“Did Leni take her home?” Nick asked.
“Yeah,” Quentin said. “We released her into her mother’s custody, but that’s another thing: Leslie Roach wants to know why we didn’t charge her.”
“Fuck Leslie Roach,” Nick said.
“You, maybe,” Quent said, with a shiver, “not me. The point is, Katie’s sealed up tight. No way we can talk to her again, not without Sam Fulton, and I don’t think Leni would go for it. She’s pretty pissed at us. Andrew Baker’s going over later this evening.”
“To accuse her of penis envy?” Erin snapped.
Nick cursed. If Andrew Baker could get something out of Katie that would help find Becca, or help explain Becca’s relationship with Jack, then by God, let him take a crack at it. But it was Becca they really needed to talk to. Damn, he wished he could’ve gotten through to that girl. “Any word on Shelly Quinn’s roommates?”
“Yeah,” Quentin said, and unfolded a piece of paper. “They’re still here, seniors, and they still room together. They live off campus at the Town Lake Apartments on Perry Street. I checked their schedules with neighbors. They should be home after eight o’clock.”
One little break. Nick closed his eyes. Labs under way, Katie with her defense attorney and counselor, the list of Mansfeld girls being checked by a group on the phones. Rawling County was doing the quarry and Jack’s truck; Layna getting some attention in Florida. Everybody to talk to already talked to.
It was a waiting game now. He didn’t know what else to do. But Justin couldn’t wait much longer.
“There’s nothing,” Quentin said, following his thoughts.
“Things are going like they should, and a lot of people are working it. What you need now is something to eat, touch base with your kid. Me, too.”
“Yeah.” He’d go talk to Shelly’s roommates at eight, two hours from now. He looked at Erin, and realized that she’d never actually checked in to the motel he’d booked for her. Realized he didn’t want her to.
She slept with a gun under her pillow… a long time before Huggins.
He found Luke watching him. “I think I’ll take Erin to get some dinner,” Luke said. “Is that steak house out on Route 9 still open—The Texas Star, or whatever?”
“Steaks at that place taste like leather,” Nick said. “They serve salad dressings by Wishbone.”
“So, what are you saying?” Quent asked. “You’re cooking again?”
“Good idea,” Luke said. “It’ll smooth you out, give you a chance to get your brain in order.”
“Ah, man,” Quentin whined. “Don’t cook for me. I gotta go home and be a dad for a little while. Eat beanies and weenies and read stories from the Brothers Grimm.”
“Your life sucks,” Luke said, as Quentin put on his jacket. “Beautiful wife, adoring kids, wide-screen HDTV with surround sound…”
“Beanies and weenies,” Quentin said, going down the hall.
Nick looked at Luke. Said a whole lot without saying anything at all.
Luke said, “So, why don’t you start dinner and I’ll run to Mom’s? I’ll bring Hannah back and meet you at your place.”
“Gee, I never would’ve thought of that,” Nick said.
Luke went out the same way as Quentin. “Real smooth, Nick…”
Y
OU DON’T HAVE
to babysit me,” Erin said, walking beside Nick to his SUV. “You have a daughter who doesn’t need a stranger hanging around.”
“Hannah loves company.” He opened the truck’s passenger door and Erin slid halfway onto the seat. Nick braced a forearm on the roof above her, his big body shielding her from a gust of November wind that lifted his shirt collar. “She’ll make her favorite salad, with raspberries and arugula and goat cheese.”
“You’re just worried I’ll go to the motel and have a Three Musketeers bar for supper.”
“Ah, jeez, don’t even talk like that.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle, then caught him staring. A second later his thumb stroked the curve of her jaw and a shiver having nothing to do with the wind raced over Erin’s skin.
“You should do that more often,” Nick said. “Smile. It’s enough to knock a man off his feet.”
Her heart did a flip-flop. His eyes followed the path of his thumb, passing over her lips, leaving a trail of fire. Want him, Luke had said. Dear God, she couldn’t remember
the last time she’d
wanted
a man. The suggestion trickled through her belly and settled at the apex of her thighs.
This was crazy. She’d never been a slave to her libido, or tempted into bed with someone for a short-lived affair. She was a psychologist, wired for relationships, not flings. And she hadn’t had the time or energy necessary for a relationship since Justin had—
Her brain came to a halt. Justin. Here she was, stricken by lust while her brother counted down the final days and hours of his life. How could she even think about a fling with Nick right now?
“Had enough?”
His voice brought her back. “Enough what?” she asked.
“Analysis. Doubt. Guilt.”
Her cheeks prickled. “What are you, some kind of shrink?”
“Erin, look at me,” he said, and cupped her face between his hands. “There’s nothing else to do right now. Trust me. You’ve done it all.
We’ve
done it all.”
“It can’t be all.”
“It is, just for this moment. Just for a little while.” He swallowed, his voice sounding like sandpaper. “I want you.”
She looked up, feeling small and fragile as he cradled her cheeks. And she realized that in all the years since Justin’s trial, she’d never come close to freeing Justin until Nick had taken up the gauntlet.
Dear God, she’d been as useless protecting Justin in the past twelve years as she’d been when they were children.
That realization shuddered through her. Her eyes grew hot with tears.
Nick leaned back. “What is it?”
“Do you know the last time I saw him?” she whispered.
“When?”
“Eleven years ago, in court. At the sentencing.”
Nick cocked his head. “You didn’t visit him in prison?”
“I did. Every month. On the second Tuesday at ten-thirty.” The tears began to spill. “But he wouldn’t see me. Never once.”
“Why?”
“When the police came, I confirmed their photo was the girl he’d been seeing. I’m the reason they went after him.”
“No, sweetheart, you’re not,” Nick said. “They would have found out. They would have gone after him, anyway.”
“I’ve never been able to protect him. I tried so hard but—” She jerked herself to a halt. “Oh, God. I’m tired. I’m so tired of fighting.”
Nick traced the outline of her face with his fingers, his gaze following, and he nudged her chin up to face him. “So stop fighting. Just for a little while.” He held her eyes for a long moment, then his gaze fell to her lips and lingered. They homed in on her eyes again, leaving her lips alive and tingling as if he’d already ravished them. A promise of something yet to come. “Be with me, Erin,” he said, brushing his hand down her ribcage like a feather. “I won’t hurt you. Just say yes.”
She wasn’t afraid of his hurting her; all she could feel was heat swirling in her belly. She reached up to his hard cheek, wanting nothing more than to let him take her away for a little while. Wanting to let him feed the hot embers burning deep inside her body.
But then his phone rang. He cursed, but his face changed when he saw the caller ID. “My sister,” he said, and answered.
Erin listened, watching his face. Something good? She found herself crossing her fingers.
“That’s great, kid,” he said. “Go get ’em.”
He disconnected, looking at Erin with a glint in his eyes. “Layna’s in. She saw the assistant AG and sees the judge and the AG in the morning.”
A wave of relief spilled into joy. Erin threw herself against his chest, her arms looping his neck. He held her that way for a long minute, then his hand cupped the back of her head and he tipped back her face with a fistful of hair. “Can I take that as a ‘yes’?” he asked, his voice ragged.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He was on her when they got out of the truck at his house, a gentle mauling as they stumbled through the kitchen and great room. Erin caught sight of a princess book bag by the sofa and pulled away. “What about Hannah?” she rasped. “And Luke.”
“Luke’s not an idiot. We have time.”
“You mean, he knows?”
“Jesus, Erin.” Nick let her go and tipped his face skyward, sheer frustration in his voice. “Yes, Luke knows. Valeria knows. Everyone knows. Hell, the deputies have a pool going. If I nail you tonight, Chris Jensen wins; wait ’til tomorrow and Wart’s got it, the pot doubles—”
“Nail me tonight?”
A grin crossed his face. “Why, thank you. I think I will.”
Despite the crass turn of phrase, there was nothing crass about the way Nick made love. He was hungry and controlling, handling her, angling her face to his liking
and molding her lips to his, but with a touch that was almost reverent. His arm slid around her back and beneath her shirt, heat flaring as his knuckles brushed her spine and her bra fell loose. Erin gasped and his hand came to the front, her breast straining to fill it, and when his fingers found her nipple, bolts of sensation shot through her body. She quivered at the contact and knew, no matter how crazy this was, she wasn’t going to stop him.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs, and there Erin marveled at how his touch soothed her nerves and transformed lingering soreness to sheer desire. He caressed her and cherished her, chasing every quiver of response as if he knew, if pursued, it would blossom and spread into an all-consuming wave of pleasure. In Nick’s bed, the trials of life slipped away, fear dissolved to nothing. Her limbs quaked and her flesh came to life, pleasure eddying between her thighs and swirling inside. And when he finally entered her, it was she who bucked and writhed, pushing their pace and their rhythm beyond all pain to a place where nothing existed but raw hunger and passion. She drew back her knees, urging him deeper, until the pleasure was too much to bear and she came apart in his hands, pulling him over the edge with her.
“Jesus,” he said, his breathing ragged. He shifted to drag his weight from her. “Did I hurt you? Are you all right?”
She was way past ‘all right.’ “I think you broke three ribs—”
“Ah, Christ—”
“I’m kidding,” she said, laughing at him. “I’m fine.” She touched her torso. “But laughing hurts. God, don’t make me laugh.”
His eyes went dark, and he dropped his head to her nipple. “All right. No more laughing.”
She fell back under his spell, too immersed in passion to laugh or talk or do anything but hang on for the ride. When they finished, she lay in a boneless stupor, listening to her own heartbeat, until at last she corralled enough brain cells to form a thought.
“So, who won?” she asked.
His eyebrow moved.
“The pool,” she said. “Now that you… nailed me, who won?”
A faint smile curved his lips. “I did.”
The Angelmaker Xed out of the website, went to Internet Options, and deleted the computer’s history. Five minutes and a few clicks provided instructions that were easy enough: glass bottle, rag, gasoline. Any idiot could do that. But more thorough research showed that there were risks. Surprisingly, as often as not, the bottle wouldn’t break. And apparently, gasoline was so thin that, depending where the bottle landed, the flame might simply surge in its place and burn out without catching onto too much else.
Didn’t want that. That sort of thing probably had the cops chuckling over beers at such amateurish moves.
But the Angelmaker was no amateur. This bottle would break. This fire would spread. And give Mann something new to focus on.
Nick cracked one eye open at the clock. Time ticking. He could hear Erin moving around in the bathroom. A little while being coddled and pampered and treated the way she deserved, and she was up again, ready to fight the world.
I’m so tired of fighting.
He got out of bed and met her when she came out, holding a sheet around her like a toga. She smiled and ran a hand up his chest. He caught it.
“It’s time,” Nick said. “Time to tell me what you’ve been fighting all your life.”
She gave him a cockeyed look. “Justin.”
“No. I mean before that.”
“Befor—” She went still, and he could almost feel the inner guards taking up arms. Anger started to well up—that she would let him fight for Justin and make love to her, but when it came to whatever was eating her up on the inside, he was still an outsider.
“Nick,” she said, but he stopped her. He’d had enough of the walls.
“Why do you sleep with a gun under your pillow?” he asked.
The look in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. Caught without anger to front for it, he could see the emotion for what it was: sheer, unadulterated terror. Her body turned to steel and he had to force himself not to pull her in and try to kiss the fear away.
“How did you know that?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me.”
She closed her eyes and one breath at a time, the fight drained out of her. “You remember asking me about the court counselor’s testimony, the part that got buried by the judge?”
Nick nodded.
“My stepfather—Jeffrey Collins—used to beat the shit out of Justin. The defense wanted to use that to paint a history of violent behavior, but the judge wouldn’t allow—”
“Where was your mother?”
She scoffed. “In her room, drinking, and planning which jewelry to wear to her next ladies’ outing.”
The bitterness in her voice took him by surprise.
It’s always about the mother.
For the first time Nick could remember, he wanted to delve into a psyche, root out all the hurt. Replace it with pleasure.
“She wasn’t—isn’t—a strong person. She was blind to what Jeffrey was doing.”
And she left Erin to cope with it. Nick had the fleeting urge to wring her mother’s neck. “And you never told anyone?”
“Sure, I did. I told Mom, but she couldn’t stay sober long enough to remember a night that had already passed. I went to the school counselor, who called in Jeffrey and fell for whatever lies he told her. And once—when Jeffrey threw Justin against the hearth and broke his arm—I went to the police. Would you like to know how interested the authorities are in accusing a wealthy, upstanding citizen of a violent crime, when he denies it? Oh, wait. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”