Birthright (37 page)

“No, I don't think it's a coincidence.”

“And you're not subscribing to the popular local theory that the site's cursed.”

He smiled a little. “I kinda like that, but no. Someone killed Dolan for a reason. Someone killed McDowell for a reason. How are they connected?”

Callie picked up her coffee, tucked up her legs. “The dig.”

“That's the obvious link. That'd be the connection most easily reached. Go a segment over and there's you.”

He saw by her face she'd already gotten there, and he nodded. “Fan out from you and you've got the dig, the development, the percentage of locals who are a little miffed at having their paychecks cut. So you could theorize that someone was miffed enough to kill two people in order to scare the team off the dig, or put the authorities in the position of shutting us down.”

“But that's not your theory.” She reached over, relit one of Digger's candles.

“It's a theory, but it's not the one I'm favoring.”

“You're favoring the one that fans out from me to the Cullens, Carlyle, all those names on the list, and a black-market ring that specializes in infants. But the connection to Dolan and Bill is very weak.”

“Remember this?” He opened his hands, turned them palms out, palms back, then flipped his wrist. He held a quarter between his fingers. Another flick and it was gone.

“You could pick up some extra pay playing at kids' parties,” she commented.

“Misdirection. Trick your eye into looking over here . . .” He passed his right hand in front of her face. “And you miss what's happening here.” And tugged her ear with his left, giving the illusion that the quarter had popped out of it.

“You think someone has murdered two people to misdirect me?”

“Hasn't it worked, to a point? Aren't you so distracted now that you're not thinking about what you learned only hours ago about Barbara Halloway? Everybody on the team liked that kid. Even I liked him, couldn't help myself. And I had some sympathy for the way he mooned after you. If somebody killed him, it was because he was handy. Because he was separated from the group just long enough.”

Casually, she nudged back one of Digger's faded curtains, looked out the grimy window. “And they're watching. Whoever they are. The way they were watching us at the house that night. Cold. They'd have to be cold. And if I don't let myself be misdirected, if I keep pushing, is someone else going to die?”

“Blaming yourself is just another way of being misdirected.”

“I brushed him off, Jake.” With a sharp tug, she pulled the curtain over the smeared glass again. “When we were clearing up, he came over, said we're going to hang out later, camp for the night. I wasn't even listening to him. Yeah, sure, maybe, whatever. Swatted him off like a gnat.”

She shook her head before he could speak. “And everything you're saying is what I'm thinking. What I feel in my gut. And if that's right, it means he's dead because someone wants to stop me. He's dead, and I couldn't bother to give him a minute of my time today.”

“Come on, come here.” He pulled her closer. “Stretch out,” he ordered, and nudged her down until her head rested in his lap. “You should try to get some rest.”

She was silent for a moment, listening to the night sounds, absorbing the quiet sensation of having his hand stroke over her hair.

Had he touched her that way before? Had she ever paid attention?

“Jake?”

“Yeah.”

“I had plans for tonight.”

“Did you?”

She shifted so she could look up at him. From this angle she could see the way the scar on his chin edged just a fraction under his jawline. She'd like to trace her finger there, or her lips. To acknowledge that tiny imperfection.

“I'd planned to let you talk me into bed. Or to talk you into bed. Whichever seemed more fun at the time.”

He ran a fingertip along the curve of her cheek. Yes, she thought. Yes, he had touched her that way before. Why hadn't she paid more attention to those small gestures? Why hadn't she realized how much they meant to her?

Did she need words so much that she'd ignored the quieter, simpler signs of affection?

“Too bad that didn't work out,” he answered.

“It still could.”

His fingertip took a little jump, as if he'd touched something hot, unexpectedly, then it lifted away from her. “Not a good idea, for either of us. Why don't you catch some sleep? We've got a lot to deal with tomorrow.”

“I don't want to think about tomorrow. I don't want to think about today or next week or yesterday. I just want now.”

“We had plenty of nows, didn't we? Sex is a very common, very human response to death.” He played with her hair, hoping he could talk her to sleep. “It's proof of life.”

“We are alive. I don't want to be alone.” She wasn't speaking just of tonight, but of all the nights without him. “I thought I did, but I don't want to be alone.”

“You're not alone.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “Close your eyes.”

Instead she rose, sliding up, body to body, until her arms were chained around his neck. “Be with me.” She covered his mouth with hers, poured herself in. “Please, be with me.”

She was trembling, he realized. Part fear, part need, part exhaustion. He gathered her closer, pressed his face to the curve of her neck. “Tell me you need me. Just once.”

“I do need you. Touch me. You're the only one who ever really could.”

“This isn't the way I wanted it to be.” He skimmed his lips along her jaw as he lowered her to the narrow couch. “For either of us. But maybe it's just the way it's meant. Don't think.” He kissed her temples, her cheeks. “Just feel.”

“I can't stop shaking.”

“It's all right.” He unbuttoned her shirt, bending over to brush kisses on her throat, her shoulders. But when she reached for him, he eased back, pressed her hands down again.

“No. Wait. Close your eyes. Just close your eyes. I'll touch you.”

She let her lashes lower. Even that was a relief. The soft dark soothed the headache she hadn't been aware was thudding. The air was cool against her skin when he slipped the shirt away. His fingers were warm as they trailed over her. Warm, with that rough scrape of callus. Her belly quivered as they stroked down and flipped the button on her ancient trousers.

His lips pressed lightly, just above her waist, and made her moan.

“Lift your hips,” he told her, and drew the worn cotton down her legs.

He tugged off her boots, her socks. Then began to rub her feet.

Now she groaned.

“There was a time when I could barter a foot rub for any sort of exotic sexual favor.”

She opened one eye, saw him grinning at her. “What did you have in mind?”

“I'll let you know.” He pressed the heel of his hand to her arch, watched her lashes flutter. “Still works, doesn't it?”

“Oh yeah. I still figure the first true orgasm started with the feet.”

“I like your feet. They're small, almost delicate.” He ran his teeth along the side, grinned again when her body jerked. “And very sensitive. Then there's your legs.”

He let his mouth roam over her ankle, up her calf. “Just can't say enough about your legs.”

Then suddenly, he pressed his face to her belly. “Christ, Callie, you smell the same. I'd wake up smelling you when you were a thousand miles away. Wake up wanting you,” he murmured and captured her mouth with his.

Every day, every night, he thought as that scent surrounded him. Haunting him and taunting him until he'd wished with every fiber of his being he could hate her for it.

Now she was here, her arms tight around him, her mouth eager under his. And it made him weak.

Love for her blew through him and left him helpless.

His hand came up to cup her face. His lips softened, gentled on hers.

The change in tone had her eyes opening again. “Jake.”

“Ssh.” He laid a kiss of utter tenderness in the hollow of her throat. “Don't think,” he repeated. “Just feel.”

When his mouth came back to hers in a kiss of lingering sweetness, she went pliant under him.

A surrender, he realized. Both of them surrendering in a way they never had before. Her heart was thudding thickly under his lips, and her breath was slow and ragged. And still the tenderness for her drifted over desire like a mist.

The air was so heavy, she thought. So heavy, so warm. So soft. It was gliding over her, and she over it to a world where there was only pleasure.

He'd taken her there.

She sighed his name as his lips, his tongue, his hands slid over her, as they soothed and aroused, calmed and awakened. When his lips found hers again, when they lingered as if there were nothing more vital in the world than that single kiss, her heart simply melted.

The feel of him under her hands, that long, lean torso when he stripped his shirt away. The narrow hips and hard muscles. His body excited her, and knowing it was hers, hers for the taking brought her unbearable pleasure.

She shuddered with it, nipped her teeth into his shoulder when the pressure built. “Jake.”

“Not fast this time.” He stroked down her, over her, tormenting them both. “Fast is too easy.”

Time, nothing but time. The scent of her, the quiver of her body, the heat that was beginning to pump out of her skin. He wanted all of that, and so much more.

Having her now erased every lonely hour without her.

He pressed his lips to her throat, her shoulder, her mouth, let the need for her rage through him. As he nudged her over the first peak, her strangled cry beat in his blood.

Now they watched each other as he slid inside her, watched as they began to move together. He saw her eyes blur, both pleasure and tears as he gripped her hands with his.

“Stay with me.” He crushed his mouth to hers. “Stay with me.”

He stripped her heart bare. She wondered he didn't feel it quivering in his hand. She wondered he couldn't see it on her face as the tears welled in her eyes.

So she closed them, kept her hands in his, stayed with him. Stayed with him. And was with him still when they shattered.

S
he slept, deeply for an hour, then fitfully as dreams began to chase her. In the woods, in the dark, in the cold water. It closed over her head, and hands tugged her in opposite directions.

She couldn't pull free of them, couldn't kick her way free to the surface. Couldn't breathe.

As she struggled, the water shifted, changed, weighed down and became a grave.

She woke with a start, strangling for breath. The trailer was dark, chilly. There was a thin cover tangled around her legs, and she was alone.

Panicked, she leaped up, ramming a hip against the table, stumbling for the door. Her throat was closed, forcing her to gasp and gulp for air as she had in the dream.
She clutched at her chest as if she could tear out the pressure that weighed there.

She fought with the door, her breath wheezing as her fingers slid damply off the latch. A scream was ripping through her chest, into her throat. She all but fell out of the door when she finally shoved it open.

And collapsed to her knees in the dim chill of dawn.

At the sound of rushing footsteps, she tried to push herself up. But the muscles in her arms had gone to lead.

“Hey, what happened?” Jake dropped to the ground beside her, lifted her head.

“Can't breathe,” she managed. “Can't breathe.”

“Yes, you can.” Her pupils were dilated, her face dead white and clammy. He put a hand on the back of her head and shoved it between her knees. “Slow, easy, deep. You breathe.”

“Can't.”

“Yes, you can. One breath. Inhale. One breath. Now another one. Let it out.” He felt the tightness in his belly begin to ease when she started to draw in air. “Keep going.”

“I'm okay.”

He simply held her head down. “More. In and out. I want you to lift your head up, slowly. Nausea?”

“No. I'm okay. I just . . . woke up, and I was disoriented for a minute.”

“Like hell. You had yourself a full-blown panic attack.”

She was far from steady, but just steady enough to feel the prick of embarrassment. “I don't have panic attacks.”

“You do now. Unless you come flying out of trailers naked for fun.”

“I—” She glanced down, saw she'd run out without a stitch on. “Jesus Christ.”

“It's okay. I like seeing you naked. You've got an amazing body, even when it's clammy with panic sweat. Up you go. You need to lie down a minute.”

“I don't. And don't baby me.”

“You're too smart to beat yourself up for having anxiety. And too bullheaded not to. Tough spot for you, Dunbrook. Sit.” He pushed her onto the sofa, tossed the blanket
over her. “Shut up one minute before you make me take back the smart part. You've had nothing but stress, tension, shocks and work for over a month. You're human. Give yourself a break.”

He pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, handed it to her.

“I had a nightmare.” She bit her lip because it wanted to tremble. “And I woke up, and I was alone and I couldn't breathe.”

“I'm sorry.” He sat beside her. “I went out to look around, just checking on things. I didn't want to wake you up.”

“It's not your fault.” She took a long drink of water. “I don't scare easy.”

“Don't I know it.”

“But I'm scared now. You tell anybody that, I'll have to kill you. But I'm scared now, and I don't like it.”

“It's okay.” He put an arm around her, pressed his lips to her temple.

“When I don't like something, I get rid of it.”

His lips curved against her skin. “Don't I know it,” he repeated.

“So I'm not going to be scared.” She took one long breath, relieved when it didn't catch in her lungs or her throat. “I just won't be scared. I'm going to find out what I need to know. I'm going to Virginia, and the Simpsons are going to tell me what I need to know. I want you to go with me.”