Break For Me
Author: Shiloh Walker
Date: 2014-04-22 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romantic Suspense; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Contemporary; Novella; Suspense; Mystery Thriller; Adult Fiction; Adult
Description: Jensen Bell had twelve happy years before her her mother disappeared and her whole world went to pieces. Since then, she's become a cop—one who takes great pride in her work, and in helping keep others safe. The saving grace in her own life has been Dean West, the only man who can make her burn with desire and help her through her burdens. But when a shocking discovery turns her life upside-down, even being wrapped in Dean’s arms might not be enough to keep her out of harm's way…
Publisher: St. Martin's Paperbacks
Rights: All rights reserved

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Begin Reading

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

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About the Author

Copyright

Dedication

Thanks to all of my readers. You all make this so worthwhile. Thanks to my editor Monique, for taking a chance on me. Thanks to Aemelia for the early feedback for the series. And thank you so much to my family, for the love and support. You’re my world. I thank God for you.

Chapter One

Sexy, arrogant son of a bitch.

Running her tongue across her teeth, she watched as Dean West entered the room. Of course, Dean just didn’t simply enter a room. He had a way of strolling in, lazy movements and lazy looks, a lazy smile like he was just in to stop and chat.

The first time she’d met him, that lazy demeanor, that slow, lazy voice, and those slow, lazy smiles had caught her off guard. He’d taken over for the previous DA and nobody had been exactly prepared for him. Brent Cummings, a pricey defense attorney who had been brought in after Maria Bingham’s third DUI had landed her snotty ass in jail, had looked right through him, even after Dean had settled into the seat across from him and Maria.

That little meeting had ended with Maria all but sobbing against Brent’s shoulder and her parents bellowing about a misuse of power.

Maria was into her second year in jail. Her parents still cussed Dean out any time his name was brought up. Personally, Jensen didn’t know why they were pissed off at him—Indiana’s laws were a minimum of one year in jail after the third DUI. She was lucky she wasn’t doing the full ten. The judge could have ordered that, especially after she’d plowed her parents’ pricey Benz into a playground. If it had been any earlier in the day…?

Dean’s gaze cut her way and she had to fight not to clench her jaw. Normally, she didn’t mind seeing him around here. Well, that wasn’t entirely honest. She minded. Quite a bit. He made her itchy, in all sorts of ways, but on a professional level, Dean did a kick-ass job.

But today? Yeah. She wasn’t thrilled.

Lou Pruitt, scum of a special sort, was sitting in a cage and he’d claimed he wanted to make a deal, could give up all sorts of names. But he’d only give up those names if he could speak with the attorney who could make him a deal.

That had been hours ago.

Now Dean was back. Dean, with his slick suits, his beautiful smile, and that too-canny brain. Today the suit he wore was black, all black and the suit flowed against a body that was practically imprinted on her brain. Not for the reasons she’d like—the man kept showing up on the same path where she liked to run, dreads tied at the nape of his neck, sweat gleaming along smooth, brown skin. Every damn time she saw him, it was enough to jerk her normally passive libido out of hibernation and make her want to jump him.

Right now, though, if her instincts served her right, she wasn’t going to like what was getting ready to happen.

He came to a stop in front of them and nodded.

No smiles today, huh? Frustration chewed at her as his sober eyes met hers.

“I’m here to speak with Mr. Pruitt,” he said.

“Why?”

*   *   *

You already know.

Dean’s mother hadn’t raised an idiot and he wisely kept those words behind his teeth. He had a feeling Jensen was already fantasizing about relieving him of a few of those teeth—not that she would. She was a straight cop, clean as they came and while she might fantasize about punching him, she’d vent her fury on the punching bag they kept in the break room/locker room.

She might pin his picture to it, though.

Just then, he didn’t blame her.

This entire thing left him ready to chew nails.

But he was going to concentrate on the end goal.

That was what had to matter.

And no matter what Lou thought, he wasn’t getting out of here with just a smack on the wrist.

Jensen was too good at her job and she’d wrapped him up tight, all but signed, sealed, and delivered.

It would have been a pleasure to put that son of a bitch through a trial, though.

Dean had to focus on the bigger picture, which really sucked, and not the immediate pleasure of walking in there, telling Pruitt to kiss his ass, and then walking away.

In the end, this saved the taxpayers the cost of the trial, Lou would do time, maybe get his act together and they could all focus on some of the bigger problems.

Lou was like a greasy hot dog grabbed from a gas station.

Dean had his mind set on a ten-course meal. Thanks to the information he’d already conned out of the man, he knew just where to start looking.

But first, that fucking deal.

As he went over the right way to answer the woman in front of him, Chief Sorenson came out of his office.

Fuck me, Dean thought sourly.

“I need to speak with Pruitt.” He managed to drum up a professional smile, although smiling and small talk were two things he didn’t feel like engaging in. Drug cases pissed him the hell off. They were the main reason he’d left Lexington. He had to deal with them here to some extent, but not quite like this and he needed to level out.

But he couldn’t go pissing off the cops, either.

They were ready to hand him his ass, though.

It seemed the entire police force of Madison, Indiana was watching him as they led him through the station.

Jensen, her eyes were all but boring into him.

Somehow, he didn’t think this was going to increase his chances of getting her to go out with him.

But those odds hadn’t ever been all that good.

*   *   *

Arms crossed over her chest, she listened as Dean laid it down for the man sitting across the table from him.

If she clenched her jaw any harder, she was going to break the enamel off her teeth.

She’d consider it worth it, because it was either clench her teeth, or slam her fist into the window in front of her and if she did that, her boss, Chief Sorenson, a man she admired a lot, would see the evidence of her slow-burning fuse.

She was going to explode, and she didn’t want it to be here.

“Understand me now,” Dean said, his voice slow and lazy, sexy as a hot summer night. “You’re giving up your right to a trial. We’re giving you a good deal here, but you go to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. This is it.”

“Why the fuck do I gotta go to jail?” Lou demanded. He’d already asked it twice.

Dean explained it again, his eyes steady, patient, his voice just as easy, like he could do this all day.

As he finished, he held out his hands. “I did what I could, man. This is what we got. It’s this, or you go to trial, and let me tell you, I don’t think you want that. You do that, and you could be looking at a much longer stretch. You got that assault charge from a few months ago, another one from two years back. A history of violence complicates things now that we’re looking at drug charges on top of it. You were making meth. Crystal meth. The state’s cracking down on that.”

“Shit. I beat the fuck out of a man who touched my wife.”

Jensen rubbed her ear. “Beat the fuck out of him with a tire iron.”

Sorenson hummed under his breath and continued to watch Dean.

“Be that as it may, you were convicted. Did a short stretch then, were lucky to get out when you did. Now here we are.”

“Here we are,” Lou muttered, his gaze bouncing around the room, one knee jiggling madly under the table. For all his nervous fidgeting, the man was focused, and he was pissed. Abruptly, he leaned forward, glaring at the documents the DA had put in front of him. “Fuck. Fine. But you better get them sons of bitches who landed me here. Got it?”

They would be thorough. Dean was just that, thorough, one of the best DAs the little county had ever seen. Sometimes she wondered why he worked this little town instead of someplace bigger. She’d heard he left Lexington to come here, but she didn’t quite understand why. Someplace like Louisville, Indianapolis, Cincinnati—they’d probably love to have a man with a brain like his.

But he was here, getting ready to put a man guilty of manufacturing crystal meth behind bars.

The problem was Lou wasn’t going away for very long.

He’d been making that shit when he had a kid in the house, just fifty feet away from the old pole barn where his lab was, while his pregnant wife was blissfully unaware as she hung up clothes in their backyard every day of the week.

He was getting one hell of a deal of a lifetime.

Because Dean had his eye on bigger fish.

“He’s going to do time,” Sorenson said, his voice soft. “Pruitt might yet get his act together. His wife…”

Jensen closed her eyes.

“Steffie is leaving him. She was loading up the car and her son this morning. Moving back to Marengo with her folks, and if I know anything about Steffie’s dad, Lou isn’t going to try and mess with her unless she’s willing to take him back. It’s going to force him to take a good hard look at things. He wasn’t a bad kid. He might change.”

“I don’t give a damn about him,” she said, turning her back on the interview. “I care about the wife, the kid he endangered every day at that lab.”

“And the lab is shut down. In the end, we have to be satisfied with that. Plus, he’s turning on several other boys here. We’re getting the bigger fish, Bell.”

Maybe that helped ease the burn in her gut. But not by much.

Not much at all.

*   *   *

Nobody wore attitude quite the way Jensen Bell did.

Some women wore their jewelry, their makeup, all of it as armor.

Jensen didn’t bother with any of that. She wore attitude.

In spades.

Dean suspected she had reason. One of only two female cops in the small town of Madison, she put up with her share of shit. He’d seen it.

Being in the minority was something he could appreciate. He was far from the only black man in the little southern Indiana town, but he was the only black DA on the payroll. The only black cop in town was fifty-two, and just then, as Dean moved through the station, Luther Gardiner shot him a look and then shook his head, like he wasn’t too inclined to waste any words with him today.

They usually bullshitted for a good ten minutes.

Not today.

Too fucking bad.

He wasn’t going to waste his time on a small-time thug like Pruitt when he could bring down the bigger guns.

But while he could easily brush off Luther’s dismissal, and every other damn cop in the department, it wasn’t so easy when Jensen glanced at him, then through him as she continued to speak with the chief.

He debated on just heading on out. Wasn’t like he didn’t have more work than he knew what to do with, and as he continued toward them, Jensen’s shoulders tensed, while her spine went ramrod straight.

That attitude of hers shouldn’t be so appealing.

He understood the need for the attitude—he’d learned young to cover his, though. Cover the attitude, cover the teeth, all until he had reason otherwise. Jensen had either never learned to hide that attitude, or she just didn’t see the point and as he came to a stop next to her, she all but snarled at him.

“Yes?”

He didn’t even have a chance to figure out what to say—a problem with her, because looking into her eyes had a habit of leaving him temporarily dumbstruck. It only lasted a second or two—his mother had a habit of teasing him that she’d know he was serious about a woman when he found the one that made him shut his mouth for more than two seconds, and that woman, apparently, was Jensen.

But those two seconds were two seconds too long because a man he thoroughly disliked decided to make his presence known.

“You know, if it was me,” Detective Jeb Sims said, edging his way into the knot of people, one hand gripping a cup of coffee while the other rested on the butt of his weapon. He constantly seemed to be touching it. “I would have gone for the bigger problem anyway, Bell. Pruitt is a pimple on society’s ass, but you shoulda known he wasn’t going to do much time. It wasn’t a big bust or anything. Don’t go getting your panties in a twist.”

Dean tensed, something ugly building in his throat.

Jensen’s eyes went tight around the corners, something so minute, gone in a blink. She turned her head, the sleek fall of her hair shielding her face from him as she looked at Sims.

“Well, you see, that’s the difference between you and me, I guess, Jeb,” she drawled, her voice cool and lazy, like she didn’t give a damn about anything Sims had to say. “You see, I was focusing on the man, the meth lab, the laws … and the safety of his family. I’m a cop, you see. To serve and protect. The size of the bust wasn’t the issue. The safety of that kid and his mama were my number one concern.” She shrugged and looked away. “And don’t get too concerned about my panties, either. I’ll take care of them.”

“I just think—”

“I think you need to not worry about Bell’s cases,” Sorenson said, his voice mild. The look in his eyes was anything but. “Don’t you have some of your own to deal with anyway, detective?”

Jeb’s face went a slow, ugly shade of red, but he pasted a wide smile on his face. “That, I do. Sir.”

He ignored Dean completely.

After Sims moved out of the area, Dean tried to catch her eye but she looked directly at the chief. “I’m done for the day. You have a nice night.”

“You did good work today,” Sorenson said.

She nodded at him, tried to avoid looking at Dean.

You are not just going to completely ignore me. He moved to intercept her.

Her mouth flattened out.

“If you’ve got a minute, detective?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m afraid I don’t have many of them. I need to wrap things up for the day. I’m meeting my family in a bit.” She edged around him, moving to her desk with fast, easy strides.

He doubted he was the only one who noticed the looks the two of them got—not that anybody made any effort to hide them. Nosy fools. Ignoring the cops loitering in the area, he waited by her desk as she collected some files, moved them into her bag.

“It won’t take but a minute. I’ll just walk you to your car.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but she gave him a tight smile and strode past him.

He matched her quick strides easily. She moved damned fast, he’d give her that. Five foot two, he’d bet, and she moved like the entire world was an obstacle course she had to conquer and she only had a finite amount of time to do it. They hit the doors and he paused to see which way she’d go.

They were outside in the brilliant light of the summer sun in a moment and he fell into step beside her as she headed down the street.

“You made a clean arrest.”

A withering look came across her face.

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. West. But thanks for the seal of approval. It means the world to me.”

Ouch. She had a bite to her. Another thing he found all too appealing about her.

There was very little about her he didn’t find appealing. That just served to make moments like this harder. Sometimes it felt like they were playing on opposite teams.

He reached up, slid his own glasses on. The heavy weight of his dreadlocks hung in a neat tail at his nape, and already sweat was collecting there. It had been a murderously hot summer, punctuated with frequent, ugly thunderstorms and all he wanted was to see some sign of fall.

And maybe, have her look at him with something other than antipathy.

“You realize he has information that we need,” he said as she rounded the corner.

“I do realize that.” She reached the edge of the small parking lot where the city cops kept their cars. One hand moved to her hip and behind the shield of his lenses, he found himself eyeing that soft swell, wondering how hard she’d hit him if he reached out, caught her other hip in his hand, drew her to him. “Just as I realize we do want to get those other sons of bitches in jail.”

“Then why are you looking at me like something you just found on the bottom of your shoe?” he asked, taking one step closer.

With a serene smile, she replied, “Am I doing that?”

Nonplussed, he waited.

Fuck, why was he wasting his time here?

She’d made it pretty damn clear—

Abruptly, she sighed and turned away. “Dean, look. It’s nothing personal. You did the same thing any other DA would have done, I guess. Hell, Hal Murray couldn’t have gotten that much information out of him if he tried for a month straight.”

Hal Murray, the DA he’d been brought in to replace, had dropped dead of a heart attack a few years earlier. Supposedly, he’d been busily engaged in some strenuous activity with a pretty young girlfriend—very pretty, very young—in her early twenties—at her apartment in Louisville. He’d been putting her through college. She’d been putting him through his paces. It hadn’t worked out well for either of them when he collapsed on top of her.

“Hal would have tried, you know. For all his … other faults, he was a good lawyer and he tried his best,” Jensen said sourly, shaking her head. “But Pruitt would have wheedled and whined and Hal wouldn’t have been able to push him half as hard as you did. I figure in the end, this would have gone to court and maybe he would have been found guilty, maybe not. I just…” The strap of her bag slid down her arm and she let it, the weight of it sending it in a rapid descent down her arm.

Without even thinking, he moved forward, caught it. She frowned at him, but he already had it secured over his own shoulder. And the damn thing weighed a ton.

“What are you carrying in here, baby elephants?” he asked.

Slanting a look at him, she shrugged. “How did you guess? I breed them—my second job in case this cop thing doesn’t work out.”

“Cop thing.” He laughed softly. “Yeah. I can see that. Not really. You bleed blue, Jensen.”

A soft breath gusted out of her. “I know. I’ve bled blue since I was a kid. And that’s the problem. There was a child there, running in and out of that barn, Dean. Do you have any idea just how wrong this could have gone?”

She turned to look at him and he saw the knowledge there, written all over on her face. “He was twenty feet away when I first started eyeing that barn, driving by every now and then. Had to use my dad’s car, so he wouldn’t notice me, ya know? That kid played out by that barn, all the time. If that place had gone up--”

“It didn’t.” Instinct had him moving in, and the same instinct kept him from reaching for her, although that was all he wanted.

Everything he wanted.

Wariness was stamped all over her features and despite the fact that he wanted to tug her sunglasses away, despite the fact that the need to touch her was even stronger now than it had ever been, he kept his hands to himself as he said again, “It didn’t. You got the warrant, you shut him down. You protected that child. His mom did the smart thing—she’s leaving that idiot. If only they all turned out this well.”

“Yeah. If only.” Then she shook her head and held out a hand for her bag. “I need to go.”

Reluctant, he turned it over, wished he could think of some way to make her give him five more minutes.

But she had places to go, things to do. Things that didn’t involve him. It grated on him how much that bothered him.

“Take it easy, Dean,” she said softly, hiking the bag up onto her shoulder. Then she was moving down the sidewalk, never once looking back.

He stood there, watched as she climbed into her car.

He continued to stand there, even after he could no longer see her car.

Chapter Two

They had a table, tucked in the back.

Their younger sister, Chris, had somehow managed to hold it for them on a Friday night, a feat that was either miraculous or scary, Jensen hadn’t decided yet.

Brooding over a pint of Angry Orchard, she stared at the table and tried to figure out if she wanted to wait for her brother to show or just go home and fall asleep.

The sooner today ended, the sooner tomorrow could start … and end.

Then the next day, and the one after that.

She only had six more days to get through and then it was behind her, for another year.

That really wasn’t much time at all.

Six days could pass in a blink.

Or they could take forever.

She knew that for a fact. Days could crawl by endlessly, especially when you waited.

“Hey.”

She looked up and wasn’t terribly surprised to see Tate standing there with his arm around Ali. Surprised, no. But it did add to the ache inside.

“Ali.” She nodded at one of the empty seats. “You here to help us get our brood on?”

The brood-a-thons weren’t a planned thing, exactly.

But somehow they found themselves here. Each and every year, as the days drew closer and closer. It was like a countdown, one that passed easier when they weren’t alone.

Ali settled down in the seat between Tate and Jensen, a smile on her pretty, sweet face. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy.” She lifted her glass, tipped it toward them. “Six more days.”

Ali reached out, touched her shoulder.

The tears that she usually managed to keep in check tried to rise up, but she pushed them back.

Wood scraped again, and she turned her head, watched as Guy Miller settled into his customary spot. Although not technically part of the family, he might as well be. One of Tate’s best friends, he’d grown up not too far from them and their house had been more of a home to him than his own. He’d been there with them as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into years.

Now he waited with them, too.

“Do I need to catch up?” he asked, nodding to Jensen’s drink.

“Nope.” She lifted it to her lips. “I just got started. I have vague plans of getting plastered. Celebrating.”

His lip curled. “Yeah. You got a reason to celebrate. What did he get, two years?”

Ali looked confused. “Cop talk,” Tate said, brushing a thumb down her cheek.

Jensen slumped in the seat, staring upward. “Two fucking years. Don’t you just love the wheels of justice?”

“Here you go, Guy.” Chris Bell, the youngest of the family, appeared out of the crowd, putting two beers down in front of Tate and Guy, looking at Ali with a cocked brow. “I don’t know what you see in that man, Ali. Need a drink so you can stomach him all night?”

Ali laughed. “Sure. When do you get off?”

Chris checked her watch, a silver Tinker Bell one that should have looked out of place with the black tee she wore tied tightly at her back, revealing a tightly toned abdomen marked with tats. The tats were echoed on her arms, climbing to twine halfway up her neck, where the blooms of flowers and roses stopped. “Thirty minutes. Don’t drink yourselves under the table before I get back—you want your normal?”

Ali nodded and as Chris was swallowed by the crowd, they lapsed into silence.

A moment later, Tate broke it, leaning forward and raising his voice to be heard over the laughter of the table next to them. “I told Dad we’d be here. Asked him … well. Said he could join us.”

Jensen sighed. “Dad doesn’t go out. Barely leaves the house.”

She knew that—Chris knew that. Tate was just now mending a broken relationship so she wasn’t surprised he didn’t know.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I kinda figured. But it’s not good for him to sit around brooding all the time.”

“He doesn’t brood.” She traced the rim of her glass, looking away. “He’s just tired. Lonely. Leaving the house isn’t going to change that.”

She went to take a drink and then froze as a familiar figure appeared in the corner of her eye.

“Nine o’clock,” Guy said helpfully, tipping his bottle toward.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, her wish hadn’t come true. She hadn’t miraculously found herself at home. Alone. Where she wouldn’t have to see him. Son of a bitch.

“Hey.”

Sighing, she took a deep, long gulp of the cider in her glass and then tipped her head back and found herself staring up at the almost too sexy face of DA Dean West.

*   *   *

The sight of her sitting with Guy Miller, one of the deputies with county, had him wanting to chew nails. Dean kept an easy smile on his face as he nodded at everybody, noting that Guy sat next to Ali, leaving a vacant spot between him and Jensen.

Maybe they weren’t there together.

Didn’t keep him from wanting to do something stupid, like put his hand on her shoulder, beat his chest, anything to make it clear he had an interest here.

Not that it was returned.

Jensen’s eyes, caught between brown and green and glinting with a sharp edge in that moment, met his and she lifted a brow. “Hello, Dean.”

The chill in her eyes would have sent a smart man running. But Dean supposed if he was smart, he wouldn’t still be chasing after her, hoping against hope that something inside her would soften, that he’d get an opening—that the interest he’d seen spark in her eyes once or twice would flare. Just a chance. That was all he needed.

The slightest opening.

So instead of making small talk for a minute—easy for a lawyer to do with two cops—he nodded at one of the vacant chairs and said, “Mind if I have a seat?”

There was an awkward, stilted silence. He had that moment again, asking himself just why he was doing this. It wasn’t Jensen that broke the silence, but the brunette sitting next to her brother.

“Go ahead,” she said, nodding at the seat open next to Jensen. “We’re waiting on one more, but she won’t be here for a while yet.”

Ali, he thought. Ran the pizza place—a den of sin if he’d ever come across one. One trip there had him spending an extra hour a week pounding the pavement. Sliding into the seat next to Jensen, he flashed Ali a smile. “They let you out of the restaurant? How do they manage that place without you?”

She smirked. “Badly. But they’ll get by.”

“I hear Pruitt sang like a birdy about some local connections.” Guy lifted his beer, studied Dean over the top of the bottle. “Two years, though. Not much. It was a decent bust. He should have gotten more.”

Dean sighed. Fuck, yeah. He should have taken his sorry ass home. “Two years is a decent stretch for a first-time drug offense. He’ll bring in the bigger fish. I want them, Miller. Those are the problems, the ones getting crystal meth into the hands of the kids at school. I want them.”

“You always get what you want, I bet.” Jensen’s voice, low and soft, just barely reached his ears.

Cutting his gaze over to her, he clenched his jaw. He really was just wasting his time. Completely and utterly wasting his time. “Sure, Jensen. Nothing but a charmed, blessed life. Something I guess you probably know all about. Sorry about taking the cherry off your sundae, but like I said, I had a bigger goal in mind. Have fun sulking about it.”

He shoved back and stood up.

Tate did the same, his eyes firing at him. “You stupid son of a bitch. You don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Yeah?” Dean skimmed a look around the table. “I’ll just take my clueless self on off. You folks have a nice night.”

“I don’t think so.” Tate slammed his bottle down.

“Tate.” Jensen passed a hand in front of her eyes. “Just let it go. He doesn’t—”

“Here we go.”

A black-haired young woman, her eyes strikingly similar to Jensen’s appeared, carried a bucket of beer. She placed it on the table with a thunk. “Make sure you save me one, Guy. I’m going to need it after…” She paused, her gaze landing on Dean. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Chris.”

“Dean West. I’m leaving.”

Her eyes widened. “Oooh-kay. You’re welcome to—”

“No.” Tate cut in, his voice harsh. “He’s not. He’s got this idea in his head that Jensen is sitting here drinking and pissed over a case.”

Chris’s eyes chilled.

The friendliness on her face faded. “Well. Aren’t you the asshole.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Okay. Just what is—

“You were leaving,” Tate said.

He looked back, his gaze tripping on Jensen’s downcast head before catching the look in Tate’s eyes, the grim set of Guy’s.

“What am I missing here?”

“None of your fu—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jensen said tiredly, flicking her brother a look. She drained her glass, leaned forward, and snagged a bottle from the bucket, looking at it with acute dislike. Then she shifted her gaze to Dean. The look in them chilled his blood, turned it straight to ice. “Sit down, why don’t you, Dean? Let me tell you about my charmed, blessed life.”

*   *   *

The story didn’t want to come.

She started, stopped twice.

In the end, she decided to give it like a report.

“There was a domestic dispute,” she said, settling on that word. “Loud fighting, ugly words. Kids were in the house, but they moved to another room so they didn’t have to see it. The wife ended up leaving—it’s thought that she felt the fighting would stop if she wasn’t on the premises, but there’s no way of knowing.”

She glanced over at her brother. Tate had his hands fisted, head lowered. Every so often, a ragged breath would escape him, his shoulders stretching the faded material of his shirt. Ali rested a hand on the back of his neck, rubbed it in slow, soothing circles.

I’m glad he found you, she thought. So glad.

“Shortly after, the husband left. Police reports indicate he went to go looking for her. Without success. Come morning, she had yet to return. Her car is missing, but there is no indication that she left. No money is taken from the bank, she didn’t take any clothes. There is no activity from the bank accounts, and yes, the cops did watch. Days go by. Weeks.”

At that moment, Chris sank down next to Guy, her head resting against his arm, her gaze on the table.

“Eventually, suspicion settled on the father and he was duly investigated. Nothing came of it. But the children were taken into foster care for almost three years. Nobody wanted all three children, so the two girls went to one home, the boy to another. After a period of time, the state decided to return custody to the father. The son, at this time, wouldn’t go back. The girls did. And still, there’s no evidence of the mother.”

A ragged burst, almost a sob, but not quite, escaped Chris. Guy hooked his arm around her neck and turned his head, murmured against her temple. Chris reached up, closed one hand around his as tears started to fall.

Silence lapsed. For a long, long moment, nobody spoke. Then she reached for the bottle of Sam Adams on the table and tilted it back, hating the taste of it, but needing something to wet her throat. She wanted whiskey, wanted it bad. Turning her head, she found Dean was still watching her.

“She disappeared fifteen years ago this summer—almost fifteen years ago exactly.”

“Six days,” Tate said, lifting his head, staring across the table at her.

“Six days,” she echoed.

“And we’re still waiting.” Chris’s voice was thick, almost choking on the tears.

“Still waiting.” Some part of Jensen wanted to believe there would be an answer, something. Somewhere. But the cop knew better. After fifteen years, what sort of answer would they get?

None. That’s what.

She tipped her bottle to Dean and smiled. “So, as you can probably understand, counselor, as much as it burns my ass, and it does, to see a cockroach like Pruitt get a slap on the hand, I’ve got other things on my mind tonight.”

*   *   *

Unable to think of a single thing to say, Dean just sat there for what felt like hours.

In reality, he realized it was just minutes. Slowly, he pushed back from the table, taking a minute to look from one face to the next, lingering on the Bell siblings.

“I’m sorry.” He knew there was more he should say, more that he should do, but he’d intruded on what he realized wasn’t just a private thing, but a painful one.

And he’d done it with his own selfish motives in mind. Yeah, he had a thing for her, but maybe if he’d taken a minute, looked around, he might have seen it.

Silence met him and he just lingered, feeling awkward and uncertain of what to say or do. So he just nodded and turned, moving through the crowd and making his way to the bar.

The beer he’d grabbed on his way in was no longer going to touch it. He needed something stronger and he needed it now.

Wedging himself into a space at the bar, he caught the gaze of the bartender, Adam Brascum. Adam lifted a brow and nodded to the bottle, raising his voice over the music that was slowly gaining in volume as the night grew later. “Another?”

“No. Something stronger. What kind of whiskey you got?”

A faint grin lit the man’s face. “One of those nights, huh?”

Dean nodded. “Fuck, yeah, man.”

Without saying anything else, Adam turned and looked at the counter behind him. “Folks around here keep it simple—and local—for the whiskey. Jack Daniel’s and Wild Turkey for the most part. I have some Maker’s, too.”

“Maker’s. Straight.”

He brooded while he waited for the drink and then as Adam pushed it in front of him, before he could disappear, he caught his eye one more time and jerked his head behind him. “Chris Bell—she work here?”

“Yep. Not at the minute, though. I let her kick off early.” Adam tossed a towel over his shoulder and leaned his hands on the bar. “There a problem?”

“No.” At least not on her part. Blowing out a breath, he said, “I…”

Adam looked up as somebody started calling out orders. He pulled a couple of beers, mixed up a cocktail, all without breaking stride. “When did you move here?” he asked. “Two years ago? Lexington, right?”

Dean wasn’t too surprised by the question. He might have lived in Lexington his whole life, but he knew how the small-town grapevine worked. His mother’s people came from places ever smaller than Madision. Bracing an elbow on the bar, he waited until Adam pushed the drinks toward the server and then started on the next set. “About that. Why?”

“I saw … well.” Adam shrugged. “I won’t lie and say not much gets Tate Bell stirred up. He’s got a temper. But you had Guy on edge, too. Takes a lot to get him steamed. Then there was Chris, storming back up here, half torn between crying and screaming. Only one thing will do that to her.” Adam paused, looked down. “There’s been trouble around here before. You didn’t know about Nichole, their mom. Jensen will understand, once she gets through the next few weeks.”

Dean opened his mouth to say it wasn’t just Jensen, but Adam was already gone.

And really, although he hated to give anybody unneeded grief, when he wasn’t able to sleep that night, it was Jensen’s face he’d see.

Lifting his glass, he stared down into it.

Yeah, he sure as hell should have just taken his ass on home.

*   *   *

Eyes gritty, Jensen stood on the sidewalk, watching as Guy all but carried Chris down the street.

Tate and Ali paced along next to her.

“Think Chris is ever going to figure it out?” she asked.

Tate hunched his shoulders and busied himself studying the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m right around the corner. I’m okay to walk.”

“Yeah, and we walk the same direction, so let’s go.” Stubbornness written all over his face, he jammed his hands into his pockets and stood there.

She snickered. “I bet Guy goes home and sits on his couch, composing sonnets about his beloved Tink.”

Tinker Bell, the nickname they’d given Chris back when she’d just been a kid, had stuck with her throughout her teenage years, thanks to the woman’s love for the mischievous little fairy. It fit, too. Chris and Jensen both had large, slightly tilted eyes, and their features were best suited to pixie-like haircuts. But while Tink worked for Chris, it didn’t work so well for Jensen and they all knew it.

Tate cut her a dark look and growled, “Just shut it, Jensen.”

She blew him a kiss. “Guy and Chrissie, sitting in a tree…”

Ali laughed.

Hooking her arm with the other woman’s, Jensen started to walk. “Tate sees it, too. He just pretends otherwise. He can’t stand the idea that his best friend has the hots for his baby sister.”

“I’m not hearing this,” Tate said, falling into step next to them. “I’m not. I’m just not.”

Chatting with Ali, ignoring her brother, she let some of the tension, some of the pain of the day fall away.

Maybe that was why she didn’t see him sitting there until she was almost on top of him.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting to see him.

Tate’s grumble came from deep in his chest and she stopped, shot him a look. “Cut back on the testosterone, bub. I didn’t like it in high school and I don’t like it now.”

“I—”

“Come on, baby. I think Jensen is big enough to handle herself.” Ali slid her arm around his waist as the man sitting on the porch of the big old house across the street lifted his head, all but lost in the shadows.

Nothing could hide his eyes, though. Jensen felt his gaze, all the way down to her toes, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Every inch of her seemed to sizzle, seemed to burn.

As Tate continued to hover, she looked over at him. “Go on,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”

Then she stepped off the curb, feeling her heart start to hammer against her chest.

There hadn’t been a single time outside of the job when she’d sought Dean West out.

She’d thought about him.

She’d thought about him a lot.

But she’d never looked him up. Crossing the street to talk to him made her feel nervous, almost as nervous as she’d been in high school when she went to go ask Tony Castillo if he wanted to go to the prom with her.

That hadn’t gone so well. He’d been convinced prom meant sex. She’d disabused him of that notion, with no small amount of physical force and she’d had to hide her bruised, torn knuckles from her dad for the next few days.

She hadn’t been able to hide them from Tate, though, and he’d dragged Tony out of his car when he’d been sitting in the parking lot behind McDonald’s a few days later. Tony had paled whenever he saw her for the rest of the school year and his pretty face had taken more than a few weeks to heal up.

While she knew this wasn’t going to go over like that, she was still dragging her feet.

His dark eyes, the color of melted milk chocolate, cut toward her and then he focused on the glass he held.

Whiskey splashed into it as he refilled his glass.

“Brascum needs to expand the kind of liquor he carries in there,” he said without looking away from his glass. “Nothing against Maker’s or Jack, but they aren’t the end-all, be-all of when it comes to whiskey.”“I’m more for rum.” She eyed the glass he held. “Although it’s been a day. Mind?”

He passed the glass without saying a word and she tossed it back, felt the burn of it, sighed as it hit her belly. She passed it back and he took the glass but instead of refilling it, he just held it. After a moment, he put it down and lifted his hands, clasped together like he was praying. “I got words I need to say to you, but I’m not sure where to start.”

“Don’t.” Staring out at the dark street, she thought back to how often she had to hear the very words he probably felt he had to say. “I’ve heard them all before, Dean. They change nothing, you know. I’m raw right now, but the wounds are old. You didn’t know. It’s cool.”

“No.” He shook his head and said, “It’s not cool. Maybe these are old wounds, but I was taking digs at you over a personal thing and that just makes it more of a problem for me.”

She slanted him a look and felt her heart freeze in her chest, for one long, long moment.

There was something she’d meant to say. The words died, right there on the tip of her tongue as he took a deep, slow breath that seemed to shudder through him.

She felt it echo through her as well, her skin drawing tight while heat buffeted her.

No … no … no. Helplessly, she tried to gather up the strength to get up and walk away. This was no good. She couldn’t do this—

“You got that look in your eyes,” he said, a faint smirk twisting his mouth. He had the damnedest mouth. She’d had dreams about that mouth. Dreams about capturing his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his, feeling his body against hers as she learned how he felt, how he tasted.

Not good. Not good at all.

“It would be easier, you know.” He stared out over the street, that deep, rich voice of his level and smooth, rolling over her like liquid gold. She felt something melt deep inside her and she had to bite back a groan. “If I didn’t look at you and sometimes see the same damn thing I feel. Because I know you feel it. But you ignore it. Ignore me. That’s what pushed me. I was a fucking asshole, and I know it. That’s why it’s not cool. So I’m sorry.”

Licking her lips, she nodded. Get up, she told herself. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate and even once she managed to get vertical, her thighs were all trembling and weak. Swiping her palms down the outside of her jeans, she darted a quick look at him. “Don’t…” The words tangled on her tongue as their gazes connected. “Don’t let the thing about my mom get to you. You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

“There you go,” he murmured, turning his head, dipping it down just a little. The heavy fall of dreadlocks obscured his face and she had the insane urge to reach down, fist her hand in his hair so she could see him, see his face. Proud, arched cheekbones, that fucking sexy mouth, and those intense eyes.

She had no business wanting him. A want like this scared her.

Because it was so deep, so strong, she made herself take another step back.

Dean just nodded. “It’s okay, Jensen. I get it. You and me, we’re not going there. So I’ll…” He blew out a breath. “I’ll just stop.”

The words ripped out of her. “Stop what?”

He didn’t answer. Long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Woodford Reserve he had next to him and he rose. “I hope you can get some rest this weekend. Find some peace.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

He paused halfway up the steps. “I can’t stop myself from thinking about you. But I haven’t made much of an attempt to hide the fact that I’m interested. I can do better, so I will. You don’t want to see it, so I’ll keep it to myself. Sooner or later, it will fade.”

Will it?

She stared at the strong line of his back as he crossed the porch, her heart slamming away in her chest.

A knot formed in her throat.

This … this intensity she felt every time she looked at him. That could fade?

It was the most real thing she’d felt since …

She didn’t even realize she was moving until he’d turned to look at her.

Then she was doing the very thing she’d dreamed about.

His skin was warm against hers, the light stubble scraping against her palms. Because that light touch wasn’t enough, she kept one palm on his face and then drove the other hand into his hair, tangled it in his dreads. The texture was coarse against her hand and she shuddered at the thought of feeling him, all of him.

“I don’t want it to fade,” she whispered as she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

*   *   *

He’d had two drinks.

He thought.

That wasn’t going to make him hallucinate.

Right?

And even if it did …

Dean groaned as her tongue danced across his lips and then pushed inside, without even waiting to see how he’d react.

Fuck, there was no question of reaction.

He’d only been waiting half a lifetime, it seemed.

Maybe his entire life.

Sliding one hand down to her hip, he yanked her against him. The feel of her, all slight angles and delicate curves, was every bit as perfect as he’d imagined.

She jumped up and he caught her, the bottle of whiskey, the glass falling to the porch.

Feeling like the top of his head was about to come straight off, he turned and pressed her against the wall. She arched against him and through the barrier of their clothes, he felt the warmth of her—it was a seductive, sweet heat.

This was devastation, and he thought he was going to die if he didn’t get his hands on her.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he lifted his head and looked down at the upturned oval of her face. Her breath came in harsh, labored pants. His breathing was just as ragged and against his chest, he could feel the slight swell of her breasts, rising, falling. Sliding a hand over the curve of her hip, slipping his fingers under the hem of her shirt, he said softly, “When a man’s been dying for a taste of something for as long as I have, it’s hard to think straight, especially in a moment like this. I think maybe we should–”

She pressed a finger to his lips.

“I think we should stop thinking. I’m tired of it.”

“Jensen—”

*   *   *

The sound of her name on his lips, his normally smooth, rich voice shaking and gruff, made her nipples draw tight and her knees wanted to just give out.

Fisting her hands in his shirt, Jensen leaned in and pressed her mouth to his neck. The heavy weight of his hair blocked her and she pushed it back, taking her time, fisting her hands in the dreads, learning the feel, the texture. His chest rose and fell against hers, his breathing almost as ragged as her own and his body was shockingly hot.

The warmth of him seeped into her and she shuddered, reveling in it. She wanted to fall into him, drown in that warmth, surround herself in it.

“I spend most of my life thinking. Watching. Remembering. Waiting. I hardly ever feel. I hardly ever do.” She turned her face to his and caught his gaze.

Then, without so much as blinking, she leaned in and caught his mouth.

His mouth opened under hers. His hand came up, tangled in her hair.

“Are you sure?” he growled against her mouth.

She slid a hand down, under his shirt, dragged her nails across taut skin. “What do you think?”

*   *   *

“I think you want to see me break,” he muttered, dragging his head from hers.

Control melted away, like it had never existed but he possessed enough sense of self to know two very important things.

They were on the porch.

And there was enough light around that anybody who happened by could see them. Keeping his arm banded around her, he kept her tucked against him as he fumbled the door open.

Inside, he didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t do anything but flip the locks on the door and then flip her around, putting her back up against the door before he bent his head and caught her mouth with his.

Hot.

She was hot and sweaty and she shoved her hands into his hair, tugging him down to meet her with a greedy, demanding hunger that just about took his head off.

Working one arm under her hips, he boosted her up and tucked her between him and the door. That, he thought, was just about perfect. He angled his hips against her and swore, his eyes all but crossing as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She arched back, sending jolts of electricity sparking through him as she started to rock and ride against him.

He caught her hip in one hand. “You keep that up, I’m going to come before I even put my dick inside you.”

“We can’t have that.” She grinned against his mouth, her eyes bright in the darkness. “You’ll just have to control yourself, Dean. I’m having…” A hot little whimper rose in her throat before she managed to say, “Fun.”

“Fun.”

He leaned back and caught the hem of her shirt. “If this is fun, let’s see what else I can do to entertain.”

*   *   *

Jensen thought he’d take her to the bedroom.

She’d expected a slow, lazy seduction.

Something sweet and easy and maybe she could have a chance to catch her breath.

What she got was heat.

Everything inside her seemed to melt as his hands raced over her. Long, agile fingers grabbed the hem of her shirt and before she had a chance to steady herself, he stripped it off. Two seconds later, her bra followed. She blinked, dazed, and looked down just in time to see him trailing his fingers down the midline of her torso.

“So damn pretty,” he mused, his voice low and dark and smooth. It sent shivers down her spine and she found herself mesmerized by the sight of his hands on her. His hands, beautiful and so dark against her flesh, slid up and cupped her breasts.

She could feel a blush rising up to stain her cheeks red. She’d never been terribly self-conscious but in that moment, she was. Her body was what it was—strong, capable, not overly female.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, she lifted her head and found herself staring into his eyes.

“I think I’ve imagined seeing you naked about a thousand times now,” he said. “I didn’t even come close.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. He dipped his head. She curled her arm around his head, gasping as his mouth closed over her nipple, hot and hungry. The rough texture of dreadlocks against her arm, the silk of his mouth, the heat of his body. Everything else in the world spiraled away and she lost herself to just the sensations and the pleasure.

Her feet hit the ground and she snarled as he let her go.

But all he did was reach for the waistband of her jeans. “You’re overdressed.”

Falling back against the door, she stared at him in drugged, hungry fog. A few seconds later, cool air kissed her flesh as he came back over her, his elbows rising to bracket her in against the wood at her back. “There aren’t enough hours in the night for what I want to do to you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck, her shoulder. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

She hummed under her breath as he moved lower, pressing a line of kisses down her torso, along her belly. The muscles there quivered and she hissed a little. He smiled and flicked her a decidedly devilish smile. “Ticklish, baby?”

“No.” She probably put more force behind that than she should have.

He laughed and trailed his fingers across her abdomen, watching as she jumped.

“Don’t!”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got other things on my mind. For now.”

A second later, she groaned and fisted her hands against the door. Her knees threatened to give out underneath her.

His mouth pressed against her core and the blistering heat threatened to drive her insane.

His tongue parted her flesh and the pleasure was a whip against her senses. Her knees tried to give out and then his hands were there, bracing her at her hips while the pleasure ripped through her. She caught his shoulders, stared down at his head, pressed so intimately against her.

This was …

It was too …

She bit her lip, trying to resist the urge to close her thighs as he—

Oh …

She tensed and tried to pull away.

Dean caught one thigh, steadied her. “No. I don’t think so, Jensen. I just got here.” He nuzzled at her entrance and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking.

He shot her a look. “Now why you have to do that? I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

She bit the fleshy pad of her palm and despite the awful, amazing intimacy of the situation, when he slid his tongue across her, over her, inside her, she couldn’t help but roll her hips against him, like she was desperate for more.

And she was . Oh, how she was.

That felt so good …

Barely aware she’d moved her hand, she reached down, tangling her fingers in his dreads and arching closer.

“That’s it … yeah, come on, baby,” he muttered against her, the words muffled and raw and thick. He flicked his tongue against her clit and that felt so good, she heard herself shriek again.

Then she groaned and tensed, because he slid two fingers inside her.

He slid them inside and pressed, right there—

*   *   *

She climaxed against his mouth. Right like that.

Braced between him and his front door, Jensen Bell climaxed, and it was even hotter than he’d hoped it would be.

And Dean was determined to watch it happen again.

Again. And again. Next time, though he planned on being inside her.

Savage hunger tore through him, tearing greedy bites out of his sanity and he shot to his feet, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her hungrily. She went to reach for him and he jerked away. “Stay there,” he ordered.

He had to get a rubber.

There was a box in the bathroom. He thought.

There had better be or he was going to die.

Just curl up in a miserable ball, and die.

Fortunately, death wasn’t going to happen today. There, tucked in a drawer in the back, he found the box, one he’d picked up who knows how long ago—a quick check at the date on the side assured him they were still good. He tore it open and grabbed one condom out, tossing the rest of the box onto his bed as he passed by his room.

If he was lucky, they’d make it there on the next go.

If not … well. They’d have to be lucky, because he wanted to see Jensen in his bed.

His heart did one hard bang when he first walked into the living room, because he didn’t see her—

Then, as he cleared the couch, he breathed again.

She had slid down to the floor, curled up bonelessly, and as he stepped to her, she popped one eye open to stare at him.

He went to his knees between her thighs and drew her to him.

“I said stay,” he murmured, dipping his head and pressing his mouth to hers.

She blushed as he lifted his head, his tongue coming out to lick her lips.

“I…”

She glanced around, her gaze landing on the condom he held.

He reached for her hands and drew them to his shirt. “Take it off,” he suggested.

She looked up at him and then, still holding his eyes, she stripped the shirt away.

After she tossed it to the floor, she scraped her short, neat nails down his chest, paused to trace his nipples and he hissed at the sensation. He hooked his fingers in his shorts and boxers, shoved them down. But when he reached for the condom, Jensen already had it.

The sound of the foil tearing seemed louder than it should. Blood roared in his ears as she pulled it out of the packet and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her when she started to unroll it over him.

His cock jerked and he could all but feel the blood pulsing, boiling in his veins as she smoothed it down over him, her fingers unsteady. He smoothed his hands up her thighs as she went back to her elbows, staring at him with turbulent eyes. “One thing,” he murmured, reaching down and wrapping his hand around his cock, biting back a swear as he bumped against the slick wet heat between her legs.

Her lashes fluttered down, pink staining her cheeks.

“Jensen.”

Heavy lids lifted, stared at him.

“I’m not settling for just one night.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, bracing his weight on one hand just above her shoulder. “Get the feeling that you don’t let people in, and I get that. But you’re not allowed to take off running when this is done. You feel it, too. You can’t say otherwise. We figure out what this is. Just don’t run from me.”

Her lashes swept low. But she nodded.

It wasn’t enough, but he’d take it for now. With an easy roll, he tucked her underneath him. Thin light filtered in through the blinds and he looked down and watched, rocking against her. She shivered and he smiled, rubbing the head of his cock against her slippery, slick sex. Her hands came up, her nails biting into his muscles. The swollen pink flesh of her pussy felt hot, scalding him through the shield of the condom and he wanted, so bad, to feel her without it, but this was pretty damn good, too, and he grunted as she arched up, trying to draw him in.

“Quit teasing.” She all but threw the words at him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He slid one hand up the back of her thigh, watching her face. “So impatient. I don’t want this over so soon. I’ve only been dreaming about it for more than a year, baby.”

“Then hurry up already. We can always do it again.” She twisted her hips and then gasped as the head of his cock stroked over her clit.

“You like that.”

She whimpered as he shifted around and repeated the movement. The flush on her cheeks deepened. He did it again, and again and kept right on doing it until he felt her body start to tighten against his. “Now.”

*   *   *

The hot, raw silk of his voice scraped over her at the same time he started to push inside and Jensen lost it.

Eyes locked on his face, breath trapped in her throat, she sank her nails into the taut muscles of his arms and just … fell.

The most explosive climax of her life ripped through her and he’d barely penetrated her, the thick, blunt head of his cock pulsing against her sensitive flesh, stretching her so very sweetly. Her skin felt two sizes two small, flames licking her up from the inside and she arched, trying to ride the thick pillar of flesh, taking him deeper, but he stayed her with a hand at her hip.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Easy, baby…”

Easy?

Her mind went blank and the climax just kept rolling through her.

There was nothing easy about this. It was devastating and amazing.

Then he sank deeper inside her and it started all over again.

By the time he’d buried his length within her, she was shaking, all but sobbing and desperate. Reaching up, she wound her hands in the thick, dense locks of his hair and pulled his mouth down to meet hers. Deep inside her, she felt the hungry pulse of his cock and she flexed around him in response, crying out against his mouth.

“Stop,” he muttered. “I can’t…”

He pressed down with his hips and she shuddered as it ground him against her clit, but worse, his cock jerked again and she broke around him, drawing her legs up to clutch him closer.

She couldn’t stop it. It was like everything inside her had been waiting for just this moment. Just this. Just him.

“Aw, hell…” Above her, Dean tensed and then the hand on her hip tightened. The other slid behind her head, fingers twisting her hair. “Fuck, Jensen.”

She had no time to breathe, no time to think before his mouth came down on hers and even as her climax started to ebb, another built as he started to ride her, his movements harsh, hungry, all attempt at control gone.

Her name was a ragged snarl on his lips as he came, but she barely noticed.

She was already falling, for the third time.

And his arms were there, locked around her and he plummeted with her.

Chapter Three

There was the morning after.

Then there was the Monday after.

Saturday morning had been easy.

Dean had made her breakfast in bed.

They’d had sex so many times, her body was still aching.

And that night, she’d slid out while he was on the phone with his mom.

Yes. She was a coward.

The morning after had been pretty damn awesome.

It was the Monday … this Monday that had her concerned.

And he was already in the building.

Her gut was a tangle as she fisted a hand in her hair and finished writing up a report.

Toot—his real name was Thomas—Jenkins had found out his wife was cheating on him.

Toot reacted in a way that was … well, maybe understandable.

He’d beaten the shit out of the man in question, after finding them in bed together.

But the man was also his son-in-law, a well-respected dentist, and after finding them in bed and beating the shit out of Dr. Jeffery Archer, he’d also tied the man’s hands together, hooked him to the back of his truck, and driven him down Main Street. Naked.

He’d gone slow, too. Either he was considerate, or wanted to make sure every soul in town had seen Jeffery’s pale, bare ass.

Her skin went tight.

Putting the pen down, she closed her hand into a fist and slowly lifted her head.

Dean was walking her way.

Not going to panic. Nope.

Not going to—

A faint smile curved his lips.

People eyed them, while across the room, the other detective smirked. “Watch it, Bell. He might find a way to talk you into just letting Toot go with a slap on ol’ naked Jeffery’s ass.”

“If anybody gets to slap Archer’s ass, I think it’d be you. Last I heard, you weren’t seeing a lot of naked action,” Dean said, pausing to look over at Jeb. “Not since Adam had himself a good time with your wife. It was on your cruiser, right?”

Jeb’s face went ugly, florid, and red.

A couple of strangled coughs echoed through the room and Dean focused on her once again.

She arched a brow at him as he settled in the narrow chair by her desk. “You hear a lot of things, counselor,” she said, rocking back in her seat.

“Yeah. I keep my ear to the ground.” He studied her face.

Weighing things, she suspected.

Although it was hard to make herself relax, she managed. Giving him a smile, she said, “How was your weekend?”

“Enchanting.” That slow smile tugged at his lips and he asked, “Yours?”

She had to give the man credit. With a lazy smile and a simple word, he turned her heart to putty and also managed to make her clench with want. Mouth dry, she had to swallow before she could say, “About the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The look that must have been relief melted her that much more. She went to say something else, but in that moment, an odd hush fell over the bull pen. She looked up and her belly twisted as she realized the guys were turning to look at her, one by one.

“What…” The question died as she caught sight of Chief Sorenson. He stood there, his eyes on her.

She didn’t even understand why, but the look on his face had the strength draining out of her legs.

She sagged back, bracing her hips against the desk as he came striding toward her.

“Jensen, I need to speak with you. Let’s go to my office.”

“Sir?”

He reached out, touched her arm.

Dazed, she looked down at his hand and then lifted her eyes back to study his heavily lined face.

“Some kids were messing around, down at the river, at the park a few blocks outside of town,” he said, his voice level, pitched low so that only she could hear. “Come on, now. Come to my office.”

She shoved off the desk, started to move.

But she didn’t head to his office.

She started to run.

By the time any of them realized where she was going, she was already out the door.

Distantly, she heard the slap of shoes behind her. She put on a burst of speed, but still, he caught up with her.

Dark, strong hands caught her arms.

“Jensen!”

Sucking in desperate breaths of air, she glared at Dean. “Let me go!”

*   *   *

Her eyes were pure hell.

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek.

“Calm down,” he said softly. “And I will.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“I’m not letting you run off in the middle of the street.” He shrugged. “Sue me.”

Her mouth fell open and then, abruptly, she slumped, her narrow shoulders shuddering as she took in one slow, steadying breath. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay. I’m good. I can walk.”

He let her go but instead of moving back, he held out a hand. “I can walk with you.”

She eyed his hand.

He continued to wait. “You really want to do this alone?”

She smacked her palm against his and then, as one, they started to move. She was painfully aware of the eyes on them, of Chief Sorenson drawing closer.

Even more, she was aware of the glittering ribbon of the Ohio, just barely visible through the buildings.

They started to walk, her heart pounding in her throat.

The park was only a few blocks away, something she could have reached in two minutes, easy.

It seemed to take forever, though.

By the time they got there, Sorenson was at her side.

And she was clutching Dean’s hand like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

*   *   *

The kids were still there, gathered at the edge of the river, while a uniformed cop kept them at a safe distance.

Thorpe, she thought, her brain going dull. It was Ben Thorpe, his hair buzzed so short she could see his scalp, his hands hooked over his belt while his gaze roamed over everything seemingly at once.

When he looked at her, he gave her a brief nod before jerking his gaze away to stare at the chief.

“Did…”

She licked her lips.

“Is it my mom?” she whispered.

Sorenson closed his hand over her shoulder. “I really don’t know what was found,” he said, sighing. “I tried to tell you that.”

Feeling like an idiot, she nodded. She’d taken off, running out the door like a stupid fool.

It’s been fifteen years. What do you think they are going to find?

Leaves and branches crunched under her feet as she walked to the riverbank, uncertain what she expected to find.

Dean was there, each step of the way.

It was probably nothing. There had been a few Jane Does, a couple of cars that looked like Mom’s but weren’t. This would be another—

Her heart stuttered as she caught sight of the car.

Stuck on some debris, bobbing in the swollen waters of the river, it hung there, like a slight breeze would send it drifting on again, caught on the current.

It was muddy, so filthy that the red paint was practically obscured.

Red paint.

Her heart jumped up into her throat and she shoved the back of her fist against her mouth.

Her heart stuttered into her chest as she stared at it.

It was so fucking dirty. But the lines of that car, as familiar to her as the beat-up Camry she drove, slammed into her chest like a fist. Without thinking, she lunged.

Only Dean’s arms, coming around her in a bear hug, kept her from hurtling down the steep embankment.

“Let me go!”

“Easy,” he murmured, his mouth against her ear. “Come on, Jensen. Take it easy. Take it easy. Let’s get her out of there first. Okay?”

Chapter Four

Heat rushed up her neck as Dean moved to stand beside her.

She didn’t want to think about how she’d all but collapsed against him a short while ago.

Didn’t want to think about how easy it had been to do just that, how natural. She’d leaned on him and it had just felt right. She wasn’t much for leaning on people, but it hadn’t felt wrong at all to lean on him.

“Are you okay?”

It felt like there was a knot in her chest, right square where her heart should be and the sound of his voice drew that knot tighter. Focusing on the car the crew was slowly pulling out of the water, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “What’s okay?” she asked woodenly. “That looks like my mother’s car.”

“That’s a red Thunderbird,” he said, his voice gentle. “There are a thousand of them.”

“Not here.” She turned her head and stared at him. “You…” She closed her eyes and turned away for a minute, needing to look at something else. Soon, she was going to have to call her brother, her sister … her father. Whether it was Mom’s car or not, she’d have to call them, but she needed to know, first. Was it her?

She took a steadying breath.

Dean touched her shoulder gently and she looked up at him. It was easier, she thought, if she looked into his eyes. Like that deep, endless brown gave her an anchor. “But it could be her,” she said, as the numbness started to spread through her.

“It could be,” he said, sliding his hand around to cup her neck.

She sighed as the warmth of his hand spread through her.

“Fuck.” She wanted to turn into him, hide against him. “What if it is?”

“Then you can start looking for answers.”

So simple. And so exactly the words she needed to hear. She didn’t want empty sympathy and she didn’t want to hear that bullshit about closure. For her, closure would come when she knew what the hell happened.

He reached out and ran a hand up her back, settled it high on her spine. “You are going to get through this,” he said.

Turning her head, she looked at him. She felt like she was going to shatter into a million pieces. For the longest time, she’d felt fragile and unsure of herself, even as she tried to put up a strong, tough front to everybody around her.

It had taken her years to find her footing again, but she’d done it.

Now …

As tears started to choke her, she went to look away but he shifted and caught her chin in his hand. “You’ll get through this,” he said again, angling his head, his body so that she was between him and the fence, his body a barrier to anybody who might be looking.

A fist closed around her heart.

Slowly, she lifted a hand and curled it around the lapel of his suit jacket. “I feel like I’m going to break,” she said quietly. “And I can’t do that here, so don’t be nice right now. Don’t be … supportive, or gentle or kind.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you to man up and stop being a crybaby. Will that help?” He covered her hand, squeezed lightly.

A watery laugh escaped her. “Yeah. Try to do an impression of Sims or something. He always makes me want to bust his balls.”

Dean grimaced. “I don’t know if I want you thinking that around me.” He brushed her hair back. “You’re going to need to break at some point, Jensen. If you need a shoulder, I’m here. For whatever you need me for.”

Then he turned and as one, they looked out over the water.

“They’ll have it out soon.”

Her breath came in reedy little pants as she curled her hands around the railing. It felt hot under her hands, too hot. And her heart was racing. Blood roared in her head and her knees went watery as she stared at the car, so close to the shore now.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered.

The back end of the car, now cleared of the water, seared itself on her memory.

The license plate—

“Dean…”

His hands were there.

“Jensen—”

“It’s her,” she whispered, staring at the little red stethoscope, just barely visible through the mud.

“Jensen, what are you—”

“The license plate.” She swallowed and turned her head, searching for the chief, and the men from the sheriff’s department, several of whom had handled her mother’s disappearance. She felt slow, sluggish, like she was moving through water, but finally, she managed to find the two men she was looking for.

“You can’t see the numbers yet,” Dean said, his voice tinny, like he was speaking through a tunnel.

Mud still caked much of the bumper but as she looked back at the tail end of the car, it started to slide off and one fat clump dripped off, revealing another part of the plate. The first three numbers, along with the stethoscope were clear now. The rest of the mud continued to cling, but she could see enough.

“Mom was a nurse. She had a nursing plate.” Jensen recited the number, still staring at the car, horrified fascination rising in her.

She wanted to squeeze her eyes closed, block it out. She wanted to run. To hide from all of this, just a little longer. If she didn’t see it happen, she could pretend just a little longer.

But she’d been waiting for fifteen years.

*   *   *

“I need to go down there.” The words were soft, but steel threaded under them.

As much as it hurt his heart, Dean wasn’t surprised to hear those words from her. It didn’t matter that she was pale, didn’t matter that her eyes were so dark, they were all but black in her face. It didn’t even matter that he could see that she was shaking, a thin film of sweat on her upper lip—all of that combined to worry him, because he suspected she was veering closer and closer to shock.

But yeah, of course she had to go down there. She was going to see that fucking car and she was going to watch for as long as she could, even though this was ripping her heart out.

And his.

He wanted to take her away from all of this.

He was in over his head here. In over his head with her, and he had been for a while and realizing just how much pain she’d hidden under that layer of steel wasn’t making it easier for him to pull back. No, it made him want to draw her close and protect her, even though he knew she’d kick his teeth in and damned if that didn’t twist him up even more.

Catching her shoulders in his hands, he held her a moment as they watched the car. “We need to give them a few more minutes,” he said softly. He’d been on hand a few times when cars had been removed from bodies of water. It was almost clear, but that didn’t mean jack until it was completely out of the river. “Make sure they give us the all-clear first.”

She tugged against him for a second and then blew out a sigh. “Yeah. I … fuck. Yeah. I have to call my family, though. It’s her car. That’s her plate. I’d know it in my sleep.”

“I can call them. You can take a minute.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”

She just shook her head and pulled away from him, her hand already on her phone.

“You don’t do easy, do you?”

“There is no easy here.” She shook her head, focusing on the mud-caked paint of the car down on the banks.

“No. I don’t guess there is.” There was no guessing. He knew the pain she had chewing her up inside and he could understand why she wanted to just push through it, even if all he wanted to do was push it all away from her.

Her eyes were dry, and somehow clearer as she made the call, first to her father, then her sister.

The one to her brother, Tate, was the hardest, because she kept having to smack him down. “No, Tate. They aren’t going to let you see the car. It’s just now out—”

She stopped, sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. Dean could hear Tate’s voice coming through the line.

She held the phone away from her ear for a second and then put it back, started to talk, apparently ignoring everything he said. “I don’t have any information for you, but it looks like it’s her car. It’s been under the water for a damn long time from what I tell, but that’s all I know. I won’t know anything else for a long time and the longer you keep me on the phone, the longer it will be before I have answers. They will not let you near it and that’s just the breaks. Deal with it. I’ll call once I have any news.”

She hung up and pushed the phone into her pocket.

“He took it well, I see.”

With a wan smile, she shrugged. “Yeah. Tate is solid, steady as a rock.”

“Jensen.”

They looked over as Lieutenant Burt Loughland said her name from the far end of the sidewalk. He was a veteran with the county sheriff’s department and while the kids had called the city police, this was going to fall within the county’s jurisdiction. Just as her mother’s disappearance had fallen within the county.

As the county cop came their way, his worn face unreadable, Jensen went still.

They both knew, the woman and the man, Dean thought.

It was a cop thing, that weird little burn in the gut, a click in the back of the brain. Something that made a cop a cop, really.

They’d both known, even before they’d seen the plates, whom they’d found.

“You okay, Jensen?” Burt said as she reached him.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Her voice was steady, level. Steel, Dean thought again.

“You did a hell of a job on that Pruitt case last week.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, well. I was hoping to see that fucker in court, but hey. We’ve already got a few more sons of bitches we’ll be locking up, sounds like.”

Loughland nodded, then looked over at Dean. “West.”

Dean nodded.

“I called my family,” she said softly. “Tate … well. Don’t be surprised if your guys have to deal with him. He’s already chomping at the bit. But I couldn’t not tell him, either.”

“Can’t see as how you could avoid it.” Burt nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, one of the men closest to the car called out, “Looks like a key is still in the ignition.”

A soft sound escaped Jensen’s throat.

Dean felt his heart break, jagged little pieces. Baby …

As much as he wanted to reach for her, he knew that was the last thing she wanted or needed just then.

Chapter Five

It was oddly silent as the techs went over the car.

Jensen’s phone had rang three times and on the fourth, she’d pulled it from her pocket, muted it, and then put it on the nearby table. Now she stood, staring at the car with her arms wrapped around her midsection and her gaze locked almost blindly on the mud-caked vehicle.

She barely moved.

She barely seemed to breathe.

Her skin was pale and her knuckles all but bloodless as she gripped her elbows, like she had to have something to hold onto, otherwise, she’d fly apart.

One of the techs dropped a whisk brush and the sound of it clattered through the surreal silence. Jensen jumped, the sound of her gasp striking him in the heart.

From two feet away, he couldn’t reach out and touch her the way he wanted to, the way he needed to. He tried to catch her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to look at anything but the car.

Dean wasn’t really surprised. But he hated the silence, the almost oppressive atmosphere that had fallen across the area. He suspected Burt had spoken with the team. Little wonder they were showing respect for Jensen and the work itself was grim, even though there was little more than mud and a lot of debris in the car.

A whole hell of a lot of water. Damn. It was still leaking from the car, even now. From inside the car, from the trunk, under the hood. Everywhere, puddling all over the floor. It was a mess he was glad he wouldn’t have to clean up.

The crime scene techs were careful and thorough, he couldn’t fault them on anything and he was watching, watching them damn close.

Jensen’s gaze kept traveling over the car and he knew she wanted to be the one searching over it, even though she had to realize the same thing he already knew.

The chances of finding much of anything were slim to none.

That car had been in the river a good long time. It had disappeared the same night her mother had and if the car had gone into the river the night she went missing …

Hell.

“It’s time to open the trunk,” Burt said, his voice echoing, too loudly, in the strained, silent air.

Burt cut Jensen a look, almost like he was asking permission.

Dean knew that wasn’t the case.

He was asking if she was ready.

She stood there, her slim fingers going up to toy with the necklace she always wore. The charm that hung from it was silver, a slim little bar, set with a ruby in the center.

Her index finger rubbed over the ruby, again and again and after almost thirty seconds had passed, she finally dragged her gaze away from the car and looked at Burt.

A single nod and then she went back to staring at the car.

Fuck this, he thought, closing the distance between them. Her left hand hung in a fist at her side now and he reached down, caught it in his.

The second he did, her hand clamped around his in a vise, her grip tight and desperate.

“Breathe,” he whispered, keeping his voice low.

“I am.”

Just barely.

But she sucked in a deeper breath and focused her gaze on the trunk, staring past the crime scene cameras, the techs, and Burt. From where they stood, they could see as Burt fought with the trunk. It didn’t want to open at first, but finally, it yielded. Water and mud gave way with a hideous sucking sound.

It might have been better if they couldn’t see at all.

The trunk, like much of the car, was flooded with mud and water and it continued to leak out.

But there was no mistaking the secrets the trunk had held inside it all these years.

Still half-buried in the mud there was a skeleton, eye sockets empty … staring.

Waiting.

*   *   *

“Is it Mom?”

She’d lost track of the time. Judging by how gritty her eyes were, she’d been awake going on nearly twenty-four hours. Judging by the looks on her family’s faces, they’d been awake through the night, waiting for answers. Waiting for her.

Seated in her father’s living room, Jensen stared at Chris, tried to find the words to answer that question. Tate leaned against the mantel, his face buried in his arms, hiding away from the world. And their dad stood at the window.

She couldn’t recall how many times she’d seen him standing just there.

Waiting.

And now it was time to acknowledge the truth.

Over in the corner, Dean sat quietly. He’d driven her over here and it never occurred to her to tell him to leave. Frankly, she couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. Just looking at him calmed some of the chaos in her brain and if that chaos broke free just now, she thought maybe she’d start to scream and never stop.

His solid, quiet strength had kept her sane throughout the afternoon and right now, she was relying on his solid, quiet presence to keep her steady.

She couldn’t break down here.

She should be able to, she knew. This was her family and if she broke around anybody, it should be them. But she didn’t want to.

Swallowing, she licked her lips and blew out a breath, trying to find some semblance of control before she started to talk.

“The body is female,” she said quietly. “They won’t be able to tell much more until tests are done. But…”

Tears blurred her eyes and she tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling until they cleared. “There were rings . Still on her hands. The—” She blew out a breath and then kept going. “The mud kept them on her all this time. I’m pretty certain they were Mom’s.” She flicked a look at Dad, saw those stooped old shoulders flinch. “I brought pictures. It would be better if Dad could give his opinion. It’s been so long…”

Chris started to sob.

Tate lifted his head and she saw the tears on his face. He crossed the room and sat down by Chris, wrapping his arm around her.

“Can I see the pictures, Jensen?” Doug asked softly.

She pulled them out of her purse, but her hands shook so badly, she couldn’t open the envelope.

Dean’s hand appeared in her line of vision. “Here, let me,” he said gently.

She nodded and pushed it into his hands.

He took the envelope to her father and showed him the pictures of each of the three rings.

And when Doug would have sank to the floor, Dean caught him. “Let’s sit down, Mr. Bell,” he said, using that same gentle, calm voice as he guided Doug over to a nearby chair.

“They’re hers,” Doug said, his voice dull. “My wife. She’s really gone.”

Chapter Six

Rain had rolled in last night.

Dean sat on the small balcony just outside his bedroom and stared across the street at Jensen’s apartment.

The lights were off.

She was home.

It had been a few days since he’d seen her, and he was trying to give her time. She seemed to want it, even if she hadn’t outright said it. He haunted his front windows, watching to see when she arrived, when she left. He felt like a stalker, kept telling himself he knew she needed time.

They’d finally discovered what had happened to their mother … no.

That wasn’t exactly correct.

They’d found her.

But they didn’t have answers.

Something bad had happened, though.

He’d noticed how she’d kept quiet about some of the more awful parts when they’d told her family. Had it really just been a few days ago? It felt like longer. Too long since he’d seen her. Touched her. But, yes, it had only been a couple of days since they’d looked at the body, since the two of them had seen up close all that remained of Nichole Bell. He knew what Jensen had kept to herself—the damage to the skull..

There was going to be an investigation—she’d told them about that, but he didn’t know if she’d gone into detail in the days since then.

For the hundredth time, he started to go over there.

For the hundredth time, he stopped himself.

Ever since he’d met her, he’d been doing this. Stops and starts, like a stupid kid with a crush, but now … fuck, now look at him. He was even more unsure of himself and if ever she needed somebody who was sure, it was now.

The question was … did she need it to be him?

Did she just need a friend?

Could he be just a friend?

Fuck that shit.

With frustration tangling inside him, he locked himself in his weight room where he couldn’t see her place. The weights, the sweat, the punishing workout wouldn’t take his mind off his troubles, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting on the porch, obsessing, like some kind of fool.

“No, you stupid jackass,” he muttered as he lay on the weight bench and did chest presses. “You’re in here obsessing.”

The ringing of the doorbell was the last thing he wanted to hear.

But it didn’t go away, even after he tried to ignore it for the next few minutes, so he headed down the hall, temper flaring.

As he passed by the entertainment center, he paused. Just as always. There was a picture of a young girl, a child. He touched a finger to her smiling face.

The ache was still there. Even now.

Closer to the surface even. Had to do with everything going on, he knew. With his temper flaring and his own grief threatening to surge out of control, he jerked the door open, ready to tear into whoever had the bad luck to stand on the other side of the door.

At the sight of Jensen, he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing back whatever he’d been about to say—and he didn’t even know what he’d been about to say.

Rain rolled down her face.

Clung to her eyelashes, her nose.

“Jensen…”

She looked lost, her eyes darker than they should be, her skin paler. Her hair hung in wet, chunky strands that clung to her cheeks and her shirt was soaked.

She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

Or more fragile.

“Jensen.”

She licked her lips. “Is … is this a bad time?”

“For you, such a thing doesn’t exist.” He caught her hands and drew her inside. It was hot outside, despite the rain, but under his hands, her skin felt like ice.

Her red T-shirt clung to her and he led her down the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a thick towel and draping it over her shoulders. “You’re soaked,” he said. Way to point out the obvious, dumbass.

“You sure I’m not bothering you?” she asked, her voice low.

Bothering me? Baby, you’ve been bothering me from the first time I laid eyes on you. Although he didn’t think that was what she needed to hear. Instead, he just smiled at her. He laid a hand on her cheek, using his thumb to tilt her head back. “I was working out. I’m always happy for an excuse to get out of that.”

He reached past her and snagged another towel, using it to dry her hair.

“You seem to have some practice at this.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I got ladies coming in and out of my house all the time, just for this special service. Haven’t you noticed?”

Jensen laughed, a hiccupping little sound that caught at his heart and tugged on it—like she’d just reached inside his chest and wrapped her fist around it, pulled. As he tossed the towel over his shoulder, he realized it wasn’t just rain on her face.

Wiping the tears away, he cupped her cheeks in his hand and wished there was something, anything he could say to help.

But nobody knew better than he that words didn’t take grief away.

So instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to her brow.

A sob ripped out of her and her arms came around his waist.

“You go ahead and cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling her against him and guiding her head against his chest. “You just go ahead and cry.”

*   *   *

They were on the couch.

Jensen didn’t remember even coming over here, not really.

She had some vague memory of needing to see him, then a flash of him opening the door, being in the bathroom as he rubbed a towel over her wet hair. She’d been cold, so cold.

Then, just breaking.

It was like all the tears she’d kept pent up inside for years … years … had just come ripping out of her. Like somebody had just taken a knife and sliced her open and all that pain had to get out.

It was still there.

Even now, empty of tears, but the pain still lingered.

Her throat hurt and her head ached and her eyes were all gritty and raw.

Curled against his side, her hand clenched in the faded fabric of his University of Kentucky T-shirt, she stared dully at the cross he wore and tried so very hard just to not think.

That pain kept snaking up to nip at her, like a little demon, taking awful, tormenting bites at her and she just couldn’t stop it.

He pressed his lips to her temple and then he eased her to the side. Jensen closed her eyes and pressed her face against the cool, soft leather of his couch, breathing in the scent of Dean and leather.

The floorboards creaked and she felt the couch give way under him a minute later but she didn’t have the energy to look at him until he slid his arm around her waist. Look at me, baby.”

She turned her head and stared at him, scowling. “I don’t much care for the term baby,” she said, lying through her teeth. Normally, she didn’t. But there was something about the way he said it that made her not mind so much. He could probably call her dollface or cupcake or any number of cutesy names and she wouldn’t mind. As long as she didn’t hear him doing it with anybody else.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Whatever.” He lifted his hand and she saw the rag just before he pressed it to her brow. She all but whimpered in relief at the cool, damp feel of it against her skin.

“Your head hurting?”

“Like a bitch,” she said.

“Want some water?”

She nodded and he pushed a bottle into her hands.

“You’re pretty good at taking care of people,” she said. “Sure you shouldn’t have gone into medicine instead of law?”

“I prefer to specialize … keeping it to a select few people.” He shifted on the couch and guided her until she had her head in his lap. The position was incredibly intimate and heat gathered inside her, even as a blush spread to her face. Part of her thought about turning in to him, pressing her mouth to his lean belly, maybe exploring a little lower.

Sex was good for headaches, she’d heard.

But another part of her felt too raw. Too exposed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get horizontal with him when every nerve ending she had, every emotion was so completely wide open. She was already teetering too close to a precipice with him, one she’d easily avoided with any and every lover she’d ever had.

“I…” The word formed on her tongue. I need to do something. She didn’t know what. Move. Get up. Think. But before any of those words made it to her mouth, he placed one hand on her scalp and gently started to massage. All thoughts of moving or thinking fled as he worked some form of magic on her.

Groaning, she felt herself going limp.

Time faded away and bit by bit, the pain in her head eased back. Outside, the rain continued to pound down around them, wrapping around them. There was no light on and she thought she could just lose herself, right there, to the feel of his hand, stroking the pain away, and the sound of the rain outside.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

He brushed her hair back and she dragged her lashes up to stare at him. “Sorry to fall apart on you like that.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, shaking his head. He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and that light contact sent shivers through her. “If you need me, for anything, I’m here and I don’t want you to be sorry.”

Something hot unfurled in her belly and she wondered what he’d say if she sat up and draped herself across him. All of a sudden, the idea of being exposed to him wasn’t as scary as it had been.

Maybe she shouldn’t think about being exposed. She should just think about nothing. Think about forgetting. If anybody could help her lose herself for a while, it would be him. But … hell. That wasn’t really fair. Not to him.

Slowly, she sat up and although sanity tried to insist she move away, she ended up curled against his side and when he wrapped his arm around her, she couldn’t help but think how utterly right that felt.

Everything with him felt completely and utterly right, now that she’d let herself stop running.

The knot of heat in her belly expanded and she bit her lip, looking around the room, all but desperate for a distraction.

Her gaze landed on the small collection of pictures sitting on top of his entertainment center. She saw one of him with his parents; she’d met them a couple of times. He had barbecues a few times a year and they always came, along with his brothers, a sister, and an almost scary number of cousins, aunts, uncles, and nieces and nephews. There were pictures of him with the family, his siblings. Some of the faces were vaguely familiar. She tended to memorize faces that she saw around her street—there was no turning off the cop, she’d learned.

Her eyes focused on the one of a child. A young girl. Maybe five. She didn’t remember seeing the girl before, but she was adorable. That smile …

That smile. Slowly, she sat up, staring at that picture.

“Who is she?”

He was quiet for so long, Jensen wondered if he’d answer. Turning her head, she looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on the little girl in the picture.

The girl with his smile.

“That’s Amaya.” He looked down, a sigh escaping his lips before he turned his head and met her gaze. “My daughter.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t know you had a daughter,” she said, forcing the words out.

He reached up, touching something under his shirt. She recognized the gesture. It was the same one she made when she was thinking about her mom. The little silver pendant she wore was the last gift she’d gotten from her mom, a present for her twelfth birthday. She never went anywhere without it.

Dean’s eyes were sad as he looked at her. “She died just a few weeks before she would have started kindergarten.”

*   *   *

How did he even start to explain this?

Slowly, feeling like he’d aged twenty years in the past twenty seconds, Dean straightened on the couch, bracing his elbows on his knees as he stared at Amaya’s picture.

“Her mom and I weren’t married,” he said slowly. “We met in law school.” He slid her a look from the corner of his eye, grinned a little. “I caused her a hell of a lot of trouble. She was an adjunct teacher for one of the courses I took in law school. She had a job at a local law firm, taught for a semester while I was still in school. I was crazy about her. The feeling was mutual, but that’s a good way to get your ass in trouble. For both of us. Rochelle wasn’t having any part of it, not that I didn’t try. She had busted her ass to get where she was and she wasn’t going to let some slick-talking boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth screw things up for her.” He shrugged and reached up, rubbing his neck. “Once I was out of school, I didn’t see her for a while. Then I ran into her one night after I’d passed the bar. I was working my ass off for this slick defense attorney in Lexington. He had his hands in almost every big case that went through that city—remember the basketball player accused of paying for his girlfriend’s murder? He had that one.”

He caught the sneer on Jensen’s face and sighed. “I’m not the man I was then. I had my eye on one thing, making a name for myself. Getting a partnership, maybe opening up my own firm at some point. You want to make a name for yourself, you take cases like that. And … even the very guilty are entitled to a defense.” He ran his tongue around his teeth, thinking about how many of the very guilty he’d helped keep out of jail. “Rochelle and I started dating. We figured out pretty fast that what we had was heat. Nothing else. But it was pretty damn hot. Then she ended up pregnant. The baby…”

Even now, he could remember that amazing feeling, the way love and awe had rolled through him as the doctor placed the baby in his hands the very first time. “She was everything to us. We didn’t love each other, but we adored her. Shared custody, went to every doctor appointment together, picked out the school together. Everything.”

He lapsed into silence as other memories stirred.

A hand reached out and covered his.

Looking up, he saw Jensen staring at him.

“What happened?”

His voice rusty, he said, “Rochelle … she…” He blew out a breath and looked past her. “She grew up in a rough area. She got out. Her brother didn’t. He started showing up, looking for money. She didn’t give it to him. He was pretty damn desperate, had all sorts of trouble chasing him. Then it found him. Had a couple of dealers, they tracked him down—drive-by shooting. He lived. Rochelle and Amaya didn’t.”

“My God.”

“Yeah.” He rose and walked over to the entertainment center, taking the picture of his little girl down. “I knew one of the motherfuckers. Rich-ass bastard. Made his money selling drugs to teenagers, but the cops kept fucking up because they were so determined to take him down. It was easy to get him off, like taking candy from a baby. I was one of the lawyers who helped get him off. I helped put him back on the street … and he killed my little girl.”

When she came up behind him, he didn’t move.

As her arms came around him, he didn’t move.

He just stood there, staring at Amaya’s innocent, precious face.

After a minute, he said, “I went home after her funeral and sat in my room. I knew all about how to get a gun. I didn’t own one—still don’t, but I know more about getting my hands on a weapon than most people. Except a cop or drug dealer probably. I kept thinking about how easy it would be for me to just go kill him. I knew where he hung out. I knew where he lived. I already knew how easy it would be for me to get off with killing him. He had killed my daughter … the mother of my child. Two innocent people, gunned down. There were witnesses—not that they’d ever testify, but they had told me what they saw. I knew how to talk to people.”

He put Amaya’s picture down.

Jensen ran her hand up his arm. He felt the light brush of her mouth against his arm. “That’s not the man you are.”

“That’s the man I was that night,” he said woodenly.

Slowly, he turned and stared down at her. “But as I was sitting there, in my room, thinking about how I’d never hear her laugh again, one thing kept coming back to haunt me. I didn’t ever want another father, another mother to have to feel like that again.” He cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb over the soft, smooth curve of her jaw. “I decided instead of killing him, I’d find other ways. Maybe I couldn’t prosecute that bastard, but I could find others. I knew how defense attorneys thought, after all. Knew their tricks, how they’d prepare witnesses and shit.”

She covered his hand with hers. Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to hers and stared into her eyes … so close, so close he felt lost in her. “I know that pain, Jensen. It’s like a part of you is missing—like you’ve lost a limb, or somebody went and ripped out a chunk of your heart and then sewed it back up together without bothering to make sure all the pieces line up. I know that pain … if I could make this better for you, I would.”

A sigh drifted out of her and she eased back. She had one hand on his waist and slowly, she shifted that hand, laying it on his cheek and staring into his eyes. “Dean, I think you’ve got enough pain of your own. You don’t need to worry about making this better for me.”

“Maybe we could make it better for each other.” He curved his arm around her, spreading his palm wide against her spine so that he could feel the graceful curve, the warmth of her skin, as much of her as he possibly could.

“You offering to kiss and make it all better? Comfort sex?”

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Hey, there ain’t nothing wrong with comfort sex. But…” He hugged her against him, stroked a hand up her back. “For now, I’m talking about dinner. You need to eat. We can talk. Once you look a little more steady, I think I might try to seduce you.”

“Seduce me, huh?” She bit her lip, her hands curled into fists against his chest. “That doesn’t really sound like comfort sex to me.”

“That’s because I don’t have comfort sex on my mind when I think about you. I’ve wanted you for a damn long time and nothing changes that. I’m going to want you when the sun goes down tonight, when it comes up tomorrow, and probably for a good long time after. But I want you steady when you come back to my bed, Jensen. So if that’s not tonight? We’ll wait for another night.”

*   *   *

Seduce you …

The very thought was enough to melt away her bones and her muscle until she collapsed into a puddle of goo at his feet.

Even now, she couldn’t stop thinking about that.

It had been nearly thirty minutes since he’d delivered that calm, matter-of-fact statement, although his eyes had been anything but calm. They’d practically burned as he stared at her.

He was back in control, though, and as she sat at the island in his kitchen, watching him work, it was hard to believe this was the same man who had been in the darkened living room, his eyes dull as he quietly told her about his daughter’s death, the death of the child’s mother.

Hard to believe it was the same man who’d held her against his body, all but vibrating with hunger.

I’ve wanted you for a damn long time and nothing changes that. I’m going to want you when the sun goes down tonight, when it comes up tomorrow, and probably for a good long time after …

Those words kept knocking around in her mind and even now, her mouth was dry. She was tempted to grab the glass of wine he’d poured and knock it back, but if she did that, she’d be tossing back another, and another. No way would she be steady if she did that.

Polishing off a bottle of wine wasn’t going to let her stay in control and make calm, rational thoughts.

Who says you need to be calm or rational? She could still be steady, and throw calm and rational to the wind, she figured. Wasn’t like she didn’t have reasons to toss back a glass or two of wine.

She tried to push that voice to the side but then abruptly, she frowned and made herself answer that. Why did she have to be calm or rational?

She’d been calm and rational most of her life.

She paid her bills on time.

She had a nice, neat little savings account.

She never dated.

She’d had exactly two sexual encounters prior to the weekend she’d spent with Dean. The first one had sucked, but she’d been a twenty-one-year-old virgin who’d decided she wasn’t going to be a virgin anymore. She hadn’t been looking for fun—she’d just been looking for sex.

The second encounter had been … whoa and damn. But Adam Brascum, the town Romeo knew all about whoa and damn. Maybe not so much about emotional connection, but she hadn’t been looking for that, either.

She’d just been looking for … the whoa and the damn.

Staring at Dean’s turned back, the way his shoulders stretched the threadbare cotton of his shirt, the dreads secured at the nape of his neck, the sleek, elegant play of muscles under his skin. He was beautiful. And when he touched her, it wasn’t just whoa and damn.

Her heart stuttered when he touched her.

Her heart stuttered when he looked at her.

A knot settled in her throat and she had to admit the truth. She wanted him, but it was so much more than that. She was going to want him when the sun went down, when it came up.

It went deeper than want.

He somehow managed to break her and remake her all at once.

Maybe that was why she’d ignored it for so long.

She didn’t want to face this, or handle it.

But she was having an even harder time walking away from him now.

Her mouth had gone dry as the Sahara, but instead of gulping the wine, she slid off the stool. “Mind if I get a glass of water?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her and then gestured with a spatula to the cabinet on the right. “In there.”

She found them and grabbed a tumbler of pretty, cobalt blue. “You have a thing for color, Dean.”

“No. I don’t,” he said, chuckling. “My mom does. She came in like a Pinterest whirlwind a year or two ago and redid everything, dragged my sister, my brothers, and their wives into it—it was her summer project.” He glanced around the kitchen and shrugged. “We redid the entire inside of the house. I wanted to build a deck, but this was what Mom wanted to do, so this is what we did.”

“I guess it didn’t occur to you to tell your mom you’d rather have the deck?”

He gave her a look like she was out of her mind. “Clearly, you don’t remember meeting my mother. You don’t tell that woman no once she’s got her mind made up.”

Jensen grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced past him, more out of a need to distract herself than anything else, eyeing the deck. “Looks like you got the deck anyway.”

“Yeah. Did it myself last fall.”

“It’s nice.” Nice. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and sipped at the water instead, leaning against the counter and trying to think through the noise in her brain.

She had such a bad habit of overcomplicating things.

She knew that.

She needed to quit thinking. The longer she thought about what was going on here, what might be going on between them, the more scared she became.

Seeing what people did to each other … hurt. She thought about her parents, everything that had happened, and it made her gut twist. But she realized something else. Thinking about not reaching for … whatever might be unfolding, that hurt, too.

She thought about putting down the glass of water and just walking out the door and it filled her with such dread, it almost sickened her.

She thought about maybe quitting her job, finding a position somewhere else. She could. Cops were always needed.

But the thought of never seeing him again?

Whoa.

That thought really hurt.

Where did this come from? When did this happen?

From the corner of her eye, she watched him as he stood over the stove. Vegetables and steak sizzled in the pan and rice steamed in a pot on the back burner.

A funny, familiar ache moved through her. This wasn’t a new thing, either. This was why he pissed her off so easily. Why she avoided him. This had been building between them for a while, but she just hadn’t wanted to face it.

It was time she did, though.

Her brother, Tate, had been running from the truth all these years … and she’d been doing some running of her own. She was a hypocrite, too, because she’d called him out on it, while she was still here trying to figure out if she was going to face the facts or just continue to hide, like the scared little girl she’d been fifteen years ago.

Chapter Seven

Pushed too damn hard, he told himself as they worked together in silence, cleaning up after the meal.

He’d told her he’d handle it, but she had just rolled her eyes and gone about helping him clean up.

Dean wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t mind cooking—actually, he kind of enjoyed it, but he hated the cleanup part with a passion.

It was a welcome distraction now, though. Something else to think about besides just her. Besides the fact that he’d pushed her too hard—attraction was one thing, but telling her that this wasn’t something that had just … hell, happened? Yeah, she didn’t need this on top of all the other shit she was dealing with.

Now he had to figure out if he’d fucked it up good or just set them back a little.

The bottle of wine from the local winery, Lanthier, had enough left for them to split a glass and he held it up as she finished rinsing off a plate. She smiled at him but the smile was distracted, like she was a million miles away.

At least she ain’t running, right?

As much as he admired her very nice ass, he was getting kind of tired of seeing that view more than anything else. So he had to be happy that she hadn’t taken off.

He knew enough about Jensen Bell to know one simple thing—if she’d decided she didn’t want to be here, she wasn’t going to hang around, not even for the sake of politeness.

The silence gratedon him as he finished his wine. He dumped the bottle, trying to find some way to fill that silence, but when he turned around, Jensen was standing in front of him. Right there.

So close. Too close.

The scent of her, rain, sweet woman, soft skin, and the subtle fragrance of the lotion she wore, flooded his head as he reached up to steady himself before he crashed into her. Fingers closing around her arms, he looked down into her face, watched as a slow, subtle flush crept over her cheeks. “Sorry,” he said and his voice came out low and raw. Clearing his throat, he went to step back.

She reached out and rested her hands on his waist.

He stilled.

Barely even a foot separated them and then, not even that as she moved forward, pressing her body to his.

“I’ve got to tell you the truth, Dean,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t think I’m into comfort sex or being seduced.”

His gut tightened. Confusion warred inside him. It didn’t help, either, just hearing her say the word sex. Seeing her mouth—that pretty mouth that just drove him crazy—and knowing he wasn’t going to be …

She leaned into him, her hands sliding under the hem of his T-shirt, her fingers cool against his skin as she rose up onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. “If there’s going to be a seduction, how about we seduce each other?”

Her mouth opened against his and he was still processing what she’d said even as he hauled her up against him.

Spinning around, he boosted her up and set her on the island. She laughed against his mouth and he tangled a fist in her hair, yanked her head back.

“Quiet,” he muttered. Then he took her mouth.

She groaned against his lips and opened for him. The raw, ragged edges of the day melted away as her tongue came out and stroked against his own.

Heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon, he leaned in against her, felt the heat of her through thin cotton pants. He reached between them and pressed the heel of his palm against her. “Break for me,” he muttered against her lips. She was already wet and he thought his brain was going to explode as a hard shudder rocked her body.

A sharp cry escaped her when he pulled back and caught the waistband of her pants and yanked them and her panties down, stripping her from below the waist.

She sat half-naked on the island in under a minute. Her eyes, wide and dazed, lifted to his. “Dean…”

He put his hands on the soft, silken skin of her inner thighs, watched her face flush as he moved them higher and higher, closing in on the heated core of her cunt. “I want to see you break for me,” he said again.

“I…” She licked her lips. “We’re supposed to be…”

The words faded away as he reached the apex of her thighs and used one thumb to part her. The curls between her thighs were tight, shades darker than her hair, and already wet. He licked his thumb and watched as her eyes went opaque. “Lie back.”

*   *   *

Jensen couldn’t breathe.

She was almost positive of it.

A sharp gasp tried to work its way out of her, but even as she thought she might be able to force that air out, Dean’s voice, that rich as chocolate voice, stroked over her as he murmured, “Lie back.”

The strength seeped out of her and she sagged back onto her elbows, staring up at him.

A smile crooked his lips as he bent over her, his dreadlocks falling forward. They brushed over her, teasing her through her shirt as he rubbed his lips over hers. “I want to eat you up,” he said.

Please do.

She would have said it if she’d had the air.

Thoughts about them seducing each other fled. He could seduce her all he wanted. She’d take her turn later.

His teeth nipped her lower lip, trailed down lower. Cool air kissed her flesh and that sharp burst of air that had been lodged in her throat worked free as she realized he was unbuttoning her shirt. His lips touched each inch of flesh he exposed and the rough texture of his hair scraped over her skin, another teasing caress that sent her shooting higher and higher.

As he reached her hip bone, she wilted completely and went limp on the island countertop.

Dean worked his hands under her hips, lifted her up.

And bliss exploded through her as he licked her clit.

Tangling her hands in his hair, she arched against him, working her hips against his mouth, desperate that he might move before he did that again … and again … and again.

But he didn’t move.

At least, he didn’t move away.

He scraped his teeth lightly against her sensitive skin, flicked her with his tongue, muttered against her.

Need clenched hot and painful through her and then he was gone.

“What … wait…”

“Not without me,” he said, hauling her off the island and into his arms.

Blearily, she stared at him, his eyes stark in his face, need stamped in every line.

The room blurred around them and then she was on the bed. He fought with her shirt, then his. He moved again, out of her line of sight and she sat up, watched as he wrenched open the drawer by his bed. “Like to be prepared, I see,” she said, her throat dry.

“Yeah, ever since you went and made me and my dick feel like we were teenagers again,” he said, his voice just a little unsteady. He tossed a box of condoms onto the bed, keeping one packet in his hand. “I can’t be around you without getting a fucking erection, Jensen, and it’s only gotten worse since I slept with you.”

His hands cupped her face and she braced herself, her breath catching.

But there was no breath-stealing kiss.

It was gentle, sweet … and her heart ached when he lifted his head.

“You undo me,” he whispered. “You completely undo me.”

Swallowing, she closed a hand around his wrist, staring up into his eyes. “Dean.” She didn’t know what to say to him. “I…”

He just shook his head and urged her onto her back. “Lie down for me. Let me love you.”

Her heart all but ripped open for him.

*   *   *

Let me love you …

Fuck. He might as well just go to his knees and beg her to see what he felt.

But all she did was give him a tremulous smile, her eyes locked on his face.

He went to tear open the condom but she took it from him, pushing back up to deal with it and his cock jumped at the feel of her fingers, slim and strong as she unrolled it down over the swollen head, working it down his shaft.

Then he groaned as she reached down and cupped his balls.

“You’re a witch,” he muttered, tumbling her down onto her back and settling himself between her thighs.

“I think you like it.”

“I love it.” I love you … What would she say? Would she run?

Her eyes locked on his as he hooked his arms under hers, emotion pounding inside, pulsing through him. He couldn’t hide it as he slowly slid inside her, the heat of her pussy closing around him like a fist.

He should look away, tuck his head against her neck, something. Anything.

But her eyes held him captive, and he thought maybe, just maybe … everything he felt was written, echoed on her face, too.

Her body arched to meet his, a broken sigh coming from her while her heart slammed against his own.

“Jensen…”

One hand curled around his shoulders, the other tangling in his dreads.

But her eyes remained locked on his.

And even as the climax rushed closer and closer, they didn’t look away.

It broke around them—broke through them.

The sound of his name on her lips had to be one of the sweetest damn things he’d ever heard.

As he collapsed, his head between the slight curves of her breasts, the words he had to say to her tried to break free.

He kept them locked inside.

For now.

I love you …

Chapter Eight

“If nobody is dead or in dire straits, I’m going to kill you, brother.”

Jensen was just barely roused enough to make sense of those words.

With a smile on her face, she rolled around in the huge lake of a bed and looked over at Dean.

In the dim light that filtered through the curtains, he looked like some sort of fantasy made real. The muscles of his chest and belly were perfectly delineated without him looking like he worshipped at the altar of the gym lords and she wanted to spend hours learning that amazing body. He’d pulled his dreads back into a tail before they fell into bed and she wanted to pull the band out of his hair, fill her hands with it, and bite his mouth and just enjoy him.

He flicked a look at her, then.

The bottom of her stomach fell out.

Slowly, he sat up.

When he held out a hand, without thinking twice, she put her hand in his.

“You sure, Ty?” He paused and then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah. You can come on over. No. No … she’s ah … well. She’ll be here.”

He hung up then and looked over at her.

“Ty?”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Under the warm, dark brown of his skin, the muscles of his back flexed. Tension all but crawled from him.

“Was that your brother?” she asked softly.

He nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he slowly lifted his head. “Ty … Tyrese.”

“He’s the doctor, right? Is everything okay?”

*   *   *

The doctor.

Rising from the bed, Dean grabbed a pair of workout pants from the footboard and dragged them up over his naked hips before he looked at her.

“Ty is a doctor, but he…” Dean paused and looked over at Jensen. She sat in the middle of his bed, the sheets pooled around her, faint light coming in to dance across her elegant, sleek body. There were marks on her, he thought. Where he’d gripped her hips and one where he’d pressed his mouth to her right breast and suckled as she arched against him and cried out. He had scratches up and down his arms and if he was awake right now, it ought to be because he was ready to roll back into her arms and make love to her again.

Instead, he was getting ready to break her.

“Tyrese is a forensic pathologist, baby,” he said gently.

Her mouth went tight.

Just like that, she went from woman to cop.

Eyes flat, face unreadable.

She said nothing as she climbed from the bed.

He grabbed a shirt from his closet and held it out to her. She pushed her arms into it, her fingers moving down the buttons, smooth and efficient. “Who was he calling about?”

He didn’t answer until she turned her head and met his gaze in the darkened light of the room.

A knot settled in his throat and he crossed the floor to stand in front of her. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand, stroked his thumb across her lip.

“I asked him to look at the photos.”

She didn’t ask which ones.

“He knows something,” she said, her voice low.

“He didn’t say. But…” Dean moved his shoulders. “Ty is good at what he does.”

Good didn’t even touch on it. Dean was smart—had graduated at the top of his class, scholarships, all that jazz.

Ty was something else, though. He’d started college at fifteen, had graduated from medical school at twenty-four. To their parents’ dismay, instead of going into traditional medicine, though, Ty had a head, and a passion, for forensics. It had taken a while for him to settle, but he was damn good at his job.

And if he had a feeling about the pictures Dean had sent him …

Jensen continued to watch him, her green-gold eyes carefully blank.

“Why did you send him the photos?”

“Because you’ve waited long enough. I made copies. Did it a few days ago.” He wasn’t going to apologize. The hell if he lied. “If we wait for the state lab to work around to this, you know you’re looking at months. Even with the evidence of trauma…” Carefully, tread carefully … this isn’t just a case. “You know how backlogged they are. If we had our own team here, we could move forward faster, but we don’t. I had a connection, so I used it.”

“Whatever he has, it may not be admissible.”

Dean smoothed his hand down her neck and gently, fearing she’d pull away, he eased her up against his body. “I wasn’t trying to build a case. I was asking for you.”

She was wrong, though.

Ty had worked as a consultant more than once.

If he had put something together, if there was evidence that Dean could use, he’d damn well use it.

*   *   *

Her jeans were a damp tangle still and she shivered just thinking about pulling them on.

But as she went to pick them up, Dean pushed a pair of sweats into her hands. “Here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck before moving around her into the kitchen. “You don’t want to wear wet clothes, do you?”

“Not really.” She held up the sweats to her waist, eyeing them narrowly. “I’m going to swim in these.”

“You can always put on the wet jeans.”

“No, thanks.” She wrinkled her nose and pulled them on, watching Dean as he gathered up the clothes strewn across the floor. Looking down at herself, she pointed out the obvious. “I’ve got your clothes on. It’s after ten. It’s going to be kind of obvious what’s going on here.”

He lifted a brow. “That a problem?”

“Not for me.” She pushed her hair back, hoping it fell into some kind of order before sliding him a look. Her belly jumped around while her heart started to slam against her ribs. Nervous, she realized. I’m nervous. Over a guy. “Is it going to be for you? Your brother or your folks?”

“They aren’t sleeping with you. I am.”

Sleeping with you. It sounded kind of … well, maybe not permanent, but like there was a relationship thing there. She liked it. “So we’re not trying to hide this.”

He opened a door and she watched as he put her jeans and shirt into a dryer, started it. As the machine started, he closed the door behind him. There was a queer look in his eyes, intense, watchful. Possessive. “I have no desire to hide it.” His arms shot up, caging her in against the island. He bent down, caught her lower lip between his teeth. “Do you?”

“No. I’m not really sure what this is, but … no.”

“Good.” His mouth slanted over hers, hungry, demanding and she felt the strength drain out of her, replaced by loose, limpid desire. She wanted to curl herself around him and take giant, greedy bites out of him. Because she thought she just might do that, she gripped the island at her back.

She was already tempted to lean against him. Hide behind him, maybe.

When he lifted his head, she licked her lips, tasting him there.

“We can figure out what this is as it develops.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Just … just don’t pull away from me. Not now.”

“I can handle that.” She turned her head, pressed a kiss to his palm. “No pulling away. Although I might end up trying to hide behind you, once I hear whatever your brother has to say.”

“Like you’d let yourself take the easy way.” He rubbed his thumb over her lip, then dipped his head, pressed his brow to hers. “I’ll be right here, Jensen. No matter what.”

Staring into his eyes, she let herself take a little bit of comfort in that. Slowly, needing to touch him, needing that connection, she reached out and curved her hands over his lean hips. “I’m not ready for this. I’ve waited for this for so long, and now I’m not ready.”

“No matter what happens, Jensen, I’m here.” For a minute, just a minute, the world was nothing but them. “I’m right here.”

*   *   *

When the doorbell rang just a few minutes later, Jensen flinched. Dean hugged her against him and wished he could just take her away from here, but that wasn’t going to fix the hurt inside her.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he whispered, “Remember. I’m right here.”

She nodded and when he held out his hand, she reached out and grabbed it, squeezing convulsively.

Ty didn’t knock again.

He was patient.

Then again, he’d always been.

Ty was what his folks had called an old soul. Genius intellect. Patient and calm.

He knew Dean was in there and he’d just wait at the door, for an hour, if that was what it took.

When Dean opened the door, Ty had his head averted, staring off into the night.

“Ty.”

His younger brother swung his head around and looked first at him, then his gaze shifted to Jensen.

He didn’t look at all surprised to see her there, didn’t look at all surprised to see her wearing clothes that obviously belonged to Dean. He just nodded, and although he hid it well, Dean saw the sorrow in his brother’s gaze.

This was going to be bad.

*   *   *

“It’s going to be hard to make a conclusive case here. I hope you understand that,” Ty said, his voice low and gentle, like he was talking to a wild animal.

Or a woman who’d spent half her life searching for what she’d lost.

Jensen lifted her eyes and stared at the other man.

He and Dean shared the same eyes, she thought. The shape of the mouth was the same, the shape of their hands.

Both had a way of acting, carrying themselves that set people at ease. And they were both smarter than people really had a right to be.

The resemblance ended there, though. Where Dean was all sleek and lean elegance, Ty was massive, tall and broad through the shoulders. There was no extra flesh on him that she could tell, but his hands were huge, his shoulders strained against the cloth of the shirt he wore. She had a hard time picturing him in some sterile lab.

Had a hard time picturing him gentling her through the explanation he had trapped inside him.

She had a hard time being gentled, anyway.

“Would you just get it over with, Ty?” she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “Whatever it is … I just need to know.”

His lashes swept down, ridiculously long lashes, thick and curled. He blew out a careful breath and lifted his hands, steepling them in front of his face for a moment and then he nodded.

He pulled a file out of the bag he carried and opened it. “I’ve got a preliminary report for you, Dean. If you decide you want me to consult, just let me know and I’ll get a full report put together. But for now…” He flipped the report over and revealed the pictures.

They’d been enlarged and he pulled a laser pointer from his bag.

Her mouth went dry.

She was looking at a femur.

It was just a femur. A subject. Unidentified—

Mom—

“There’s damage to the femur. A fracture. Some fragments are missing.”

She nodded and watched as he placed another image in front of her. “This is part of the pelvis. They may find more of it as they finish going through the car, but again, as you can see…” Ty said, his voice slow and easy. “There’s considerable damage, and it’s not damage we’d see from being submerged in water.”

“It looks fractured. Could she have been hit by a car?” Jensen asked. Her voice sounded so calm. So level.

Ty blew out a breath. “I don’t think that’s the case. There’s the injury to her skull.”

He pulled out the next set of pictures. “I’d be able to give a better report if I could actually examine her myself.” He placed each image in front of them and then folded his hands. “These are crush injuries, Jensen.”

She slowly lifted her eyes. “Crush injuries.”

“I know it’s been a long, long time … but do you remember if there were any big dogs in the area, Jensen?” Ty asked, watching her. “It would have to be a dog of substantial size, but—”

Dean barely caught her as she bolted off the couch.

*   *   *

“That man is going to drive that dog to kill somebody, Doug.”

Jensen sat at the table, doing her homework and watching as her mother slammed the phone down.

“We just need to make sure you all stay away,” Dad said, scrubbing the grease from his hands. “The fence is high and he keeps him chained.”

“I’m not so worried about us,” Mom said, snapping. “We raised the kids not to mess with strange dogs and they know not to go messing around the Miller house. Guy is welcome here, anytime he wants to be here and he knows that. But that damn dog…”

Jensen looked up.

Mom caught her glance and smiled. “You pay attention to your homework, toots. I’m just irritated.”

“He beats his dog,” she said, not looking back down at the paper. Scowling, she shifted in her chair as something hot and angry moved through her. “He doesn’t just beat him, either. He makes him fight. I saw…”

“You saw what, baby?”

She flicked her parents a glance and then looked away.

“I think I saw Mr. Miller take another dog in there once. Through the gate. It was that old gray stray that we used to feed sometimes.”

Doug blew out a breath and turned away from the sink, reaching for a towel to dry his hands. “When was this, Jensen?”

“A couple months ago.” She bent her head over the table, feeling a little sick inside. “I … I meant to say something. But he saw me. The way he looked at me scared me. I was spending the night at Trina’s house and I guess I didn’t want to think about it, then I forgot.”

Mom put her Coke down and came to settle in the seat next to her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” She sighed and reached out to brush Jensen’s hair back, but Jensen jerked back.

Hadn’t she?

What had happened to that old dog?

Because it was easier to be mad at something else, anybody else, she just glared at her mom. “Why doesn’t anybody stop him? Don’t people care?”

“I care.” Mom sighed and reached up to brush Jensen’s hair back but Jensen scowled and pulled her head back. She wasn’t a little baby like Chrissie. “Baby, it’s not the first we’ve heard rumors about something like this. Maybe this will be enough to get the cops out there, though. I’ve called before, but without evidence…” Her mouth twisted and her eyes were angry. “They need evidence. Unless somebody actually catches him…”

“Nobody wants to get close enough to catch him. Butcher is scary.”

Mom smiled sadly. “I don’t think the dog is really to blame. That monster starves him, beats him. But yeah. Butcher is scary. So you do what you’re told. Stay away. I feel bad for the dog and I’ll keep trying to get help out there, but I don’t want him hurting you. Becky Henry thinks he got ahold of her cat. If he’d hurt another animal, he might hurt a child, too. We’re not taking the chance. If you saw him take another dog in there, maybe that will be enough this time.”

Jensen gripped her pencil so tightly her fingers went bloodless.

“What would happen if the dog got out, Mama?”

*   *   *

Bent over the toilet, Jensen gripped the edges, waiting for the shaking to pass.

She’d emptied everything in her stomach.

The stink of vomit filled the air and it wasn’t making it any easier to breathe, either.

“Here.”

Looking up, she saw a cold washcloth dangling near her head.

She could barely move to grab it. “Water?”

She nodded and took the bottle, rinsed her mouth out. Flushing the toilet, she went to ease back from the commode, but her arms and legs didn’t want to work.

Dean, under the pretense of settling down next to her, shifted her away. She swiped the rag over her face, her fingers trembling.

“There was a dog, wasn’t there?” he asked.

“Yes.” Dully, she stared at the pretty, brick-red walls, the soft golden globes of the lights. “There was a dog.”

He curled an arm around her shoulders and tucked her closer. Resting his chin on her head, he held her as she slid her arms around him and clung tight. “I’m sorry, Jensen.”

Chapter Nine

The man in front of her was a friend.

Jensen tried to tell herself that as she led Dean into his office.

Guy Miller was a friend.

His father was a fucking scumbag, but Guy wasn’t to blame for that.

You sure you want to handle it this way? Dean had asked her on the way into the sheriff’s department early the next morning.

It wasn’t exactly procedure.

She knew that.

She couldn’t be involved in the case that would have to be built. She couldn’t be.

But she knew Guy. He was a decent man, a good cop.

There was no way in hell he knew anything about her mom’s death. He’d spent too many nights going over the case with her. Going over reports for her brother.

And lending Chrissie a shoulder.

He thought people hadn’t noticed, and when they said stuff, he just brushed it all off as being a friend. Jensen knew better.

Guy was shitfaced in love with Chrissie and this was going to make all of this even harder on him.

No. He didn’t know anything about their mom’s death.

But yeah, there had been a dog. A mean, big-ass dog by the name of Butcher. Then one night, sometime during the summer her mother had gone missing, Butcher just wasn’t there anymore.

Theo claimed the dog had gotten loose and run away a few nights before her mother had disappeared. There was even a hole in the fence and a broken chain to prove it.

Guy looked up, his black hair cut short, his gray eyes tired. Signs of a sleepless night showed on his face as he gave her a distracted smile. “Hey, Jensen. How are you holding—” Then he frowned, his attention shifting to Dean, then the taller man at their back. “Well. We’ll discuss that later. What can I do for you?”

*   *   *

Guy knew the second she introduced the quiet, big man at her back that there was a problem. He knew the name. Dean’s brother had made quite a name for himself down in Lexington.

Young, brilliant, had a thing for bones.

This was one of those times where he could almost thank the evil son of a bitch who’d fathered him, because he’d learned at a young age that he had to hide everything he thought, everything he felt.

Leaning back in his chair, he kept his hands flat on the arms, watching Jensen. She had her cop face on. He knew that face. But she couldn’t quite mask the look in her eyes. Not quite. “So what’s going on, Jensen?”

She opened her mouth, but seconds ticked away and finally, she just looked at Dean.

He glanced at his brother and Dr. Tyrese West stepped forward, placed a folder on Guy’s desk. “Dean asked me to take a look at the bones that were discovered in the trunk of the car,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Unofficially, of course. If the sheriff’s office would like me to consult, I’m happy to do so, but this was just a favor. The Bell family has waited long enough to find answers.”

Guy reached out and flipped open the folder, staring at the pictures. A long bone—broken. A femur, he thought and then noted the neat little notes on the sheet of paper the image was clipped to. Yes, a femur. Damage consistent with a crush injury—

His gut knotted. Crush injuries. He’d heard that term before.

Slowly, he looked. “Did you?”

“Find answers?” Tyrese held his gaze. “I think all I have now are more questions.”

“Why don’t you ask me those questions?”

But Guy had a bad feeling he already knew at least one of them.

Crush injury—

Tyrese glanced at his brother and then looked back at Guy. The man’s eyes were big, dark and so sad.

It was like he somehow already knew something awful. Something Guy didn’t even want to think about.

*   *   *

“Thanks.” Guy nodded as the guard left him alone with his father. They weren’t really alone—nobody left a prisoner unsecured in a jail, even when the man’s son was a deputy sheriff. Maybe even especially when the man’s son was a deputy sheriff.

Theo Miller wasn’t an ugly man, even now.

He was a cruel one, though, and that showed … in his eyes, in the way he looked at the world, in the way he carried himself.

He settled at the table and leaned back, rested his cuffed hands on the table and gave his only child an insolent smile.

His eyes were his father’s eyes, Guy knew. That smile? The arrogant curve of his lips, the stubble that was even now darkening Theo’s jaw, that was his, too.

He looked so much liked that arrogant, evil bastard.

“I had a visit today,” he said softly, keeping his distance.

If he moved any closer, he might forget who he was. Who he’d fought so hard to become. He might become the man sitting across the room—the man Guy hated with every fiber of his being.

“Yeah?” Theo looked around. “You bring me any cigarettes?”

“You shouldn’t smoke. It will shorten your life.” He kept his arms folded across his chest. His hands ached.. He wanted to lunge across the room and grab the son of a bitch. Because he knew. He already knew.

“Shorten my life? You worrying about me there, boy?”

“I’d hate for you to die before you can go to court.”

Something flickered in Theo’s eyes. “Court?” A sly twist of his lips. “What … am I getting a new trial about that fucking break-in? Innocent, I told you that, boy.”

“Not the break-in,” he said softly. He let himself move a little closer, because he had to see it, had to be able to see the man’s eyes. “Theo, you remember fifteen years ago when you told a bunch of people that Butcher ran away?”

There was the answer. It was minute, just a slight tightening around Theo’s eyes, gone so fast that Guy would have missed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

“Butcher…” He squinted and then nodded. “Oh, yeah. That mean old dog of yours.”

“Not my dog, Dad.” He rubbed a thumb down his jaw. “You remember how that lady, Nichole, used to give you so much hell about Butcher?”

Theo’s eyes, hard as ice and just as cold, bored into his.

“They found her, Dad.”

“What the fuck do I care?”

Guy reached down and untucked his shirt, unbuttoned it. As he revealed the scars on his belly, he said nothing. His father’s breath started to come raggedly. “I remember, Dad. I remember where you had me bury him. They’re already digging him up. The question is … will it be considered murder? Or manslaughter?”

“You son of a bitch!”

Theo lunged for him but the leg shackles didn’t give him much room. Guards came rushing into the room.

“You fucking son of a cunt!” Theo roared. “You keep your mouth shut. You’ll burn if I do. I’ll tell them all you knew. That you helped.”

Guy turned away, his gut rolling. His hands were steady, though, as he buttoned up his shirt, hiding the scars very few people had ever seen.

Guilt, shock, and disbelief were a nasty mix inside him.

“I came here hoping I was wrong somehow, you know,” he murmured, stopping in the doorway to look back. “You have no idea how badly I needed to be wrong about this.”

In his mind’s eye, he saw a woman. That wicked, sly grin. Those wide, sad eyes.

He loved her … so much.

She’d never been more out of reach than she was at that very moment.

Chapter Ten

“Hi, Mom.”

Jensen knelt at the headstone and brushed away a few of the silken yellow roses that had fallen from the most recent arrangement. Chrissie’s handiwork, she had no doubt.

A gentle breeze blew through the graveyard and she brushed her hair back. “Every time I feel a breeze like that when I’m here, I try to tell myself it’s you. Talking to me.”

A knot swelled in her chest. It was going to choke her. End her. Sucking in a breath, she pressed her fisted hand to her forehead and tried to level out.

It was done.

Not completely, she knew that, but she had the answers. After all this time.

Hearing the faintest whisper of sound, she tensed and slid a quick look behind her.

The sight of Dean crossing the ground to her had her heart skipping a few beats. He was still wearing the suit, all sexy and sleek in a charcoal suit that probably cost a mint. But he’d loosened the tie, pulled out the cord he used to keep his dreads back from his face. And he looked tired as he came to a stop beside her.

“Want some company?” he asked softly.

She shrugged and looked back at her mother’s headstone. “Sure. Have a seat.” Then she scowled and looked at his suit. “Then again, you might not want to sit in that.”

He blew out a breath. “After the day I’ve had, all I want to do is sit.”

“All?”

A faint grin tugged at his lips. “Maybe not all.” He slid a hand up her back, cupped her nape. “You weren’t at the station today.”

“No. I spent it with my family.” She plucked a blade of grass and rubbed it between her fingers. “The chief knew I needed the day. So I took it.”

“Understandable. How are they?”

“Confused. Mad at me. They want answers I can’t give them right now, but…”

Dean caught her hand. “You’ll have some soon, I think. Guy … have you talked to him?”

At the sound of Guy’s name, she flinched.

“No. I … no. Shit.” Clambering to her feet, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared off into the distance. “Have you learned anything?”

Dean’s arms came around her and although a huge part of her wanted to pull away, it felt so very right to lean against him. Was it wrong? What was so wrong about this? Taking comfort in the arms of the man she … her stomach dropped out.

Oh, hell.

Swallowing, she turned around but instead of looking up at him and risk having him see what she’d just figured out, she pressed her face into his chest and breathed in the warm, subtle scent that was him, and him alone. “What did you learn today?” she asked.

“Guy didn’t know anything. Not then. The pieces fell together for him when we went to see him.” He rubbed his cheek against hers, a soft, reassuring touch that made her heart roll over. “Look at me.”

She eased back, her breathing slow, steady.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb sweeping across her face while his eyes bore into hers. “I don’t know where this is going to go, whether the county can build a case against Theo Miller or not, although I’m going to advise they try. But Guy did nothing wrong.”

“I never thought he did. I just…” She blew out a breath. “What did happen? I can practically see it in my head, but there are blank spots.”

“What I do know—off the record—and it stays off the record, Jensen, is that Theo dragged Guy out of bed and made him bury the dog. Guy is out there with a team now, digging up the body. Whatever remains of it. He didn’t ever tell Guy why. If that bastard was as mean then…”

“He was.” Jensen winced, thinking about the cold-eyed monster she’d done her best to avoid. Evil eyes. Soulless … “He beat Guy. All the time. Once it was so bad, Guy ended up in the hospital. Guy … he, ah … he has these scars. All over his chest and his back. They’re burn marks. All of them are old.”

A muscle bunched in Dean’s jaw. “Why didn’t that monster just get shanked in jail?”

“Careful there, counselor,” she murmured.

He stared at a point past her shoulder, breathing slowly. Then, finally, he shifted his attention back to her. “I’m not going to ask how you know about those scars.”

“Good idea.” She made a face at him. “Besides, he’s nuts about Chrissie … fuck. This is going to tear her up. And him.”

Dean stroked a hand down her hair. “You’ll get answers now. Remember that. No matter what.”

“Yeah.” She leaned back against him and nodded, lifting her hands and curling them into the fine fabric of his jacket, breathing him in, letting his strength soothe her. Relax her. It wasn’t a bad thing. “I bet Mom saw him hurting the dog. Trying to get him to fight. Something. Theo … he, ah … he did that all the time. Once I thought I saw him take this helpless, old stray in there. Butcher, the dog, he never really had a chance. Theo made him into a monster. She…” Her voice broke.

“Don’t do this to yourself, baby. Don’t.”

His heart broke a little as her voice hitched and caught. “I can’t stop it. He just … he threw her away. He threw her into her trunk and just buried her in the river. Like she was nothing.”

“I know.” He caught her against him and pressed his lips to her brow. “But we’ll get those answers and we’ll make him pay. We brought her home, right? We’ll finish it … we just have to wait a little.”

“Wait…” Her voice hiccupped. “I’m so tired of waiting.”

“Waiting sucks.” He found himself staring at the headstone as she snuggled in closer. I’ll take care of her, I promise.

“Let me take you home, Jensen.”

She leaned against him, her body shuddering. A moment passed, a heavy, sad silence hanging between them. Then, finally, she tipped her head back and reached up to touch his cheek. “I’d rather you take me to your place.”

“My place?”

“Yeah.” She licked her lips and then reached up and curled her hands around the lapels of his jacket. “Take me home. This is one thing I’m not waiting on anymore.”

His heart slammed to a stop inside his chest. “Jensen.” He eased back, just enough to reach up and cradle her face. “What are you saying, baby?”

“Am I not being clear enough?” She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, smiling. It was a sad smile, but her eyes were clear, steady.

“Oh, you’re being clear. I just want to make sure I understand what you’re saying.” He caught her lower lip between his. “You see, I’ve been in love with you for just a little too long and if I’m misunderstanding you, I don’t know if my heart can handle it.”

Against his lips, he felt her breath stutter out. Then her lips curved in a smile. “No … no misunderstanding. Dean. Take me home.”

Can’t get enough of the Secrets & Shadows e-novellas?

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Burn For Me

Available now from Shiloh Walker

Also, don’t miss the next installment

Long For Me

Available May 2014

And for the first print novel

Deeper than Need

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Press

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shiloh Walker is an author of romantic suspense and paranormal romance. She has been writing since she was a kid. She fell in love with vampires with the book Bunnicula and has worked her way up to the more … ah … serious vampire stories. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

“Break for Me” copyright © 2014 by Shiloh Walker.

All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design © by Kerri Resnick

Cover digital illustration © by Tricia Schmitt (picky me)

Author photo © Ayrica Bishop
eISBN 978-1-250-03265-2

First eBook Edition: May 2014