Watch Me (15 page)

“I want to see you.”

“You already did when you dressed me after our dip in the pond, remember?”

“This time I want you to
show
me.”

She told herself not to do it. She knew better than to take this any further. But she was transfixed by the desire in his eyes.

“Sheridan?” He sounded greedy, desperate.

Dropping the blanket, she stood in front of him wearing only her tank top and a pair of panties.

His sudden intake of air nearly melted the marrow in her bones. One finger flicked over the silk of her panties—and still she didn’t step away.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured.

It’d taken Sheridan years to recover from their last time together. But she wasn’t sixteen anymore. She’d never been on the weaker end of a relationship since. She’d also never fallen in love again, which seemed unfair, but there was something to be said for emotional safety.

“Now’s not a good time. I—I have too many bruises,” she said, but it wasn’t the bruises that worried her. Regardless of her self-talk, she was afraid of how a sexual encounter with Cain might affect her later.

“You think I’ll hurt you?”

Not physically, which was what he meant. “No.”

“So what’re you afraid of?”

“Certainly not you,” she lied. To prove it, she let her fingers delve into his hair and felt wildly powerful when he closed his eyes as if he’d actually been afraid she’d refuse him.

“I thought you were reformed,” she breathed, watching the relief on his face.

“No, just waiting.”

“For what?”

“For this.” Holding her by the waist, he leaned forward and covered her right breast, fabric and all, with his mouth.

A tremor of pure pleasure made Sheridan too weak to stand. Cain must’ve felt her reaction because he supported her so she wouldn’t have to stand on her own. Then he pressed her down onto the couch and raised her shirt.

“Wow.”

She touched his cheek, and their eyes met. His were filled with a need she’d never seen there before. It was because of Amy. Finding his ex-wife murdered in the road had understandably shocked him, upset him, even though he hadn’t been in love with her.

“Everything will be okay,” she told him, and then he was greedily touching and tasting every inch of her bare skin.

“This is what I want,” he murmured, and Sheridan groaned as his hand slid inside her panties.

She could comfort him this way, let him escape for half an hour and still distance herself emotionally, she told herself as he went to get a condom. But then he returned and their lovemaking escalated quickly, becoming so frenzied that her control slipped. When she felt the delicious pressure of him pushing inside her she realized she’d been waiting for this moment, too—ever since that night in the camper.

But she’d underestimated his power over her.
Because even as an adult, she couldn’t be remote with him, couldn’t reserve any small part of herself. She was falling in love so hard and fast she could feel the ground rushing up to meet her.

She froze at the thought, and he stopped moving.

“Am I being too rough?” he asked, his breathing ragged. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” He was doing the exact opposite, making her feel things she hadn’t experienced since the last time he’d made love to her. She was twelve years older and
still
wanted to believe in what she felt, which was foolish. Trying to hold on to Cain’s affection was like trying to capture sunbeams in a jar.

He pushed the hair from her forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” She used her hands to urge him to continue, but when he tried to kiss her, she turned her face away. Then he froze, too, and fell silent for several seconds.

“Sheridan?” he said at length.

She could hear his confusion. Only moments before, she’d eagerly accepted his openmouthed kisses, matching his passion with her own. And now she was sick with a frightening sense of déjà vu. “What?”

He scraped his thumb along her bottom lip. In the flickering light from the television, she could see the furrow that’d formed between his brows. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you suddenly holding out on me?”

“I’m not holding out.” She angled her hips to show him she hadn’t brought him to this point only to shut
him down. She knew that wouldn’t be fair. But the attempt wasn’t good enough to convince him.

“I don’t want this to be a solo journey. I want to take you with me,” he whispered.

She’d almost been there. She’d felt the tension building and bailed out at the last minute. Bringing her pleasure was too easy for him. She didn’t want him to make her feel more than other men did. “It’s not going to happen for me. Go ahead.”

“It’ll happen if you stop fighting it.”

“No, I’m not even close.” She lowered her eyelids so he wouldn’t see it was a lie, but he knew anyway. He slowed down, as if they were starting all over, and although she wouldn’t kiss him, he found plenty of other things to do with his mouth. “Do you like that?” he murmured as his tongue caressed the tip of one breast.

He knew she liked it. She couldn’t help squirming beneath him, and she had goose bumps down to her toes.

“You’re not playing fair,” she accused him, and was rewarded with the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.

“No one said I had to play fair.” His thrusts were slow and steady enough to make her crave the natural escalation they promised. “Quit denying yourself. Quit denying
me
,” he said, and lowered his mouth to her neck.

She knew he’d leave a telltale mark and tried to stop him, but he’d succeeded in changing the focus of her defenses long enough to get what he really wanted. As she struggled to push his mouth away, he moved deeper and faster, and she could no longer resist the building pleasure. She cried out as her body convulsed—and he
closed his eyes, as if it was all he could do to hold out for a few seconds more.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “There you go.” But then he couldn’t talk anymore because his body was doing the same.

S
hit. She’d made the same mistake again. After twelve
years
. Given it all away without reserve, just like before. Now Cain was half lying on her, his naked body slick with sweat, his heart pounding as he recovered.

A little late to say no.

I’m an idiot
. What was it about this man? Sheridan asked herself. With him, she couldn’t think straight, make smart decisions or keep her clothes on.

“You’d better not have given me a hickey,” she warned.

He chuckled, his breath warm on her shoulder. “You already have so many marks on you no one’ll notice.”

“Are you kidding?
Everyone
will notice.”

“Mmm…” he muttered lazily. “Serves you right.”

“How?”

“You made me do it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. You forced me—” he kissed the skin closest to his lips “—to take desperate measures.”

Sheridan wished she could be angry. But she wasn’t. She was caught in the blissful aftermath of lovemaking and wanted nothing more than to curl up with him and sleep.

He lifted his head to look at her. “Admit it—you’re glad.” He tried to peck her lips but she dodged him again.

His smile disappeared as his mood shifted from satisfied, even happy, to wary. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

She didn’t answer him directly; she wasn’t sure herself. It just seemed the only way to hang on to a vestige of her resistance. “You’re too cocky,” she complained. “I’m going to bed.”

He kept her pinned beneath him. “With me, though, right?”

“Alone.”
She needed time and space to reconstruct the barricades he’d just mowed down, to convince herself to be more careful in the future. It wasn’t going to be easy. This had been the best sexual encounter of her life—probably because she’d never wanted anyone else so badly.

Some things never changed….

His expression grew unreadable. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He moved so she could wriggle out from under him. But when he realized she was actually leaving, he came up from behind, lifted her over his shoulder and carried her into his own room.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded.

“Taking you to bed.”

His shoulder pressing into her stomach made it difficult to talk. “I can…see that. The question is…why?”

“Because I’m too exhausted to worry about you.”

“What do you mean?”

He maneuvered carefully so she wouldn’t hit any part of the doorframe. “You think I want to wake up to find you lying in the road, like Amy?”

“I guess that’s one way…to get rid of…old lovers.”

Horrified by her own careless remark, she knew instantly that she’d gone too far.

His step faltered. “On second thought—” he dumped her on the bed “—go put on some clothes.”

Sheridan went into the living room and pulled on her T-shirt. Then she hovered in Cain’s doorway. If she got in her own bed at this point, she doubted he’d stop her, but Amy’s death had troubled him deeply. It troubled her, too, left her confused and sad and far too vulnerable.

The truth was, she didn’t want to be alone any more than he did.

Finally lowering her pride enough to enter his room, she slipped into bed with him. She hoped he’d say something that would give her a chance to apologize, that maybe he’d throw out an arm to draw her closer. But he didn’t. He hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes, but he didn’t touch her the rest of the night.

Sheridan opened her eyes to the large green numerals on Cain’s alarm clock. It was after eight—not particularly early. But not as late as she’d wanted to sleep, either, considering what she remembered of last night. Was Amy really
dead?
Dead like Jason? Gone forever?

It didn’t seem possible.

The phone rang. Cain stirred, then reached over her to pick up the handset. His bare chest came into contact with her arm, but she knew he wasn’t naked anymore. He’d gotten up during the night at least three times to check on his dogs and had come back to bed in his boxers. “’Lo?…Right now?…We’ll be there.”

She felt the temporary weight of his body as he returned the phone to its cradle, but the contact between them didn’t seem to affect him at all. Evidently, he was still angry with her.

“What was that about?” she asked when he got up.

“We have to go down to the station, make a formal statement.” He went down the hall and into the bathroom.

“It was Ned?” she called after him.

“No, Ian Peterson. I’m guessing Ned’s still at the funeral home.”

The funeral home. It was real, all right. Amy had been shot.

While Sheridan listened to the shower, she was relieved to hear the dogs outside. She’d been worried when Cain had gotten up so often.

Finally, she decided to bathe in the pond instead of waiting for a chance to use Cain’s only bathroom. She needed to get out of the cabin, reassure herself that the whole world hadn’t turned hostile. This would be the safest time. The cops were probably still at the crime scene less than a mile away. The killer would have to be an idiot to come anywhere close. And she already knew this killer wasn’t stupid.

Taking Cain’s rifle, just in case, she retrieved her toiletries from her suitcase and a towel from the linen closet and went to see the dogs before heading to the pond.

“Hi, boys.” She hooked her fingers in the chain-link fence as she peered in at them. They seemed to be recovered, all except Maximillian. He wasn’t very energetic, although Koda and Quixote were definitely no worse for wear. Maximillian rested his nose on his paws
as he watched her, his eyebrows tweaking quizzically; Koda and Quixote wagged their tails and begged her to let them out.

She took one of the leashes that hung on the fence nearby, then went into the pen and snapped it on Koda’s collar. She had a good weapon, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring an alarm, too. “Want to go for a short walk, boy?”

Koda barked in eager agreement, and she had to hold Quixote back as they passed through the gate. “I’ll take you next time,” she promised.

Koda wanted to run, but Sheridan wasn’t up to that kind of exertion. She was feeling stronger, though. Last night had acted as a reawakening—a reawakening to the desires of a healthy body. And to the knowledge that she had to get well quickly before she wound up getting hurt again.

Sheridan examined the surrounding forest as she walked. It seemed that this killer could get away with anything. First Jason, then her attack, and now Cain’s ex-wife….

She contemplated what her friends would say if they knew about this situation and nearly groaned aloud. She’d call them. Tomorrow Tomorrow would be a better day to tell them. She knew they’d be frantic by then, especially Jon, but she couldn’t deal with anymore right now.

Once she reached the pond, she tied Koda to a tree, set the rifle on a rock where she could grab it in a hurry, and dropped the towel she’d tucked around her waist. Surprisingly, thoughts of Amy—and even her own chagrin at getting more intimately involved with Cain—evaporated beneath a perfect sun, as round and as yellow as the yolk of an egg.

The creek trickling into the pond was the only sound she heard as she stripped down to a spaghetti-strap T-shirt and underwear. Then, with a warm wind caressing her skin, she waded into the water.

Koda sat on his haunches in the shade, watching her.

“You okay over there, Koda?”

He barked, and she smiled. “Good boy.”

Knowing they had to be down at the station soon, she took a quick bath and was about to get out of the water when Koda lurched to his feet and began to strain at the leash. Fear-induced adrenaline shot through Sheridan as she started for the gun. But then she realized that wouldn’t be necessary. It was Cain. He strode into the clearing, wearing a clean pair of jeans and a red T-shirt, his hair still wet.

“You couldn’t have told me?” he said, obviously not pleased that she’d left the house without alerting him.

She nodded toward the gun. “I took precautions.”

Cain didn’t argue. He bent to pat his dog. She decided to get out while he was occupied, but he wasn’t occupied long enough.

Glancing up, she met his enigmatic gaze and straightened, letting the water run off her, knowing it made her T-shirt nearly transparent. “You’re staring,” she breathed—and hoped he’d do a lot more than that. She pictured him striding toward her and taking her in his arms, as he had last night. But he didn’t.

“You’ll want to wear something to cover that love bite,” he said. Then he untied Koda’s leash from the tree while she dressed.

Last night had changed things between them—but by
how much? Cain was remote, guarded. And she knew he wouldn’t touch her again, not unless she asked.

Sheridan didn’t have anything with a high neck, so she had to resort to a colorful scarf to hide the hickey Cain had given her. She studied herself in the mirror, wondering if the purple and red scarf matched her pink spaghetti-strap T-shirt, tiered pink and red skirt and sandals. But in the end, she decided it didn’t matter. That scarf was all she had to hide the evidence of their lovemaking. And this was going to be a difficult meeting as it was. She didn’t want to walk into the police station only to have Ned and everyone else sneer at that mark and what it meant.

“I’m ready,” she said, stepping into the living room.

At least she looked better than she had since she’d arrived in Whiterock. Her bruises were fading. But Cain barely glanced at her. He handed her a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and said simply, “Breakfast.”

He had her eat in the truck as they drove and didn’t break his silence until they pulled into Whiterock’s small police station. Then he swore under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He nodded toward an old brown station wagon. “My stepfather’s here.”

“Why?”

“I can only imagine,” he said, and got out of the truck.

Sheridan followed him inside to find John Wyatt sitting there, looking far more distinguished than Sheridan remembered. Now gray at the temples, he had more lines bracketing his eyes and mouth than before,
but he was still handsome in an even-featured, pleasant sort of way. And he had a nice physique for a man in his fifties.

“Cain, thanks for coming in.”

Sheridan didn’t recognize the police officer who greeted them, but she knew from his badge that he was the Ian Peterson who’d called.

“No problem.” Cain’s eyes cut to his stepfather, who stood, but they didn’t embrace or even shake hands. They exchanged a slight nod of acknowledgement and Cain once again focused on Ian.

“What is it you need?”

“I’d like to ask you both a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“And if we do?” Cain asked.

“We might think there’s a reason.”

“You’ll think I’m involved regardless,” Cain said, but he waved Sheridan ahead of him, and Officer Peterson showed her into Ned’s office, where she took one of the visitor’s chairs. The station wasn’t big enough to have an interrogation room.

After closing the door, Peterson sat down at Ned’s desk. “I understand you used to live here a decade or so ago.”

She put her purse at her feet. “That’s right.”

He had a steno pad waiting, on which he recorded the date and her name. “You and Cain Granger had a sexual relationship at the time, is that also correct?”

Sheridan clasped her hands in her lap and straightened her spine. “Not entirely, no. We had a one-time encounter, an encounter that had nothing to do with anything before or after.”

“And yet his stepbrother was shot within…” he opened a file that was also waiting on the desk, but Sheridan supplied the information before he could dig through its contents.

“Six weeks.”

“And then you and your family relocated?”

“Two months later.”

“Had you been planning to leave town before the shooting?”

“No. When the man who tried to kill me wasn’t apprehended, my parents were concerned for my safety and decided to move.”

“Did you keep in touch with Cain Granger once you left?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“Can you remember anything about the man with the rifle at Rocky Point?”

“Nothing that I haven’t previously stated. Otherwise, I would’ve called and added it to the record. I want the man who shot me arrested as much as Mr. Wyatt or anyone else does.”

“I’m sure you do.” He put the file aside and focused on his steno pad. “How well did you know Amy Smith?”

“I remember her from high school, but we didn’t hang out together.”

“Had you seen her since your return to town?”

“Yes, twice.”

“Was Cain present at either of those meetings?”

“He was at both.”

“And yet you don’t have a relationship with Cain Granger.”

The hickey beneath her scarf seemed to burn. “He’s been nice enough to take care of me while I recover. That’s it.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Basically, yeah,” she said, glaring at him.

“Did you detect any animosity between Cain and his ex-wife in either of those meetings?” he asked, switching tactics.

“Not the kind you’re obviously digging for.”

He raised his hazel eyes from the lined paper in front of him. “Just answer the question, please.”

“Amy was still in love with Cain. That created tension whenever they were together.”

“You know this even though you’ve been gone for twelve years?”

She could sense Peterson’s loyalty to his fallen comrade, and to his chief. “It was very apparent to me.”

“In two short meetings?”

“You could tell in five seconds,” she said with a pointed look.

“Would it be safe to say that Cain disliked his ex-wife?”

“I wouldn’t call it
dislike
. I think he simply wanted her to forget the past, move on and leave him alone.”

“And she wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“So he killed her?” he asked softly.

Sheridan waited several heartbeats to give emphasis to her response.
“No.”

Peterson tilted his head. “How do you know?”

“Because he was with me the night it happened. We were playing poker when he realized the dogs were unusually silent. He went out to check on them, and then I heard the first shot.”