Her Last Chance (9 page)

Exchanging a look with Walker,
Marsh wondered if this was the break they needed.

“I peeped in different windows
searching for her and finally, I found her.” Disgust dripped off her words.
“Being fucked against the wall by a guy from St. Mary’s Church.” Slowly,
carefully, she picked up her glass of water and drained it. “Nice, huh? Brought
a whole new meaning to
Come all ye faithful
.”

“You remember the guy’s name?”

She shook her head.

“So what happened next?” Walker
prompted, stone-faced.

Josephine glared at him, rubbed her
hands over her knees in an unsettling repetitive gesture. “It got dark, but I
hadn’t realized. I just sat on the fire-escape, watching, waiting for Mom to go
home.”

Marsh’s chest tightened as he
fought for breath. Imagining the child on the fire escape.

“Then all of a sudden this guy
wearing a mask was beside me.” She looked up, eyes stark in her pale face, “He
clamped his hand tight over my mouth and dragged me to that alley.” She
shrugged. “Everything else is in the police report.”

Special Agent Walker tapped a pen
against a notepad that had appeared in his hand. “Could your attacker have been
the same man who was in the room with your mother?”

Her hair fell out of its knot. She
shook it out in an untidy halo. “I don’t think so. They’d gone into the bedroom
or bathroom, out of sight. I was watching the front door, and I never saw him
leave.”

“But is it possible?” Walker
pushed.

Josephine shrugged, looking
confused, “I suppose, but why’d my mom let him hurt me? Oh…” Her mouth opened
and closed. Ashen-faced, she caught up with where Agent Walker had been trying
to take her. Marsh wanted to cradle her in his arms and soothe her rigid
muscles. He didn’t dare touch her.

“You think my mother’s dead?” Her
voice rose and she lurched to her feet. “How could she be dead? There was no
report of a murder.”

“Maybe we never found the body,”
Walker suggested gently.

“Why leave me alive?” She paced
toward the covered windows, her black pants clinging to slender hips, her
droopy sweater hanging loosely across her shoulders.

“Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to
kill a kid?” Marsh suggested. “When you passed out he took the opportunity to
get rid of the body before you woke up?”

Josephine stopped pacing, her hands
coming up to cover her face, sobs wracking her shoulders.

“Dammit.” Kicking himself for
forgetting the
body
might be Josephine‘s mother, Marsh moved to where
she stood and wrapped his arms around her, forced her head to rest on his chest
as her body shook.

“The interview is over.” Marsh
stared at Agent Walker whose mouth tightened with annoyance. “Read the police
reports, check the tenant records of the buildings Josephine was found near and
see if any Jane Does matching, damn, what’s your mother’s name, Josephine?”

“Margo, Margo Maxwell. Margo Thomas
before she got married.” The words were mumbled into his shirt, tears wet
against the thin fabric, making it stick to his skin.

“See if any Jane Does matching the
profile turned up in the six months after Josephine’s attack, or if Margo
Maxwell surfaced alive elsewhere—check her Social Security number and driver’s
license—that should tell you whether or not she’s dead.”

Josephine’s sobs grew louder.
Christ
,
he was as sensitive as a neutron bomb. He held her tightly, trying to offer
comfort, but the muscles in her back were cast-iron beneath his fingers.

“Will we see you tomorrow, Vince?”
He stared at the big man. There was something unsettled about Vince that
suggested he didn’t want this job. Who could blame him?

Ebony eyes looked up, the diamond
stud glinting briefly in his ear. “Oh-seven-hundred, sir.” Gathering his huge
frame, Vince stood. “She gonna be all right?” He nodded uncertainly toward
Josephine’s worsening cries.

“Yes.” Marsh inclined his head to
Agent Walker who’d retrieved his files and stood, hesitating as if he was
reluctant to leave.

“I’ll need to interview her again
tomorrow.” Tiredness etched his features like decomposition degraded a corpse.

Marsh knew the guy was a good cop
but right now Josephine was his priority. “She’ll be ready.” Ready to help nail
the bastard who attacked her so many years ago and who might also have killed
her mother.

Chapter
Seven

________________

T
here was pain in her
chest. It expanded and grew. Crippled. Ripped. All these years, she’d tried not
to hate her mother for abandoning her, for leaving her behind with an abusive
father. But maybe, rather than leaving, her mother had been murdered and
dumped, and no one had cared enough to look.

She couldn’t bear it.

Warm safe arms engulfed her. Heat
and strength cradled her in a protective cocoon as tears dripped down her face
and off her chin.
Why hadn’t someone asked questions?

Her father had drunk himself into
oblivion and blamed her. And Josie had stupidly believed him. She’d seen her
mother with another man and had decided with childish certainty it was her
fault. She’d driven her mother away because she’d never been good enough.

It was classic. Classic and stupid
and self defeating. Nine years old.
Nine years old
and responsible for
everything that happened in the world—a belief confirmed when she’d been
punished by the man with the big knife.

I won’t kill you if you don’t
make a sound…
She hadn’t made a sound. The bastard had murdered her mother
and she’d never made a sound.

She stuffed her fist over her
mouth, still trying to quiet the sobs that wouldn’t stop. She didn’t break
down, she didn’t break. Ever. But right now there was nothing she could do but
weep for her mother and the little girl she’d been. Warm hands rubbed her back.
Strong arms held her upright. Finally the tears slowed and she remembered
exactly who the arms belonged to.

She gripped the soft cotton of
Marsh’s shirt. Her throat felt raw. “If he killed her…I need to know. I need to
get this bastard.”

His eyes glittered as he ran his
hands down her arms, supporting her at the elbows. “We’ll get him.” His voice
was firm, the undertone urging her to believe in him—in the system. But would
he do whatever it took? Or would he play it by the rules like Vincent?

“I need a gun.”

“I hired you one. His name is
Vincent Brandt.”

By the book
.

Counting on Marsh and Vince felt
like juggling hand grenades—not good for her mental health, but she wasn’t dumb
enough to take on this predator without all the help she could get. She just
wished she could defend herself. She moved away from him. The sun had set and
the apartment was clothed in deep shadows that reminded her too much of that
long ago night. She turned on a lamp. There was an unsettled feeling in the pit
of her stomach; more than grief, more than fear, more than hatred. She was a
loner. She didn’t work well with others. It wasn’t what she was used to.

“What if he kills you and Vince?”
Unexpected pain sliced into her at the thought. The words revealed too much
weakness so she gave them a twist. “And I’m left with him and he has all the
weapons? I’ll have nothing to defend myself with.”

“If he’s shooting at me or Vince,
or any other law enforcement personnel for that matter, you run like hell,
scream like crazy and get yourself to a safe place.”

Marsh drew a handkerchief from his
pocket and handed it to her.

“You must be the only guy left in
the world who carries handkerchiefs.” She sniffed, knowing she’d never win this
argument. No way would Marsh trust her with a gun. Frankly she didn’t blame
him. She wiped her face, blew her nose and then pocketed the white linen in her
pants. “I like that about you.”

“Well, at least that’s something.”
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes but it didn’t hide the sadness. Or
the regret.

They hadn’t done well together
because she didn’t know how to act like a normal person. She’d never been
normal. She was damaged and insecure. Had grown up trying to survive. Something
in his gaze made her wish things were different, that she was different. She
held her breath, but he looked away as if suddenly uncomfortable. A thought
struck her and she looked down, concentrating on her hands. Marsh was dating
someone. She’d forgotten.

“You should go. I’ll be okay
tonight. I’ll lock myself in and promise not to open the door for anyone. Go
back to your girlfriend. I’m sure she’s missing you.”

“What are you talking about?”
Marsh’s brows pinched as his frown deepened. Then his expression cleared and
humor lit his eyes, making them gleam wickedly. “Ah, my date from last night?”

Was it only last night since her
safe narrow little world had shattered? It felt like a million years ago.
Jealousy stirred low in her breast, unfamiliar and ugly. “Did you have the
best-sex-ever
with her too?”

Whoa, where the hell had that
come from?
And why did she feel so angry with a man who was doing so much
to help her? She was an idiot.

“Lynn’s eighteen and hot as hell.”
Marsh moved toward her in a way that made her jealousy morph into unease. There
was grace in his movements, banked heat in his gaze.

“And I thought you were too old for
me.” She eyed him apprehensively, but forced herself to remain still. On many
levels he made her feel safe—all except one. Her awareness of him as a man
scared the crap out of her. He stepped closer. Suddenly she was brought up
short by the wooden mantel against her shoulders and the realization she’d been
backing away.

“I am too old for you.” The wicked
gleam turned molten as he glanced down at her lips. He lowered his head,
slowly. She watched, fascinated, powerless to move because she wanted him to
kiss her. And for all her faults she’d never been a hypocrite, so she rose onto
tiptoes and braced her hands on his wide shoulders. Surprise radiated through
suddenly taut muscles. Her soft, hesitant lips met a warm, hard mouth. She
closed her eyes and let herself kiss him. Savored the careful exploration, the
sweet hesitancy. It was so unexpectedly gentle, so foreign and so heady.

He placed his hands on the small of
her back, brought her flush against him, every point of contact cycloning
excitement through her body like an electric shock. Her breasts tingled,
nipples grew aching and tight. She ran her hands through his hair, wondering
why every sensation was heightened just because
he
touched her.

His lips released hers, cruised her
neck, her ear. Shivers danced along her skin, heat thrumming along her veins
like liquid craving. He lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her legs
around his hips, his erection rubbing against her center, feeling so amazing
she wanted even closer. He braced her against the wall. The unrelenting
hardness at her back felt good against her spine. Solid and reliable while the
rest of her world crashed around her. He stroked her and sensations exploded
between her legs, making her muscles clench and her breath gasp.

“I want you. I always want you even
though you drive me crazy.” His breath blistered her ear, his hand rough on her
breast, playing with her nipples, making her damp. Making her tremble with
desire. He ground against her and she wished he was inside her, filling her as
she cascaded over that inexplicable edge, lights flashing, sirens blazing,
crying out with astonishment.

It was as spectacular as she
remembered. She closed her eyes to absorb the pleasure, but the image of her
mother being fucked against a wall drove all the passion from her mind and she
shoved away from him.

“Oh, god.” Nausea whirled through
her.
Whore. Slut
. She stumbled toward the bedroom.

Marsh grabbed her arm and swung her
round. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m like her.” She wiped her hand
over her mouth, trying to rub away the memory. “Just like my mother.”

“You’re normal.” Frustration
roughened his voice. “Sex is normal.”

But she wasn’t. She pulled away and
he released her, anger glowing in the depths of his eyes.

“You have a girlfriend,” she
whispered.

“No, and the fact I let you think I
do shows how low I’ve sunk. I don’t usually play games, Josephine. I’m not that
kind of guy.” He dragged his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “My
mother is trying to set me up and marry me off to any woman who’ll have me. I
do
not
have a girlfriend. The whole time we were out I felt like her
goddamned father.” He looked so pissed her heart clenched. The thought of him
getting married—being permanently unavailable gutted her. And she didn’t want
anything to do with him—
remember
?

“I haven’t been with anyone since
you…since
we
…had sex. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” There was a raw
honesty in his tone that froze her to the spot.

“That was six months ago.”

His smile was pained. “I know. I
can’t get you out of my head.”

She stared at him. She couldn’t get
him out of her head either. It wasn’t only sex although that was confusing
enough. She wasn’t some shy miss, but this was unfamiliar territory. Complete
with forbidden fruit. Bottom line was she was clueless about sex. Sure, she’d
seen it in movies and during biology class and god help her, she’d drugged
Marsh and seduced him, never thinking she’d
enjoy
what they did. But it
seemed so long ago, the pleasure he’d stirred inside her moments ago was so
fresh, so…incredible. She wanted it again—to repeat it and try to learn how to
be a
normal
woman. But one way or another, sex had been her mother’s
downfall and it had cost Josie her childhood. And sex was all there could ever
be between a girl like her and the ultra-conservative federal agent.

If sex was dangerous, relationships
were warzones.

Marsh turned and walked up to the
front door. For one awful moment she thought he was leaving, but he flicked the
locks and the deadbolt. Relief surged through her and it wasn’t all to do with
evading a serial killer. She watched him stroll down the stairs, graceful as a
tiger, charming as the devil, wishing like hell she was good and mad, and could
deal with him. Instead his eyes were on her body with
that
look again
and she reacted with a sharp inhalation.

They needed a distraction.

“Food.” She dove for the kitchen.

“This isn’t finished, Josephine.”
His voice was soft and warm, sending tingles running down her spine.

It was definitely finished.

His laughter chased her and she
foolishly thought it
was
over until he followed her into the kitchen,
where she was digging into the bottom of a cupboard, searching for a sieve. She
glanced over her shoulder. Marsh loosened the knot of his tie and shrugged out
of his suit jacket, slinging it over his arm.

Sinful. Gorgeous. Suave and strong.
The words didn’t begin to describe how the look of him affected her. And when
he wasn’t being an arrogant bastard she actually
liked
SAC Marshall
Hayes. And that scared her more than the idea of them screwing like rabbits.

“What are you doing?” He arched a
single dark brow, his eyes roving her ass like he couldn’t help himself.

Ignoring an answering pull, she
dragged her hair back from her eyes, spotted the white handle of the sieve and
grabbed it, straightened up.

“Baking a cake.” She glared when
his mouth dropped open in surprise. “What?”

“I didn’t think you even knew how
to boil an egg.”

Opening a drawer to find measuring
cups, she paused for a moment and took a breath, rather than just reacting.
Time to confront this thing. “That’s because we don’t know each other very
well, do we?”

“We know each other better than you
want to admit.”

Turning to face him, she was rocked
by the full force of his gaze.

“I know you’ve got a bitch of a
temper, which hides a whole arsenal of insecurity.” His voice was soft and made
her shiver. “I know you fight dirty especially when frightened.” He took a step
closer and she wanted to bolt. “I know you make a funny little sound in your
throat when you come.”

Blushing furiously, she looked
away. He was the only person on the planet who knew that about her.

“I know you were a brave little kid
who overcame a hell of a childhood to go on to become a successful artist.” He
paused and she looked up, unable not to. “And I know you’re true and loyal to
those you love.”

His image of her rocked her. She
was bitchy, and abrasive, and had spent most of her life running away from her
reality. She didn’t know how he saw any good beneath the surface she showed the
world.

He took another step bringing him
within arm’s length, trailed his index finger gently down her forehead,
sweeping her nose and coming to rest on her lower lip, which trembled.

“I know I want you.”

Rattled beneath his perceptive
gaze, she fought the pathetic sensation that invaded her limbs. She couldn’t
afford to let this man in. She’d never survive losing him too. “Even if I don’t
want you for anything but protection from a madman?” She narrowed her eyes
against the intensity of his gaze.

“What if I said I don’t want you
for anything but sex?” he countered, then tipped her chin up. “But then I’d be
lying and I promised I’d stop doing that when it came to you.”

The thump of her heart against her
ribs was so violent, she was sure he could hear it. Shoving past him, she
crashed out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
So much for not running away, so much for facing her fears. There was no
laughter, no joy. Only bleak knowledge that Marshall Hayes was more dangerous
to her soul than any knife wielding maniac.

***

He looked at the
dead girl on the bed. Wrists and ankles bound. Blonde hair splayed across the
dark sheets, almost gold in this light. Blue eyes, fading from bright and
terrified to opaque and lifeless. Decomposing before his eyes.
For they have
sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.