“I could hear Madeline screaming and hollering from the driveway. Seems Madeline had shown up on our doorstep, all full of righteous indignation and ruined innocence, because I’d had sex with her, possibly forced myself on her, and hell, now she might be pregnant. When Mama couldn’t calm her down, she called Virgil.”
“She said this to your mother?” Caitlin’s husky voice held hushed resignation. Ash got that too. Shit, what had that younger Madeline been thinking? Unless Tick was right and she’d been out to get him—and hurting his mother was the way to go to do that.
“Yeah.” Tick’s jaw was so taut now it might have been carved from the same granite that made up Stone Mountain. “Four days after she put Daddy in the ground.”
“My God,” Caitlin breathed, sympathy darkening her eyes, “what she must have been going through.”
“Yeah.” Tick’s chin jerked in a sharp nod. “And like she needed Madeline’s bullshit—”
“Tick, sweet thing, I meant Madeline, not your mother.”
His head whipped in her direction. “What the hell? Did you hear anything I just said—”
“I heard everything. I feel for your mother, I do, but I also know she’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and somehow, I think the event had more of an impact on you than it did on her.”
“And an even bigger impact on Madeline,” Ash said quietly.
Caitlin’s gaze flickered to his again. “Yes.”
Tick lifted his hands and glanced toward the ceiling. “I don’t believe this.”
“Tick.” As best she could with Lee, gumming the octopus, tucked in one arm, she leaned to touch his thigh. Ash didn’t miss the way he flinched and tightened under that easy contact. “You’re still looking at this like a nineteen-year-old boy who’d just suffered a horrific loss—”
“Holy hell, now you’re going to do it too.” Incredulity darkened his eyes. “You’re going to make excuses for her.”
“No, I’m not. What she did was wrong. But I can’t overlook that what you’re describing are the actions of a deeply troubled teenage girl, one with a domineering, demanding father and an alcoholic mother—”
“What?” Tick’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Shit, Cait, what are you talking about? Yeah, Virgil was heavy-handed with them and he expected a lot, but Miranda Holton is not an alcoholic.”
“Well, according to your mother, she is,” Caitlin retorted, completely unruffled.
Tick stared at his wife, and despite the seriousness of the situation and the topic at hand, Ash swallowed a laugh. The little taste of humor was welcome, freeing him for a brief moment from the painful empathy that had gripped him with Caitlin’s words. If Madeline had been troubled as a girl, she was equally more so now, merely on a different level.
Shit, he knew how to pick ’em, didn’t he?
“How…” Tick shook his head. “When…?”
Caitlin laughed. “What do you think I’m doing while you’re playing football with your brothers on Sunday afternoons? The only way to survive living in this place is knowing everything about everyone else, and your mom is a boundless source of discreet information.”
“I still think you’re making excuses for her.”
“No, I’m trying to get you to look at it from a different perspective. Try the wickedly brilliant thirty-seven-year-old sheriff’s investigator one. Use your objectivity.”
“Cait—”
“So what happened?” Ash rubbed a thumb over his bandage. They could fight the perspective issue out later, and Tick could lose that argument too. He’d started this by asking Tick for the truth, and he intended to finish it. Maybe then he could figure out whether to move forward with Madeline or walk away.
Tick shrugged. “Virgil told Mama it was just Madeline’s craziness, as usual. Trust me, Mama had been privy to plenty of it before. She and Del went to bed, and somehow Virgil got Madeline calmed down and in his truck. He didn’t want Miss Miranda to know, said he’d handle it, make sure nothing else was said to upset Mama. Asked me to keep it quiet. I gave him my word.”
“Manipulative bastard.” Caitlin brushed her lips over Lee’s head. Tick’s eyebrows rose, and she shook her head at him. “What? He was. Let me reiterate—you were only nineteen. You’d just lost your father, whom everyone knows you adored, and he used your loyalty to your mother to keep you quiet. Excuse me if I find that a tad repulsive.”
Tick opened his mouth. Ash waved a hand at him. “Give it up, man. She’s going to win anyway. Just finish it.”
“That’s it. I went back to school, Madeline headed off to Mercer but didn’t finish the quarter. Dropped out and ran off to Florida. Never looked back.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure she looked back,” Caitlin murmured. “Probably every damn day of her life.”
“Yeah—” Ash stopped as headlights swept over the windows.
Caitlin reached for Tick’s wrist and rotated it to read his watch. “Who is that this late?”
“I don’t know.” Tick rose and headed for the door, one hand brushing over the place where his holster normally was. Ash shook his head. The cop habits he just didn’t get. At the glass-paned kitchen door, Tick stopped and groaned. “Shit, why am I not surprised?”
Anticipation tinged with dread skittered down Ash’s spine. Only one person inspired that tension in Tick.
“Who is it?” Caitlin shifted a nearly drowsing Lee to her shoulder.
Tick shot her an ironic look and swung the door open. “Madeline. Fancy seeing you this time of night.”
“What are you talking about?” Tick stepped back to allow her entrance.
She waved the photo as she stepped inside, warmth curving around her after the chill of being outside. “I might, just might, have an idea on our Jane Doe—”
The words died as her gaze clashed with Ash’s. He looked back, eyes grayish green, storm tossed. A weird tension hung in the room. Caitlin glanced at her once, sympathy flashing over her face before she focused on Lee, who was beginning to fuss.
Unease cascaded over Madeline in a harsh flow. Something strange was up here. Why did she just know that something involved her?
Knowledge glimmered in Ash’s eyes, and dread settled deep in Madeline.
Shit damn
fuck
. She didn’t want to know what was going on. She’d talk to Tick and get out, as soon as humanly possible.
She brushed her tousled hair behind her ear and folded her arms over her midriff as Tick shut the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t. We were just talking.” Tick reached for the photo. “What do you have?”
Her focus was gone, like a shimmering mirage disappearing the closer one got. How did simply being in the room with Ash Hardison do that to her? Never before had she let a man get under her skin like this.
“Madeline.” The same old frustration returned to Tick’s voice, and heat rose under her skin, her cheeks burning.
“I…” She made herself look at him, meeting those dark censure-filled eyes. Jesus, he looked at her like it had just happened
yesterday
. Drawing up her shoulders, she shook back her hair. “I have an idea on our Jane Doe.”
He squinted at the picture. “This is you.”
Leaning forward, Madeline tapped Kelly’s smiling face, half-hidden by his fingertip. “Kelly Coker.”
“You’re going to have to explain this to me.” Tick frowned and looked over his shoulder at his wife and Ash in the living area. “Let’s go in the study. Y’all excuse us a minute.”
Without taking another glance at Ash, she followed Tick down a short hallway. The room he called the study lay behind the formal dining room. A lamp glowed on a pine table by the leather couch, a reading lamp cast a pool of light on the desk. Framed photos and a couple of wildlife prints—sporting fish—graced the walls and an eclectic collection of books packed the floor-to-ceiling shelves. The room was warm, welcoming and intimate, and something about it whispered to Madeline that Tick hadn’t decorated it, but rather that this was the result of the hand of someone who loved him and knew him well.
Being in here made her skin crawl.
“What have you got?” He propped on the edge of the big pine desk and reached for the photo.
She pointed at Kelly’s face once more. “It might be a long shot, but Kelly ran away from home my senior year. We all thought she ended up in Florida, and her mama never reported her missing that I know of. What if she came back? What if she somehow ended up under that house?”
His brows lowered in a frown of concentration. “It’s a possibility. We can try to locate her dental records, start running down her whereabouts. Right now, anything’s a lead.”
She nodded and looked around the room, anywhere but at him. A different wedding photo sat on his desk, more snapshots of Lee’s infancy. All the trappings of a happy marriage, a good life.
A quick swallow cleared the lump from her throat. “I should go and let you get back to… I shouldn’t have just shown up on your doorstep. Sometimes, when a lead or an idea pops up, I get a little impulsive. It used to drive—”
She cut the sentence off, the familiar nausea settling in her upper chest. Of all people with whom to bring up Jack, she had to pick Tick Calvert. Why the hell had she come here anyway? All she had to do was pick up the phone. No, she jumped in her car, to go tearing over here to show him in person.
The same kind of sheer impulsivity that had gotten Jack killed, that had effectively ended her career.
Maybe Tick had been right when he’d said she knew all about getting other cops killed. She shied from the dart of pain the idea brought with it.
“I’m just going to head out now.” She reached for the photo Tick still held, avoiding his suddenly narrowed gaze. He let her take the glossy paper but straightened from his negligent posture at the desk.
“Madeline—”
“I’m sorry again for interrupting.” She slipped from the room before he had a chance to reply. When she reached the large keeping room that held the kitchen and living area, Caitlin had disappeared, and Ash stood before the bank of windows overlooking the porch.
At the sound of her shoes on the hardwoods, he looked over his shoulder. “Finished?”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate, didn’t stop for chitchat. She was out of here, away from the weirdness, away from the fear that he
knew
. “Good night.”
The doorknob slipped under her damp palms, but she managed to get the door open. Outside, she dragged in a deep breath and almost ran down the steps. What had she been thinking coming over here?
That was the problem—she never thought first when it was vital. God knows, she’d not thought that night she’d crawled into bed with Tick; she hadn’t thought the day Jack died and look what had happened then.
What was wrong with her?
“Madeline, wait.” Footsteps clattered on the steps behind her.
“He told you, didn’t he?” She didn’t slow, reaction and a trembling blend of anger and fear swirling through her. Fear? No, that was crazy. She didn’t have anything to be afraid of. She was mad, furious, at Tick Calvert, that was all. How dare he tell Ash?
“I said wait.” A strong hand closed on her arm, swung her around to face him. In the dim blue illumination of the mercury light, his eyes glittered. His breath puffed into the air and disappeared.
She stepped back, knocking his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
Her heel went off the walkway, sank into soft dirt, and her balance disappeared. She flailed a second. Oh God, no, she was going to fall on her butt in front of him…
He caught her, warm fingers cupping her shoulders, lifting her, pulling her closer to him.
Stomach to hard belly, soft curves to firm chest, they stared at one another.
“You know, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” His hold tightened. “I know.”
Bile crowded her throat. Damn it all.
“Madeline,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head, closed her eyes. “It’s not okay. He shouldn’t have—”
“I made him. I asked him.”
She lifted her lashes at that, a knot of pain burning in her chest. “Why?”
“Because I needed to know.” Confusion glinted in his eyes. “Don’t ask me why. I can’t explain it. All I know is it was standing between us and I needed to understand. It’s not like you were going to tell me if I asked.”
Of course she wouldn’t. She’d buried that secret shame so far away, kept it hidden, even from herself when possible. She’d never told anyone, not even Jack, who knew almost everything about her. Why would she have wanted Ash of all people privy to all the sordid details?
“You didn’t need to understand anything.” She pushed the anger into her voice, trying to smother the hurt. “It’s none of your business, Hardison. And what do you mean, standing between us? There is no
us
. I’ve known you two fucking days.”
“There’s an us, Mad, whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Stop dodging the issue.”
“I’m not dodging anything.
You’re
not anything. Got that, Ash? You’re not
anything
to me.”
He remained silent, merely staring at her, and the resentment and hurt flared into desperation.
“Did you hear me? I said you weren’t anything.”
“I heard you.” He inclined his head once. “So you’re saying it doesn’t matter if I turn around and walk back inside, and that’s it between us.”
The image flashed in her head, of his doing just that, of being left cold and alone once more. She drew herself up, the vulnerability of needing him in any way making her even angrier, even more desperate.
Too much too soon.
The laugh she pushed from between her lips dripped derision. “Well, I’d hate to see that happen. You are a good lay.”
“That’s easy for you, isn’t it? Putting me into that little slot.”
Infuriated, she shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge.
Since she couldn’t move him, she poked a finger into his chest, hard. “It’s the only slot I want you in, Hardison. I told you, I’m not in—”
“The market for a man right now. Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve told me, and I’ve told you—”
“I don’t want to be your friend.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t think we can be ‘just friends’, Madeline. I may not like it, I may not understand it, or be sure I’m doing the right thing, but there it is. Whether you want to admit it or not, there’s
something
between us.”
She’d show him what was between them—pure sex.
Grasping his jacket lapels, she took his mouth. He opened immediately, allowing her to devour him. The kiss was carnal, raw, an approximation of what she wanted with him, and heated energy speared all the way through her, down her legs, tingling to her toes.
She wrapped an arm around his neck and surged closer, taking his tongue deeper in her mouth, mewling in pleasure as his hold on her tightened. Yes, they had something between them—raw passion, plain old-fashioned desire.
That was all. The sooner he understood, the better.
One big hand moved up to cradle her nape, the other stroked soothing ellipses over her spine. The tone of his kiss changed, from ravaging and marauding to worshipping and gentling. Rather than thrusting, he swept the tip of his tongue over her lips, taking little sips of her, nipping at times, then calming the burn with an easy caress.
Madeline curled closer, one arm wrapped across his shoulders, the other trapped between them, still clutching his lapel. The force of the desire remained but channeled differently, a warm vigor that spread throughout her being, drawing her nearer and nearer to him, deeper and deeper into the circle of him. He lifted his mouth a millimeter.
“Tell me I’m not anything, Mad,” he whispered. “I don’t believe it.”
Stupid, pointless tears burned her eyes, and she pushed, tried to shove away. He didn’t give way, arms pinioning her to him.
“You can’t make me believe it.” Challenge hung in the low murmur of his voice. “Because you don’t.”
“Stop it.” Her voice came out a husky rasp, like she’d been on a three-day smoking binge. Raw and angry, her throat hurt, and it had to be the cold air because it wasn’t anything to do with him. It couldn’t be. She pressed at his chest again. “Let go.”
“Do you really want me to?”
She pinned him with her dirtiest look. “Yes.”
The arms were gone immediately, as was the warm wall of his torso, the caressing heat of his hands. A step or so away, he watched her.
The chilliness rushed in, swamping her. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed at her arms. With her throat closing over a knot, she lifted her chin to stare him down. “See? You’re nothing.”
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand to rub his thumb across her cheek, taking the wetness. “I see that.”
She brushed shaking fingertips over her face, stared at the dampness glittering on her skin. Horror slammed into her. She didn’t cry. Ever. Not since she’d left home. She hadn’t cried over the disappointments of her life, over the sure-as-hell loss of her career. She hadn’t even cried over her father’s death. Over Jack’s death.
And she certainly didn’t cry over a man.
Silent sobs shook her shoulders. With one step forward, he folded her close.
“Come on, Mad,” he murmured next to her ear. “Let it out, baby.”
“Told you not to call me that.” The words fought against the sobbing, lost beneath the pain.
“I know.” He rubbed a palm over her hair, tucked her face into the curve between his throat and shoulder. “I know you did.”
“I don’t do this.” She curled her hands into his jacket. She was going to push away. She was. In a second, she’d step away, pull herself together, show him how strong Madeline Holton was, how she didn’t need
anyone
…
Silently, he wrapped her closer and brushed his mouth over her temple, then again. She swallowed a breathy sob and tried to suck back the tears trickling over her lashes. Letting her lashes fall, she pressed her face into the shadowy sanctuary of his neck, a harsh breath shuddering through her.
“I don’t do this,” she whispered. “I don’t cry.”
“I know.” He dropped another kiss on her temple. “And I don’t mean anything.”
God, what was she supposed to do with this man, the one who refused to let her lie, the one who didn’t push or pull at her, the one who simply seemed to accept who and what she was without question?
“It’s cold.” He said the words matter-of-factly and rubbed a hand down her back. “I know someplace we can get something warm to drink.”