Ultimate Sins (19 page)

Agonizing pleasure struck at the tender bud, at her womb. It sent forks of sharp, rasping sensation tearing through her vagina, clenched it, tightened around her clit. It suddenly imploded inside her with spirals of ecstasy so blistering, they ignited a harder, sharper explosion.

Her senses ruptured. Flying into a blinding, white-hot vortex of erupting sensation and clashing ecstasy, she feared she'd never survive it.

It shouldn't be like this.

She sobbed with the exquisite near agony of the ecstasy overtaking her, possessing her, marking her spirit.

As her pussy spasmed and milked at his cock, her release spilling around it, Crowe surged inside her in a final thrust that triggered his own orgasm and filled her with jet after jet of hot semen. A harsh, low male groan vibrated from his chest.

She could feel everything. The smallest touch, the stroke of air against her flesh, each cell of his body that met with hers amplified through her senses. The dampness of his perspiration stroking against her flesh, the heated warmth of hers as it met his already damp flesh.

Nothing escaped her senses. Not the pulse of his release, the rasp of his shirt against her nipples, or the breath that carried her name from his lips to stroke against the flesh of her neck where he'd buried them.

What also didn't escape her notice were those few precious seconds when she swore she could feel him so clear, so close that they must be a part of each other. That sense of unity, of completeness, brought her the first, fragile moments of peace in far more years than she could remember.

 

CHAPTER 10

It was days later before Crowe actually realized that Amelia had never really answered his question about Wayne's abuse.

He was immersed in reports from the Brute Force agents, the personal security team from the agency he co-owned with his cousins and the Resnova family.

Based in Sweetrock, the agency had garnered attention even before the Resnovas had invested in it. Now Crowe had every available agent not currently on assignment searching for Wayne Sorenson.

They were cutting off every venue of aid Wayne could possibly turn to. All his contacts were under investigation, or had an agent in place should Wayne attempt to contact them. Phones were tapped and the better part of the agency's considerable electronic strengths were aimed at detecting any and every sign of the murdering bastard.

Bank security cameras had spotted him walking into one of the larger banks in Aspen. The disguise he had worn was enough to fool the naked eye, but not the facial recognition software Ivan Resnova had contracted from the far-flung Resnova family member who had created it.

They'd almost had him.

They had a single agent in town. He'd slipped inside the bank to catch sight of Wayne, who had obviously spotted the agent first. He'd rushed from the bank before the team could reach it and disappeared in a throng of shoppers in the outdoor bazaar several streets away.

They had managed to find out why he was there, though, and they'd uncovered yet another of Wayne's identities. Under the assumed identity he'd rented a safe-deposit box years before. A court order was pushed through with the governor's influence, and the box was opened to reveal a handgun, ammunition, close to a million dollars' worth of high-grade, uncut diamonds, and several hundred thousand dollars in cash.

The assets were turned over to an account set up to eventually split them among the law enforcement agencies that had chased the Slasher for over fourteen years, as well as the family members of the victims Wayne and his partners had murdered.

So far, they'd found three safe-deposit boxes, two mountain cabins, as well as a home in Aspen. There were three vehicles, stashes of cash in each of the cabins, and a safe in the home that held more cash, stocks, and bonds in yet another assumed identity.

Wayne had been busy, Crowe reflected bitterly as he tossed the reports to the table before him and stared around the small room he'd taken to locate the multiple monitors and computers running the security programs and assessing national and state as well as private and business security systems throughout Colorado and several other surrounding states.

The little electronic bot programs Ivan sent out through the Internet to attach to the public security systems damned well beat any Crowe had seen outside the intelligence community. They sifted through millions of faces that passed thousands of cameras across Colorado, especially the counties closest to Corbin County.

Some days, Wayne was a busy little beaver.

A week before in Boulder, two days before that in Montrose. He hadn't yet ventured into Corbin County as far as the cameras had detected.

Crowe had a feeling Wayne was closer than any of them could guess, though. He wouldn't have left Corbin County, and—unlike the FBI agents—Crowe was sure he hadn't left the state or the country.

Wayne had no intentions of escaping. Nothing in the world mattered as much to the man as destroying the Callahans' lives before they had a chance to get used to the happiness they were finding.

And the news stations were flashing stories of the Callahans' happiness daily. Crowe made certain they were. They were especially focusing on Crowe and his new lover, Amelia Sorenson, the daughter of the man the world was coming to revile. The daughter the public was seeing as strong, compassionate, and a leading figure in past battles with the Slasher, the uncaring county attorney who had attempted to destroy the Callahans.

Stories were beginning to filter in about the many and varied citizens she'd helped escape the vengeful wrath of the man who wielded enough power to falsify evidence or have it planted against those he considered his enemies.

The young man whose family home was saved after Amelia had managed to slip the family's lawyer proof that the owner couldn't have been involved in the large excavation of marijuana found growing in his basement, because he had been out following his hobby. A camping and rock climbing enthusiast, he had been perched on a cliff somewhere in Asia about the time the crop had been planted, and he'd been recovering from a fall in Budapest when the authorities had harvested it.

He'd returned home in time to face several DEA agents and Wayne Sorenson as he'd unlocked his front door. Wayne had proof the owner couldn't have been involved. He'd attempted to destroy it, knowing the guide who'd dropped him off at the bottom of the cliff was on an extended trip somewhere in the Congo and unreachable. The doctor and nurse who had treated him and sent the original documents had then contracted a case of sudden forgetfulness after the file they'd sent Wayne “disappeared.”

Wayne thought he'd shredded all proof. Amelia had been terrified he was right until she checked the memory card she'd programmed the fax machine to store all information in. It was still there, within hours of being overwritten by the time she'd managed to get to the office ahead of Wayne and send it to the homeowner's attorney.

There were families who had nearly lost their homes after having their receipts for cash payments of land taxes mysteriously disappear. Records in the county attorney's office would show nonpayment with the county taking possession immediately to pay the delinquent bills. Just as mysteriously, those receipts would be found. Under a doormat, in a vehicle's seat; one had been found stuck in the collar of the family dog after it came in from a trip outside.

Hell, Crowe had known who had been behind it the minute he heard the stories, just as each victim had learned who had saved their lands or family members framed for crimes. Or even auxiliary members, it was rumored, whose husbands had been framed or sons targeted.

That story had been particularly satisfying to hear, Crowe thought. Watching it hours before, he'd smiled smugly at his own ingenuity in digging up the information. Because it sure as hell hadn't been easy. It wasn't as though Amelia had been wise enough to give him even a particle of the information he'd come up with. Hell no, his agents had dug it up by following this thread of information, then that one, then digging like sons of bitches to get enough to threaten to fill in the gaps themselves.

Only then had the auxiliary members—such as the mayor's wife, Ruth Anne Justin, and her daughter, Linda, the wife of the current Corbin County attorney, Jason Grandor—spilled their reluctant, less-than-pleased little guts.

Giving the security monitors that viewed the estate a final glance, he gestured to the tech to keep watch before leaving the room and going in search of Amelia. He knew she had an appointment scheduled that afternoon with several entertainers scheduled for the spring social season. Why she had elected to keep the meeting, he wasn't certain. He'd be damned if he would have given that damned auxiliary the satisfaction of doing any damned thing.

The fact that his sister had fought for and won the title of social planning director didn't affect his feelings on it whatsoever.

Hell, Anna should have known better that to take the position. She and Amelia both should have left that damned committee hanging in the wind. Just as they had intended to leave Amelia hanging.

Grimacing at the thought of their reactions should he voice his opinion, he stepped into the kitchen in time to watch Amelia finish her coffee next to the sink.

“You sure we're going to that meeting?” he asked her, bracing his hand against the door frame as he glared at her.

“Stop staring at me like that,” she ordered.

He narrowed his gaze. “Like what?” Like he wanted to fuck her? She should be used to that by now.

“Like you believe I should be locked away for my own safety or something,” she drawled, that slightest edge of amusement a hell of a lot better than the stoicism she'd carried in the past days.

“Or something,” he agreed with a disgusted little grunt. “Those women don't deserve your damned help.”

“Anna does,” she refuted.

“Anna only demanded the position to give it back to you,” he argued. “Only this time you have to drag Anna along with you, bitching every breath.”

*   *   *

Amelia couldn't help but grin at that comment, because it was the truth.

“She threatened to neuter the fairy clown yesterday.” She gave a muffled laugh at the memory as she moved away from the sink toward him. “Are you ready to leave?”

“What time's the damned meeting?” he asked.

She glanced quickly at the watch on her wrist. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Five minutes per block.” He grinned. “That works for me. It would give me time to talk some sense into you.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “It never takes me five minutes to walk a block, Crowe. If it takes you that long then I'm going to wonder how you keep all those tight, manly muscles.”

“Wal-Mart,” he stated somberly. “They were on special one weekend.”

Wal-Mart, her ass. If Wal-Mart was selling muscles like that, on special or not, then they'd stay packed.

“I'll be sure to post that information on Facebook,” she grinned as he helped her put on the heavy, faux-fur-lined coat over her shoulders. “I can think of a lot of interested parties.”

“I bought all they had,” he assured her as he opened the front door to face a black jacket wall of Brute Force agents. “Come on then, fairy-girl, let's take your little walk.”

“My little walk,” she murmured. “Who can enjoy it with a wall of bodyguards surrounding them?”

Stepping into the clear mountain air she inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the crisp, cold wintry air as they moved down the steps of the portico to the cement walk that led around the driveway to the black metal gates.

Gates that were free of reporters hanging off them for a change. They'd disappeared with Crowe's arrival at the house, and hadn't returned.

At least, not yet.

“How did you get rid of the leeches?” she asked as the small sidewalk gate was opened by one of the security agents.

Standing back, the two agents watched the area carefully as two moved in before them and two behind them.

“Feed the beasts and they'll go on their way,” he grunted.

“Until it's time for them to eat again,” she pointed out. “Then they'll be right back.”

“In that case, I may have a few meals prepared for their consumption,” he stated in satisfaction. “Let's just say we have them taken care of for a bit.”

Frowning, she tried to get a good look at the street across from them to get ideas for decorations should the Fairy Carriage use the street as one of its routes. She found her way blocked by a black wall.

“This is ridiculous, Crowe,” she muttered.

“Yeah, reporters tend to carry that title.” He spoke as though he believed they were still on the subject of journalists.

Glowering back at him, Amelia tightened her lips and came to a quick stop.

The agent behind her nearly tripped over her.

Crowe seemed unsurprised. Pausing, he looked down at her, one black brow arching arrogantly over those predatory eyes. “Problem, sweetheart?”

“Make them move,” she ordered, her tone completely reasonable and logical, she was certain. “I can't see where I'm going, nor can I get an idea of what's needed if I can't see the street as we walk.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But neither can anyone get a clear line of sight, either.”

Drawing on what little remaining patience she possessed, Amelia shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and glared up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Move them, Crowe, or I promise you I'll find a way to do what has to be done without you.”

His head lowered, his gaze hardening. “I'll take pictures for you. Hell, I'll have video taken for you, but I will not have them move and risk Wayne or some dumb bastard he's hired attempting to put a bullet in your head.”

Amelia curled her fingers into fists.

She liked to think she wasn't an ignorant person. She didn't get into public confrontations, no matter who the conflict was with. She didn't give others a reason to gossip about her if at all possible.