Controversy (16 page)

“G
ood morning, sunshine.” Kyson smiled above her. “Sleep well?”

Michael pulled at her hands, dismayed to find that not only were her hands cuffed, but her feet had been cuffed to the foot of the bed, as well. “What is going on?”

Kyson's smile turned wicked. “Well, I figured that turnabout is fair play.” He winked. “Would you like some breakfast? I fixed you something nice.” He indicated the tray of food set across her abdomen. “We have a nice western omelet, sausage, toast and some orange juice. I didn't know whether you were a coffee drinker though, but just say the word and I'll brew you a fresh pot. It's all just a little service we provide here at chez Kyson's.”

Michael pulled at her restraints again, not at all sure that she liked this vulnerable position.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. Not to worry. I have you nice and secure.” He winked again. “I figured after breakfast, we could have a nice long talk about your situation.”

“C'mon, Kyson. Cut it out. This isn't funny.”

“Depends on what side of the handcuffs you're standing on,” he said. He cut her a piece of the omelet and told her to open up.

Michael turned her head. “I'm not hungry. Unlock me.”

“Aw, now. Don't be that way. I went to a lot of trouble cooking this breakfast. You don't want to be rude, do you?” He lifted the fork back to her lips and mimicked how he wanted her to open her mouth.

She eyed him wearily, but did as he instructed and took her first bite of breakfast.

“That's my girl.” He actually patted her on the head and, perhaps for giggles, tweaked her left breast. “Now, if you eat all your breakfast, I might have a nice treat for you afterward.”

Michael didn't know how to feel about this. It wasn't often that she didn't have control of a situation, the past week notwithstanding. “How long do you plan to keep me cuffed here?”

“For as long as it takes,” he answered amicably. He lifted another bite of food to her mouth.

She chewed quickly but then started to choke.

“Easy now.” He reached for a napkin and patted her awkwardly on the upper back. “None of that. It's time for me to get some answers.”

“Is this how you do your interrogations?”

“I did get the idea from you,” he admitted. “Pretty clever, don't you think?”

“I think you've lost your mind.”

“In that case, it'll make us a perfect couple.” He reached for the glass of orange juice and aided in tilting her head forward. “Easy.”

Michael sipped. When he pulled the glass away, a few drops splattered against her right breast.

“Ah. Let me get that for you.” Kyson leaned forward and lapped up the juice, taking his time licking her nipple until it glistened.

She closed her eyes, her breath thin in her chest while a throbbing ache pulsed between her legs.

“There. That's better,” he said, lifting his head, then continuing to hand-feed her. “I have to say I had the most enjoyable time last night—or rather this morning. You truly do know how to make a man lose himself.”

You're not so bad yourself,
she refrained from saying aloud.

“I also have to tell you that you have to be one of the most intriguing women I've ever met,” he said, studying her. “I'm drawn to you, but I don't trust you.” He locked gazes with her. “What do you think I should do about that?”

How would she know? She had the same issue when it came to him.

“Ah. Maybe we're in the same position,” he guessed correctly. “A stalemate.”

The orange juice reappeared, and Michael carefully took another sip. This time, Kyson deliberately spilled it across her left breast.

“Oops.” He set the glass down. “Looks like I made another mess.”

Michael's stomach quivered in anticipation as he leaned forward and took her hardened bud into his greedy mouth. Hot flames licked at her insides while his tongue made lazy circles against the tip. As an added touch, his teeth nipped and chewed, sending delicious sensations racing through her body.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The ache between her legs spread to the center of her belly and then radiated outward toward her sensitive breasts. “Please,” she begged on a ragged sigh.

Kyson lifted his head. Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “You know, I'm a bit hungry myself,” he said, removing the tray from across her belly and exposing her naked body. “My. My. My,” he whispered. “Now, this is a sight a man can get used to. What do you think?” His hands caressed her soft stomach and traveled down to graze the springy black curls between her legs.

She quivered.

“Do you think you can get used to waking every morning like this?”

“Cuffed to a bed?”

“Being worshipped by me?”

Her heart clenched.

“Do you think you could get used to me stroking you like this?” he asked, his fingers dipping in between her legs but not entering her. It felt as though he was tickling her with a feather. He'd captured her body's full attention.

“Maybe every morning I could rain kisses across every inch of you.” He leaned down again, peppered kisses against her knee, her thigh and then against her lower lips. “Would you like to
belong
to me? Every woman wants to belong to someone, right?”

The very possibility caused her heart to race and unbidden tears to sting the back of her eyes. She hardly knew this man, and yet, she did know him.

Didn't she?

In just under a week, she knew he was a man who loved hard. He was a man who would change his life to avenge a loved one. He was a man who was hard not to trust. Right then she longed to tell him the truth, the whole truth regarding her ex-husband's disappearance. But then her own loyalty and protective nature toward her sisters stilled her lips.

If she went down, they would go down with her.

Kyson moved on, unfazed by her silence. In his eyes, his gaze seemed to soak her in as if trying to memorize every curve of her body. He stood up, untied the belt of his robe. The moment the material parted, his sex sprang forward.

Immediately, Michael's hips rotated of their own accord.

“Anxious, are we?” he asked, but made no move toward her. He just reclaimed his spot on the edge of the bed. “Michael, tell me about your two friends, Ray and Scott Damon.”

Michael drew a blank. She was so hot for him that she had trouble recalling her last name. “They're just old friends,” she said.

“You have an interesting selection of friends,” he said and kissed the inside of her thigh. “Do you normally befriend criminals?”

His tone sounded like he was inquiring about the weather or the time.

“We used to go to school together.”

He nodded as if she'd given him the right answer. His head descended again; this time his mouth disappeared in the nest of curls between her legs.

“Ooh.” She sighed at the first feel of his tongue delving inside her. After four long strokes, Michael's hips lifted four inches off the mattress.

“Did you have your friends kill your ex-husband?” he questioned in the same soft tone as before.

“No.” She panted, too turned on to be offended.

Kyson's eyes narrowed.

“I swear,” she promised.

He seemed to accept the answer and dived again. Michael inched up the bed during her rewarded eight strokes.

“Have you told me the truth about everything?”

Michael didn't mean to hesitate. “I told you the truth about not having anything to do with my ex-husband's death,” she stated. It was her way of avoiding a yes-or-no answer and she waited to see whether he would pick up on it.

Silence pulsed between them and it appeared he'd made a decision. He mouth reclaimed its position between her legs and, within a few more strokes of his powerful tongue, she was pitched over the edge of oblivion. She was lost to all thought and reason when he climbed in between her shackled legs and pushed inside of her.

The glorious hammering of his hips brought tears to her eyes. Rapture consumed her, heaven enfolded her and Kyson completed her.

Together, they caused the bed to jump and rattle against the bedroom wall. Kyson repeated her name against the shell of her ear. When his orgasm finally hit, he roared like a victorious animal in the wild and then collapsed.

Hot. Sweaty. And all hers.

“W
e need to talk to someone in charge,” Flex thundered.

A glorified receptionist with a badge stabbed Flex with an annoyed look. “Sir, we're doing the best we can. Please have a seat and someone will get back to you shortly.”

“We have been waiting for someone for almost forty-five minutes,” he stressed, leaning over the desk. “We need to speak to someone now. My sister is missing.”

“Sir, you said so yourself that your sister has been missing for less than twenty-four hours. That doesn't make it high priority—especially when we are understaffed and overloaded. We work on a triage system and right now our officers are busy with priority cases.”

Flex hammered a meaty fist against the desk. “This is serious! My sister's
life
may be in danger.”

The short, stocky Korean officer didn't so much as flinch at Flex's outburst, but she laid out a warning. “Sir, if you don't calm yourself, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. It's either that or I can find you a nice cell until you cool off.”

“This is unbelievable,” he raged.

“C'mon, Flex,” Sheldon said, tugging on his arm. “Let's go back over here and wait.”

They returned to a row of waiting chairs lined up against a bulletin board. The entire Adams clan, from babies to the grand patriarch, Marlin, filled the waiting area. The ones who weren't crying held the same worried expression.

After Michael didn't show up last night to the emergency family meeting, they all agreed first thing this morning to drive over to her place to see if their troubled sister was all right. They found the place ransacked. Whoever had broken into the place tore through it like a tornado. The Adamses feared Michael had gotten caught up in the crosshairs.

The stress of the situation nearly sent Peyton into early labor.

“Excuse me. Have you guys been helped?” a middle-aged African-American male officer inquired.

“Well, it's about time,” Marlin grumbled.

“Yes, we're here to speak to someone about our missing sister,” Flex said. “We've been waiting for nearly an hour.”

The cop nodded his short, salt-and-pepper-colored head and directed them to come along with him. When the whole clan started to follow, he stopped. “I just need a couple of you guys,” he said. “There won't be enough room for all of you.”

The adults looked at one another and Sheldon made the decision that she, Frankie and Flex would follow the officer.

Marlin protested, but Sheldon assured him that everything would be all right. He nodded and returned to his seat to wait with the rest of the family.

“I'm Detective Dean Richards,” the cop said, offering his hand to the threesome.

After they'd shaken hands, Richards directed them to take a seat. Since there was only one chair before his desk, the three siblings elected to remain standing.

Richards pecked on an ancient-looking computer. “You said you wanted to file a missing person's report?”

“Yes,” the Adamses answered in unison and then looked at each other.

The officer bobbed his head and opened the appropriate screen. “Alrighty then. What is your sister's name?”

“Michael Adams,” Sheldon said, and then rattled off her sister's address. However, before she could launch into her story, the cop held up his hand and frowned at the screen.

“What is it?” she inquired. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh. Just a minute,” he said, pushing up from his chair. “Please wait right here.”

When Richards scrambled away, the three Adams siblings glanced at each other again.

Frankie took the empty chair before Richards's desk and nibbled on her bottom lip. “This definitely can't be good.”

Boldly, Flex leaned toward the cop's computer and read the screen. “I'd say. Her name is flashing. Must mean a red flag,” he said.

“I should have popped a Xanax before coming here,” Frankie muttered.

From across the station, they saw Richards approaching with two other officers trailing behind.

Frankie and Sheldon recognized Detective Griffin as he marched toward them.

“This is definitely
not
good,” Sheldon stressed.

“Ladies.” Griff smiled. “We meet again.”

Each woman gave him a curt nod.

“If you don't mind following me,” he said, “I'll take your statements.”

“Why?” Flex asked. “This officer was helping us.” He indicated Richards. “What's going on?”

“I'm sorry,” Griff said. “I don't think we've met. I'm Detective Robert Griffin and this here is my new partner, Detective Selena Martinez. And you are?”

“Flex Adams,” he said, ignoring the officer's hand. “Michael is my sister.”

“Ah, big family.” Griff gave him the once-over and straightened his shoulders. “Well, Mr. Adams, I've had the pleasure of meeting three of your lovely sisters earlier this week when I was following up another missing person's report. Your ex-brother-in-law, I take it—Philip Matthews.”

Flex understood now. His sisters had filled him in last night.

“So!” Griff clapped his hands. “If you all could follow me?” He turned without further ado and marched them to the back of the station.

Sheldon and Frankie reached for each other's hand in support. They knew without a doubt they were about to walk into the lion's den. “The only way to survive the impending ordeal was to tell the truth and that included the part in covering up Phil's kidnapping.

 

Juanita had never picked a lock in her life, but she was finding the experience exhilarating. With her entire Neighborhood Watch cronies stationed on the lookout, she worked the lock just as she'd read on the Internet.

The lock jumped and the door creaked open.

“We're in,” Juanita said, excited.

Estelle clapped her hands while Beatrice stepped back and shook her head.

Juanita caught the action and rounded on her. “Oh, don't you go soft on me now. We're all in this together, remember?”

“All for one and one for all,” Louise agreed, adjusting her wig. Heaven only knew why she didn't buy wigs that fit.

“Now, come on,” Juanita said, waving them inside.

They entered the home of Philip Matthews on tiptoe. The house's eerie silence raised everyone's hackles.

“Now, whatever you do, don't
touch
anything,” Estelle reminded them. “I learned that off
CSI,
” she boasted proudly. “They can get fingerprints off the strangest things.”

“Oh. I brought these,” Louise said, reaching into her black purse and pulling out yellow latex gloves.

“Aren't those for washing dishes?” Estelle inquired, taking her pair.

“It was all I had around the house.”

“Don't you girls care that we could go to jail for this?” Beatrice needled.

“Oh, stop it,” Juanita said, slipping on her gloves. “We're not stealing anything. We're just taking a look around.”

“But what are we looking for?”

“Anything out of the ordinary,” she pressed.

Beatrice refrained from asking exactly what that would be. The place was still wrecked from when Phil's girlfriend reported him missing. How should they know what was and wasn't out of the ordinary?

Since she was the odd woman out in this detective adventure, she clammed up, not missing the irony that the neighborhood crime stoppers were actually committing the crime.

The four old ladies continued their slow creep throughout the house, their eyes straining for what they deemed out of the ordinary.

“You would have thought that his new girlfriend would've cleaned the place up a bit.” Estelle sniffed.

“She probably didn't want to disturb evidence for the police.”

“Police, hmmph.” Juanita shook her head. “Phil turned up dead yesterday and the police haven't even come back to process the house yet.”

“I see I'm not the only
CSI
fan,” Estelle teased.

“Can we please get this over with?” Beatrice snapped.

Nothing turned up on the first floor, so Juanita led the group toward the staircase. Midway up, a strange stench burned their noses.

“What is that?” Juanita inquired. “It smells awful.”

Beatrice froze on a stair. “I'm not going up there,” she announced. “This is wrong nine ways to Sunday and you know it.”

“Fine. You stand right there and we'll go check it out,” Juanita said, not wanting to waste any more time arguing.

“Uh, I don't know,” Louise spoke up. “Maybe I should stay here with her and keep her company.”

“Are you kidding me?” Juanita asked. “We're already in here. We might as well go ahead and check it out.”

Louise hesitated. “I don't know. Maybe we should stay in pairs. I think I saw that on
CSI,
too.”

“You did not,” Estelle refuted. “You made that up.”

“Leave them here,” Juanita said. “We're just wasting time.”

Juanita and Estelle climbed the rest of the stairs, shaking their heads. They didn't have to travel too far to uncover the ungodly smell. The moment they opened the door to the master bedroom, they found what they were looking for: a dead body.

 

“You're not seriously going to leave me cuffed to the bed all day,” Michael inquired, watching Kyson as he dressed.

“Not all day. I just want to go check out a few things.”

After their morning of intense interrogation and exhausting sex, Kyson had tenderly given Michael a sponge bath, teasing and tickling as he did so. Afterward, he cruelly took a shower for himself.

“You can't be serious. You can't leave me like this.”

“Don't worry. I'll cover you up so that you don't catch a chill.”

“But what if I have to go to the bathroom or something?”

“I won't be gone long,” he promised. “An hour, two tops.”

“This isn't funny!”

Despite her temper, Kyson smiled, leaned over the bed and kissed her. “Like I said, it depends on what side of the cuffs you're on.”

“At least uncuff my feet.”

He glanced down, gave it serious consideration and then agreed. “All right.” He walked to the dresser across the room and retrieved a small key.

When he released her legs, Michael immediate curled up to get more comfortable. “What am I going to do if something happens to you and I'm locked like this?”

“Better hope that nothing happens to me.” He chuckled.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Look, I'm just going to go check out a few things. See if anyone else has seen this SUV you told me about, run the description of the kidnappers by Griff and my brother at his agency.”

“Basically, you're just going to go check out whether I told you the truth.”

“All of it?”

“Yes,” she lied.

He shrugged with a lighthearted smile. “It is a strange story. It would've helped if you'd gotten a tag number or something. Who knows, maybe I'll swing by Sunnyvale and talk to those Damon twins.”

Michael sat up. “What? Why?”

“Ah. That got your attention.” His smile disappeared. “If you've told the truth, what will it hurt?”

“Kyson, uncuff me.”

“I will,” he said. “When I return.” He headed toward the door. “Who knows? If your story checks out—” his eyes dragged over her covered body “—maybe we can see what we can do about lunch.”