Authors: Vicki Hinze
A bell sounded, and the elevator doors slid open. Caron
stepped inside. Parker didn’t move. She tugged his sleeve.
When the doors slid closed, she pressed the button. It lit
up, and she looked back at Parker. He was still staring at her as if she were an alien. “What’s the matter with you?”
He stepped closer, until his chest was against her breasts,
and cupped her chin. “I need to do this, Caron. I know my
timing’s rotten, but...I need to...”
His lips brushed ever so lightly over hers, grazed her chin,
then
returned to her mouth. He planted his hands at her
shoulders and let them slide around to her back, then pulled
her into the cradle of his arms. He’d kissed her before, but
not like this. There was a new tenderness in his touch, and there was awe in the gruff groans vibrating in his throat, in the tips of his fingers as they worked the flesh at her side.
He reared back enough to mumble her name, then bore down on her mouth and crushed her lips beneath his. The attack on her senses had her legs going weak and her heart
careening, and every pore in her body seemed to be
stretching toward him, sensually gravitating, wanting to
absorb the feel of him.
The elevator hit bottom with a little jerk, and the door
opened. Parker set her away from him, looking, for all the
world, totally calm.
Caron slumped against the wall. How could he do this to
her and look so calm? If the man didn’t want her and still managed to turn her to putty, she shuddered to think of
what he’d do to her if he
did
want her!
He caught her hand in his. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Mumbles she could manage. Words were an
entirely different matter. Good grief, his kisses were po
tent. Her head was fogged.
“Ready?”
“Uh-huh.” Better, but not quite coherent. Her lips still
tingled, and her insides were still hot and fluid. There was
no way she could walk.
Parker smiled and tweaked her nose. “Come on, honey.
Snap to.”
Snap? She couldn’t slither. “Right.”
“The evidence room.” He hooked his thumb left.
Evidence room. Misty.
The fog faded, but the glow remained. “Right,” she said, more firmly, then followed him down the hall.
Parker turned down a short hallway, then stopped. Caron saw a sign on the wall above the door: Evidence Room. The recessed wire door had a wooden frame and a formi
dable-looking hasp lock. Her heart sank. Without a saw or a keg of dynamite, they’d never break that lock.
“You keep watch on the hall,” Parker whispered.
How was he going to get in there? Deciding she was bet
ter off not knowing, Caron went to the corner where the
two halls connected. The corridors were empty. The gray
tile floor looked glossy and slick—freshly waxed.
Hearing a rustling sound behind her, she looked back.
The bottom half of the wire in the door hung loose. Parker
hadn’t touched the lock; he’d gone through the wire, and
now he stood inside the evidence room.
He hiked his chin. “What?”
She hand-signaled that everything was okay.
Seconds later, footsteps sounded in the hall. She peeked
around the corner and saw two cops walking toward her.
“Parker,” she whispered. “Someone’s coming.”
She had to do something. If she and Parker went to jail,
who’d help Misty?
“A girl, huh?” one officer said to the other. “Well, how
about that?”
“Yeah.” The other guy was grinning from ear to ear. “I
still can’t believe it. I’m a father!”
Jeff, Caron thought. He was back from the hospital.
She stepped out into the officer’s path. “I just heard the news. A daughter. Jeff, that’s terrific.” She squeezed his
hand. “You must be so proud.”
“Yeah, lam.”
He was trying to figure out who she was; she couldn’t give him time to think, to realize they’d never met. “The
sarge is wanting you two at the desk. Right away, he said.”
She smiled. “Congratulations again on the baby.”
“Thanks.” Still frowning in confusion, Jeff and the
other officer turned and walked back toward the elevator.
“Wonder what the sarge wants now?”
The other guy shrugged. “Probably about the baby.”
Caron rushed back to the hall outside the evidence room.
Parker was standing there with a clear plastic bag in his hands. Flashes of Sarah ripped through her mind. Caron’s
mouth went dry. She walked to the door on legs she wasn’t
sure would hold her and reached through the wire. “Just the leash.” Her voice was faint, strained and weak.
Parker slid the leash out of the bag. His eyes looked nearly black and turbulent. She sensed his fear of what
might happen to her when she touched the leash. She was afraid, too. She might sense Linda’s murder; that threat was
real. And if she did, in her weakened condition, such a vi
olent image might well be fatal.
Parker seemed to know. “You don’t have to do this.” Desperation edged his voice. “We’ll find another way.”
She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “We don’t
have time.”
Just in case, once more, she studied his face. A muscle in his cheek twitched. And the hand holding the leash shook.
He cared. He hadn’t given her the words before, and he
wasn’t going to give them to her now, but she could read the
message in his eyes. She wasn’t alone.
He blinked and his expression grew frantic. “No. No,
you can’t. Caron, you can’t do this!”
Cold dread clawed at her stomach. She lunged and grabbed the leash.
She should close her eyes. Seeing Parker looking so stunned, so worried, tore at her concentration and slivered
her focus. It was about to happen; the sensations welling in
the pit of her stomach warned her that it was, and they were
growing stronger. She drank in the sight of him. Those darling black curls that teased his ears and nape, the set of
his jaw, his wonderful mouth. It was fixed and hard now,
but she pretended it was curled in that tilted half smile she’d
first cursed, then coveted. Her heart felt so full; she wanted
him to know, but the sensations strengthened. There was no
time.
She clutched the leash to her chest and squeezed her eyes
shut. The image came instantly. Linda driving across the Greater New Orleans bridge, passing the cutoff to Decker’s, going on through a tunnel to Marrero. Then a flash, and she was driving hell-bent-for-leather down a weedy,
rutted road. But where was that road? Linda was driving so
fast that Caron couldn’t see the surroundings. Two lefts,
then a sharp right turn, then on to a clapboard house. She ran around to the back—and Caron saw the shed.
Linda fumbled with the lock, finally opened it, and
tossed it to the ground. She knelt over Misty. Untied the ropes, then scrambled through her purse and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. She shoved two pills into Misty’s mouth
and rubbed her neck to make her swallow.
Stretching over Misty’s chest, Linda grabbed a red glass. Water sloshed out onto the dirt floor. She poured what was
left down Misty’s throat, then stood up. “I’m going to lock
the door again, Misty,” she whispered. “But only for a few
minutes. Then I’ll come back, and take you home.”
Misty didn’t answer.
Caron reminded herself that she’d imaged Misty after
this time, that after she’d swallowed the pills the child’s fe
ver had gone down.
Linda was outside the shed now. Caron heard the lock click closed. Something heavy hit her in the back of the head. Dazed, she saw a shadow fall across the door; arms
raised, a thin strap stretched taut between two large hands.
Caron’s heart thudded wildly. She wanted to let go of the
leash, to not experience Linda’s death. But she couldn’t make herself do it. If she was strong enough, she might learn who had killed Linda. She had to go on. She had to!
Linda had helped Misty!
She felt the wind whip down her face. Felt the leash wrap
around her neck. She felt Linda’s surprise, her fear. Linda
began twisting, fighting her attacker...fighting for breath.
Caron struggled along with her, but he was so strong!
And then she was Linda. Her head grew light. Colored
spots blinded her eyes. She grabbed at the leash cutting into
her throat and tried to tear it loose. She needed air!
The spots grew larger, began drawing her deeper and
deeper into a dark cloud. Something hard—a fist-size
rock—cracked against her skull. Blinding pain streaked through her head. Fluid, hot and sticky and wet, seeped
down the back of her neck. Blood.
She was dying. She could feel her body grinding to halt.
Her thoughts numbing, her rushing blood slowing to a
trickle. Parker! Caron cried. No, oh God, no! Parker!
She was dying. Caron was
dying/
Before he realized he’d moved, Parker was on her side of
the door, grabbing the leash and scooping Caron up into his
arms. Linda Forrester’s murder. Dear God, how could he
have let her do this?
“Caron?” He nuzzled her with his nose, shaking so hard
he feared he’d drop her. “Honey, talk to me.
Please, talk to me.”
No answer.
Her pulse was thready, weak. She lay limp, her face still, her eyes closed. Memories flooded his mind: wrenching
flashes of Harlan in the morgue, his cries to Sarah, his
begging her to come back to him. Tears blinded his eyes;
raw terror burst forth from his soul, and an icy-cold blanket of fear wrapped around his heart. “Damn you, Caron
Chalmers! Don’t you dare die on me!”
Her lashes fluttered.
They did, didn’t they? His heart stopped, as if afraid to beat, as if afraid the feel of it would pull her away. Sweat sprang from his pores, mingled with his silent tears and rolled down his face to his mouth. He licked the salt from his lips and begged, “Caron, honey,
please!
Don’t leave
me.”
She covered his heart with her hand. “Parker.”
Relief washed through him. The fear eased from his
throat. Still, he couldn’t talk. His nerves and emotions were
raw, gaping wounds. He’d almost lost her.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
Her color was coming back. The sparkle of life was returning to her eyes. Never in his life had anything ever
looked so beautiful.
“But you look like hell.”
Wild relief sang through his veins, and he laughed,
straight from the heart.
She gave him a watery smile. “I still don’t know where Misty is, don’t know how to get there exactly.”
Parker looked down at the woman in his arms, and a surge of tenderness enveloped him. “We’ll see to Misty
right after Dr. Z. sees to you.”
“I’m fine.” Caron stroked his jaw. “Really.”
“You’re not fine. You nearly died.” The truth of it cut him to the bone, and had him curling her closer.
She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Take me home, Parker. To the
apartment. I need food and sleep.”
Parker started down the hall, stepped in and mashed the
elevator button. Caron had never in all the time he’d known
her put her own needs before the girl’s—or his, for that
matter. That she was seeming to now concerned him. She wasn’t as “fine” as she was pretending to be.
When they walked by the sergeant’s desk, he called out,
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Parker didn’t slow a step, or miss a beat. “Pregnant.”
Caron smiled against his chest and pinched his neck to
punish him. “Married
and
pregnant, Parker?”
“I know you wouldn’t prefer pregnant and unmarried.”
“No, bad example for the kids at school.”
So she wasn’t opposed to the idea.
Either idea.
Heat seeped through his body. The idea of being married to Caron, of her carrying his child inside her body, excited him. They’d wake up together in the mornings. And make love
deep into the night.