A Reason to Believe (38 page)

more chances. He drove them quickly down the

hill and into a small, secluded neighborhood

where the snow was still deep and the houses

dark.

He parked the car, letting the motor run. “I’m

soaked,” he said. “Snow fell off of the house and

landed right on me. What about you? I’ve got some

workout clothes in a bag in the back.”

“Think you might have a dry shirt?”

“Probably.” Matt climbed through over the gear

shift and knelt on the back seat. “I won’t make any

promises for how clean it is. Some of this stuff has

been back here since I painted my mom’s garage in

August.” He unhooked a cloth cover that hid the

storage space and reached for a black vinyl bag.

“Has anyone ever told you there’s something

sinister about a person who has such a neat car?”

Kiernan teased. “Did you just vacuum back there?”

“Before Christmas. I helped Bill and Sheila and

Kyle get a tree, and there were pine needles all

over the place.” He unzipped the bag and

rummaged around inside.

“I noticed there’s no tree at your place,”

Kiernan said softly.

Matt’s hands stilled, just for a moment, before

he pulled out a hooded sweatshirt. “There didn’t

seem much point,” he answered, not looking up. “I

knew I’d either be with Bill and Sheil, or at my

mom’s.” He pulled sweatpants, socks and tennis

shoes from the bag, and continued to rummage in

the dark depths. Finally he stopped, aware of the

eyes calmly studying him. “I haven’t had a tree for

the last two years,” he admitted quietly. “I haven’t

wanted one. I haven’t wanted Christmas.”

“I know. Maybe next year you’ll be ready.”

Matt studied the handsome face and felt

something in his chest begin to yearn. He could

picture it—his living room, a massive tree in the

corner, and a dark-haired man in flannel pajama

bottoms sitting cross-legged next to it, wrapping a

small mountain of presents. The vision was

unexpected, but warmed him. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He returned to searching the bag, and his fingers

closed on the soft fabric of a worn T-shirt. He

exhaled on a laugh when he remembered it.

“Here.” He tossed it to Kiernan. “It seems

almost providential.”

Kiernan shook out the faded green T-shirt.

Pictured was a cartoonish giraffe that had huge

eyes and ridiculously long eyelashes, with a dialog

bubble that read Moo. I’m a Goat.

Kiernan’s burst of laughter made Matt’s smile

widen.

“Where did you get this?”

“My nephew picked that out for my birthday

when he was three years old.” Matt turned to sit on

the back seat and pulled off his boots. “He liked

the giraffe.”

“I like the giraffe.” Kiernan’s smile lingered.

Matt took off his jacket and unbuckled his gun

harness.

“So, I discovered something about myself

tonight,”

Kiernan

said

conversationally,

unbuttoning his coat.

“Oh, yeah?” Matt pulled his shirt over his head

and let it fall to the floor. “What’s that?”

“I find breaking and entering extremely sexy.”

Kiernan’s eyes moved fondly over Matt’s bare

torso. “Or maybe I just find breaking and entering

with you extremely sexy.”

Matt lifted his hips to unzip his damp jeans,

pushing the wet fabric down his legs. “I’m sure

there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

“There definitely is. Would it sound corny if I

said goose bumps look good on you?”

“Yes.” Matt stepped into the heavy sweatpants.

“Are you going to change?”

“Yeah.”

“Any time soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometime today?”

Kiernan nodded again, but instead of removing

his jacket, he smoothly climbed into the back seat

and straddled Matt’s lap.

Matt looked at him in exasperation. “You really

like that maneuver,” he said dryly.

Kiernan grinned. “Works for a guy my size.” He

leaned in. “You complaining?”

“Kiernan, I don’t…” Matt started, but that was

as far as he got.

Kiernan pressed his mouth over Matt’s,

reducing his words to a sputter as he sent his

mobile tongue forward. It took Matt a moment to

catch up, but only a moment. The press of

Kiernan’s body, the feel of his gloved hands, sent a

shaft of desire through him. He gripped the strands

of Kiernan’s thick hair and returned the kiss with

equal intensity. Kiernan trailed one hand down

over Matt’s bare chest, rubbing his fingers over his

cold, taut nipples, and the supple leather against

his skin made gooseflesh break out down Matt’s

arms.

The rush from their narrow escape translated

quickly into a rush of heat, and the hand not tangled

in Kiernan’s hair slid up his thigh and around to

grip his ass. He could easily become an adrenaline

junkie, particularly with Kiernan around. The lithe

body on top of him pressed closer, groin to groin,

and Matt could feel Kiernan’s burgeoning hardness

through the thin material of the soft sweatpants.

Kiernan pulled back from the kiss, his mouth

moving to hover over Matt’s ear. The hot rush of

his breath sent a jolt of want straight to Matt’s

cock.

“Have you any idea,” Kiernan whispered, “how

fucking hot you are when you’re in cop mode?”

Matt groaned as Kiernan rolled his pelvis

against him. “Cop mode?” he managed.

“You know.” Kiernan swirled his tongue in his

ear. Matt closed his eyes on the resulting rush of

heat. “All steely-eyed and hard-jawed, your gun in

your hand.” He nipped lightly at his lobe, and

Matt’s hips jerked up. “You have no idea how

much I wanted to lie on the leather couch in that

media room and invite you to have your wicked

way with me.” His hand moved down Matt’s

stomach, caressing his abs.

“That would have been a very bad idea.” Matt

couldn’t help but press up into Kiernan’s touch.

“Maybe, but it would have been hot.” Kiernan

let his hand drift lower, feather light touch

skimming the front of his sweatpants. “You take my

breath. Did you know that?”

Matt bit his lip and shook his head.

Kiernan leaned back enough to look into his

eyes. “You’re a beautiful man, Matthew Bennett,”

he said, his voice soft but intense as he stroked him

more firmly. “And someone should tell you that,

every day for the rest of your life.”

Matt’s heart swelled and his throat thickened,

and when Kiernan kissed him again, Matt clutched

him, arched up and turned them, pushing Kiernan

down onto his back on the seat. Kiernan spread his

legs, tacitly inviting Matt into the resulting space

between his thighs. Without conscious thought,

Matt lifted Kiernan’s knee and pushed it toward

his chest, and kissed him with every ounce of

passion he possessed.

He felt so alive, more alive than he’d felt in

over a year. But it was more than just desire. He

not only wanted Kiernan, he was becoming more

and more certain he needed him, like he needed

air.

The thought didn’t frighten him at all.

Matt reached down to palm the hardness

straining the fly of Kiernan’s jeans, and his hips

jerked up.

The sound of a car door slamming was as sharp

as a gunshot in the silence, and it was like a bucket

of cold water being thrown on him. Matt’s head

jerked up, his heart leaping into his throat. In the

driveway of the house across the street, taillights

flared. A Toyota backed out and drove away.

Matt exhaled heavily, his head dropping to press

against Kiernan’s sternum.

“Much as I hate to say it—” he said, sounding

very reasonable for a man with a hard-on, “—this

really isn’t the time, or the place.” He leaned back

and pulled Kiernan into a sitting position.

“Yeah,” Kiernan grumbled, looking disgruntled

as he adjusted himself inside his jeans. “Someday I

am going to convince you we can fuck in this

thing.”

“Maybe so, but not tonight.” Matt tugged on the

front of Kiernan’s coat. “Change your shirt. It’s

soaked.”

“Fine, killjoy.” Kiernan pulled off the coat in

question. “I was enjoying that.”

“So was I.” Matt leaned in for a fleeting kiss to

pouting lips. “We can do more of it later, when

we’re warm. I’d think you’d enjoy not getting

pneumonia more.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you that.”

Matt strapped his holster over his bare chest,

then pulled on the lumpy hoodie and zipped it up.

He bent at the waist to pull on dry socks when

Kiernan made a soft, startled sound.

“I completely forgot about this.” He was holding

a lumpy manila envelope in his hands.

Matt’s mouth fell open. “Where was that?”

“I tucked it up under my shirt when I heard the

housekeeper

get

back.”

Kiernan

grinned

triumphantly.

“You stole it?”

“Well, I didn’t think breaking into someone’s

house would be complete without stealing

something,” he said lightly. “I’m kidding, Matt.

Lighten up. Actually, I grabbed it instinctively and

then forgot about it.” He pried open the brads with

his thumb and lifted the flap. When he turned the

envelope over, a small roll of dark fabric slid out

into his hands.

“Looks like a scarf. It’s been tied with a knot.”

“Yeah, it has.” Matt leaned closer.

Kiernan ran the fabric through his gloved

fingers. He held it up so he could examine it more

closely in what light there was. “Weird thing to

hide like that.”

“Yeah. Think it’s another of Karen’s?”

“Possibly.” A frown deepening between his

black brows, Kiernan examined the knot and

caught his breath, his fingers stilling on it.

“What is it?”

Kiernan swallowed heavily. “Remember,” he

said, his voice unsteady, “when you said Preston

was the kind of guy who kept trophies?” He held

the scarf higher, his fingers lifting something

hanging from the knot that looked like a few

strands of curling gossamer monofilament.

Matt realized what he was looking at, and his

stomach turned. “Christ,” he wheezed, feeling even

colder than he had when lying in the snow. “That’s

Abby’s hair.”

“This is what he used to cover her eyes. The son

of a bitch did keep it as a memento.”

“You said there was a scarf.” That made two

things Kiernan had known the police hadn’t—the

butterscotch candy and the scarf. “Put it back in the

envelope. It’s good you haven’t handled it without

your gloves. We can get it to Ed, and he can get it

to the crime lab. They can do a DNA match on the

hair and prove it’s Abby’s.”

Kiernan returned the scarf to the envelope and

put it on the seat between them. “And how are you

going to explain to him how you came to be in

possession of it?”

“No clue,” Matt said. “I’ll worry about it when

we get to it. Change your shirt, and then let’s figure

out what our next move is.”

Kiernan unbuttoned his shirt. Matt’s phone rang,

and he cursed as he rummaged through the clothes

on the floor searching for it. He finally found it in

the back pocket of his jeans, and slapped it open.

“Hey, Sheila.”

“Do not ‘Hey, Sheila’, me,” she said, her voice

harsh and tinny through the phone. “Would you

care to explain to me exactly why the police were

just at my house?”

Matt had been running his fingers through his

tousled hair, and stopped with his hand still in the

damp curls. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” His hand

dropped into his lap and he closed his eyes. “I

should have warned you that might happen.”

“It would have been nice. I got home from work,

and they were standing on my porch. They were

looking for you. And they seized Kyle’s laptop.”

“They took Kyle’s computer,” Matt said wearily

to Kiernan. “Sheila, were these detectives, or

uniforms?”

“Two detectives,” she answered. “I think I

recognized one of them. You work with him.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Conrad, I think.”

Matt closed his eyes, his mouth tightening. That

made perfect sense. Dale Conrad hated him. He’d