Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (19 page)

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You okay?”

Her throat closed and tears heated her eyes. “Not yet. I will be.”

He kissed her hard and then looked at Zander. “Thanks.”

Ava glanced at the FBI agent. He’d stepped out of his car but simply stood there with his door open. She couldn’t see his eyes.

“Not a problem. See you tomorrow sometime. Night, Ava.”

He was back in his car and had closed his door before her reply left her lips. The two of them watched him leave, and then Mason guided her toward the house. “You heard about the videos of Justin Yoder and the shooter at the Rivertown Mall?” she asked.

“Yes. I got an update.”

“We were right. Now we just need to figure out—”

He stopped her at the door and faced her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Not tonight. No more work talk. I need to hear what happened today with your sister.”

Her energy dissipated, evaporating at his words.
Hospital.
The image instantly made her limbs and head heavy as if she’d been dipped in thick glue.

Mason’s eyes widened and his fingertips dug into her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I think I need to go to bed.” They moved into the house, and Bingo greeted her with his full-body tail wag and sniffing nose. She wondered what scents the hospital visit had left on her clothing. That cloying heavy odor of disinfectant. Did Bingo find it as repulsive as she did? She set her purse on the hall table and kicked off her shoes.

I need to get out of these clothes.

The disinfectant smell overwhelmed her senses, and she lifted the hem of her shirt to pull it over her head as she dashed up the stairs to their bedroom. It gagged her as the soft weave of the shirt brushed over her face. Holding her breath, she moved into the closet and threw the offensive blouse into the laundry basket.

I still smell it.

Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned her capris, and she whipped them off, adding them to the laundry basket. The odor lingered in the still air of the closet.

My clothes are going to stink up everything in here.

She grabbed the basket, whirled around to head to the laundry room, and nearly ran over Mason. He blocked the doorway into the closet, hands resting on the doorjambs, looking at her in her bra and panties as she tried to get past him with the basket.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to wash these. Tonight. They stink like the hospital.” Her skin vibrated as if she’d had a huge hit of caffeine.

He didn’t move. Leaning over, he sniffed at the basket in her arms. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Trust me. You don’t want these near your clean clothes.” She sniffed at her upper arm. “I need to shower. The smell is clinging to me.” She tried to push past him again.

“Ava.” He stopped her with a hand on the basket. “Nothing smells.”

“Yes. Yes it does.” She clutched the basket tighter. “I need to do this.” Her gaze locked on his, and she silently pleaded with him to let her by. Instead he took hold of the basket.

“Let go.”

She paused. And then let go, her hands aching as she straightened her clenched fingers.

He slowly set the basket aside, holding her gaze. The vibrations under her skin grew stronger and a chill took root in her muscles. She wanted the basket back—something to hang on to, something that gave her a purpose.

“I’m cold,” she whispered.

“Tell me what happened today.” He spoke slowly as if not to spook her, and caution flickered in his eyes.

Am I that obvious?

She was balancing on a high wire, frozen in place, terrified to take a wrong step that would result in a downward spiral to match Jayne’s. His gaze held her in place, and she clung to it, seeing him in crystal clarity. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The patches of gray hair at his temples. The pulse at the side of his neck.

“She did it, Mason,” she whispered. “She threatened it during our phone call, and I didn’t believe her. She reached out, and I slapped her away. I pushed her, and she did it.”

His eyes softened a fraction, and he reached for her.

She jerked back, dropping her gaze. “Don’t touch me.”

The soft catch of his breath broke her heart. Warmth touched her chest, and she lifted a hand to it. Wet. One line of tears had run down her cheek and landed on her chest. Slowly she lifted her gaze back to him, her fingertips touching the side of her face. “I think I’m falling apart.”

Before she could blink he had his arms around her, his heat burning her skin.

“I’m so cold.”

He held her tighter, running his hands up and down her back, his touch creating trails of heat that immediately vanished, leaving her colder than before. It didn’t help. She was ready to shatter into a million pieces, and her mind sought a ledge to grab to keep her whole. The trembling under her skin crescendoed to an unbearable level, numbing all other sensations and stunting her thoughts. “I can’t think straight,” she whispered.

“Did you take something?” he asked.

His words took time to penetrate the fog around her brain. When they hit home, she froze. “Are you asking if I took something illegal?” Her voice cracked.

“Or legal.” His brown gaze looked deep into her soul.
Or is he checking my pupils for dilation?

“I’m not on anything. As much as I’m craving a miracle drug or drink to make this misery go away, I haven’t taken
anything
.” She looked away, wanting to sink through the floor.
He believes I’m no better than Jayne.

Don’t I believe the same?

He bent and scooped her into his arms, deftly maneuvering them out of the closet. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to crawl under his clothing. He radiated the heat she so desperately needed. He gently lay her in their bed and tucked the covers tight around her, his face tight with worry.

Is he done with me?

“Mason.”

He stopped, still bent over her. “What?”

Words left her. She held his gaze, feeling the two of them drift farther and farther apart. Her hand went to his chest, under his shirt, and she pressed her palm against his heart, and it pounded against her hand.
It’s not too late.

“I need to feel something,” she whispered. “I can’t feel
anything
. I don’t care what it is. Please help me.” She moved her hand to tug at the button of his shirt. His chest stopped moving as he held his breath, his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said slowly. He didn’t back away.

The button slipped from its hole, and she grabbed the shirt’s fabric. “I need you. Please. Make me feel like I’m not about to shatter. I don’t know if I’ll be able to put it back together.” She pleaded with her eyes. She needed to be touched and held, reminded that she hadn’t fully turned into a pillar of stone. She’d slowly grown more detached and paralyzed as she lived through the years of Jayne’s drawn-out collapse. She’d built too many walls to prop herself up and protect herself from the pain, and now she couldn’t find her way out.

His throat moved as he swallowed, the rest of his body immobile.

“It’s what I need. Right now. Because I can’t see five minutes into the future, and I’m terrified that means I’ve become her and am powerless over my actions. Show me I’m wrong.”

He gave a small shudder, never breaking eye contact. “I love you, Ava.” And he bent to kiss her.

Mason wasn’t sure who stared at him out of Ava’s eyes.

It didn’t sound like her.

But it was her. She was slipping away and begging for help.

He could only imagine what it felt like to lose your shit, and now he had a front-row seat, watching it happen to Ava. His first instinct had been to pull back, give her space, and find her help. But the longer he looked into her eyes and heard her pleas, the more he knew she needed something to hang on to. Right now. She was moving away, and he could feel her disconnecting from him.

Or am I moving away from her?

He’d been low before. He’d seen other people in the depths of despair, but what he saw in Ava’s eyes went beyond that. The knowledge of her twin’s attempted suicide had ripped open a place in Ava’s soul that’d been patched together too many times. He’d known she’d repaired it in the past with tape and thread and tears. But could she pull it back together again?

What can I do?

He kissed her, letting his heart take over for his brain, and it felt right. Rarely did his feelings overrule his logic but this was the time for it to happen. She greedily pressed upward into his kiss, sliding her icy hand under his shirt again and tugging him closer. He pulled back slightly to look in her eyes but they were closed, and her hands frantically worked to open his buttons and push his shirt off his shoulders.

This wasn’t going to be leisurely, lazy lovemaking. Or quick and lively lovemaking. Or passionate and heartfelt.

This would be sex.

She’d closed her eyes because she needed to feed from her other senses, seeking something to break through the numbness.

He could give her that.

He kissed her deeply, working off his jeans and underwear with help from her quick hands. She panted under his mouth, her fingers constantly touching him everywhere she could reach. Shifting under the sheet and thin blanket, she pressed her hips up against his, and he understood her need for pressure and weight to make her feel grounded. He slid the covers out of the way, lay on top of her body, and heard the intake of her breath in pleasure. Her hands moved to his back, pressing him harder against her, and he heard her nearly sob.

“Don’t be gentle,” she begged. “I need to feel everything.”

He didn’t argue. There was a time and place for gentle. Not right now. He shoved her bra up over her breasts without unhooking the back, and she gasped as it yanked at her nipples. He watched her eyes, but they never opened. She turned her face to the side, breathed hard and nodded. He massaged her breasts, increasing the compression, and she nodded again. Leaning down, he took a nipple between his teeth, and she ground her hipbones into his stomach and exhaled noisily.

Part of him wanted to stop, tuck the covers back around her, and spoon-feed her chicken soup. She was broken and raw. Nurturing wasn’t his strong suit, but he could do it for the people he loved. At this moment, nurturing would send her deeper into herself. He moved his hand between the two of them and hooked a finger on her panties, sliding them down her legs. He nipped at her breast again, carefully watching her reactions.

She was in need.

He gently cupped her, slipped a finger between her folds, and discovered she was wet.

All rational thoughts shot from his brain.

His mind no longer cared about giving Ava what she needed. His single thought was about burying himself deep inside her heat.
She turned her head, tipped it back, and breathed heavily through opened lips. He positioned himself and gave a single hard upward thrust as he brought his lips down on hers and felt her shudder in relief. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ground against him.

“Please. Harder.”

He traced the inside of her mouth with his tongue as he thrust into her over and over, losing himself in her wonderful tight slickness. Ava begged him not to stop. He barely heard her. He’d let go of any compulsion to hold back and prolong. Right now he simply wanted release and his frantic efforts to achieve it satisfied her need to feel
something
.

It worked for both of them.

Ava turned her head to nestle her face into his neck, feeling the rasp of his midnight shadow rake her cheek. Mason gave a second shudder as he lay spent on top of her. He’d hurt her. Several times. First with the teeth on her breasts, and then the relentless pounding had left her feeling raw between her legs. She welcomed the tiny pulses of pain flickering in both areas.

She almost felt grounded. He’d started to roll off but she’d held him in place. “Not yet,” she’d whispered. She needed his weight pressing her into the mattress. She felt protected, secure. No longer walking a tightrope. But she wasn’t ready to let him move away. She was terrified the unstable sensation would return.