Hold on to Me (24 page)

“It doesn’t matter if you did or not. It’s irrelevant to this case.” She struggled to keep her tone noncommittal. What she really wanted to know was whether or not he’d been interested in the cute little blonde who was already a great mother.

What she
really
wanted to know was what he thought about the fact she might never be a mother at all.

Hands in his pockets, Tick leaned a shoulder against a column at the far edge of the church’s porch. In the hot, still air, no leaves moved on the pecan trees surrounding the small clapboard building. A trickle of sweat ran between his shoulder blades to pool at the small of his back. Pockets of mourners gathered under the trees, waving funeral home fans in a vain attempt to alleviate the heat.

Beneath one of those trees, Caitlin stood with two of Vontressa’s cousins. Sympathy softened her face, a genuine smile flitting across the curve of her lips. Damn, but he loved that smile, the way it shaped her mouth and lit her eyes.

She was the one.

He’d wondered if the infertility, knowing he might never make her pregnant, would affect his feelings for her. Hell, anybody who knew him knew he looked forward to being a father, raising a family in his grandmother’s house. The goal held importance for him, and he’d always assumed he’d be raising Calvert kids who looked like all the rest. Now? Now looking at Caitlin, he had his answer.

He couldn’t imagine any other woman in his life.

If that meant he lived without becoming a father, so be it. Because one thing was for sure—he didn’t see himself fathering another woman’s child. So maybe that meant he’d redefine having a family. Maybe all he needed was the woman in front of him, filling every day of the rest of their lives with that incredible smile of hers.

Now, the problem lay in convincing Caitlin that the infertility didn’t matter, that she could gamble on him and he’d never hurt her. That he could deal with the darkness she danced in, as long as she let him be her light.

“Man, she has you whipped already.” Thumbs hitched in his belt, Cookie stopped beside him. “You should see the look on your face.”

“Cut it out, Cookie.” He shrugged, a tight, irritable movement. His suit sat too heavily on his shoulders, but maybe it was his own unease, his dissatisfaction, weighing him down.

Cookie jerked his head in Caitlin’s direction. “Read her initial profile, that little list do-hickey she did.”

Tick grunted. He hadn’t read it yet. He’d been too busy getting his mind blown and then his gut tied in knots. Oh, and watching her smile at Nate Holton as she flattered him. That had been a fun little way to kill some time. “Yeah?”

Cookie nodded, his expression serious for once. “Yeah. She thinks the guy is all about control. Can’t connect with women except on a superficial level, has issues with his mother, probably too close to her with some underlying anger or hatred. For a second, I thought she was profiling you.”

“Funny.” Tick shot him a look. “Or you.”

“Superficial.” Cookie grinned, unrepentant. “Yep, that’s me.”

“…control issues.” Jeff’s voice, even pitched low, carried from the church’s tiny foyer to Tick’s right. “I could have come up with that.”

Troy Lee murmured in reply, his words indistinct.

Brows lifted, Tick glanced at Cookie, who shrugged. “He’s dissing your girl. I think Stanton’s rubbing off on him. Sheriff’s been bitching about her for two days.”

“Stan’s a control freak.”

“No.” Cookie feigned a shocked expression and ruined it by smirking. “And so is she.”

“She took over one of his cases not long after we were out of Quantico. He’s never forgotten it. And you know Jeff wants those lieutenant’s bars. He’s just kissing up.”

“Seems like he’d be remembering who puts the department schedule together.” He nudged Tick’s ribs. “Or who will do his performance review before he gets those bars. I’d be kissing
your
ass.”

Tick winced. “Really didn’t need that mental picture, Cookie.”

With a soft laugh, Cookie rubbed a finger over his mouth. “Yeah, it’s pretty plain who you do want kissing your ass.”

That particular mental picture sent a pleasurable shiver through him. “Shut up, would you? Remember where we are.”

“Of course, Schaefer may not be worried about you. Probably figures if he makes Tori happy, you’ll be happy, y’know?”

A frown tugged at Tick’s brows. “She brought him to Mama’s Sunday.”

“Whoa. Big commitment there.” A couple of kids chased each other around one of the pecan trees. Cookie prodded his shoulder. “And who did you take to your mama’s house Sunday?”

“You getting anywhere with that database? Any patterns?”

Cookie pulled his gum from his pocket. He popped a piece in his mouth, the scent of wintergreen exploding around them. “Just the people Sharon, Amy and Vontressa knew from high school. Keith Lawson, a couple others. They’re easy to connect. It’s that Jane Doe and Kimberly Johnson who throw the patterns off.”

“Cait thinks they’re all random. Victims of opportunity. Except for Amy.” Tick watched as Caitlin spoke to Vontressa’s Auntee Frances. She nodded, listening, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Cookie regarded him, a knowing smirk on his face. “She’s probably right. Could be mere coincidence that the three girls graduated together.”

“Wish we knew where Vontressa actually disappeared. No signs of a struggle in the apartment, so I don’t think she was taken from there.”

“The cars could be the key. Money might be part of the motivation. Take the cars for parts or the black market, and the girls are just gravy.”

“Wish you wouldn’t put it that way.” As a motive, it made sense, except…car thieves weren’t usually people who knew to cleanse a body before dumping it. “Besides, that only explains Johnson and Vontressa. Their cars are the only ones missing. Doesn’t hold true for Sharon and Amy.”

A wave of mourners exited the church, including Miss Lauree, supported by two of her sons. Tick closed his eyes, trying to block out the grief on her face. Fury pulsed in him, a stinging heat that burned under his skin. Damn it, they would find this guy.

Standing around talking to Cookie wasn’t getting the job done, though. Opening his eyes, he tagged Cookie’s arm. People drifted to cars, along the way stopping to hug necks and share their grief. “Come on. Cait and I have interviews to finish up.”

Cookie rolled his eyes. “And I have pages of names and numbers to finish going through. Why is it you get to hang out with Ms. Sex on a Stick and I’m banished to the war room?”

“Benefits of rank. And you’re not her type.”

“And you are? She’s got old money written all over her. Hell, boy, her shoes cost more than your last set of tires.”

Squinting, Tick examined the shoes in question. Navy slingbacks, an incredibly pointy toe, thin heels. And the most fantastic legs he’d even seen. “How do you know that?”

“Hey, I’m fashionably aware.”

“You been reading
Cosmo
again?” Shaking his head, Tick jogged down the steps.

“Something like that.” Cookie shrugged. “I googled her.”

“You what?”

“Hell, I google everybody. Her family’s loaded. Her father held fifty-one percent of Falcon Oil Refining when he died. Brother runs one of the most lucrative private security firms in the country. Their grandfather is real big in politics in Texas. Like I said, makes me wonder what she sees in you.”

“Thanks a lot,
partner
.”

Holding on to her daughter’s arm, Vontressa’s Auntee Frances moved to her car and left Caitlin standing alone under the spreading shade of the pecan tree. Joining her with Cookie on his heels, Tick resisted the urge to lay his hand along the small of her back.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Ready?”

More than she knew. Now all he had to do was convince her. “Whenever you are.”

Cookie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’m just going to head back to my dark little dungeon.”

Caitlin laughed, the husky sound sending shivers over Tick. In the next second, her laugh faded into a startled exhale and she stumbled into Tick’s side.

“Oh!” A hand on his chest, the other at his waist, she steadied herself, and he stared, all of his sensations shrinking to the space around them. A giggle rose between them, and he shook himself free of her magnetic pull and glanced down. One of Vontressa’s nieces, her brother David’s youngest daughter, grinned up at him, her smile missing a couple of pearly teeth.

“Hey, Mr. Tick.” Neat braids swung around her face, the tiny beads holding the ends clicking together.

He grinned back. “Hey, Cartavia.”

She tugged at his suit jacket. “Is Luke with you?”

He shook his head, knowing she’d sat in front of Chuck’s oldest all through first grade. “Not today.”

“Tell him I said hey.” She bounded away, braids flying behind her.

He laughed and glanced at Caitlin. She stood, her expression carefully blank. His stomach performed a slow flip and he gestured after Cartavia, his chest tight. “Vontressa’s niece. I know her daddy.”

She nodded, but neither her face nor her posture relaxed. “She’s adorable.”

Cookie bumped Tick’s shoulder. “Keep hanging out with him, Falconetti, and he can probably arrange for you to have a couple of adorable rugrats. You know, barefoot, pregnant, six kids and a singlewide.”

Tick froze as a cold smile lifted her lips.

“Not likely, Cook. Tick? We have things to do.” She turned and strode toward his truck.

Tick groaned. “Thanks a lot, Cookie.”

“What did I say?”

He followed her, having trouble catching up despite the length of his stride. “Cait, wait up.”

She didn’t slow. He closed the distance and grasped her arm, pulling her around to face him. She stared up at him, her eyes narrowed. “Which witness are we interviewing next?”

He jerked a hand through his hair. They couldn’t have this conversation here and he didn’t relish trying to have it between interviews either. And she didn’t look particularly receptive to anything he might say right now.

“Calvert?” She arched an elegant eyebrow. “Are we going or are we standing around here all day? I think we’ve given your deputies enough to talk about already.”

“Yeah.” He wanted to pull her close, whisper in her ear that she was everything that mattered. But she was right—sometimes the job had to come first. And judging from her expression, she’d knock him flat on his ass if he tried to touch her any time soon. “Let’s go.”

Hunger clawed at her stomach and she recapped her marker, dropping it in the tray. A few leads looked promising, but there was nothing earthshaking before her.

“You think your partner can help us track down the car Amy backed into?” Intent on the charts, she startled at Tick’s quiet voice. He made a neat stack of their files in the middle of the table.

“If the other person filed an insurance claim—and who wouldn’t—and if it’s in a computer somewhere, Bocaccio will find it.” She’d tried to call Gina again earlier, but kept getting her voice mail. Caitlin stretched. Waiting wasn’t always her strong suit.

He rubbed a hand over his neck, his face weary. “I’m starving. You want to get out of here for a little while?”

Relief cascaded through her. She’d missed his good-natured teasing throughout the day, missed
him
. Their gazes met, clung, and she smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Why are Cookie and Chris listed under Amy’s section?”

“The two speeding tickets she got in May, the ones her father was so upset about? They wrote them.”

“Why is my name up there?”

“We talked about this, remember? Keith Lawson’s statement?” She looked up at him. His suit jacket and tie had disappeared, the top two buttons on his shirt open. He appeared as tired and as covered with the invisible grime of a day’s investigation as she felt. “And because two of the interviewees mentioned seeing you on the highway the night Sharon Ingler disappeared.”

“Great. So I’m a possible suspect. I can’t wait for the newspaper to get a hold of that.” He grimaced and stared at the board a moment longer. “We can pick up our warrant for the fast-food place’s security tape in Tallahassee tomorrow morning.”

Brushing her hair back, she nodded. “Sounds good. And I want to talk to Bobby Gene Butler before we go.”

He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go get a bite. You have your choice of barbeque, Mexican or—”

“Investigator Calvert.” The young man who sometimes worked the front desk burst through the door, out of breath, his eyes wide. “We have a problem downstairs.”

As he related the situation before scurrying out again, Caitlin realized Tick wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. With a harried expression, Tick blew out a long, frustrated breath. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It happens. Don’t worry about it.” She half-shrugged. He seriously worked too hard. Chief deputy-slash-investigator with an understaffed department or not, he couldn’t keep running himself ragged like this. “I’m just going to work with this a little more, see if anything jumps out at me, then I may go back to the hotel.”

“Don’t work too late. Be careful when you leave.” He cast a glance at the door and leaned in to brush a quick, sweet kiss over her lips. “See you later.”

“Good night.” A curious emptiness descended on the room with his departure, and she tried to concentrate on the patterns, her focus gone. At last, she gave up, gathered her things and headed to her hotel. She’d try again later.

A long, hot shower washed away the grime and some of the exhaustion, and a delivery of Chinese takeout took care of the hunger. But nothing—reading Amy’s diary, reviewing autopsy reports, adding to her profile—dispelled the loneliness. In desperation, she changed into shorts and a T-shirt, slipped on her running shoes, and struck out for the small lake across the street from the hotel.

The run didn’t help. An hour later, sweaty and frustrated, Caitlin tugged off her clothes and stepped into another hot shower. Her mind remained a confused jumble—case facts and Tick’s voice bouncing around in her head.

Toweling off, she tried reaching Gina once more, with no success. Ten to one, her partner was boogieing down with the handsome Marine sergeant who was way too young for her.

A sharp knock on the door echoed through the hotel room, and she froze, instincts going on alert.

She discarded the towel and slid her arms into her short robe. With shaking hands, she tied the belt and went to the door, collecting her SIG along the way.

Another knock, more impatient this time. She peeked through the peephole and relaxed. Tick stood on the sidewalk and she swung the door open. He’d showered and changed, looking refreshed if still tired, and she wanted to snatch him inside the room.

“Hey,” he drawled. The intensity in his dark eyes made her mouth go dry.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I covered the jail.” He rested an arm against the doorframe. “Figured I’d see if you were still hungry.”

“Are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you look tired.”

That slow, sexy grin of his bloomed on his face. “Maybe I should go to bed for a while.”

Curling the fingers of her free hand around the open collar of his shirt, she smiled and tugged him forward. “Come inside with me, Lamar Eugene.”

He jerked her into his embrace, and his lips came down on hers. Banked desire flared and she opened to him, slipping her arms around his neck.

A ragged sigh shaking his lean frame, he broke the kiss, nuzzling close to her ear. With one hand, he pushed the door shut behind them and fumbled the lock into place. She managed to make sure her gun hit the table and not the floor. His other hand tangled in her damp hair and he angled her face beneath his.

While he kissed her, his easy hold crept to her shoulders, the silky material of her robe sliding against her skin. His hands roamed over her arms and back in long, sweeping touches. “You’re so beautiful.”

The rough whisper shivered over her. She smiled, stroking inside the collar of his shirt. “You’re not so bad—”

“No.” He caressed the small of her back. “Not like that. Not tonight.”

He lowered his mouth again, tasting and teasing. The hot, dragging ache in her stomach radiated out to become a moist heat between her thighs and a heaviness in her breasts. His clean scent enveloped her. She kneaded the tight, shifting muscles at his shoulders. What did he mean, not like that? The night before, he’d been playful, enthusiastic, creative. He’d made her feel like no other man ever had.

His tongue plundered her mouth, the erotic rhythm a reminder of having his body thrusting into hers. He cradled her hips and urged her closer. She burned hotter and held on. An urge to rub against him, take him fully inside her, filled her.

He was right; this was different. Every touch, each caress, held a single-minded intent—stealing her control, making her need him.

She fisted his shirt and pulled her head back, breaking the kiss. He stared at her, fiery desire lighting his dark eyes. Tilting her head, she tugged him toward the bed.

She expected him to tumble her down, the laughter and playfulness to take over and lead them into a sweet coming together. Instead, he eased her back and leaned over her, his gaze still burning. He didn’t smile, but traced the line of her face with a finger. The simple caress shimmered over her, that fingertip traveling down the line of her throat, following the lapel of her robe to rest between her breasts, over her heart. Blood pulsed in her ears; he had to feel the thud under his hand.

He lowered his head, mouth teasing beneath her ear. One of his thighs slid between hers, the starched fabric of his khakis rough against her sensitized skin. She arched into him, needing more than his weight and the feel of his mouth on her skin. She needed everything, all of him.

His teeth rasped across the tender spot between her shoulder and neck, and he eased the robe open. She caught her breath, wanting his touch on her breasts, aching and heavy with anticipation. Desperate for the heat of skin on skin, she ran her hands down his chest and around his lean waist to tug his shirt free. At the first brush of her fingers on the sloping muscles of his back, he groaned.

He rose to his knees, long enough to strip the shirt over his head and toss it behind him, and she reached for him, wanting to learn the line of each tight tendon and muscle again. Instead, he caught her hands and placed her wrists above her head, his gaze hungry as it swept her body. She shifted under that look, feeling its weight as surely as if he’d run his hands along her form.

She moved a knee up the inside of his thigh and laughed lightly when his whole body jumped. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He stared down, thumbs caressing her wrists. “This isn’t about me.”

“Tick, I—”

He dipped his head to kiss her. “Let me, Cait,” he murmured. “Let me love you tonight.”

Her eyes stung, and she turned away. She wanted it and the depth of that wanting frightened her. With long fingers, he captured her chin and tilted her face back to his. Emotion glimmered deep in his eyes.

“Stop thinking,” he said, still whispering. “No more analyzing. Just feel.”

She closed her eyes. Yes, she could do that. For a little while, she could give herself over to the way he made her feel. Cherished. Desired. Precious.

“Open your eyes, Cait. No hiding. I want to see your eyes while I love you.”

Her lashes fluttered, lifted. He kissed her again, a slow devouring that went on and on, until she was suffused with need, pushing into him to assuage the craving he’d created. He lavished attention on her, hands shaping the sides of her breasts while his lips and tongue worshipped tight nipples. He trailed a caress over her stomach to the heat pulsing between her thighs. The teasing fingers lingered, sending a torturous delight through her, until she was writhing and moaning beneath him.

He left her long enough to shuck the remainder of his clothing, and then he returned to her arms, spreading her thighs to cradle his body. He entered her with a long, smooth movement, and she arched into him, biting back a cry.

“No,” he whispered against her ear. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it. Let me have it all.”

He withdrew and thrust again, her body stretching to accommodate his. Gripping her hips, he angled her body up to his, so she felt all of him. “Look at me, Cait.”

Their gazes locked, his body moved into hers with a deep, binding rhythm, and inside, she shattered, a confused jumble of emotions flooding her.

Pressure built low in her body, a desperate desire only he could satisfy. She fluttered her hands over his waist and settled at the small of his back, pulling him deeper.

“Feel that?” He murmured the words against her temple. “We could have this, precious. Forever.”

Her eyes slid closed. Yes, she could have this. The pleasure swirled in her body. She met his thrusts, reveling in the rough sound of his breathing next to her ear. She could have this. She could have
him
. The pressure increased, a restless yearning making her cling tighter to him.

His movements were hard now, hurried, exactly what she needed. Pulling his mouth from hers, he buried his face against her throat. His voice rasped over her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The same question, the same answer. Her hands clutched at his shoulder blades, the words he wanted torn from her on a gasp. “I want you. Always you, Tick.”

The ache expanded, the pressure radiating out. He pulled her hips harder into his. The orgasm washed over her, the exquisite heaviness bursting into an intense, painful pleasure. He plunged deeper, the sensations unbearably sweet, and she sobbed his name against his neck.

He tightened, pushing higher as his own climax took him, and she pressed closer, pulling him deeper still, feeling him pulse inside her. Gasping, he collapsed, one arm bearing his weight. She slid her palms from his shoulders to his chest, his heart thundering under her light touch.

He brushed his palm along her hip and thigh, their bodies still entwined, and he rubbed his cheek against hers. His satisfied sigh hummed through her.

Pleasure still thrummed in her body, but her vision blurred and shimmered. Sudden tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them tighter, trying to stem the flow, but more followed, seeping beneath her lashes, wetting her temples, dampening her hair. Breathy sobs shook her.

Tick pulled back, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Cait?”

She sat up, knees to her chest, the sobs getting stronger. “God, what a cliché,” she said, her voice coming out harsh and strained. “Crying after sex.”

Gently, he pulled her against him. “That wasn’t just sex.”

She rubbed at the tears on her cheeks. “I know.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, massaged her shoulder with his thumb. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Wait.” She tried to spin in his arms, but he held her still.

“Listen to me, Cait—”

“There’s something I have to tell you first—”

“Chandler to C-2.” The small radio buzzed from the floor, slightly muffled by his crumpled slacks.

“Oh, hell.” He released her and leaned down to retrieve the offending square. “Go ahead, Chandler.”

“C-13 requests your 10-78 at the old school.”