‘I missed you,’ she said quietly.
He smiled. ‘I ran you a hot tub. I figured after riding a horse today, you’d need one.’
She laughed. ‘It’ll probably be worse tomorrow.’
His eyes flickered, the emotion gone so quickly she almost missed it. ‘I’ll give you another massage. You won’t feel a single thing tomorrow.’
She crossed the room to him, walking into arms that came around her so tightly that she had to suck in a quick breath. ‘What is all this? The flowers and the table?’
‘I realized that I wanted to take you on a date,’ he said lightly. ‘But I can’t right now, so I thought you could use a little romance. First a bath, then I’ll have dinner sent up.’
She pulled back, searched his face. Saw nothing amiss. Still, she felt a knot of dread form in her gut. Something was very wrong. ‘Okay,’ she said.
The tub in the bathroom was enormous, big enough for two. Which was apparently exactly what he had in mind because he stripped them both to the skin, scooped her into his arms, and lowered her into the steaming water before joining her there.
He positioned her between his legs, her back to his chest. ‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me about this afternoon. How did it go?’
She told him about her inept attempt at riding and that she and Cordelia had looked at real estate listings online and that her little girl seemed to have started believing that she was more than Stevie’s consolation prize.
All the while he touched her, long sweeping strokes, soaping up her legs, her arms, taking care to avoid the stitches from Saturday, which were finally starting to heal. She decided that she’d been looking for trouble earlier because things had been calm all afternoon, that nothing was wrong. And when he began to wash her breasts, she decided that Clay was just fine.
She stopped thinking when his hands stroked up her inner thighs, his thumbs teasing her most intimately. She leaned back, tilting her head to the side, giving him access to her neck. He took full advantage, running his lips up over her skin, murmuring praises that made her sigh.
His hands were gentle, as was the first orgasm he coaxed from her body, like riding the swell of a wave. She stretched, arching her back as she pressed the back of her head into his shoulder, then relaxed. ‘Mmm.’
His arms tightened around her when she started to slide into the water. ‘You liked that?’
‘I did.’ Then she surprised him by turning in his arms and straddling him. She kissed him as sumptuously as he’d just made her feel. ‘I thought of you, all afternoon.’
His hands found her buttocks, began to knead, his lips curving. ‘Did you now?’
‘I did. Especially when I was riding. I kept thinking of you.’ She tilted her hips, finding his erection, sliding down on him until she’d taken all of him in. It was his turn to arch and she ran her hands over his chest, delighting in the feel of him, inside and out.
She began to move, and he groaned, both arms reaching back so that he could grip the sides of the tub, defining the muscles in his pecs and arms. His head fell back, his eyes closed, as she rode him, slowly at first, then harder and faster. He came on a shout, his hips punching up, sending water sloshing over the sides of the tub. She dug her nails into his shoulders to hold on until his body stilled, watching him as he fought to fill his lungs.
He lifted his head, blinked his eyes open. ‘You didn’t . . .’
‘Not yet. I was enjoying watching you. But I’m sure you can rectify the situation.’
He released his hold on the tub to touch her face, his fingers trembling. ‘I’m sure I can.’ He helped her from the tub, wrapped her in a towel, scooped her up in his arms once again and carried her to the bed. ‘But first I’ll take care of those sore muscles.’
‘They’re not sore yet,’ she protested.
‘Exactly.’ He laid her down, knelt between her legs and began to massage her just as he had the night before. ‘I was imagining you this way last night,’ he said smoothly, sending shivers across her damp skin. He lifted her leg over his shoulder and leaned his weight into the stretch. ‘But tonight I plan to go through with everything I imagined.’
She closed her eyes as his fingers hit every pressure point, anticipation building as her bent knee brushed her breast. He’d spread her so wide . . . ‘Which is what?’ she asked hoarsely.
She had her answer a second later when his tongue slid up into her. She bit back a moan, conscious of Joseph next door and his agents patrolling the halls.
‘Don’t hold back,’ Clay whispered. ‘I want to hear you. Please let me hear you.’
She forgot to be self-conscious as he licked and tasted, dragging sounds from her throat she was certain she’d never made before. And where the orgasm in the tub had been a slow ride on a wave, the second hit her with the force of an avalanche. Clay wouldn’t let up, sucking and biting, not allowing her to pull away when her overwhelmed body mindlessly tried to do so. He didn’t stop until the last shudder had stilled, until she lay limp and unmoving beneath him.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed. ‘What was that?’
‘Did you like it?’ he asked, his voice low, gravelly.
‘Yes. But you nearly killed me.’
He said nothing to that, rising to loom over her, hands planted on either side of her head. She stared up into his dark eyes, unable to look away. ‘Can you take me again?’ he whispered.
‘Yes. Always.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, March 18, 7.25 P.M.
He’d do this. He’d make it good for her. He’d make it good for the both of them, even if it killed him. And if the pain in his chest was any indication, it just might.
Always, she said.
He’d hoard every touch, every taste, every sensation, because he knew when he told her the truth . . . No. He wouldn’t think about that now. There’d be time later. Too much time.
He slid inside her, feeling her muscles contract around him.
Perfect. She was perfect. This . . . was perfect.
Keep it together, Clay. For her. He swallowed, feeling like acid burned its way down his throat. His arms trembled and he locked his elbows to keep himself from crushing her.
He’d do that soon enough. When he told her that she was the reason her family had been destroyed. That she’d been the target. She’d pull away from him, retreat into herself. Maybe not all at once. She might cling to him in shock. But it wouldn’t last. She’d punished herself for eight years when it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t now, but she wouldn’t see it that way.
She wouldn’t blame him for being the messenger. He knew that. She’d blame herself. Punish herself. Happiness? She won’t accept it. Won’t think she deserves it.
She’ll pull away. Leaving us both alone.
But you’re not alone now. At this moment, for as long as it lasted, he had the world in his arms. So enjoy it. Make her enjoy it. Give the two of you something good to remember.
He rocked into her, his body gathering speed and force, and he gritted his teeth when she came a third time, the contractions milking him to the point of breaking. But he didn’t allow himself to follow. Not yet.
‘Again,’ he rasped in her ear. He swiveled his hips and she caught her breath. ‘Again.’
‘How can you do this?’ she said, panting. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, her pulse pounding at the hollow of her throat.
‘Do what?’
Her eyes opened, filled with lust and need. ‘Make me crazy for you again.’
‘God. Stevie.’ His orgasm threatened to overpower him, but he held it back long enough to withdraw, flip her to her stomach and plunge into her from behind.
Her shocked cry was muted by the pillow. Roughly she arched her back, shoving her body back into him, driving him deeper inside her. ‘Now. Do it, Clay.’
He let go, pummeling her hard, so hard she had to brace a hand on the headboard to keep her head from banging into the wood. When her body we
nt rigid he let himself fly.
It was over far too soon and his mind begged for one more time even as his body struggled to recover. He rolled them both to their sides, keeping them joined.
When he could draw a breath to speak, he whispered in her ear, ‘I love you, Stefania. I need to say it out loud.’ Just once. But he kept those last two words to himself.
She said nothing for what seemed like a long time and he was afraid she’d fallen asleep without hearing him. Which would be just as well.
When she spoke, the gravity of her tone startled him. ‘Why did that sound like a goodbye?’
My Stefania. Too damn smart for her own good.
He was fighting for the courage to respond when she pulled away from him. Sliding out of the bed, she limped into the bathroom. A minute later she emerged, wearing one of the hotel’s robes and leaning on the cane she’d left by the tub. She tossed him the other robe.
‘What happened today, Clay?’
He forced himself to sit and put on the robe. He patted the bed next to him. ‘Sit down, Stevie. It’s going to take me a few minutes to explain.’
She sat down on the chair four feet away, waiting.
He’d known she’d pull away. But God, it hurt.
‘I, uh, ran down the name of the guy who followed us this afternoon. He’s a cop.’
‘Another dirty cop?’ she asked, dismayed.
‘No. Seems to be a good guy.’ He told her about Sam Hudson’s assault and his lost day.
The color drained from her face. ‘March 15? Eight years ago?’
‘Yes.’ He told her about the gun Hudson had found and the package he’d received, eight years to the day later. The day she’d been shot at twice. He told her about the cop’s search to find answers. ‘The man killed with the gun was his father, John Hudson.’
She flinched. ‘He killed his father? Why? And what does this have to do with me?’
Clay braced himself. ‘No, he didn’t kill his father.’ He explained how Hudson checked out the video from the convenience store. She didn’t have to be told which one.
She became even paler. ‘They caught the man in the video, Clay. They caught the man who killed my husband and my son.’
Clay was quiet a long moment, trying to find the inner strength to finish. ‘No, honey. Whoever’s sitting in prison right now didn’t kill your family. He resembles the real killer. Very closely resembles him. But the man in prison now didn’t do it. John Hudson did.’
She shook her head. ‘Why?’
He told her about John Hudson checking his phone, about him looking at the picture of his son. ‘We think he’d been threatened, coerced, whatever.’
‘That’s why he never took the cash,’ she murmured. ‘But why?’
He left that question alone for a moment, wishing he could leave it for eternity. Knowing he couldn’t. ‘We identified the man who drugged Sam. A witness saw a man drag him away from the bar that night. We assume that was who left the gun on the hotel room floor next to Sam.’
‘That man would also have killed Sam’s father.’ She swallowed. ‘After John Hudson finished killing Paul. And Paulie. It was one of Paul’s cases then. I’ve always wondered.’
Clay shook his head. ‘No. Not Paul’s case.’
‘Then who . . .’ Her mouth fell open slightly, her eyes growing wide and horrified as understanding broke through. ‘No. No. It’s not true.’ She pushed to her feet and began to pace, her cane thumping against the carpet. ‘It can’t be true. It was my case? Mine?’
Clay said nothing, letting her mind do what it did best.
She stopped pacing abruptly, her shoulders bowing, her free arm flat against her stomach. ‘It was Robinette. Robinette killed my son. My husband. To make me leave him alone.’
She spun around, her eyes dark against her dangerously pale face. ‘I’ll kill him.’ She was breathing faster, her words tumbling over each other. ‘I’ll rip his skin off his body. I swear it.’
She marched to her suitcase, pulled out a pair of jeans. ‘I’m going to make him bleed.’ Her voice broke. ‘I’ll make him beg me to let him die.’
‘Stevie.’ Clay jumped off the bed, ran to her, holding her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. ‘Stevie, wait.’
‘You can’t stop me.’ She was crying now, huge sobs that broke his heart. She struggled, trying to break free of his hold. ‘You cannot stop me.’
He held on tighter. ‘It wasn’t Robinette. Are you listening to me?’ He gave her the gentlest of shakes. ‘It wasn’t Robinette.’
‘What?’ She stopped struggling. ‘Then . . . who?’
Clay closed his eyes, forced himself to speak the name. ‘Silas Dandridge.’
Her former partner. The man she’d trusted to watch her back. The man who’d betrayed so many. He’d ruined so many lives. Including hers.
Stevie went completely still, not even breathing. ‘What?’ she asked in barely a whisper.
‘Silas dragged Sam out of the bar that night. We think he sent a photo of Sam unconscious to his father, threatening him if John didn’t obey. We think he was hired by Robinette to throw you off the trail. Because you knew he’d killed his wife and set up his son to take the fall.’
She said nothing, not a word.
‘And then after Christmas, you started digging into all the old cases, finding the ones that Stuart Lippman never recorded on his list. People started attacking you, shooting at you. Either Robinette figured his attempts would be camouflaged by all the others or he was afraid you’d uncover his crime. Or both.’
‘I didn’t even remember his name,’ she whispered.
‘I know, baby. I know.’
‘Silas?’ she asked, her voice so small. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. It was him.’
‘He kept trying to get me to back off. To accept that Levi had done it. Now I know why.’ She threaded her fingers through her hair and yanked. ‘I can’t think.’
‘I know.’
She pulled away from him, hugging herself with her free arm. ‘I need to think.’
Clay dropped his hands to his sides. ‘I know.’
She backed away a step. Out of his reach. ‘Who knows about this?’
‘Joseph, Hyatt, JD. Grayson. Thorne. Ruby Gomez.’
She frowned. ‘Why Thorne and Ruby?’
‘Hudson’s hooked up with Ruby Gomez. She took him to Thorne and Sam hired him.’
‘Oh.’ That was all she said before she walked into the front room, closing the bedroom door behind her.
Clay sat on the edge of the bed, dropped his head into his hands. She’d already shut herself away. Already put distance between them. It was exactly what he’d expected she’d do. But he didn’t feel like he’d expected to feel.
He was numb. It would wear off sooner or later, but for now, he was blessedly numb.
Tuesday, March 18, 9.55 P.M.
Stevie looked up at the clock over the TV. Two hours. She’d been sitting at this linen-covered table with its china and silver and crystal, surrounded by five dozen roses, for two hours.
She’d cried the first hour, sobbing into the linen napkins until they were so soaked that she could wring out her tears. But the second hour she’d spent thinking, sorting, analyzing. Planning.
Clay had given her the time and space she’d needed and for that she was grateful. She was done thinking, though, and ready to act.
She pushed herself to her feet with a wince, grabbed her cane. Draped the damp napkins over the chairs to dry. Then opened the bedroom door to find Clay sitting at the desk, working on his laptop. He was fully clothed, his long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to the collar, his cuffs also buttoned. He even wore a tie, knotted with military precision.
‘Hi,’ she said, closing the door behind her.
He didn’t look up. ‘Are you all right?’
She leaned back against the door. ‘Not really. But I will be.’
He’d made the bed and straightened her clothes. A peek in
the bathroom confirmed he’d mopped up all the water they’d sloshed out of the tub and hung the towels to dry. Keeping himself busy while giving her time to think.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, when he didn’t turn around.
‘Catching up on some business. I was behind before. Now I’m more behind and Paige is going to be out for a few weeks with her leg.’
She’d never considered that he’d simply dropped his business to help her. I should have. She’d been selfish. More than once in their relationship, she realized. He’d given all. She’d given . . . what? Her body? Her ‘everything’ for as long as it lasted between them?
Suddenly that didn’t seem like nearly enough.
‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘No. But thank you.’
He was being distant. And way too formal. ‘Clay, you’re scaring me, and after what we’ve been through over the last few days, that’s saying something. Would you look at me? Please?’
She watched, as his broad shoulders squared. He swiveled the chair so that he faced her, a pleasant smile on his face. But his eyes were vacant. ‘What can I do for you, Stevie?’ he asked, his voice impossibly kind. But not loving. Not like it had been.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘That’s what I figured you were doing.’
‘And some crying.’
‘I know. I heard you.’ He swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I hated to tell you.’
Yes, he would have hated it. It was another realization that hit her hard. He would have hated to give her that news, knowing it would hurt. But he had. After giving her ‘a little romance’.
She crossed the room, sat on the side of the bed closest to him. ‘Why did you?’ she asked softly. ‘Whose idea was it for you to tell me?’
‘Mine, with Joseph’s agreement. Grayson and JD wanted to bring you into the station and tell you there. I wouldn’t let them. You needed time to process. Time to think. Privacy to react.’
Which was what Clay had given her. She studied his face, another moment coming to mind. ‘You were there that day, too,’ she murmured. ‘The day I confronted Silas face to face, a year ago. I knew that he’d done those terrible things, but didn’t really believe it until I saw his face.’