Authors: JM Stewart
“Ceci.” The surprise in Lila’s emerald eyes melted into a warm smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hi, Lila.” She returned the friendly smile. “I’m sorry to come by so early. Is Chase awake by any chance?”
“Awake as I get before my second cup of coffee.”
Following the familiar sound of Chase’s deep voice, she peered around Lila. Chase weaved his way through the furniture, coffee cup in hand. He wore nothing but a pair of worn jeans, complete with a hole in the right knee. Chase’s signature. Every pair of jeans he owned had one. Chase might be every bit as meticulous as Kyle in his work, but his clothing style was definitely more relaxed. She couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, she’d seen the man in a suit. Or anything resembling one. He’d told her once he hated ties, that they made him feel as if someone was trying to hang him.
“Hi, Chase.” She drew up straight as he came to a stop in front of her. “I’ll get right to the point. I want to hire you.”
Chase folded his arms and shook his head, the corners of his mouth easing into a lazy smile. “Sweetheart, you know very well I won’t take your money. What is it you need?”
She squared her shoulders and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t about to take no for an answer from any more of the Morgan men. “I want you to help me find my parents.”
***
Early the following afternoon, Cecelia sat among a sea of boxes. Chase had agreed to do his best to help her. He’d asked her to search for a few items, like any papers her grandmother might have kept. So she’d gone to Gran’s room to search. She’d been digging furiously for hours now but had yet to find anything.
Her eyes misted as she glanced around the room. The place reminded her of the woman who’d lived here, of the only mother she’d ever known. She’d gone through most of Gran’s things after she’d died, had packed up her clothing, clearing out drawers and closets, but she’d kept certain things. She’d kept the wallpaper Gran had loved so much. Soft yellow and dotted with light pink roses, Cecelia had always thought it tacky. She’d teased Gran a lot about it over the years, but Gran said it reminded her of the bushes in the front yard. Now, every time she walked into this room, she saw Gran, smiling at her ugly wallpaper.
She’d kept the four-poster bed as well, including the ancient white lace bedspread neatly covering the mattress, and everything lining the old dresser. Rising to her feet, she moved to the dresser against the left wall. Dark and richly textured, its age showed in the hairline scratches marring the surface. She ran her fingers along the decorative perfume bottles along the top before turning to the three-tiered jewelry box. From time to time, she’d come in here, open drawers, remembering the pieces Gran had loved the most, but she couldn’t bring herself to sift through it all or toss it.
Unable to resist, she searched through the contents of several small drawers. There were long, dangly earrings, more rings than her grandmother had fingers, even a necklace of painted macaroni. Gran had told her once she’d made it in first grade, though that was another memory she didn’t have.
She smiled softly and closed the top drawer. Even in jewelry, Gran’s tastes were eccentric. As she turned to clean up the mess she’d made, the sunlight streaming in through the window to her right glinted off metal, catching her eye. Through the decorative glass doors, hanging from one of the hooks, was a tiny golden key on a silver chain.
Why had she never seen this one before? Something about it niggled at the back of her mind, and she reached in to pull it out. As she held it in the palm of her hand, her gaze caught on the bottom drawer of the jewelry box. Another thing she’d noticed a lot over the years that had never occurred to her to wonder what Gran kept in it. There, in the center, lay a tiny keyhole that reminded her of the top drawer of Kyle’s nightstand. He kept his gun locked in that drawer. Out of curiosity, Cecelia gave a gentle tug on the drawer, but it refused to budge. Strange. She supposed all women had their secrets, but what could be so important Gran felt the need to lock it away?
The nightmare she’d had that morning flitted through her mind. As did all the times over the years Gran neatly sidestepped any talk about her parents, about her past. Curiosity got the best of her, had her hands shaking with the need to know. She shoved the key into the hole and was surprised when the lock mechanism gave way. The only item in the drawer was a small manila envelope, faded and wrinkled with age. She bit her bottom lip, hoping and praying it held an answer as she pulled the envelope out and dumped its contents into her palm.
Her shoulders slumped. Another necklace. This one was different from the rest. Pretty but more simplistic, only a heart hanging from a thin, braided chain. In lifting it with her palm, a small, silver skeleton key dropped out of the tangled chain.
A memory lodged itself in her mind then, bright and vivid, and she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it. In an instant, she was there again, in the tight, cramped space in her dream. Dust particles floated in the beams of light. Gunshots rang in her head, so real the ever-familiar cold fear sliced through her veins. She shivered in response, goose bumps popping up along her skin. The smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils.
Drawing inward, into the scene, something pricked her palm. Closing her fist around the necklace, sensations overlapped one another, as reality mixed with the images and sensations of her nightmares. The cool touch of metal filled the center of her palm, one sharp edge pricking her tender skin.
The sensation that she’d been there gripped her chest again, and she opened her eyes. Shaking now, trembles fanned through her body and sent the charm skittering across the surface of her palm. Something hovered at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach, yet so tangible she could almost see it, feel it. Like a memory that wanted to break free from the dark silence of her mind.
A loud sound rent the air, startling her from the odd spell that held her, and she jerked her gaze to the bedroom doorway. Her pounding heart slowed as she recognized the sound as the warped front doorbell.
When it buzzed again, she couldn’t help the soft, wistful laugh that escaped. Of all the places to hear that sound. The warped noise reminded her of a sick cow. The bell had died years ago. Hating to have to hire someone, Gran put off getting it fixed. Now that Gran was gone, Cecelia couldn’t bring herself to fix it either, but only because every time it sounded, her grandmother’s soft, breathy laughter echoed through her mind. Every time someone came to the house, the two of them would dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Glad for the reprieve, she rose from her crouched position and left the room. After closing the door softly behind her, she trotted down the stairs. The instant she yanked open the front door, her feet froze in their spot on the polished hardwood floor.
“Kyle.”
Though they’d spoken almost every day, she hadn’t seen him since that night by the river. He stood leaning a shoulder against the door frame, arms folded, appearing too relaxed and casual, like he could stand there forever. He looked sexier than any man had a right to be in faded, hip-hugging jeans. Too well she remembered the torturous sight of his rear end in denim as he’d turned to walk back to the house the night he’d left her by the river.
His T-shirt was worse, though. Dark blue, with the police department logo covering the center of his chest, the blasted thing molded itself to his upper body, teasing her by showing off every twitch of muscle, every hill and valley. Staring at him, she couldn’t forget the luscious press of his body against her. Despite her desperate attempt to squelch the feelings, desire sank low in her belly all over again, leaving her trembling in front of him.
She gripped the door frame with one hand and bit back a frustrated groan.
“You didn’t pick up when I called this morning.” He hitched a shoulder, as though not answering the phone was reason enough for him to come over.
She averted her gaze to her feet, heat slipping into her cheeks. He had a point. Her not picking up the phone normally would have been more than enough reason for him to come over. Kyle had always been protective of her. It had been commonplace once for him to drop by out of the blue.
Before he’d kissed her. Before she’d become aware of him as a man.
“Everything okay?”
His gaze seared into her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze again. Only to wish she hadn’t. The barest hint of heat simmered in his eyes, slightly out of reach, subdued, as if he tried to hide it, but it was undeniably there. A tiny flame that smoldered in the recesses of his eyes, now the color of rain clouds right before a torrential downpour.
Those eyes trailed the length of her and back up. An action she felt as surely as if his hands drifted over her. He’d done it before. He’d done it a million times over the years, taking her in. His eagle eye didn’t miss much. It was part of who he was, part of being a good cop. Besides, she’d done the same with him, looked him over and told him he looked good. Now? Now that single glance had her insides melting. The desire in his eyes had the same liquid heat flaring in her belly and spreading like wildfire over the surface of her skin.
It didn’t help that his gaze locked on hers, and for a moment, neither one of them moved. As he waited for an answer, electricity leapt between them, the air sizzling with an aching awareness.
“I was, um, up in Gran’s room going through her belongings.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair.
His brow furrowed, concern lighting in his eyes.
“You should’ve called me. I would’ve helped.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, paused, let out a heavy sigh, and stuffed it back in.
“No, I need to do it myself.” She folded her arms, desperate to control the shaking of her limbs.
An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. She diverted her eyes to her bare feet and flexed her toes a couple of times. His gaze burned into her. Was he waiting for her to say something? What
could
she say?
“So, do I get to come in, or have I been banished to the porch?” His tone teased, but looking up, his eyes held only seriousness, telling her he was attempting to break the uneasiness between them.
But, God, she couldn’t handle him in the house right now. That was a terrible thing to admit. After all, they were supposed to be working their way back to being friends, but right then, she was entirely too aware of . . .
him
.
She heaved a sigh. She couldn’t lie to him, either. The truth was always better, even if painful. It was the only way they’d get back to where they ought to be, if they stopped avoiding telling each other things.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can handle you being in the house right now.”
He turned his attention to the porch and, for a long moment, remained silent, seeming to study the boards beneath his feet. Then his jaw tightened, and his brows came together, his head snapping up. “Why?”
The familiar hardness gleaming back at her from the depth of his eyes had apprehension dropping like a stone in her stomach. Oh God, she hated when he got that look, the unerring determination. “I think you know why.” She lowered her gaze, running perspiration-dampened palms down the front of her worn, dust-coated jeans.
Her heart pounded. The need to run, to close the door and forget he had ever come over, seized her in a vise grip, but only too quickly she realized it wouldn’t do her any good. If she knew him, he’d follow her into the house.
“Say it.”
The determination in his voice had irritation rising within her.
“What good will it do us?” She lifted her gaze and shook her head, silently pleading with him not to push. “Except to bring us right back where we were a week ago.”
“Say it.” This time, he folded his arms, appearing too much like an immovable mountain. “Obviously we still need to clear the air. Don’t think I didn’t notice the other night the way you cut off our conversation. Now you can’t stand me being in the house and there are things you aren’t telling me. I can see it. We can’t move forward if we can’t get this out in the open. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? For us to go back to normal? So, talk to me, damn it.”
She almost wanted to laugh. How ironic that he wanted what she had when they sat by the river a week ago. To make matters worse, those eyes bored into her, refused to let her run and hide, demanding honesty the way she always demanded it from him.
So she turned her back to him. It didn’t matter if he was right. She didn’t want to say those words, not out loud. If she did, she might not be able to hold back the emotions threatening to burst from her chest. The very ones that had her on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. For once in her life to stop being afraid and fling herself into his arms, capture that wicked mouth, and—
“Say it, Cecelia.”
The demand in his voice this time pushed her over the edge, and emotion bubbled to the surface before she could stop it. She spun to face him, her hands fisted at her sides, and glared at him, the words tumbling from her mouth. “Because I want you, Kyle. I can’t forget the way you kissed me. The way you touched me. Nobody has ever made me feel like that. Jimmy sure as hell never did. So crazy and mindless, like I could get lost in your eyes, in the way you touch me . . .”
Heart pounding, her breaths coming hard and fast, she stopped and waited for him to say . . . something. To react. He stiffened, a muscle ticked in his jaw, but otherwise, he didn’t say anything. So she threw her hands in the air and pivoted, pacing a few feet away from him.
“But you pulled away, stopped it, the way you always do. It was the right thing to do, but it frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t just turn it back off like you can. And I’m confused as hell because you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t be feeling any of this. I want everything to be back the way it was. How the hell are we going to raise a child together when we can’t even talk? Except I can’t forget because you called me every day this week.” Halfway down the hallway, she halted and pivoted to face him. She drew her brows together, lowered her voice, and shook her head, vulnerability rising over her. “Do you have any idea what the sound of your voice does to me now? It makes me want, Kyle. Want to hear you whisper to me in the dark, tell me things you shouldn’t. Like how much you want to touch me. Touch me like you did a week ago.