Hold on to Me (15 page)

The pictures took over his brain with horrifying intensity. He buried his face in her hair, wanting to absorb the pain making her voice hoarse and tremulous.

The way Tori sounded when she talked about the rape. His stomach roiled, more images tumbling through his mind. He rubbed his thumb across her stomach and pressed his mouth to her cheek.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Her tone steadied and her finger stilled on his hand. “It wasn’t about rape. He wanted more power than that. He needed to make sure I never wanted another man, and the only way he could do that was to leave me dead, to kill my—”

Her voice halted.

“It was the only way he could
control
me.” She shuddered against him. “God, I hate that word. Your guy, he’s all about control. He needed to control Amy. He wanted to prove his ultimate control with the others—”

“Enough.” He smoothed her hair, tucked her head beneath his chin. “Get some rest. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

She burrowed closer. “This is my first case back in the field since it happened, Calvert. I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t, Falconetti. You won’t.”

And neither would he.

“Good morning, big brother.” Tori’s cheerful voice vibrated along the line. “Did I wake you?”

“Do you care?” He kept his tone low, aware of Caitlin sleeping beside him. Sometime during the night, he’d rolled to his back, and she’d followed, her head now pillowed on his chest, her hand splayed over his stomach, each and every finger imprinted on his bare skin.

“Not really.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine thirty. Do you know where Caitlin is? I’m supposed to pick her up at ten to go to church with me, but she’s not answering at the hotel.”

“She’s here with me.” It was a state of affairs he could definitely get used to. He opened his eyes. Lord, she was beautiful. Black lashes fanned over her cheekbones, the dark circles of fatigue under her eyes faded almost to nothing. He resisted the urge to run a finger over her parted lips.

“Really. How interesting.” Absolute glee flowed through his sister’s words. “Maybe you want to go church with us, too. I think the sermon is on the sins of the flesh. You can repent.”

“Tori.” He ground his teeth. “I haven’t done anything to repent for. Nothing happened.”

“You know, you keep saying that. I’m disappointed.”

“Did you want anything else or just to torture me?”

“Caitlin as a sister-in-law would be nice. I’d like to see you married off with a couple of kids. You’d be too busy to interfere in my life.”

“Victoria.” He tried to make her name a stern warning, but her response was a light laugh. Her teasing built a picture in his mind, of the way things could be, and he liked the scenario way too much. “Do me a favor. Pick Mama up and take her to church.”

“Sure thing. What do you want me to tell her if she asks where you are?”

“Tell her something came up.” He sighed at her giggle. “Do not comment on that. I’ll talk to you later.”

He replaced the receiver, watching the light play off Caitlin’s dark hair. She slept on, undisturbed. Her body must have finally given in to months of exhaustion. Careful not to wake her, he extracted his arm from under her neck and slid from the bed. If he didn’t get up now, he never would.

Intending to cover her, he reached for the quilt and stilled. His faded blue T-shirt bunched around her waist, inches above the tiniest pair of lilac silk panties he’d ever seen. But her flat stomach drew his attention, his gaze riveted on the scars marring her smooth skin, two jagged stab wounds and lower, a precise, surgical incision. Above her abdomen, just visible at her rib cage, beneath the shadow of the cotton shirt, lay two more ragged scars.

His nerves clenched, a chill sweeping his body at the evidence of the horror she’d endured. Smothering the urge to touch her, he pulled the quilt over her shoulders and slipped from the room.

Sleep faded away, and Caitlin surfaced to an incredible sense of peace. Eyes squeezed shut against the bright sunlight, she stretched, pointing her toes toward the end of the bed. Tick’s clean, subtle scent clung to the quilt, enveloping her, and she drew in a deep breath, remembering the solid strength of him next to her.

She’d gotten through the night without a single nightmare.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, and here she is,” his lazy voice said. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

“I think you’ve got your fairy tales mixed up.” She rolled over. Dressed in jeans and a dark red polo shirt, he leaned against the doorframe, holding a coffee mug sporting a tractor slogan.

“Probably.” His smile was the sexiest thing Caitlin had ever seen. She fought down an urge to open her arms and invite him back to bed. “Sleep well?”

She nodded, watching him saunter toward the bed, loving the easy way he moved. The sheet pooled about her waist when she sat up against the headboard, and she twisted her hands in it to keep from reaching for him. He held out the mug, and she accepted it, inhaling the brisk aroma of fresh coffee. “You?”

“Very.” He sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the hem of the quilt. “I have a confession to make.”

She sipped the strong brew. “Really.”

“I committed a breaking and entering this morning. Actually, more entering than breaking.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought maybe we’d work from here today.” He took the mug from her and drank slowly. “I didn’t think you’d want to put on the same clothes this morning. I filched your card key and picked up some of your things—a change of clothes, your laptop and your files. Oh, and Amy’s diary.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” She shook her disheveled hair from her face. This close to him, heat curled in her stomach. To start every day this way, to have this much consideration and affection wrapped around her.

“You were sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb you. You needed the rest.” He looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. “I have the department schedules Cookie ran off for you, too.”

“Tick, we have to check.” She touched his hand, his skin warm under her fingertips.

“I know.” He ducked his head, but when he looked up at her, his eyes were clear, his smile rueful. “But I don’t have to like it.”

She stole the mug from him, relishing for just a moment the intimacy of their interaction. They would be so good together, if only…she brushed the thought away. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Twelve fifteen.”

“What? I’ve slept half the day—”

“Cait, calm down. It’s Sunday. You’ve worked nonstop for the last three days.”

A hand over her eyes, she groaned. “I was supposed to meet Tori at ten.”

“I’ve already talked to her. Stop worrying. Take a shower and get dressed. You can satisfy your workaholic tendencies by working on your profile all afternoon. You know, it’s just a job. You’re allowed to take a break every now and then.”

“I let you look after me for one night, and you think you can just take over, don’t you, Lamar Eugene?”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth over hers in a quick, casual caress that set her nerves on fire. “Pretty much.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He rose from the bed. “Your things are on the chair. Shower’s all yours.”

He closed the door behind him. She pushed the covers away and climbed out of the bed, taking a few moments to straighten the sheets and quilt and set the pillows against the black iron headboard. Retrieving her clothes from the armchair in the corner, she laid them out, smiling at his thoughtfulness. He’d brought not only her clothing, but the small bag containing her jewelry and cosmetics.

She picked up her underwear and let the lacy bra dangle from a finger. He’d managed to find the sheerest set of lingerie she owned.

In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and turned on the tiled shower in the corner, casting a wistful glance at the large antique clawfoot tub dominating the center of the room. It would easily hold two people. Her body tingled with the images her mind conjured—water sliding over his tanned skin, their bodies intertwined, caressed by warm suds.

Casting aside her panties and his T-shirt, she stepped into the shower, the hot water flowing over her skin like one long lover’s caress. The soap lather filled the small enclosure with the scent she associated with him and she leaned against the wall, last night’s terror forgotten. Eyes closed, she pressed trembling fingers to the sweet ache pooling in her lower stomach. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to be back in his bed, in his arms, with sleep the last thing on their minds.

The night before, she’d given into the temptation to lose the darkness in his arms. This morning, she simply wanted to lose herself there. Straightening, she turned the water to cold and gasped at the icy jets pummeling her skin. She’d told him about the attack and she’d survived. Surely she could tell him the rest.

She
should
tell him the rest.

Her fingertips brushed the surgical scar, cold reality dissipating the lazy well-being and piercing desire. How on earth to begin? How would he react?

A shiver completely unrelated to the cold water traveled over her. Telling him would change everything and she wasn’t even sure where they were now.

She needed time, enough time to discern where they were headed, what really lay between them.

Pushing back her wet hair, she turned off the shower. She didn’t have to tell him yet. A little more time to figure out how, to make sure she was doing the right thing, wasn’t too much to ask.

When she came out of the bedroom, Tick sat at the kitchen island, a file folder spread open in front of him. A slow smile crossed his face as he took in her jeans and white buttondown. His slow survey of her felt like a touch and her breasts tightened inside the sheer bra he’d chosen.

“You look nice.”

“Thank you,” she said. He flicked a look up at her hair, restrained in a loose knot, and an odd expression flashed through his dark eyes. “What?”

“It’s your hair…I’m going to spend the entire day wanting to take it down. We need to find this guy soon because my objectivity is already shot to hell.”

Feeling a desperate need to change the subject, she peeked over his shoulder at the folder. “What are you doing?”

He held up a missing person flier with a grainy photo. “We might have a possible ID on yesterday’s victim. Kimberly Johnson, twenty-eight. She’s a cop, Cait. Atlanta PD. She disappeared three weeks ago on her way to Florida. Williams’s trying to get her dental records since she couldn’t get prints from the body.”

She lifted the report lying on top of the thin stack of papers and skimmed. “You’ve been busy this morning.”

“I want this son of a bitch locked up.” His low voice vibrated with intensity. Dropping the report on the stack, she stepped away, brushing his arm with her movement. His eyes darkened to black and the breath he sucked in was audible.

She backed up, putting space between them. “Did Williams say anything about our labs?”

“Yeah. They’re not done, and with the backlog, they probably won’t be for at least a week.”

“A week?” The prospect horrified her.

“If not longer. We’ve waited almost three months for results to come through.”

“We’re not waiting that long. We can have the evidence transferred to the FBI lab.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. “You really can’t resist taking charge, can you?”

The teasing note in his voice warmed her. “You’re not going to freak out like Reed, are you?”

“Unlike Stan, I don’t have a problem relinquishing control. Sometimes, it can be pretty darn interesting.”

Her lungs not working, she stared at him, knowing full well he wasn’t talking about their case any longer. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from his. She wasn’t ready for this. “You know what I need? Food.”

He gestured toward the counter. “Help yourself. I think there are some bakery rolls in the breadbox. Mama called and fussed at me for not going to church, but I can redeem myself by showing up for Sunday dinner. We’re supposed to be over there before one thirty and she always cooks for an army, so save room for—”

“I’m not going to your mother’s for dinner.” Keeping her back to him, she peered at the cellophane-wrapped sweet rolls, her stomach telling her if she ate one of those stale things, she’d be sorry. Sleeping in his bed had been bad enough, even if all they had done was sleep. Sunday dinner with his family? She didn’t think so.

She
really
wasn’t ready for that.

“Yes, you are. She specifically asked me to bring you, and I told her I would. I’m in charge right now, remember? You can have your turn later.”

She laughed. “You are—”

“Planning to take care of you today,” he finished, near her ear. She startled, aware now of the warmth of his body behind her. He rested his hands at her waist. When he spoke again, his voice was serious, all playfulness gone. “You need a break. I don’t ever again want to see you like you were last night.”

She closed her eyes. He wanted to take care of her, take her to his mother’s. Oh, God, that had to mean something.

Probably the same thing it would mean if she took him home to her grandfather.

Fine. She would find a way to handle whatever that meant and maybe by the end of the day, she’d know how she was going to tell him what really stood between them.

She sidestepped, turning to face him, pasting on a smile that hurt. “I give in. When do we leave?”

“I should warn you that the entire mob will be at Mama’s.” Tick glanced at Caitlin as he turned onto Boll Weevil Road. “She’s been keeping Chuck’s crew. He’s bringing Deanne home from the hospital today, and I imagine they’ll be at the house. And my brother Del’s family was due home from the beach last night. They should be here as well.”

“Sounds crowded.” Her gaze lingered on the cornfields lining the road. She was quiet, a little reserved today, but less tense.

And she wasn’t fighting him on every little thing, on every step of the way.

He was closer to having his Caitlin back.

The scars. He gnawed at the inside of his bottom lip. Everything—all the changes in her, the distance she kept placing between them—it had to be because of the attack she’d suffered. Slowing for a small yet crowded residential area, he studied her sideways. She didn’t trust him. What did she think, that he’d turn away once he knew? Where the
hell
did she get that idea? If she believed that, she didn’t know him at all.