Authors: Vicki Hinze
Parker crawled into bed and let out a sigh. It had been a long day, but a productive one. After a year of intense effort, he was finally closing in on Caron Chalmers.
He honestly didn’t know what to make of the woman.
That made deceiving her tough on his conscience. He raked
a hand through his hair and stared at the ornate ceiling in his bedroom. If he hadn’t known what she’d done, if he
hadn’t known Harlan’s death was her fault, Parker
wouldn’t have believed her capable. She seemed so
sincere. But he did know. So why was he suffering these
conflicting emotions about the woman?
She was attractive. Slim. Pale. Delicate. But he’d met lots
of attractive women, and none of them had tied his stomach into knots. Her courage, maybe? Con artist or no, she had more than her share of guts. Like sex, fear had a distinct scent, and when she’d gone into Decker’s, Caron had smelled of fear. But she
had
gone in. Alone. Willing to
confront whatever awaited her.
Parker couldn’t help but admire her for that, even if the incident had given him a few gray hairs. It’d been a tense few minutes there, trying to get her out before Decker re
alized she was in the house.
When she’d gotten back into the car, Parker had been
even more tense—and suspicious. Could she and Decker be working together? Only a fool wouldn’t have considered the
possibility. But one look at her and those suspicions had died a natural death. Soaked to the skin, she’d looked so
shaken, so incredibly vulnerable.
It was her eyes. They were intriguing, riveting, lavender,
almost translucent when he’d kissed her. But only until she’d regained her senses. Then the shadows had come back. Pain hid in those shadows. Gut-wrenching, soul-shattering pain. What—who—had put it there?
Questions. Always questions about her. But few an
swers.
Restless, Parker flipped onto his side, yanked up the
comforter and concentrated on the aquarium’s droning
hum
.
Usually the sound soothed him. Tonight it agitated.
It was Caron. The idea of busting her had been easier
from
a distance, when he hadn’t yet seen those shadows in
her eyes. Maybe that was her attraction. Maybe it wasn’t. The shadows confused him. Cold and calculating con artists like Caron Chalmers didn’t get hurt. Yet that was what
those shadows made him feel. That she’d been hurt and she
hadn’t recovered. Not that she seemed fragile so much as
brittle and ready to snap.
“You’re getting soft in the head, Simms,” he muttered, scrunching up his pillow. “Get some sleep.” He forced his eyes closed. Tomorrow would be here soon enough, and Chalmers was quick; he had to be quicker.
She’d been ticked about how he’d kept Meriam Meyer
busy, and about him not showing a lick of compassion at
her near miss with Decker. Parker had had no choice but to play hardball then, though. Caron had looked a beat away from panic, and he had been a beat away from smothering her with relieved kisses. His stomach muscles clenched.
After meeting Decker, Parker agreed she’d been right. Kidnapping or no, if Decker had caught her in his house,
he would have killed her.
That thought had Parker nearly climbing the walls. He wished he didn’t care about her as a woman. Something in her pulled hard at him. Hard, and at gut level. She was at
tracted to him, too, which was the only thing that made his
being attracted to her easier to take. Still, she didn’t know him; he hadn’t done anything to her. But he did know her, and she’d cost him probably the best friend any man ever
had in his life.
That made Parker feel guilty as hell for being attracted
to her. Oh, after they’d kissed he’d told her he hadn’t been.
But he’d lied. He had been attracted. So attracted that if
Mr. Mud Boots hadn’t nearly knocked the window out of the car rapping on the glass, Parker and Caron would have
ended up in the back seat, doing something that would have
haunted him as long as he lived.
As aroused now as he’d been when it was happening— and feeling even guiltier—Parker tossed on silk sheets that
suddenly felt rough. How could he want her, knowing who
she was and what she’d done? What kind of man was he?
It was her, not him. He’d outgrown back-seat tussles years ago. At least he’d thought he had, until tonight.
Parker groaned and again stared at the ceiling. With her
sweet curves and sinewy moves, Caron Chalmers was hard on
his body. But the woman inside was even harder on his soul. She’d cried for him. He rubbed his thumb and fore
finger together. Because he’d shut her out and not ex
plained his animosity toward her, she’d cried tears that he’d
touched. And he’d been so tempted to open up.
The phone rang.
He considered not answering it, but some sixth sense
warned him that he’d better. He reached over to the night-
stand and lifted the receiver. “Yeah.”
“Parker.”
Her voice was high-pitched and cracked, but he recognized it at once. He sat straight up in bed. “What’s wrong,
Caron?”
“Someone’s been in my apartment. They—they left me
a message.”
He tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. “Are you sure they’re gone?” Hiking his shoulder, he jammed
the receiver between the crook and his chin and jerked on
his jeans.
“Yes. I—I tried to call Sandy. But he wasn’t—”
“Give me your address.” He knew it, but right now he
just couldn’t think.
She reeled it off. He repeated it back to her to make sure
he’d gotten it right. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll wait outside. I—I don’t want to be alone here.”
“No.” She was reacting on emotion, not with logic. “He
might still be around.”
“It could’ve been a woman.”
Parker grimaced and stuffed his wallet into his pants. “Then
she
might still be around.” He pulled on his jacket. “Sit tight. Can you do that?” Where was his shirt? He’d
forgotten his stupid shirt. “Just sit tight.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you’d hurry, okay?”
Her voice sounded so tiny, so faint. She was afraid. Hanging up the phone was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Breaking the connection, the link reassur
ing him that she was safe, was all but impossible. Why
she dredged such strong emotions from him, he didn’t
know. Nor did he want to know. He just wanted to get to her. If he found a message—and no evidence that she’d
planted it herself—then there was a case. Not necessarily a
child abduction, but a case. Anyone could be after her.
How many cases had she “helped” Sandy solve?
Because he should know the answer to that and he didn’t, Parker moved twice as fast. If anyone touched that woman,
there’d be hell to pay. She was his, and if anyone was go
ing to bring her down, it was going to be him.
Caron heard the knock. She couldn’t make herself touch
that door. She wanted to, knew she needed to, but, staring at the dried blood, she couldn’t make herself do it. “Come
in.”
Parker shoved open the door. “Come in?
Good grief, Caron, I could be Jack the Ripper and you just invite me in?”
She stood motionless, her arms curled over her chest,
staring blankly at the door. In her peripheral vision, she saw
Parker. Where was his shirt?
He turned and looked at the message, then stepped close
to her. “I thought you meant a note.”
Tears burning the backs of her eyes, she blinked hard and
looked up at him.
His voice softened. “What’s that on your face?”
It was blood. From where she’d leaned against the door. Suddenly, she spun and fled to the bathroom. At the sink, she twisted on the tap and snatched up the soap, her hands shaking so hard she could barely keep hold of the bar. With harsh, grating swipes, she scrubbed her face till her skin burned,
then kept on scrubbing. She wouldn’t look up, couldn’t
look into the mirror until she felt clean again.
“Caron.” Parker stepped in and touched her shoulder.
“No!” She jerked away and kept scrubbing. “I have to
get it off!”
“Caron!” he shouted. “Look at me!”
She did. Her eyes were wild. Certainty flooded through
Parker. This incident wasn’t part of any con. The fear and
shock in her were real. The air between them crackled with
tension. He grabbed a towel hanging beside the sink and moved slowly toward her, speaking softly, in soothing tones. “It’s okay. Everything’s all right now.” Gently he wiped the lathered soap off of her face. “There, it’s gone.”
“It’s not gone,” she spat out.
He cupped her chin in his hand. “It’s over, Caron.”
“It’ll never be over.” Something flashed in her eyes. “You don’t understand!”
He held her face firmly, wet the edge of the towel, then
rinsed her face. Her chin quivered, bumping the heel of his
hand, tearing at his heartstrings. She was an emotional
wreck, but more than just the message had done this to her. Forcing a calm he didn’t feel into his voice, he looked down
at her. “Explain it to me, then. So I can understand.”
“I’ve been violated. A stranger has been in
my
home.
He’s touched
my
things.” Her face drained of color. “My ...personal things.”
“What personal things?”
“He’ll be back, Parker.” She growled deep in her throat.
“He’ll be back...and next time it’ll be my blood on the
door.”
“No.” Pain wrenched in his chest.
“He will, damn it!” She shuddered. “I—I—”
“What?” Parker shook her shoulders. She was border
ing on hysteria. “You what, Caron?”
“I...saw him.” Her head fell back, and she let out a guttural growl. “Oh, God, Parker, I saw him kill me!”
Her knees gave out. Parker scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. She buried her face at his neck, and he felt her shaking. She was crying, not a sobbing, out-of-control crying, as one would expect, but soft, soul-deep tears that wet his neck, soaked into his skin and squeezed
his heart.
Feeling raw and tender, he rubbed little circles on her
back. Her skin was clammy. So was his. And he wasn’t sure
which of them was trembling more. Seeing that message smeared on her door had made mincemeat of his insides.
He imagined that was a fraction of what seeing it had done
to her. The need to comfort her overwhelmed him, and without thinking of the thousand reasons he shouldn’t, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Shh, it’ll be all right.
Stop crying.”
“He knows about me, Parker. He knows I know about
Misty.” Caron shuddered and buried her face deeper in the
crook of his neck. “We have to stop him before he hurts
her.” She reared back, away from his shoulder. “I—I don’t
want her to die.” A fat tear tumbled to her cheek.
Parker’s emotions nosedived along with it, and he
vowed, “She won’t, and neither will you. I swear it. Do you
hear me? I swear it.” And because the need in him was so
strong, because he, too, needed comfort and reassurance,
he sealed his vow, covering her lips with his.
Her kiss was angry, desperate. He tasted her panic, and wondered if it was his own. She crushed her mouth to his, raked his lower lip with her teeth, and, when he opened his mouth she groaned deep in her throat and swept her tongue deep inside. Her fingers flattened on the bare skin between the lapels of his jacket, then brushed through the hair on his
chest. His flesh quivered, and he grunted his pleasure. Their tongues met and tangled in a violent mating that made him
weak, enraged his senses and sent his thoughts tumbling.
With a gasp, she eased back. “Parker?” She sniffed, sounding dazed, and brushed a fingertip across his lip.
He swore it brushed across his heart. Her lips were rosy, swollen from the kiss. Her face was flushed, and the irises of her eyes had deepened to the velvety purple of a mid
night sky. Feeling too much, he abruptly set her to the floor. “Get some things together.”
“Why?” Uncertainty tinged her voice. She straightened
her blouse. Water-splashed, the yellow silk clung sheer and
outlined the lace on her bra.