The Drake House (29 page)

“They were just calls,” she said on a sigh.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He ground out again.

She knew how wrong it was not telling him, but guilt kept her quiet. “Nothing happened, Nick. He repeated the same thing he said to you, to my parents.”

He stepped closer yet, completely in her space and yet not touching. Despite the madman’s threats, the chill of late fall outside, she heated as he neared. She still wanted him. Still wanted his moods and curt tone and heat, even though she’d repeatedly told herself otherwise. A tingle shot down her spine.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he whispered this time.

Then she realized he wasn’t talking about the threatening calls, at least not entirely. He was talking about
them
. Why didn’t she call him about the threats? About nothing? About everything. At any time during their absences, she could have called him.

“Because I missed you too.” The admission made her chest ache and her skin flush.

His gaze bore down on her, seemingly through her. An unreadable expression she’d come to loathe and love about him. Aside from a handful of people, no one bothered to look at her. To see her. Small towns came with small town stereotypes. Nick saw past that. Saw her. It was unnerving. Comforting.

Finally, he swallowed and looked away. “Let’s head inside.”

She grabbed his sleeve before he could turn away. “Where will you be sleeping, Nick?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth before coasting up to her eyes. “That would be up to you.”

The raw emotion in his eyes said it all. He was worried about her. He may love her, or think he did, but until he got over his past, he couldn’t ever really love anyone. Maybe she could help with that, maybe she couldn’t. Either way, this could only end badly. They both knew it.

Yet she took his hand and led the way.

****

Trisha was staring out her bedroom window at the now barren apple trees when Nick emerged from her bathroom after his shower. The night was quiet, as it typically was at season end. It would be slow-going until the spring again. The trees had been pruned, the equipment stored for the winter. The orchard hosted Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s parties in the quiet, cold months ahead. But this time of year always made her sad.

It had taken her more than a week, but she was finally able to look out the window again without the fear of seeing the shadow, hearing the voice, or finding a handprint. It seemed that exhuming Alexandra’s body had worked to remove the ghost of her too.

She didn’t turn to face him, but she could hear Nick sliding into a pair of sweats, something she’d learned was his preferred sleep gear. She was learning a lot by living with him. Like he didn’t sleep much, but when he did, he jumped at any minuscule movement she made. She wondered if that was because of her sleepwalking, or just his past catching up.

Like the frightening other events, her nightmares had stopped too. For the first time in thirty years, the nightmares were gone. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared for their imminent return.

She learned other things about Nick. She’d never lived alone, as there was always staff or her family around. But with Nick it was different. Personal on a gut deep level. They made love every night, in silence. It was rewarding, fulfilling, but lacking that intimacy of the one night at his house. She’d come to realize the reason he talked so sparingly was a defense mechanism against his feelings. She should have ascertained that after their first meeting when he told her she should smile more. He hadn’t said he loved her in the two weeks since he moved in. She hadn’t ever said it back.

Nick Mackey despised himself for what the job made him do. For what it did to his family. More, he despised himself for feeling happy again. Trisha figured what he hated most of all was that around her, he said things he didn’t like to admit. Part of that was helping him heal.

But how much of his true feelings for her was his need to protect? The ingrained nature to “fix” her? She’d been like this for thirty years, her whole life practically. What if there was no fixing her? Would there be anything left of a relationship when the case was over?

If it was ever over. There had been no more calls since the last one three weeks before. No incidents.

Nick sat on the side of the bed, waiting for her to join him. Always waiting, her Nick. She turned and studied his face as he stared back at her.

“You have that look again,” he murmured.

She felt a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. “What look is that?”

Instead of answering, he patted the bed next to him. “What’s wrong, Trish?”

She stayed where she was. “I don’t want to fight.” He raised his eyebrows, so she elaborated. “A couple weeks ago, you said…”

He rose and came to her when she trailed off, unable to complete the thought. “Yeah, I said it. You need to hear it again?”

She looked down, shook her head. “You
can’t
say it again. I don’t want you to.” If he told her he loved her, she’d be tempted to slip into that comfortable routine they once had. She’d never be able to crawl out, and neither would he. This vicious circle would continue forever. It wasn’t good for him. For her.

He leaned in, placing both palms on either side of her against the window frame. Had he been anyone else, the move would have made her feel boxed in. But with Nick, the gesture was intimate, reassuring.

His loud, audible swallow clicked in the silence. “After the accident,” he said, his voice tentative, “I lost the ability to see colors, taste food, or smell. The shrinks said it would come back eventually. That it was a reaction to stress.”

She glanced up from the hard planes of his chest to his face. He stepped closer still, blocking out her ability to look at his face. His hands remained rooted to the window frame, but his chest grazed her nipples, his erection pressed her stomach.

He slid his mouth to her ear, the heat of his breath fanning her cheek. “The first time I saw you in the police station, all my senses came back. Slowly, but they came back. I can’t smell peaches without wanting to be inside you. I can’t go ten seconds without thinking about you. For the first time in almost two years, I want to get better.”

She closed her eyes, expelled a shaky breath. “Nick—”

His mouth closed over hers, shushing any reply. Her heart cracked in her chest. Tears swam behind her lids.

He cupped her cheeks. “I don’t feel numb when I’m around you. I hurt. I laugh. I worry.”

She ran her fingers over his stomach, watching his eyes close and his jaw grind, fighting for restraint. She reached on her tiptoes and slid her tongue along his lips, tracing their soft firmness and warmth. His lips parted, but he didn’t try to kiss her back. Her fingers slipped inside the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down over his hips to pool on the floor.

His hands dropped to her shoulders, her hips, before bunching the fabric of her nightgown in his fists and yanking it over her head. He just stared at her, unblinking, taking his fill of her with his eyes. Each second burning her skin.

“This isn’t going to be fast, Trish,” he muttered, not touching her. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked at her for several heartbeats. “I’m going to take my time with you. Until there’s no one up there in your head but me. Until you can’t breathe, your muscles quake, and the only thing you can say is my name.”

Well, hell.
“Yes, please.”

He swallowed, his gaze softening. Reaching behind her, he pulled the chord, closing the drapes. Then he turned and walked to the door, engaging the lock, before coming to her side of the bed and switching off the lamp. Only then did he return, the deep want evident in his purposeful stride, the set of his mouth.

She couldn’t breathe.

Bending, never taking his eyes from her, he lifted her and carried her to the bed, setting her down on the soft sheets and covering her with his body.

She’d never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. So aroused. This felt like the first time. Like the last time.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

“So are you.”

He took her hands, kissing each palm and bringing them above her head. Her breasts pressed against his chest, aching to be touched. Instead, he kissed her, slowly, deliberately, until there was no breath in her lungs and she nearly begged.

With just a kiss.

Her sex ached, needing more, needing him. She spread her legs, wrapping them around his hips, drawing his shaft over her wet core.

He inhaled sharply and shook his head. “Not yet, Trish.”

His lips skimmed her jaw, her throat, before descending over each breast.
Lower.
God, lower
. His fingers dug into her skin, lifting her hips for his kiss between her thighs. He parted her, inserting one finger inside her heat, then two.

She reared off the mattress, pressing closer to his mouth, to the dangerous, delightful things he was doing to her body. She reached the brink of orgasm, again and again, only to have him pull back and start the maddening process again.

“God…Nick…
now
!”

In an instant, he flipped her, pressing her sensitive breasts into the mattress and covering her with his weight. His erection pushed against her opening as he spread her thighs wider for him.

Rearing back, wanting him inside her, filling her, she offered him better access by lifting her hips. He took her hands, tightening his hold on her fingers, and plunged inside her heat in one swift movement.

They both stopped, their breathing the only sound in the room. A rumbling growl erupted from his chest, quaking her back with the vibrations. He dropped his head and kissed her neck, sending a scorching trail to her ear, before whispering, “I love you.”

Before she could react, he pumped, his hips hitting her bottom, his shaft swelling inside her for release, and sending shock waves of awareness to her every nerve. With each purposeful thrust she came undone, until there was nothing left. Nothing but him and her.

Behind her, he tensed, ready to follow her over his own crest, as she came again.

Chapter Twenty-One

They drove to Madison in silence to meet with Lafferty’s team. Alexandra Drake’s autopsy was complete. Afterward, they’d be heading to the state building to meet with Karen Fox, Trisha’s former caseworker who handled her adoption and foster case.

A light dusting of snow fell overnight. The roads were clear, but traffic was slow-going after the first snow of the year.

Nick glanced over at Trisha and then back to the road. She hadn’t said much since last night. When they woke this morning and he told her he had to head into Madison, she insisted on coming, but said nothing since. Nick had a disturbing feeling he was losing her.

He said things last night, things he’d been keeping to himself for weeks. He thought she should know the extent of his feelings for her. He didn’t know where this would lead, if anywhere, but he did know he couldn’t breathe without her. It scared the shit out of him. He didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need to bring anyone into his sick life. But there it was.

There she was.

Lafferty met them at the Madison PD door, and if he was surprised to see Trisha with him, the detective hid it well. Lafferty led them back to the conference room in silence where his partner, Kit, Annie from the lab, and the coroner, Bill Gantry, were waiting.

Lafferty introduced Tricia to the rest of the team, then took a seat across from them. His mouth thinned. “First off, all the financials came back clean. No one has withdrawn large sums of money, at least, not large enough to explain a hit. The rest of the news I’m going to let Gantry explain.”

Gantry spread out a series of X-rays on the table before them. “There wasn’t much left of the victim to do any decent tissue samples. In any event, she had been embalmed, so drug screens would have been compromised. These are a different story.” He pushed an X-ray of her hands toward them and rose to come around the table. He pointed to a darkened area. “Her left wrist had a micro fracture, and two fingers—the index and middle—were broken at the second knuckle.”

That seemed to fit the bruising they saw on her hands in the police photos. “Were they recent breaks? Done after death, or before?” Nick questioned.

Gantry cleared his throat. “There’s no sign of healing, so the injuries would have occurred within days or hours of death. Possibly very shortly after.”

“I don’t understand,” Trisha said from next to him. “Did she break them trying to…”

Gantry, obviously understanding her level of discomfort, quickly added, “No. This was murder, not suicide.” He reached across the table to another X-ray, pointing to her spine and neck. “The hyoid bone was not broken.” At everyone’s blank stare, he continued. “Hyoid is the bone located by the soft palate and the oropharynx.” Gantry pointed to the X-ray where Alexandra’s throat would be. “In cases of neck or throat trauma, or strangulations and hangings, the hyoid bone is broken. The victim was found hanging, but not with enough force to break the bone.”

“Her name was Alexandra Drake,” Trisha whispered. “Not victim. Alexandra. Drake.”

The room went silent. Trisha wasn’t accustomed to police jargon, nor the need to separate emotions from each case. They’d eat away until there was nothing left if emotions became involved.

After several moments, Lafferty asked, “So if she didn’t hang herself, how did Miss Drake die?”

Nick could’ve kissed the guy for appeasing Trish.

Gantry slid the last X-ray over. “Blunt force trauma to the head. She was struck in the back of her head, in the occipital region. That close to the cerebellum would have knocked her out immediately. She probably never woke up.”

“What was she hit with?”

Gantry rounded the table and took his seat as Annie rose from hers. She held up the X-ray of Alexandra’s skull. “That is a bit unclear. According to the fractures, the weapon was approximately four to six inches wide, and eight to ten inches long. An oval or rectangular shape.”