Ultimate Sins (24 page)

He shot her a deliberately teasing look. “Is there is anything else you want to know?”

“There's something you want to know.” Crowe spoke behind him, the dangerous rasp of his voice causing Amelia to still as the entertainer turned slowly to face him.

“And that is?”

“I won't just kill for her, I'll kill over her. So while you're deciding if you're brave enough to try to poach what's mine, think about that.”

A rakish smile curved the comic's lips. “Hell, son, if I hadn't already considered that, I wouldn't be standing here. I just decided to be nice and let the lady make the choice.”

Crowe snorted. “Shows how smart you are.” Turning to Amelia, he arched one brow with sardonic emphasis. “Anna and Archer have to leave and she wanted to talk to you a minute first, but—” He slid a look at the entertainer beside her. “—she didn't want to interrupt.” His smile was all teeth. “I didn't have that problem.”

The comedian beside her chuckled, almost causing Amelia to wince as she shot him a warning look. He was pushing at the wrong time. Crowe wasn't predictable in the least, and he was decidedly dangerous as well.

“I think we're finished then?” She glanced to the man at her side.

“For the moment.” He let a smug little smile tip his lips. “If I can think of anything else I'll be sure to let you know.”

Amelia gave a brief nod before turning to Crowe. “Is Anna still in the conference room?”

“With Archer.” He nodded before giving the other man a deliberately mocking look. “The sheriff is even more possessive, my friend, so I'd be careful were I you.”

The comedian glanced back at Amelia, his brows arching as his gaze twinkled merrily. “Must be something in the water,” he drawled, directing a subtle wink to her as Crowe's glare deepened.

“There is. Usually the body of the last moron that pissed me off.”

“And that is my cue to roll,” the other man announced with a laugh. “See you soon, Amelia.”

A quick nod and a smile and he was striding off quickly, heading to the Community Center and Archer's patience. Amelia turned to Crowe with a disapproving frown.

“You weren't nice,” she berated him, deliberately spacing her words.

“He's still alive, right?” he growled. “I didn't shoot him. And trust me, I wanted to. Bad.”

“You're being deliberately provoking,” she accused him.

Amber fire gleamed in his narrowed eyes, making the thick, long black lashes appear lusher than ever.

“I have yet to provoke,” he promised her. “Trust me, baby, once I get started provoking, there will be no doubt in your mind whatsoever.”

“The trouble with you, Crowe,” she pointed out, “is that you're always provoking. Unfortunately, you haven't seemed satisfied with what you've provoked.”

Striding quickly past him, ignoring the tight-lipped, less-than-pleased look he gave her, Amelia hurried back to the Community Center where Archer, Anna, and the flirtatious comic were obviously still talking.

She'd managed to slip out of the house, and she'd completed the chores she'd had scheduled, but, like Crowe, she was less than pleased with the results.

*   *   *

What now?

Brooding anger built inside him as he escorted Amelia back into the house, all too aware of her lowered head and the quiet discontent in her gaze.

Why the discontent?

And what the hell had she meant, he wasn't satisfied with what he had provoked? If she meant he'd provoked her into slipping from his protection and now wasn't satisfied with it, then hell no, he wasn't satisfied.

Dusk was already edging over the mountains, shadowing the back gardens as they stepped into the family room. Amelia moved to the wide desk on the other side of the room, where she laid the small notebook she had slipped out with.

She kept her head lowered for long moments as he watched her.

“I won't be bullied,” she stated softly, lifting her head to stare back at him, her turquoise gaze holding a stubbornness he hadn't realized she possessed. “Slipping out was wrong of me, and I realized that even before I did so. But I have a job to do, and I can't do that job with security personnel standing shoulder-to-shoulder around me so you can force me to give into your demands.”

He wanted to grimace at the quiet words and the realization that what she had done today could have resulted in her death. He hadn't been with her because he had been determined to force her to remain in the house rather than going to the town square and Community Center to keep the appointment that Anna could have easily handled.

The comedian, Phillip Cannedy, had set his teeth on edge. The flirtatious demeanor and arrogant certainty that he could have any woman he wanted grated on Crowe's possessive instincts. Something had just kept telling him to kick the shit out of the man for daring to approach Amelia with such familiarity.

But he hadn't known yesterday who she was meeting, or that the man was a man-whore wannabe. All he'd been able to think was that she insisted on endangering herself for that damned social committee that had just thrown her out and taken away the position and the work she so enjoyed.

“Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you, Amelia?” he asked her, rather than agreeing or disagreeing with her.

She nodded somberly. “I know how important it is, Crowe, to catch Wayne. But you're not going to draw him out if you keep me locked up.”

No, she did not just say that. Surely to God, she didn't believe that was the only reason she was important to him?

“You think the only reason it would affect me is because of Wayne?”

Frustration flashed in her gaze as her hands lifted helplessly. She tucked them into the pockets of her jeans as though she had no idea what to do with them.

Her shoulders lifted in uncertainty but the somber regret in her gaze told another story.

“I'm sure you don't want to see me hurt,” she answered him. “And I'm certain that should I be hurt, you'd regret it. I don't believe you're unfeeling at all, Crowe.”

“But you believe the only reason I'm in your bed is because of who you are and how you could help draw Wayne out?”

“I don't believe you find me unattractive at all,” she sighed. “But I also don't believe I'm any more or any less than the means to an end. Having someone to fuck in the bargain without worrying about how or when the Slasher will strike is an added benefit.”

“Son of a bitch.” A short, harsh laugh left his lips as he stared back at her in disbelief. “Amelia, what have I ever done to you to make you think you're no more than a fringe benefit to me?”

She pulled her hands from the pockets of her jeans before she crossed her arms over her breasts and stared back at him, her gaze darkening with wary stubbornness.

“What am I to you, then?” The question was posed in a tone that suggested she was doing no more than patronizing. “You walked away seven years ago without so much as a good-bye. You spent six weeks slipping into my bedroom to have sex with me. You slipped in that last night to leave that excuse for a note behind, but you couldn't even tell me good-bye? And now you expect me to believe I might be more to you than a means to an end?” Incredulity touched her voice. “If I mean more, Crowe, then perhaps you should have let me know when I was willing to believe it.”

Perhaps he should have, Crowe admitted, perhaps he would, once he could untangle the knots tightening in his chest and in his gut. The second he could work through those and make sense of the emotions that kept him walking a tightrope where Amelia was concerned, then he would tell her. Until then—

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Amelia?” he growled, grimacing at the quick flash of pain that suddenly flashed in her gaze.

Just as quick as it had been there, it was gone. She stared back at him, her expression calm and somber as she slowly dropped her arms and drew in a deep breath.

“I won't slip out of the house again,” she told him. “The Carter boys aren't dangerous, but they did drive home the fact that had it been anyone else, I could have been in trouble.”

“Not dangerous?” he snapped, amazed that she would say anything so asinine. “Amelia, did you forget what happened today?”

“I didn't forget anything.” Sharp, concise, her tone was nothing if not confident. “You forget, Crowe, I know the people of this county a hell of a lot better than you do, and I know the Carter boys better than most for the simple fact that I've spent a hell of a lot of years working to keep those boys out of jail just because Wayne didn't like them. They wouldn't have hurt me. They just like to piss me off.”

He stared at her for long, silent seconds as he tried to work that one out in his head.

He couldn't do it.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he finally asked her conversationally. “Or just delusional? At the very least, you're on some damned good drugs and I want to know who the hell's supplying you so I can shoot their fucking asses for endangering your concept of reality,” he bit out. “For God's sake, Amelia.”

*   *   *

He'd been saying that a lot lately, Amelia noticed as she stared back at Crowe's astounded expression.

Whether she was crazy or not, she knew Dwight, David, and Dillon. Despite the fact that for a second, they'd scared the shit out of her, she knew they wouldn't have hurt her.

Her lips parted.

“Don't you fucking dare ask me to call Archer and have them released from jail,” he suddenly snarled, pointing his finger back at her imperiously. “Don't you even consider it.”

“Crowe, it's not right to lock them up,” she sighed wearily. God, she didn't want to fight about this. “Their aunt was Deanna Lopez. She was the first victim found fourteen years ago. Deanna was the only security those boys had. After she died, their mother gave them up to child services and the foster homes they were shuttled out to were some of the worst. Once they sober up, they'll find me and they'll apologize, and it will never happen again. That's what they do. Wayne has tortured those boys since Deanna's death. I won't add to the hell they've had to live through.”

“Bullshit.” Anger filled his face now. “What happened to Deanna was bad enough, Amelia, but those boys are grown fucking men. They weren't the only ones to lose someone who stabilized their lives. And they sure as hell aren't the only men in this county who lost someone they loved to the Slasher.”

“No, they weren't, and it's damned obvious you don't give a damn about anyone else Wayne tormented but you, your cousins, and the actual victims,” she yelled back at him. “But you had stability after your parents' deaths, Clyde made sure of it, and he damned sure didn't lock you in the basement with the rats, Crowe, and starve you while he made you live in your own waste. That's what happened to Dwight, and he had it the easiest. David was left for weeks sometimes without food in the foster home he was sent to. He went to school so he could eat and see his brothers. Dillon was beaten so often that just going to school was hell, and everyone ignored the fact that he was being abused until the night his foster father force-fed him cocaine. He would have died if he hadn't stumbled from the house and into the street where Archer nearly ran him down. You don't have to remind me they weren't the only ones who suffered, but just like everyone else, those boys deserved a break. They were just three of the ones who didn't get one.”

She was furious by time she finished. Her fists were clenched, heat creating a layer of moisture on her forehead that had her wishing she could turn the furnace down or shed the sweater she wore. And every muscle in her body was tight, demanding action.

“That doesn't mean I'm going to have Archer release the men who nearly raped you and threatened to cut your heart out to share among themselves,” he yelled back at her, surprising her.

Shocking her, really.

She'd never seen Crowe yell at anyone.

“Son of a bitch.” Turning away from her, he stalked to the other side of the room before turning again with such military precision that the sight of it had her gaze widening just slightly.

She knew he'd been in the military, she'd just never glimpsed him moving as though he had been in the military. Crowe appeared to move with seamless, gliding grace rather than precision.

“I've never heard you yell at anyone,” she breathed out, shaking her head as she watched him warily. “I've never heard of it.”

“Oh, I yell often,” he informed her, the angry snap of his tone matching the amber blaze of fury in his gaze. “Especially when I'm forced to deal with someone who can't protect themselves for all the effort they're using to protect others.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at him, but the look on his face was one she had never glimpsed before. She had no idea what he was capable of now.

“Stop trying to make me feel stupid, Crowe,” she demanded, not in the least afraid of him, but wary.

“If the shoe fits.”

“Then it fits you just as comfortably.” She confronted him, her hands going to her hips as she stared back at him in angry disbelief. “What happened to the compassion I saw in you seven years ago? What happened to the man who understood and even sympathized with the kids in the Community Center whose parents didn't care where they were or who they were with? The man who slipped and gave one of those children a teddy bear when she cried for her mother at night?”

“That wasn't compassion you were seeing,” he snarled back at her. “It was lust. I would have done anything that summer to get into your pants and it was obvious those kids were a soft point.”

“And you're a liar.” She was the one yelling now.

Pointing a finger at him furiously, she was only barely aware of the fact that her hand, hell her entire body, was shaking with her anger.