The Drake House (20 page)

She needed to fight fire with fire, so she straightened and struggled to keep her voice level. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” He stopped pacing, breaths huffing out from his violent surge, and looked at her. “None of that was your fault either, Nick.”

“Go to bed, Trisha,” he ground out, voice dangerously low.

“No,” she said, standing firm and crossing her arms. If his meltdown a moment ago was any indicator, it was going to get rough in here. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His head whipped back so far he had to look down his nose at her. “Go. To. Bed. Trisha.”

Fine, I can face off.
Placing her hands on her hips, she shouted out, “It wasn’t your fault!”

She didn’t even have time to blink, to gasp. He rounded the couch, crushed his mouth to hers, and pinned her to the wall so fast her heart seized. The kiss was devastating, vicious, and oh so arousing.

Growling, he removed her shirt, pinning her hands to the wall above her head. The shadow on his face scratched her cheeks, her neck, as he made his way down to her collarbone. In seconds, he removed her bra with his free hand. Cupping her breast, his mouth lowered and began a sensual torture, first with one, then the other. She arched from the wall, wanting more, wanting him.

He released her hands to discard her jeans. When he rose his eyes were fierce, roaming her body but not touching. Firelight lit his eyes, rippled over the shadows on his face. His breathing erratic, he just kept studying her.

Enough.
Sucking in a breath, she tugged the hem of his shirt over his head, yanked down his jeans, and said, “Now.”

He kicked the jeans away, grabbed her hips to lift her, and pressed her back against the wall. He crushed his chest to hers to hold her there. She clutched his shoulders and held tight. When he plunged into her, filling the pulsing ache inside, she cried out in absolute satisfaction.

One of his hands dug into the flesh of her hip, the other braced against the wall. He lowered his forehead to hers as he thrust, but kept his eyes locked on her. She’d never felt or seen anything so powerful. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek. His eyes softened, assuaging the temper from earlier and replacing it with need.

Her skin tingled, her muscles tightened against him, and she lost control seconds before he did.

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m glad Brad decided to stay at the ranch.” Eventually, they’d made it to Trisha’s bedroom, but not before stopping on the stairs and then the hallway.

She laughed and rolled onto her side in the bed. “We should have make-up sex more often.”

He sobered. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Rising from the bed, she walked across the room and opened a dresser drawer. “I know. You’re still a devastated, broken man and I’m a woman with too much baggage.”

He rested his arm behind his head on the pillow, the movement causing the sheet to slide down to his waist. “When you put it like that, it sounds menial.”

“We both know it’s not.”

Yes, they did know. All tonight managed to do was make things difficult, but he couldn’t find the will to regret it. He’d lost control like an animal, and she urged him to. More, he told her things he shouldn’t have. Things very few others knew. And she responded by saying it wasn’t his fault. The department shrink tried telling him the same crap after it happened.

“Why are you dressing?” he asked.

She stepped into a pair of yellow ducky print pajama pants and a matching yellow shirt. It was adorable until she swooped her hair out of the neck and he grew hard again.

“If you want this freak show to sleepwalk, I’d rather not be naked.”

Angered, he sat up. “You are not a freak show.”

Ignoring him, she retreated into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. Silhouetted in the doorway with the light behind her, she leaned against the frame, causing little physical doubt he wanted her again.
Now.

She held something up between her fingers. “The worst sleepwalking incident I had was after taking a sleeping pill.”

He flew off the bed to her, but it was too late. She swallowed the pill, chasing it with water. “Damn it, Trish. We don’t want you hurt; we want you to remember.”

Saying nothing, she edged around him, set the glass down on the nightstand, and climbed into bed. Closing his eyes, he did something he hadn’t done since before the shooting. He prayed. Prayed they’d find the answers so she could finally sleep without fear. Prayed for the safety of her men so her guilt would abate. And prayed he had the strength to stop this thing between them when the time came.

After dressing himself, he laid down next to her. She rolled over, turning her back to him, so he brushed his fingers through her hair. The mindless task made what they’d become so much more intimate than he ever intended. A few minutes ticked by before she called his name, her voice low and sleepy.

“Nick, I’m only going to say this once, and then we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

His hand stilled over her head.

“You couldn’t have done anything different to save Bethany, or her husband. Don’t go your whole life blaming yourself.”

She paused as if waiting for him to yell. Except instead of anger, sadness welled in his chest, pressing over his heart and weighing down. The pain in his gut returned, fierce and brutal. He had finally just accepted that it was gone for good. Biting his tongue, he breathed through it.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

He must’ve laid there a good two hours thinking about what she said when he realized they forgot to put on her ankle alarm. Seeing it on the dresser, he got up and came back to the bed to secure it around her ankle.

When she stirred, he whispered, “It’s okay. I’m just putting on the alarm.”

Almost immediately, he knew she wasn’t in the same room with him. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing. A chill raced up his spine, disquieting his thoughts. It was the scariest thing he’d ever seen.

She rose and went to the window, pulling back the drapes.

And there on the frosted pane of glass was a handprint.

“Fuck.”

He backed up two steps and slammed into her dresser. The weather forecast called for a low of sixty-six tonight. They were on the second freaking story of the house. It wasn’t possible.

He walked up behind her and slid his finger over the glass. The frost was outside. So was the handprint. Just as he set his shaking hand down on his hip, the frost and handprint dissolved.

His gaze darted between her and the glass, wondering how often this happened. He remembered once, a while ago, she’d told him someone was outside her window. That she’d seen a hand.

He’d ignored her then, thinking she imagined it.

She stood there for a few moments before turning, leaving the room, and descending the staircase.

Nick grabbed his gun and cell from the nightstand and followed her. Brad had instructed him not to interfere or say anything once she was asleep, as it may force her to wake up. For once, they needed her to remain in that terrified state to get answers.

He dialed Brad’s cell while following her through the kitchen, holding back so she couldn’t hear.

“She’s on her way out the kitchen door,” he whispered when Brad picked up. “We forgot the alarm, and she took a sleeping pill. Meet us in the orchard.”

“Got it.”

“No flashlights, and set the alarm.” When Brad disconnected, Nick turned his cell ringer to vibrate and shoved it in his pocket, then set the alarm on the main house, shutting the door behind him.

While keeping Trish in sight ahead of him, Nick visually scanned the grounds. Brad jogged their way, breathing heavily through his nose to keep quiet. “You see anything?” Nick asked.

“No. She say anything yet?”

Nick shook his head.

There was no hesitation in Trisha. In her dream state, she walked right through the orchard, light as a feather, heading directly west to the hidden path. Eerily quiet, the only sounds were the crickets chirping and the steady breeze through the grass and leaves.

Trisha stopped in front of the trail and tilted her head, seemingly trying to listen. Brad looked over at him and shook his head, indicating he didn’t hear anything. Nick cocked his gun and turned full circle. The full moon illuminated the property enough to determine no one was there but them.

“I don’t like this,” Nick whispered. “There are too many places for someone to hide. And what if she turns blue again?”

One corner of Brad’s mouth quirked. “You sound like you care.”

Nick glared at him. “Shut up, Brad.”

Trisha stepped over the chain and stopped again.

“Here we go,” Brad whispered.

She stood for a few moments more, then walked forward into the darkness. Nick and Brad followed at a distance. Nick became even more disconcerted when they came to the spot on the trail where they heard that voice.

Trisha stopped in the same spot as before. Nick turned, unable to see anything but the woods behind him. Brad halted next to him and shrugged. He obviously couldn’t hear any movement either.

Trisha screamed. A bloodcurdling, terrified shriek that had Brad jumping and falling back, knocking them both to the ground. Just like that she stopped, leaving a ringing in Nick’s ears. Picking up his gun from next to him, he held out a hand for Brad.

“What in the hell was that?” Nick asked.

Brad seized a hand over his chest, stopping him from walking or speaking, and pointed ahead of them toward Trisha. Trisha was hunched over and rubbing her knee. An earlier conversation skittered to his memory. Her father said when she was found after the disappearance she had a cut knee.

Their theories of Alexandra kidnapping her shot out the window. Trisha probably wandered over here herself.
Was she found here, too? Worried she’d be in trouble, did she hide from her parents?

Glancing around, and satisfied no one heard her scream, he looked at Brad. “I think she’s remembering the…”

Trisha started mumbling to herself, her voice child-like and weepy. His blood turned cold.

“I fell down,” she said, then paused for someone to respond. Except no one was there. “Okay,” she said, the fear from her voice vanishing.

Nick watched for signs she was in trouble, but her skin didn’t change from her normal rosy hue, nor did the footsteps come.

Brad stood next to him, shaking his head. “This is nuts.”

Nick had to agree and was about to call this off and make Brad wake her, when she started walking further down the path. They followed her until she reached the fork where the driveway met the trail. It would be a matter of moments before the house became visible. Nick turned to warn Brad, but Trisha broke off in a run.

“What is she doing?” Brad asked, frustration evident, as they both ran after her.

“I have no idea.”

They rounded the bend and Brad stopped dead, eying the house, causing Nick to plow into his back. Brad recovered, his gaze searching for Trisha.

“She’s on the porch,” Nick said, the hairs on his arms erect.

With her back to them, she appeared to be studying the front door. They came to the foot of the porch steps and glanced up at her, prepared to follow her inside, but she turned around.

“Oh shit,” Brad said. “Look at her.”

Nick’s palm fisted his weapon in terror. Trisha’s skin had gone opaque and blue, her breaths expelling puffs of frost which should be inconceivable in the heat of the night.

“It’s happening again,” Nick choked out.

Unlike the last time though, she looked at him. Right at him. The drumbeat of his heart thrummed in his ears. Something, something intuitive and innate, told him this wasn’t Trisha they were looking at.

“Help me,” she hissed, her voice like a hollow echo. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” Brad said, his voice quivering. “Do something. How did this stop last time?”

Remembering, Nick passed Brad the gun and mounted the stairs. “Trisha,” he whispered and cupped her frozen cheeks. “Trisha, come on. You’re scaring us.”

Air wheezed in her lungs as she drew a breath, her eyes popping wide and searching. Her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on with a deadly force as color returned to her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, his heart beating once more.

Vigorously, she nodded, looking from him to Brad with panicked eyes. “Where are we?”

Brad groaned. “I’ll give you three guesses and you won’t need the first two.”

She let go of Nick and placed her hands over her mouth, quaking with such force Nick had to hold her arms to keep her upright. Slowly, she lowered her hands and turned her head away from them, the motion rigid.

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“Let’s get out of here,” Brad insisted.

Trisha tilted her head, not hearing them. Her stare remained focused to her left. Nick followed her gaze, seeing nothing but the remnants of what was once probably a beautiful garden. Everything now was dried and shriveled, resembling something like the plot of hell. Shrunken vines and broken branches laced with thorns littered the yard surrounding the porch.

“There used to be yellow roses there,” she said, edging Nick aside and descending the stairs. With Nick and Brad trailing after her, she walked around the side of the house, and stopped in front of the enormous stone fountain. “Get her out of the water,” she whispered.

Shivers tore up Nick’s spine. “Do you know what that means now?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to them. “This is where they found me. In the fountain.”

Chapter Fifteen

They returned to the main house just as Nick’s cell vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it and directed Trisha to sit on the couch. Her skin still felt cold. So did he.

Turning, he crouched and set another log in the fireplace. The fire popped as the new log caught. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried banishing what he saw out there tonight. More, how he felt seeing the woman he’d just made love to caught in a terrifying realm no one but her could understand.

Rising, he looked over at her, fighting an innate desire to pull her close and hold on. She hadn’t stopped shivering since she awakened on Drake’s porch, her beautiful eyes still vapid as if she hadn’t fully returned. Nick could do little but watch her in terror. It’s the most frustrated and helpless he’d ever felt.