Yellow Ribbons (2 page)

Normally, thinking of the ramifications of his words scared the hell out of her. Tonight she didn’t care. This was their time. It would end soon enough whether she worried about it or not.

Holding her against him, he stood and bore her effortlessly toward her bed. The door to her room was shut. He nudged it open with his shoulder, and soft lighting poured over them. He’d set the stage well—bedside lamps on, the covers peeled down to puddle on the floor, white rappelling rope tied to the four corners of her bed, a black satin mask dead center on the white sheet. Any other toys he planned to employ were hidden under a length of black velvet on her dresser to better enhance her experience.

He placed her on the edge of the mattress, then grabbed the edge of her tank top and pulled it over her head. Unfettered from the spandex, her breasts chilled. He palmed them both, pinching and tugging her nipples until they elongated. Breath held, she waited for his lips. It didn’t happen. Instead, he stepped away, his gaze locked with hers, and stripped his cammies down those long, muscled legs. Her eyes were drawn downward, past the dusting of black hair that thickened around his navel and toward the beautiful cock that sprang free. She’d never seen one so big, so…talented. The things he could do, the places he could stuff it.

A shiver rattled through her. Thank goodness he wasn’t smart-assed enough to ask if she was cold. He knew the effect he had on her and vice versa.

She glanced up and felt powerful when she saw the fire glowing in his brown eyes. He straddled her knees, grasped his erection in one hand, and painted the precum over her breasts. She licked her lips, longing for a taste. A muffled groan let her know the movement had chiseled at his resolve, but he remained focused on his own goal. He pressed her down, reaching for the mask as he did so. Then, after combing her long hair away from her face, he slipped the satin into place over her eyes. Her nerve endings came alive, hyperaware and ready for anything.

There was no need for orders. She knew what he wanted next. With his hand guiding her shoulder, she crawled backward until he’d centered her on the queen bed, then she spread her arms and legs for him. She lay there, alert to his subtle movement around the bed and the whisper of sound that accompanied it. Then he sat astride her hips and leaned toward her arms to wrap her wrists in cool satin bands. Though the rope was soft, the satin would help protect her skin against chafing. One by one, he wrapped it around and around her wrists, not too loose, not too tight. Perfect, as he was. Once he had her arms tied to the bed, he raised her hips onto pillows and then secured her ankles with the same care.

Silence now, except for ragged breaths—his and hers. More movement. More rustling. The soft clatter of his web belt buckle. She jumped when he snapped it. Jumped again when she felt the cotton canvas slither up her thigh. He dangled the tip over her pussy, then draped the belt up her torso until the metal buckle lay between her breasts. Something ice-cold circled her areola, stealing her breath. Metal? Ice? Glass? She braced herself for clamps and instead felt him lay another heavier object over her navel. He removed it just as quickly and speared his hot tongue into the well.

She groaned and arched into her bonds, scattering his handiwork. He growled, dug his fingers into her breasts, sucked her nipples until she writhed beneath his hard body, then dived for her pussy and found her clit. He sucked her to the edge of climax, fingers thrusting deep and hard. He drew away before she could come, and she nearly cried out when she felt him leave the bed.

Paper tore close to her ear. Her breath caught. A condom packet. With the exception of anal sex, they’d stopped using them once they’d agreed they were exclusive. Clearly she wasn’t positioned for that. He’d opened one now to set the mood, to let her know he was coming for her. She envisioned him rolling the condom into place, his eyes feasting on her while he did so.

A soft buzz cut through the blood roaring in her ears. Her mind raced with possibilities. The mattress dipped. She felt forearms braced on either side of her head, and fingers traced the edges of the mask and her hairline. She smelled herself on his lips and parted hers. He took his time kissing her, sucking her lips gently, teasing his tongue over her mouth, then delving deeper. The buzzing was muffled now, and she could feel a vibration tickle between her thighs. That’s when she realized he was wearing a clitoral stimulator.

She heard him pull in a hard breath through his nose, then he plunged into her pussy and wedged the ring home. He froze, his jaw tight against hers. She writhed her pelvis against his, more or less oblivious to anything other than how great he felt, how close she was to coming.

He jerked his head up, breaking the kiss, and let loose. Fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place while he took command. She longed to see the determination on his face, that fierce grimace when he came. Pleasure rolled through her. He tensed, released a raw groan, and shot hard into her. She slumped into the mattress, longing to wrap her hands around him when his weight pressed her down. Panting for breath, he braced himself on his forearms and kissed her.

A telephone ring shattered their bliss. His cell or hers? The generic ring tone made it difficult to tell, though from the close proximity, it was probably his.

He kissed her again, building them up for another round while the phone kicked over to voice mail. But the caller wouldn’t be denied. Another muffled ring followed—her phone this time. Then the tweedle of a text message on his, then hers, then yet another ring.

Muttering curses that made him a
proud
marine, he left the bed. She listened to the rustle of clothing. Another curse she couldn’t decipher. The bed dipped with his weight next to her.

“I hate being interrupted. Don’t you?” The telltale
snick
of a switchblade answered the question for her. She gasped when the cold steel touched her skin.

Lani Hollister saw the crime scene long before she reached it. In the desert, a person could see for miles. Flashing red-and-blue lights cut through the night, rivaling training flares bursting over the Marine Corps base. This scene was a mere two miles from her house. It’d taken her longer to put on jeans and a pullover sweater than it had to reach the house. She wondered if her location was why she’d received the call. It wasn’t usual for her to respond to a crime scene in town, even one involving military personnel. She couldn’t imagine why Jordan Beck had called her. Or why the Naval Criminal Investigative Service was on scene. It couldn’t be good. Judging from the emergency vehicles crowding the street, it was very bad.

She parked her car as near as possible, two houses away. Neighbors hovered near the line of police tape edging the property, craning their necks for a better view. Two members of the Citizens Patrol made sure they stayed behind the yellow tape. God only knew what evidence the gawkers might have compromised.

Lani paused by her vehicle, studying everything before she walked into the disaster. Wide yellow ribbons, weather worn and pale from at least six months on display, draped two towering palm trees in the front yard. A unit was scheduled to return in a couple of days from Afghanistan. In her heart, Lani knew a marine would come home to tragedy.

Two little girls sat in the back of the ambulance, teddy bears clutched in their arms. Each wore Dora the Explorer pajamas and pink piggy slippers. Tears ravaged their pale faces. The youngest hiccuped with her sobs. Long light brown hair was sleep tangled. Blankets provided by the paramedics were draped over their shoulders against the crisp February night. Lani doubted the girls realized the blankets were there.

She hated cases involving children, hated to see any situation where a child was traumatized. It ate at her gut, made her feel helpless. She glanced at the stars overhead, hoping to pull in some extra strength from the Milky Way, but the emergency lights drowned them out. She didn’t want to do this. It was the capper on what had been one suck of a day.

Shoulders squared, Lani forced her feet to move. Boot steps running up behind her stopped her. A glance back revealed Master Gunnery Sergeant Greg Landess hurrying her way. He’d made it in record time.
Very
bad if both of them were here.

“Captain,” he said, falling in step beside her. “Here already?”

“A short drive for me, master guns,” she replied, grateful he’d matched his longer stride with her shorter one. She didn’t have the energy to try to keep up with him right now, and the man moved like Superman.

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?”

“No. Must be big if NCIS called us in.” Lani shook her head, even though she knew he was looking at the scene, not her.

“Looks like every law enforcement agency in the area is on hand.”

Not everyone, but close to it. Jordan was somewhere in all the hubbub. “At least we don’t have to contend with a media circus.” That was one of the many benefits of living in a small town.

“That won’t be the case once the word gets out. Damn…kids,” he muttered.

One of the male paramedics neared the girls. Their eyes widened, spilling more tears down their cheeks. The older girl wrapped her arm around her sister.

“Not good.” Greg looked around. “I don’t see a woman in sight. Present company excluded.”

Lani made another visual pass. There were female neighbors, but they’d all been relegated behind the tape. None dared to come forward to offer help for the children. “They could be just as terrified of me at this point.”

“True, but if those were my kids…” He left the rest unsaid. How could anyone know what they’d do under these circumstances? The man had a big soft spot for children and animals. Lani always wondered why he’d never married and had a bunch of kids. At unit family functions, he was always in the thick of things, playing with the kids. Children adored him. Animals followed him like he was their god. Come to think of it, she knew a fair share of marines, young and old, who did that too.

“You go inside. I’ll see what I can do for those girls. Report back to me once you know what’s going on in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He trotted off, and Lani picked up her pace and headed for the ambulance.

The paramedic straightened when he saw her coming and met her halfway. He looked shell-shocked, maybe new to the job. Or else the scene was so bad, even a seasoned pro couldn’t handle it. She was glad she’d opted to stay outside.

“I’m Captain Elaine Hollister, deputy provost marshal.” She extended her hand.

He engulfed it with his paw of a hand. “Tom Barrow, ma’am.”

“Saw the girls and thought I might be able to help.” A quick squeeze was the extent of their handshake.

“They’re pretty shook up. Rightfully so. It’s…bad,” he finished in a whisper. “Mother was killed while they hid under their beds. Blood…all over the bedroom. Looks like murder/suicide. Deputies can’t get much out of the girls yet. Child Protective Services was called. Maybe you can calm them. Neighbors have been keeping their distance. No one even offered to help. Weird.”

“Who called it in?”

“The oldest girl called . Her name’s Susie. Her sister is Amber. Five and four. Mother’s Regina Whittaker, according to her driver’s license. I’ll give you some privacy.”

She continued on to the ambulance. The older girl watched her; the younger one sobbed. Lani wondered if she should have taken the time to put on her charlies. Having a uniform on might have created a bond with the girls to see she was a marine too. The best she could do was make sure they saw the badge clipped to her waistband.

“Hi.” She sat on the bumper, putting herself below their level and hopefully looking less threatening. “I’m Captain Hollister. I work with the police on base. You can call me Lani. What are your names?”

Several seconds passed while the two debated their response. Finally, the older one pointed to the badge on Lani’s jeans. “Are you a police officer?”

“I am.” She smiled, inviting confidences and trying to instill a sense of calm she sure as hell didn’t feel. “I’m the deputy provost marshal on base.”

“A captain,” the girl repeated.

“Yes.”

“Our dad’s a captain.”

Shit.

“I want my daddy.” Tears swam in the little one’s big blue eyes. “We put those up for him.” She pointed to the yellow ribbons. “He wasn’t here for Christmas. The man was. He told us there was no Santa. He’s a liar.”

“What man, sweetie?” Lani touched the little girl’s knee.

“The man who hurt our mama,” the older one replied. She snapped upright and looked over Lani’s shoulder, her eyes wide and fearful once more.

Lani looked around, then stood when Greg motioned her his way. They retreated to a distance out of the kids’ earshot.

“It’s one of ours,” he said, keeping his voice low.

She frowned, running the personnel roster in her head. No one came to mind. “The mother?”

“The man who presumably killed her. Staff Sergeant Roger Tipton, CID. It looks like a massacre in there. After he was done with her, he slit his throat.”

That might explain why they were called in. “I’m surprised the major isn’t here.”

“Jordan said he called but got no answer and no voice mail. That’s why he opted to call us, because he knows we’re closer.”

Which begged the question of why NCIS was on top of this? “Are we sure this is murder/suicide, not murder/murder?” Which didn’t make it any better. Two people were dead. Shit was going to hit the fan.

“Sheriff’s coroner arrived about ten minutes before us. I don’t think anyone’s sure of anything at this point. You learn anything from the kids?”

“Their dad’s a captain. A man who told them there was no Santa hurt their mother.”

“Bastard…on many levels.”

Stark shadows cut angles in his clenched jaw. She might outrank him, but Greg Landess was not a man Lani ever wanted to cross.

“I’m finding this very hard to process. Tipton was a top-notch marine. One of the best.”

“Maybe that’s why he did this.” Lani doubted what she was about to suggest would do much to ease his upset. “Once adultery and fraternization were discovered, he’d be facing court-martial. His career would be over. Maybe he couldn’t deal with that.”