or fidget under his questioning. But what Brunes didn’t realize was that by not showing any of those tells, he still expressed one in great abundance—confidence. Arrogance. The first time he’d interviewed Brunes two years ago, the man had sat with both feet on the floor, his hands steepled together, a look of lost remembrance and thoughtfulness on his face. The man knew he had nothing new to go on and his over-confidence shone like a blinking pink neon sign screaming ‘See me, I’m not hiding anything!’

“When the Givens’ family fished your dead wife out of the water that night, they claimed they saw bruising on the side of her face like she’d been struck. Do you have any idea why that might be?” He watched for a reaction. He hadn’t brought this up in the previous interview.

Brunes didn’t lose his smile. “Perhaps she hit her head when she fell over the railing. You know, Justicar Brayden, this was a long, long time ago. Time I’ve spent moving on and putting the past behind me.”

I’m sure you have. “I spoke with the lead Justicar from the investigation. You remember Daniel Cuthwright, don’t you?”

Brunes smile fell into a perfect frown. “Ah, Daniel. Damn shame what happened to him.”

Brayden didn’t move, but his heart skipped a beat. “And what happened to him?”

Brunes shook his head side to side. “Hit by a car while crossing the street. Damn, damn shame. He was a good man.”

“Interesting. It’s rare that a car can kill a vampire.”

“Well, he wasn’t just hit once. After the initial car claimed him, another behind him drove right over him. Didn’t have time to stop. Crushed his skull like a watermelon. Terrible way to go.”

Brayden’s next question was interrupted when the doors flew open and a panicked, wide-eyed, nearly in tears Vanessa flew to him. “H-he was here. He was here, Brayden.”

Brunes stood. “What kind of trouble do you bring here, Justicar?”

Brayden shot him a hard look to shut him up. “What are you talking about? What happened?” he asked Vanessa.

She sucked in an unsteady breath, but still didn’t have her ragged breathing under control. “The mating wrap. It was here. On the car.”

Brayden blinked. “Mating wrap?”

Her wet eyes darted around and she started speaking animatedly with her hands waving all around. “Yes, the mating wrap. The binding between two mates. The symbol of our bonds. My hair and his. Hello, does any of this mean anything to you? It’s here at the car!”

“Just a moment,” Brayden shot to Brunes, then grabbed Vanessa and took her outside. He walked up to the car, unlocked it and scanned inside. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer. Jerking his head over his shoulder, he found her frozen in place, a look of utter disbelief on her face. “It was right there. On the door handle. It was right here!” she screamed.”

“Vanessa—”

“Don’t!” she said in a hard voice then leaned down to peer under the car. She searched all around it, then gazed off into the grass. “It was wrapped around,” she said softly as if speaking to herself. “Maybe it blew off. Maybe it...”

Brayden’s heart squeezed tight and he pulled her into his arms to ease it. “Tell me what you saw.”

She told him again and he stared at the passenger door handle. “Hold on.” Leaning down, he studied the door handle. Pulling it out and searching.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Looking for any strands of hair that might have gotten stuck.” After a second, he stood and looked at her. Not a single piece of hair was there.

Stray tears fell down her face. Her hands wound together then wrapped around her body. “You don’t believe me. You don’t believe me.”

He scanned the thick expanse of forest surrounding the house. “I believe you, Vanessa.”

He could hear the breath she sucked in. “You do?”

So much hope hung in her words it clenched like a fist tight around his chest. “Yeah, baby, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” True enough. He did believe her.