Authors: Nicola R. White
“Like this?” I mimicked him. I flexed internal muscles, gripping him even tighter. He groaned. “Or maybe like this.” I rode him, working him with my core. His eyes dropped to watch his cock slide in and out.
“So. Fucking. Hot,” he ground out. “I’m not going to last much longer if you keep this up.”
“Come for me.” I pulled his head down to lick my way up his neck and whisper in his ear. “Then we can do it all over again.”
I flexed again and he pushed into me even deeper, thrusting harder and faster. He let out a hoarse yell and pulled out, spurting onto my thighs and stomach, then relaxed against me. I cradled his head against my shoulder and he wrapped me in his arms, pressing me tight against him.
Chapter 27
When we could move again, we washed quickly, trying to finish before the lukewarm water ran out. I unbraided my hair and did the best I could with the sample-size shampoo and conditioner the motel had provided, then got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel to join Jackson in the other room. He had settled himself on the bed, after all, and I slid under the sheets next to him.
“Changed your mind about the floor?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why I let you talk me into that.” He yawned widely.
I laughed and settled comfortably into the crook of his arm. “Typical,” I teased. “Just like a man to go to sleep right after.”
He grinned. “Hey, you wore me out.” I grinned back and rolled off the bed to reach for the pile of junk food I’d deposited on the fake-wood dresser. “You remind me of Cash, growing up,” Jackson said, watching me. “Our mama used to say he had a hollow leg, the way he could eat.”
It was the first time he’d talked about his brother without the guilt and pain I’d seen in him before, and I was pleased to know I’d had something to do with easing his pain.
“With names like Cash and Jackson,” I guessed, “your mother must have been a fan of Johnny Cash.”
“Not her.” He shook his head. “Our daddy. She nearly killed him for naming me the way he did. Thirty-six hours of labor, she’d say, and he named me after a song about two people who hated each other so much they wanted to run away.” He laughed. “She tried to knock some sense into him with her cast-iron frying pan, but it was too late. My birth certificate had already gone to the county.”
“You’re making that up.”
He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” I laughed and hit him with my pillow. I could almost pretend we were on a road trip together, instead of on the run from the cops, the FBI, and a body-snatching psychopath. When I’d caught my breath again, I leaned against his chest and toyed with the dog tags he still wore. They were a reminder of his brother, a reminder that Jackson hadn’t been there to save him. For once, though, he didn’t seem to mind remembering.
“Did you always want to be in the military?” I let the metal slide through my fingers.
Jackson shook his head. “Nah. I was gonna be a famous rock star, have all the girls throwing their panties at me onstage.”
“Really?” I couldn’t quite picture Jackson strutting around in a pair of tight leather pants. “What did you play?”
“Nothing.” he grinned. “That was the problem.” I laughed again and rolled over to tuck myself close against his side. “I joined the Navy for all the usual reasons an eighteen-year-old kid does.” He stroked my hair. “Good pay, adventure, a chance to blow stuff up. A recruiter came to my high school when I was a senior and I didn’t have too many other options, so I signed up.”
“Why the SEALs?”
There was a low rumble of laughter in his chest. “I had this drill sergeant in basic who was always on my case, used to say I was just white trash who wouldn’t amount to anything. The guy was a brilliant recruiter—I volunteered for SEAL training just to prove him wrong.”
“Now
that
doesn’t surprise me in the least.” I leaned over to steal a kiss. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever met.”
“I prefer ‘determined.’” He yawned again as he nuzzled my neck. “What about you? What’s your dream?”
I felt suddenly shy and had to look away, but I told him anyway. “I want to own my own restaurant on the Cape some day. Just good food and good atmosphere, nothing touristy. Somewhere classy where people can go all year round. I’ve been taking business courses and working for the past few years, trying to save some money, but it’ll be a while before I have enough. Especially since I don’t have a job anymore.”
“Anything you put your mind to,” Jackson murmured sleepily as he drifted off.
I smoothed his unruly hair back from his forehead and smiled down at him, then reached for the television remote and settled back onto my side of the bed with my stash of snacks. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d eaten enough to take the edge off my hunger pangs, but Jackson was truly relaxed for the first time since I’d met him. Watching him gave rise to a bittersweet ache in my chest, so I turned the TV on and found a local newscast. I would have to leave Jackson soon, and I didn’t want to waste what time we had together by dwelling on what had to happen.
“The investigation continues into shots fired outside a bar on Cape Cod Thursday night,” a blonde news anchor said, “alarming locals and tourists alike. Police arrived at Spyder’s Bar and Grill in Hawthorne to find Christos Perris, head of the DeVille construction empire, mortally wounded by a gunshot wound to the head. Perris was airlifted to Massachusetts General Hospital for emergency treatment, where he remains in critical condition. Tara Walker, a waitress at popular Cape Cod restaurant, the Graceful Mermaid, has not been seen since Thursday night and is wanted for questioning in relation to the incident. Police say she may be traveling in the company of a Caucasian male, six feet tall and weighing approximately one hundred and seventy pounds.
“Also missing from the town of Hawthorne are two women reported to be Ms. Walker’s roommates, a local bartender, and her five-year-old daughter. Authorities are baffled by the number of disappearances, and say that none of the missing persons had any known connection to Perris prior to the incident.”
The anchor moved on to the next story while I digested what I’d just heard. On the bright side, we were merely wanted for questioning, not for Perris’s murder. But the most important part of the story was that Christos Perris wasn’t dead.
And now I knew exactly where to find him.
I looked down at Jackson, checking to see if he’d heard the newscaster’s report, but his breath rose and fell evenly. Sound asleep. I longed to lie down next to him and snuggle into the comforting warmth of his body, but now was my best chance to set out on my own. The newfound closeness that had developed between us had only strengthened my determination to keep him safe, and I moved quietly to gather my clothes up off the floor. They were grimy against my now clean skin, but I ignored my distaste and twisted my hair into a simple bun that concealed its length.
Finally, I slipped some cash from the pocket of Jackson’s jeans. I took just enough for a one-way bus ticket from New Bedford to Boston, an hour’s drive away, then hesitated and peeled off a few more bills. If I couldn’t get to Perris right away, I might need the cash to hole up somewhere. I pictured Jackson waking up to find me gone and bit my lip, hesitating, but I scribbled a note anyway saying I’d gone out for supplies and would be back soon. If he woke up sooner than I hoped, maybe it would delay him for a while before he came after me.
I stopped at the door and looked back at the man I loved. I wanted nothing more than to go to him, but I forced myself to turn away. He would be angry and hurt when he woke, but it was for the best.
“I love you,” I whispered. Then I slipped out the door.
Chapter 28
As I stepped out into daylight, my mouth went dry and my palms grew damp, but I kept my head down and tried not to look too anxious as I got a cab to the bus terminal. There, I made sure I was one of the first people on the next bus to Boston. I took a window seat at the back, kept my hat on, and feigned sleep when a chatty, middle-aged woman got on after me. Luckily, she chose a seatmate a few rows up, and the man who sat down next to me was just as happy to ignore me as I was to ignore him. He looked up occasionally from his paperback only to glare his irritation at the talkative woman ahead.
Once I got to Boston, I made my way to Massachusetts General and walked into the first building I saw, bypassing the information desk in favor of a directory on the wall. I located the Neurosciences Intensive Care Unit, housed in a building on the main campus, and made my way there. Inside, I took the elevator to the floor just below the Neuro ICU and took the stairs up a flight to minimize the chance that someone on the elevator would see and remember me. I had toyed with the idea of trying to get my hands on a pair of extra scrubs, but didn’t want to run the risk that someone would see me and demand to know what I was doing. Or worse, mistake me for staff and ask me to perform some task I had no knowledge of how to do.
I’d seen a sign downstairs indicating that the ICU had a policy of open visiting hours for family, so I decided to take a look before committing to a course of action. If I was in luck, Perris’s bedside would be temporarily vacant, in which case I would slip in long enough to ensure he would never come after Ruby or me again.
Do we really have to…to kill him?
I hesitated to say the words, even to Alecto, but I came out with them anyway. I couldn’t shake the weird, morbid thought that murder was like sex in a way—if you were going to do it, you should be able to talk about it.
If he’s brain dead, wouldn’t it be just as well to leave him the way he is? Hester said he needed to make a conscious choice to jump to a new body. No chance of that if he’s never conscious again.
It is your choice,
Alecto said.
You must live with your decision. But what if he does recover?
I wrung my hands as I paced around the stairwell landing. Could I really live with myself if I killed someone—even someone as evil as Christos Perris? But on the other hand, what if he
did
recover some day and come after Ruby or someone else I loved? There was no good option.
I pulled at the end of my braid, which had come untucked from my hat, and made up my mind to get a look at Perris. First things first, I would scope things out like I’d planned. Then I could make a decision about what to do. I emerged from the stairwell onto the Neuro ICU and turned a corner to find a reception desk front and center, blocking my path. The nurse manning the desk smiled as I approached.
“Can I help you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, about to make something up, when I saw another woman approaching. The tasteful silk dress and intricate gold pendant she wore screamed
expensive
, and she had the same golden good looks as Christos Perris. I swallowed hard. She had to be the sister, Elena, and she was headed my way.
“Sorry,” I told the nurse. “I think I’m on the wrong floor.” I turned and headed back toward the stairwell. Maybe I’d try the scrubs, after all.
Elena Perris followed me around the corner. “Tara Walker?”
Shit
. Of course she knew who I was. It was no secret that I was wanted for questioning in relation to her brother’s shooting. I sped up.
“Tara, stop! Please!”
No freaking way
. I increased my pace, hoping the nurse hadn’t already picked up the phone to dial security. It was bad enough that Elena was chasing after me, calling my name all over the place. I yanked open the door to the stairwell and started down, taking the steps two at a time.
“Stop, please! I need your help,” she called down after me.
Yeah, right. Like I needed a room with bars on the windows. I kept going.
“I have no one else.” Something in her voice stopped me. She sounded like she meant it.
I paused, studying the woman on the landing above. Was she for real? Maybe she was just trying to distract me long enough for the police to arrive. Or maybe she was as bad as her brother.
“Please,” Elena begged. “You must help me. There’s no one else who can face him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come. I’ll show you.” She gestured back toward the door I’d just come from. “My brother’s body is here, but his mind…Well, you’ll see for yourself.”
I hesitated. Could I trust her? I flexed the mental muscle that turned on my sixth sense and took a look at the golden-haired beauty. Unlike her brother, who had been as liberal with sin as he was with expensive cologne, Elena was clean. She had a small amount of blood staining her fingertips, but no more than I associated with a little white lie here, a bit of gossip there. Being the ‘Virgin Heiress’ must not have left much time or freedom to get her hands dirty.
Things may not be as they seem
, Alecto warned me, but I followed Elena up the stairs anyway. There seemed to be no other way to get a look at Christos. Besides, Elena’s hands were clean and there was no hint of a lie in the air.
“Is everything OK, Ms. Perris?” the nurse asked when we returned.
“Yes, thank you.” Elena smiled at her graciously. “My cousin was just overwhelmed by all the medical equipment. She has never been to intensive care before, and is squeamish about hospitals.”
I did my best to look embarrassed, rather than poised for flight. It must have worked, because the nurse didn’t ask any more questions, just nodded and turned to answer the phone. Elena led me into a room to the right of the nurse’s station, where Christos lay on a hospital bed. His head was swathed in bandages and he was hooked up to machines that looked capable of monitoring every bodily function I could think of, and some that I couldn’t. Elena sat by his bedside and took his hand.