Don't Tell

  He nudged at her opening with what felt like an iron rod. She tensed. She couldn’t help it. “I want you. God, I want you so much.” He pressed forward, catching his breath. “I love you, Caroline. I don’t want to hurt you, ever, but I want you so much I think I’ll die if I stop.” He clenched his eyes shut. “Do you want me to stop?”

  She did, desperately, yet she lifted a hand to his face, unwilling to deprive him. She’d survive it. She had before. But this time would be different. It would be worth it, however much it hurt. She loved him. It would make the difference. It would.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered, then prepared herself for the ripping intrusion.

  His shoulders shuddered as relief rippled through his body. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He guided himself in, pushing, pushing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’re just so tight.”

  Her body tensed, involuntarily shrinking away from him.

  “Remember your promise, Caroline,” he begged, voice a mixture of hoarse and sweet pleading. “Remember you promised to think of me, to know I love you. Relax, Caroline. Please. Let me take you just one more place.”

  And as he soothed, he pushed until he was fully joined to her body.

  He was … inside her. And it didn’t hurt.

  “Remember I love you.” He began to rock and her body began to feel the stirrings of pleasure he’d aroused so effortlessly before. She relaxed, her knees lifting to draw him deeper. His groan told her she’d done well. He reached between them, finding the exact spot that made her arch against him and moan. He surged and withdrew, again and again, until she was climbing again, higher and higher. Almost …

  “Max.” She grabbed his shoulders and bit her lip. Then let him hear her cry out when her body finally touched heaven in its magnificent splendor for the very first time. Groaning her name, he joined her, his powerful body jerking and shuddering as he found satisfaction deep within her body.

  He sank into her arms and she held him, welcoming his weight, smoothing her hands across his damp back. If the pinnacle had been overwhelming, the aftermath was enough to sweep her under. She felt so whole. So right. Emotion rushed in on a wave and she clutched him tighter, burying her face against the solidity of his shoulder. It wasn’t until he heard her sniffle that his head lifted, his expression devastated.

  “I hurt you. God, Caroline, I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head, hoping she could someday make him understand. “No, you didn’t. It didn’t hurt, Max.” For the first time, she knew what God had ordained. For the first time she’d given her body freely. For the first time there had been ultimate pleasure. For the first time there had been no ripping, tearing pain.

  He was looking at her, trying to see inside her soul even as his body remained nestled within hers. “Who hurt you, Caroline?”

  She could have told him then, but her body was still rippling from the sensations with which he’d gifted her. Allowing the memory of him to intrude seemed obscene.

  “Not you,” she whispered, pushing his hair from his forehead. “Not you.”

  Chicago

  Friday, March 16

  10 P.M.

  It had taken five beers to loosen the girl up, the first one probably going to counteract the caffeine from the coffee he’d bought her first. Winters looked at her from across the tiny table in the overcrowded bar that conveniently forgot to card his very obvious minor. Now she was finally starting to show some effect of the beers he’d been pouring down her throat.

  “So are you ready to tell me what brought you to your friend’s house tonight?”

  Evie rolled her eyes and plunked her chin down on her fist. “It’s too embarrassing.”

  “That’s just silly. How bad could it have been?”

  “Pretty bad,” she answered glumly. “I caught my friend kissing the guy I thought …”

  “You thought he was interested in you?”

  “Yeah. Stupid, huh?” “No, not at all,” he returned smoothly. “So what was the guy’s name?”

  She frowned and took another healthy swig of beer. “Max.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Max Hunter. He’s my boss at Carrington College. Or was anyway.”

  Max Hunter. A name to put with the gimp’s face. A name to focus on as he plotted his revenge on his cheating wife. He schooled his voice to be gently incredulous. “He’d fire you for catching him kissing your friend? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, he’ll fire me for slapping Caroline’s face and saying I hated her.”

  “You did that?”

  She dropped her eyes to the tabletop. “Yeah. I wished I hadn’t the minute I did it, but I couldn’t take it back. She looked so … shocked that I’d hit her like that.”

  Mary Grace shocked at a little slap? She’d become soft in seven years. He’d fix that soon enough. “Why did you slap her?”

  “I thought she’d stolen him away.” She shuddered. “God, how humiliating.”

  “So … how long had it been going on, this thing between your friend and your boss?”

  Evie shrugged. “Since he started I guess. Two weeks ago? Seems like longer.”

  Two weeks. The irony was not lost on Winters. “So if he was your boss, how did your friend know him?”

  “Caroline is his secretary. I’m going … I was going to get her job once she graduated. She’s going to law school.”

  Winters had to fight to remember who he was supposed to be and not to allow his jaw to drop in shock. Mary Grace was graduating from college? Going on to law school? It wasn’t possible.

  “Maybe she’s just using this guy to graduate,” he offered, unable to think of any other way she could get her hands on a diploma.

  Evie shook her head. “Oh, no. Caroline would never do that. She’s way too smart to need to do that. In fact, the more I thought about it, Max is the first man Caroline’s been involved with since I’ve known her.”

  “And how long have you known her?”

  Evie lifted one thin shoulder. “Two years. I met her in a runaway shelter. She was volunteering. I was running.” Her eyes filled with tears. “She is one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. I can’t believe I hit her. I hit her so hard she fell down. I can’t believe the things I said to her. And she never even defended herself. She just sat on the floor looking at me.”

  Winters regarded the girl with a little more respect. She’d knocked Mary Grace’s ass to the floor. Good enough. “Maybe she knew it was true. Maybe she felt guilty.”

  “No. She didn’t look at me like that. It was more like she was so disappointed in me.” She wiped the tears from her face. “Tom says that’s the worst, when she looks at him like that. He’d prefer it if she punished him, than give him that look.”

  Tom Stewart. The name on Robbie’s trophies. “Who’s Tom?”

  “Caroline’s son. He and I are friends.” She lifted a shoulder again. “He’s a nice kid. Lucky, too, to have a mom like Caroline after all he’s been through.”

  Winters stiffened. “What’s he been through?”

  Evie drained her mug. “He had one sonofabitch of a father. Worse than mine was.”

  Winters dug his fingers into his thigh. “How so?”

  She plopped her chin on her fist—and missed. She tried it again with a little more success. “Mostly he hates his dad for hitting his mom. The bastard apparently left some pretty bad scars Caroline doesn’t let anyone see. He really hates him. In fact, he once told me he used to wish somebody would just kill his dad and be done with it.” She leaned closer, whispering loudly. “His dad is a cop somewhere. I’m not supposed to know that.” She sat up, her hand over her mouth, eyes registering the amazement only the truly drunk can pull off. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

  Winters made himself smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Inside, he cursed Mary Grace viciously. She’d poisoned his son to the point Robbie hated him. Wished he was dead.

  She’d pay dearly for that.


  He mentally scrambled. If Robbie hated him, the boy might not come with him voluntarily. He considered the size of the suit and shoes he’d seen in Robbie’s closet. Forcing his son to come might not be that easy. He could do it, but the boy would make a scene, and come racing back to his slut of a mother as soon as he could. He’d have to slice those apron strings once and for all.

  “So, ah, where is your friend now? Maybe he can help you smooth it over with his mother.”

  “Maybe when he gets back. He went camping.” She wrinkled her nose. “In tents.”

  Winters pasted on a smile. “Guy stuff.”

  “Yeah. But he should be back by Wednesday or Thursday. Hopefully I will have worked it out with Caroline before he gets back. Tom won’t be happy about me hitting his mother, either.”

  “Wednesday?” he asked, the latter part of her statement whizzing right on by. “His mother lets him out of school to go camping? What kind of mother is she, anyway?”

  Evie shrugged again, tears filling her eyes. “The kind I always wished I had. He’s on spring break. She wouldn’t let him go until he brought his math grade up. She’s the best mom I’ve ever known. And the best friend.” The tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can’t believe I turned on her that way, Mike. I can’t believe I actually thought Max was interested in me. Men hate me. God, I wish I could just die.”

  Winters kept his smile in place with a great deal of effort. He patted her hand. “You’re a pretty girl. You’ll find another guy real soon.”

  She sniffled. “You think I’m pretty?”

  Five beers made her gullible. Another few would make her putty in his hands. She wasn’t so bad looking after all, and he might need her to help change Robbie’s mind. He signaled the waitress. “Another round, please.”

  Chicago

  Friday, March 16

  11 P.M.

  “Stay,” Max whispered, pulling her closer, feeling her wriggle her round butt against his groin. The brief stirring in his loins calmed almost as soon as it began. He was completely sated, happier than he’d been in his entire life. She was here, in his bed, her head on his pillow, her scent teasing his nose every time she moved. They’d climbed the stairs together after that earthshaking experience on his sofa, feeling their way in the dark, stumbling into his bed. And they’d made love all over again.

  Unbelievably, the second time had been even more remarkable than the first.

  He pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down at her profile, faintly visible in the light that spilled in from the hallway. Her eyes were closed, but her lips smiled. He brushed his lips against her temple. “Stay with me tonight,” he said again and she sighed.

  “M’kay.”

  His heart settled down as he sunk back down into his pillows, his arms around her waist. “I love you, Caroline.”

  “Mm.” Her voice was sleepy. Utterly sexy. “Love you, too.”

  He’d thought her asleep when she abruptly rolled over onto her back. “Max.”

  He opened one eye. “What?” “You promised Frank you’d do that basketball workshop with him tomorrow.”

  Damn. He’d had such fantasies of spending the entire day in bed with her. “I’d forgotten all about it. Lucky for me I have my very own appointment calendar.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Since you tend not to read your calendar, it’s lucky for you this one talks,” Caroline replied tartly, but her lips still smiled.

  Max chuckled. “Lucky for me she does a helluva lot more than talk.” Three, two, one. Her cheeks went rosy right on cue. “Come with me. The workshop’s only supposed to last two hours.”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  He grinned. “You have my shirt.” And she wore it buttoned up to her throat. She’d pulled it on before climbing the stairs and he’d let her do it, intending to undermine her rather Puritanical modesty at the first possible opportunity. He wanted her naked in his bed. Deliberately he pulled at the buttons at her throat, revealing her pale skin. He ran his finger down her throat, then slipped his hand inside the shirt and covered her breast. “What more could you possibly want?”

  She raised a brow. “Pants and underwear?”

  “Highly overrated. Covers all the important stuff.”

  She tugged on a lock of his hair. “Will you take me back to my place tomorrow morning? I can change my clothes and make you breakfast before we meet Frank.”

  “Done.” He kissed the tip of her nose, so happy he could barely contain it. “Sleep now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  Saturday, March 1

  7P.M.

  Steven extended his badge to the middle-aged woman who stood clutching the lapels of her bathrobe, a frightened look on her face. “Excuse me, ma’am. Does Randall Livermore live here?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What’s going on here, Laura?” A man’s voice thundered from another room.

  “They say they’re policemen,” she faltered. “They’re looking for Randy.” Immediately her husband appeared at her side.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, tucking his shirt into his pajama bottoms.

  “We have a search warrant, sir. You’ll have to step aside.” Steven pushed into the house, followed closely by Detective Marc Rodriguez of the Charlotte–Mecklenburg PD and State Assistant District Attorney Liz Johnson. A shadow appeared at the top of the stairs, paused, then turned and fled back into one of the upstairs bedrooms, but Steven had already seen him and taken the stairs two at a time, Rodriguez on his heels. Two more uniforms followed, weapons drawn.

  “What the hell is this all about?” Mr. Livermore shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “I’m calling my lawyer!”

  Steven, Detective Rodriguez and one of the uniforms were already engaged in the search when ADA Johnson entered the room, followed Randy Livermore’s parents. The other uniform stood next to Randy who sat on the bed in his underwear, a general look of boredom on his face.

  Laura Livermore sat on the bed next to her son and put her arm around his shoulders. Her husband stood in the doorway, his arms tightly crossed. “What the hell is this all about?” he repeated, with significantly less bravado.

  “You’ll find the warrant in good order, sir,” Detective Rodriguez told him quietly.

  Steven looked over his shoulder and met Rodriguez’s eyes with a nod. It was in good order. They’d waited all night, impatience building as Detective Rodriguez secured the warrant from a very particular judge. The judge hadn’t wanted to grant the warrant and finally did so only with the stipulation they search for items obviously earmarked for Winters or one of his known aliases.

  Steven hoped they got lucky.

  Sometimes God smiled.

  “What’s this?” Steven asked as he pulled an envelope from between two books of a stack of five textbooks. He looked over at the Assistant DA. “Does this fit the restrictions of the warrant?”

  A long-time colleague who had earned his respect many times over, ADA Johnson had accompanied them specifically to ensure any results of this search would hold up in court. Steven was determined that once they got Winters, justice would be served and not derailed because of any technical errors.

  Johnson lifted a brow. “I’d say so. Open it, Special Agent Thatcher.”

  Steven opened the envelope, bearing the FedEx mailing label with one of the aliases they’d found in Winters’s closet as well as a downtown Chicago address. He glanced up to find Livermore’s parents growing paler by the moment. Randall himself still looked bored. They’d see how bored he looked after a few nights in a holding cell, Steven thought. The other inmates would manage to … stimulate him.

  Steven dumped the contents of the envelope on the top of Randall’s dresser. At least thirty pages spilled out, each page with a 3x5 laser-printed photograph dead center and subject’s name, address and phone number just beneath. The subject of every photo was a woman. He blew out a low whistle. “Look
at this. Just take a look at all these.”

  “Pictures,” Liz Johnson murmured, looking over his shoulder. “Was this what you were looking for, Steven?”

  “They’ll do in a pinch,” Steven answered grimly. He looked over at the boy sitting on the bed, still in his underwear. “How did you get the names of these women, Randall?”

  “Don’t say anything, Randy,” his father warned. “Laura, call the lawyer. I want him here.”

  Steven flipped through the photos, scanning each one. He passed one of the photos to the back of the pile when something clicked in his mind. “Wait a minute.” Slowly Steven pulled the photo back to the top, feeling the hum of excitement race along his skin. Older. Darker hair. Same eyes. “It’s her,” he said, looking over at Detective Rodriguez. “We’ve found her.”

  Steven looked down at the photo again, the tight fist around his heart loosening for the first time in two weeks. “And we found her before he did. I need to call Lieutenant Spinnelli up in Chicago and let him know so he can get a unit to her house and warn her. Mary Grace Winters.” He held up the photograph with the picture of the woman who’d outsmarted them all and read the name beneath her picture. “Caroline Stewart.” Steven turned abruptly and stared at the young man sitting on his bed taking it all in with little to no visible emotion and his temper cracked. “Do you know what you’ve done, Mr. Livermore?” he demanded. He bent over until he could see the striations in the boy’s eyes. “Do you have any concept of what you’ve done?”

  The boy was quiet. His chin lifted just a fraction.

  “You little sonofabitch,” Steven said quietly, ignoring the outraged gasp from Mrs. Livermore. He held up the picture of Mary Grace Winters. “Look at this woman,” he challenged in his most ominous voice. “Look at her carefully. Because if anything happens to this woman, I’ll make sure you’re charged as an accessory.”

  Mr. Livermore smacked his hand against the wall and everyone flinched. “For the last time, I want to know what is going on here,” he demanded, his face red with frustration.