Kill for Me

Chapter Twenty-one

Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 6:15 p.m.

The cameraman and Gretchen are both in serious, but stable condition,” Chase said when they’d regrouped. “The cop Bobby shot is already home and resting.”

“Thank God,” Talia said. “Poor Gretchen has been through a lot in the last week.”

“Haven’t we all?” Susannah murmured, very quiet now. Luke recognized the signs of adrenaline crash, knowing he would soon follow. But for now he was still on edge, his heart racing every time he thought about the hole in her sweater, right over her heart.

She now wore a GBI sweatshirt. Luke had entered her sweater into evidence, along with the gun she’d had in her purse. Luke knew from where it had come, just as he knew Leo would have made sure there was no way it could be traced back to him.

Luke would be indebted to Leo for the rest of his life.

“The cameraman was actually thrilled,” Ed said. “When he dropped his camera, it fell lens up. He got footage of Bobby’s face. It’s already on CNN.”

“We found Marianne Woolf’s car. Marianne was in the trunk, tied and gagged,” Luke said. “She’d been there since before this morning’s press conference. She got a call from Bobby asking to meet her and when she did, Bobby overpowered her and shoved her in the trunk. She stole her press pass first.”

“How did Bobby get a gun?” Pete asked. “Everyone went through a metal detector.”

Luke and Chase shared a look. This would not be pleasant for any of them.

“The gun came from our evidence room,” Chase said.

There was dead silence. Every expression was first disbelieving, then horrified, then furious. Then suspicious. “Checked out by whom?” Pete asked darkly.

Hank Germanio’s face hardened as Pete and Nancy threw wary glances his way. He said nothing and Luke actually felt sorry for him.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed at Chase, then Luke. “You know who it is. Tell us. Now.”

The hurt was still in Chase’s eyes. “Atlanta PD found Leigh’s body in her house, in her bathtub. She’d…” He swallowed audibly. “She’d eaten her gun.”

For several seconds no one said a word. No one breathed. What had been suspicion on their faces transformed back into disbelief, then utter shock.

“Leigh?” Talia finally asked. “Leigh Smithson?”

“Our Leigh?” Pete whispered.

Chase swallowed again. “Yes.”

“But why?” Nancy asked, her voice cracking. “Why did she do it?”

“We don’t know,” Chase said. His jaw went taut. “Yet. But we will.”

“It makes sense,” Luke said. “The witnesses or suspects who were killed before we could find them. Leigh was feeding Bobby information. Her LUDS showed she called the phone we found in Bobby’s coat.”

Talia slumped in her chair. “But how did she know what happened in here?”

“She put a listening device here, in this conference room,” Ed said.

“I’ll keep you updated on the investigation into Leigh’s motives,” Chase said. “Now, we need to focus on finding Bobby. She’s disappeared. We’re watching Ridgefield House, the bunker on the river, and the house she shared with Garth.”

“We checked her computer,” Luke said. “And her main clients. She doesn’t appear to be with any of them. We’ve checked every Davis relative and nobody’s seen her.”

“What about Granville’s thích?” Susannah asked quietly.

Chase sighed wearily. “I’m not disputing he exists, Susannah, but until we have some evidence that he’s physically done something to someone-”

“He did,” Susannah interrupted. “Monica said he was in the bunker, talking to Granville, that Granville asked him to help break her. Whether this guy laid a hand on Monica or not, he knew she was there. That’s conspiracy to commit kidnapping.”

“She’s right,” Chloe said.

Yes, she is, Luke thought, pride and respect for her swelling anew. Even with all she’d been through, her mind still worked with clockwork precision.

“Besides,” Susannah added. “Maybe that’s where Bobby’s hiding.”

Chase rubbed his temples. “You’re right. Suggestions?”

“We get Darcy’s killer to talk,” Susannah said. “He knows who he is but he’s afraid.”

“I’ll call Al Landers,” Chloe said. “We’ll work on getting through to Darcy’s killer.”

“We’ve got Bobby’s photo posted with every agency in the tristate area and with Customs in case she tries to leave the country,” Chase said.

“Which is only good if she travels under her own name,” Susannah countered.

“You’re right again,” Chase said tightly. “But until we know more, that’s all we can do. We meet again at eight in the morning.”

“Susannah,” Chloe said. “Can you give me a minute? I need to talk to you.”

Susannah remained seated as everyone filed out, as did Luke. Chloe lifted her brows and Luke shook his head, not liking the vibe. “I’m staying, Chloe.”

Chloe shrugged. When the door was closed she turned to Susannah. “Your gun.”

“My father’s,” Susannah said.

“It’s not marked or registered,” Chloe said. “Serial numbers are filed off.”

“I didn’t think to look at serial numbers. I’m sorry.”

Chloe shook her head. “Oh, please. You’re far too smart to make a mistake like that. But let’s move on. You were carrying a concealed weapon without a license.”

“She has one,” Luke protested. “In New York.”

“Not recognized here,” Chloe said. “No reciprocity exists.”

“What’s the point?” Luke asked. He’d known this was coming. Still, it made him mad.

“The point is that every reporter in that room saw Susannah shoot that woman with an unregistered gun she has no license to carry. I can’t let that slide by.”

“For God’s sake, Chloe,” Luke snapped, but Susannah put her hand on his.

“It’s all right. I knew what I was doing when I put the gun in my purse. I knew Bobby would stop at nothing. I knew I was vulnerable. I didn’t want to die. So I took one of my father’s guns and put it in my purse and shot the woman in front of a room full of cameras.” She met Chloe’s gaze. “Will you charge me?”

Chloe looked uncomfortable. “Dammit, Susannah.”

“If I hadn’t had the gun, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Susannah said, calmly. “Bobby had her gun pointed at me from inside her pocket. You know she’d already fired three shots, one that hit me. So I shot her and I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not going to charge you in the shooting,” Chloe said. “It was clearly self-defense. But, Susannah, what kind of example would I be making if I let you get away with breaking the law? What would you do if our roles were reversed? Be honest.”

“I’d have to charge you,” Susannah said.

Luke gritted his teeth. “Susannah.”

“The law is clear, Luke. Chloe doesn’t really have a choice.”

“I know.” Chloe closed her eyes. “Dammit.”

“You said that already,” Susannah said dryly. One side of her mouth lifted. “You wanna sleep on it, Counselor?”

Chloe let out a surprised chuckle, then sobered. “You could get disbarred.”

Susannah’s smile faded. “I know. But I’d rather be disbarred than interred.”

Luke thought of the bullet hole in her blouse again and had to draw a deep breath.

“I’d have done the same,” Chloe murmured. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

“Chloe, I did what I needed to do. You do what you need to do. I won’t fight you.”

“If you did I’d feel better,” Chloe grumbled.

“It’s not my job to make you feel better,” Susannah said evenly.

Chloe glared at her. “Goddamn it. Doesn’t anything rattle you?”

“Yeah,” Susannah said bitterly. “Lots of things, but one in particular comes to mind. What the hell did that reporter mean when he said Garth Davis denied raping me?”

Chloe sighed. “Tomlinson said he got an anonymous tip about the Darcy Williams murder, and that Garth Davis hadn’t raped you, and to check it with Garth himself. He did and Garth confirmed, categorically denying having assaulted you in any way.”

“But my picture…” Susannah closed her mouth.

“Her picture was in that box with the others,” Luke said, stowing his desire to rip Garth Davis’s fucking head off.

“I know,” Chloe said. “I talked to the tech who’s been categorizing the photos. She says there were nude shots and rape shots. She said there were sixteen victims photographed nude, but only fifteen being assaulted. Susannah, you weren’t.”

Susannah stiffened, but said nothing, and Luke remembered their conversation in Monica’s ICU room the day before. He did at least one, she’d said, talking about Simon. How had she known?

“Garth’s lying,” Susannah said softly. Too softly. Her hand that held his trembled.

“We’ll talk to him,” Luke promised. “But not today. I’m taking you home.”

Chloe stood. “I’m gonna sleep on it. I’ll give you my decision tomorrow.”

When Chloe was gone, Luke pulled Susannah into his arms. “It’ll be all right,” he murmured into her hair. “One way or another.”

She hung on tight, her whole body trembling. “How do you know?”

He pressed his lips to her forehead before tipping up her chin to meet her gaze. “Because you’ve survived a hell of a lot worse alone. And you’re not alone anymore.”

Emotions churned in her eyes. The fury and fear he understood. The gratitude made him angry. But it was the hope that made his own eyes sting. She smiled at him then, and leaned up on her toes to brush her lips over his, sending every nerve singing. “Then it’ll be all right. Let’s get out of here. I think I could sleep a year.”

Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 7:45 p.m.

“Goddammit,” Bobby hissed, her lips white with pain. “Be careful.”

Charles lifted his brows at her. “I can call 911 if you prefer.”

Bobby glared. “I said I was sorry for this morning and I’ve thanked you a thousand times for coming to help me, even though it took you long enough to get here.”

“I told you I couldn’t just drop everything. I was with a client.”

“Which one?” she demanded.

He shot her a sober look. “And this became your business since when?”

She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. Just get the damn thing out, all right?”

He chuckled suddenly, remembering the look on Rose Bowie’s face when his cell had started vibrating on the table just as he’d started to commune with the spirit world. “You called at a perfect time, actually. I thought Rose Bowie would have coronary.”

“Rose Bowie? What did that old bag want?”

“She was worried violence would mar her daughter’s funeral tomorrow,” he said, pulling Bobby’s arm far harder than he needed to. “Rose didn’t want a scene like there was at that Sheila Cunningham’s service. Since I was reasonably sure you had no more staff to shoot, I told her it would be fine.”

“And for this she paid you?”

“A considerable fee, both for the reading and to keep our sessions secret. Her husband’s constituency would not approve of her dabbling in the occult, nor would Rose’s friends at the Baptist church.” Rose was one of his most lucrative clients.

Although Carol Vartanian had paid much more. Charles missed their sessions. Who knew that under that cool exterior beat the heart of a woman who had truly despised her husband? She’d started coming to Charles to see her future and he’d made certain that just enough of it had come true to keep Carol believing every word that came from his mouth. She’d kept coming out of a perverse desire to do exactly what would have enraged her husband the most.

That sex had been Carol’s best weapon had been his gain. Yes, he missed Carol Vartanian. Susannah looked a lot like her mother. It would have been such a pleasure to initiate her, to have her hang on my every word. But that was no longer in the cards, as it were. That Susannah would die was never in doubt. That she’d die painfully became an inevitability the night she destroyed one of his best and brightest.

An eye for an eye was a fool’s trade, Pham had always said. His mentor had never been wrong. Charles bent over Bobby’s arm, his movements harsh as he dug the bullet from her flesh. “You took a chance coming here. To this house.”

“They won’t look for me here and if they do, there are tons of places to hide. Shit,” she hissed again. “That hurts.”

He imagined it did. He handed her a bottle of Arthur’s best scotch. “Drink this.”

She pushed it away. “I can’t be drunk. If they come looking, I have to be sharp.”

“You said they wouldn’t look for you here.” He tugged, earning more hissed curses.

“Who taught you bullet removal, Joseph Mengele?” she muttered.

“Actually, I learned when I had to pull a bullet out of my own leg,” he said mildly.

Her gaze whipped over to the walking stick he’d propped against the table. “Oh.”

Charles pulled the bullet out with a twist. He’d actually had it in his grip several times, but playing with Bobby had suddenly become old. He held it in the palm of his hand for her to see. “You want to keep it as a souvenir?” he mocked.

“Did you?” she asked bitterly. “When some Vietcong soldier shot you?”

Charles considered slapping Bobby senseless, but he wouldn’t have to slap that hard. There was no sport in breaking her when she was hanging on to control by a thread. But she was hanging on, and a small part of him had to admire her for that, so he answered her. “Actually I did. I kept the bullet to remind me how much hate I felt at that moment. I needed that hate to survive. And I was not shot by the Vietcong,” he added. It was a point of pride, after all.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Then who shot you?”

She’d never asked before. She’d never had the nerve. Toby Granville had asked long, long ago. He’d been only thirteen and far more self-confident than Bobby had ever been. Charles had answered Toby then. He decided to answer Bobby now. “Another American soldier. We’d escaped together.”

Her eyes opened, narrow slits as he cleaned the wound. “From where?”

“A hell-hole in Southeast Asia otherwise known as a POW camp.”

She let out a breath between her teeth. “That explains a lot.” She flinched when he jabbed the needle into her flesh. “Sir. So why did he shoot you?”

“Over a crust of bread,” he said, still mildly, although speaking the words aloud brought the cauldron within him to a steady boil. “Then he left me to die.”

“Obviously you didn’t.”

“Obviously.” But that wasn’t a story he’d share.

She gritted her teeth as he began to suture the wound. “And your revenge?”

“Slow in coming.” Charles thought of the man who sat in a New York prison for a crime he had not committed, protecting the family he’d never had the chance to know. The man who deserved every day of his torment, and more. “But long in duration and well worth the wait. Every day I smile knowing that every day he suffers. Mind, body, and soul. For the rest of his natural life.”

She was quiet while he stitched. “Why didn’t you just kill him?” she finally asked.

“Because in his case, death was too quick.”

She nodded, her teeth imprinting her lower lip, but she didn’t cry out. This was the tough girl he’d met all those years ago. This was the backbone he hadn’t seen in some time. He pulled hard on the suture. She sucked in a harsh breath, but remained silent, so he pushed her further. “Susannah, on the other hand…”

“I want to see her dead,” Bobby said between her teeth. “But it won’t be quick.”

“Good,” he said, a little too vehemently, and she looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You hate her, too. Why?”

He frowned, angry with himself for being so transparent. “My reasons are my own.”

She frowned back. “All these years you’ve pushed me to hate her. To take back what’s mine.”

He bandaged her arm. “As you should. Susannah lived the life to which you were entitled.” He placed her arm inside a sling and stepped back. “I’m finished with you.”

“I’m not finished with you. You’ve pushed me for years to kill her for you. Why do you hate Susannah Vartanian? What did she take of yours?” When he didn’t answer she grabbed his arm with her free hand. “Tell me.” She towered over him, blue eyes flashing cold fire, and for the briefest of instants he felt a tiny spear of fear.

Well done, he thought, proud of her once more. Carefully he removed her hand from his sleeve. “Sit down before you fall down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

She sat, shaky, pale, but still intense. “Tell me,” she repeated, more quietly. “If I’m going to kill her for you, I at least deserve to know why. What did she take of yours?”

Charles met her eyes. She made a fair point. “Darcy Williams.”

Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 7:45 p.m.

“Susannah, wake up. We don’t want to be late.”

Susannah fought her eyelids open, then sat straight up, looking around. “Why are we here?” Here was the airport and Luke was pulling into the parking garage.

“Surprise,” was all he’d say. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“Why are we here?” she asked again when he led her to baggage claim, toward the wall where the oversized luggage had been placed. “You had my clothes sent? But how…?” The question trailed as he took her shoulders and turned her. Susannah stared for a moment, then her heart flooded. “Oh.” She ran to the hard pet carrier sitting against the wall, falling to her knees to peer in the little wire door. A familiar face peered out, happy to see her. Thor. “How did you do this?”

“Al and I arranged it with your kennel.”

She opened the little wire door wide enough to stroke her dog’s silky coat. “Good girl,” she murmured. “I missed you. Soon. You can come out soon.” She locked the door, then looked up at Luke, and the tenderness on his face closed her throat.

“You missed her,” he said. “I thought it might be easier for you if she was here.”

She stood, swallowing hard. “You are a very nice man.”

His brows waggled. “And?”

She laughed. “And sinfully sexy.” And he was, reminding her of a pirate with his stubbled jaw, dark eyes, and devilish smile. Joy bubbled up and she surprised herself by throwing her arms around his neck. She’d surprised him, too, by the sharp intake of his breath. But he caught her to him, lifting her feet from the floor.

Then she sucked in a breath of her own as she felt him hard against her, suddenly, fully aroused. Her skin prickled and her body answered and that fast she wanted him.

You don’t have to stop this time. He knows it all. And he doesn’t care. So stop being a coward. She pulled back to see his face and her racing heart accelerated. The tenderness on his face was gone, replaced with raw hunger.

“Thank you.” Then she kissed him, full and lush, and felt his big body shudder.

He’d needed this, too. The knowledge made her want to kiss him again, so she did until he made a sound deep in his throat, relief mixed with frustration.

“Not here,” he said, leaning his head back and drawing a breath that pressed his chest into her breasts. New shivers shook her and she brushed her mouth along the strong line of his throat, feeling his pulse throb beneath her lips.

Behind them Thor yipped in the crate, yanking Susannah back to reality. “Oh.”

Luke’s lips twitched as he put her down, setting her well away from him. “Can you thank me again like that later when we’re not in a crowded airport?”

Her cheeks heated, but she refused to look away. “Yes.”

His hands flexed wide as if he’d reach for her again. Instead he shoved one hand into his pocket and pulled out a nylon leash. “It’s Darlin’s. We’ll have to stop and get another for…” He picked up the small crate and grimaced.

“Thor,” she supplied helpfully. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just not right. A dog named Thor should weigh more than twenty pounds.”

She smiled at him. “And ugly bulldogs shouldn’t be named Darlin’?”

He huffed. “She’s not that ugly.”

She laughed. “You’re just an old softie.”

“Thank me again when we get home,” he promised, “and I won’t be.”

Her heart started racing again and she found she liked the feeling, the anticipation. The thrill. “It’s a date.”

Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 7:45 p.m.

Bobby watched Charles methodically clean his surgical tools. He had quite a collection. She supposed some secrets he learned took a little more force to pry free than others. Having been on the receiving end of his scalpel today, she understood how he’d become so successful at breaking down his opponents’ defenses.

“So…” She tilted her head slightly. “Who was Darcy Williams?”

“She was one of mine.”

She nodded. He’d used that same terminology that morning. “Like Paul?”

He nodded. “Like Paul.”

“Is Paul your son?”

He smiled at that. “Of a fashion.”

“Did you raise Paul?”

“Yes.”

“And Darcy, too?”

“More or less.”

“But Susannah didn’t kill Darcy Williams.”

His eyes went cold. “She didn’t beat her to death, no. But Susannah made it necessary for Darcy to die.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t intend for you to.” He snapped his bag closed. “Call me when you’re ready to make your move. I’d like to be there.”

Bobby watched him leave, leaning more heavily on his walking stick than he normally did. “Charles?”

He turned, his face hard as stone. “What?”

She touched her bandage. “I pay my debts, so here’s some information. I learned from my GBI mole that Susannah Vartanian described the man who raped her in New York to a police artist. My mole was asked to fax that picture to the DA in New York so he could show it to the man who’s sitting in prison for the murder of Darcy Williams.”

For the first time ever Bobby saw Charles pale. “Did your mole fax this sketch?”

“No.” She lifted her brows. “I asked her why today as she was driving me away from the press conference. She said the man in the sketch was the cop who’d caught her, who hadn’t arrested her, who’d been holding her crime over her head, biding his time. Since Paul was the cop who’d given her to me, connecting the dots wasn’t difficult. And since Paul is important to you…”

He nodded, just once. “Thank you, Bobby.”

It was the first time he’d ever thanked her. After thirteen years, it was far too little, far too late. “Consider yourself compensated for the bullet removal. Sir.”

Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 8:45 p.m.

“That’s so cute.” Susannah stood in Luke’s bedroom doorway, smiling at Thor, who had curled up next to Darlin’ in a laundry basket, on top of Luke’s laundry. They’d brought back Chinese takeout and eaten it off his mama’s fine china, talking about wonderfully neutral subjects. By mutual unspoken agreement neither had mentioned Bobby or thíchs or pending concealed-weapons charges.

Neither had they mentioned the kiss in the airport, but the memory of it hung thickly between them. The anticipation had built, sweetly.

Now, Susannah’s heart beat hard, wondering what would happen next.

Luke stopped behind her. “No, it’s not cute,” he protested. “That laundry was clean.”

“Next time, put your clothes away.”

“Put your clothes away,” he mimicked nasally. “You sound like my mother.”

His arms came around her, locking over her stomach, which was turning delightful little cartwheels. He rocked her gently from side to side and she leaned her head back against his chest, comfortable with a man for the first time in her life.

“I had a nice time with your family today.”

“Good. They were thrilled to have you.”

“And you, too? Were you thrilled to have me?” She’d intended her tone to be light. Instead the words came out reedy. Husky. Needy.

There was a beat of tense silence, then Luke tugged the collar of her borrowed sweatshirt from her throat. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I haven’t had you yet.” His mouth found the curve of her shoulder and she shivered, tilting her head to give him better access, holding her breath to see what would happen next.

“Will you?” she asked but he shushed her, massaging her shoulders.

“Don’t talk,” he murmured, his lips tickling her skin, his fingers working magic between her shoulder blades. “You just went all tense on me. I want you relaxed. I want that mind of yours to take a rest. Don’t think about what will or won’t happen. Just feel. Feel this.” He twisted her hair around his fist and gently pulled her head forward, brushing kisses down her neck. “Feel good?” he murmured when she sighed.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He pushed her head to the other side, and she hummed deep in her throat when he treated her to the same teasing caresses on the other side. “This is how it should be,” he said. “You should feel good, want more. Do you want more?”

He was making this so easy. So sweet. Slowly she nodded and he went still for a moment. Then his hands slipped under her sweatshirt, warm on her skin. Her stomach muscles clenched and she felt him smile against her neck. “Ticklish?”

“More like nervous.” She tensed as his fingers slowly climbed her rib cage.

She heard him swallow and his hands ceased. “I think we need to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you. But I won’t push you. I want you crazy for me, not afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but even she could hear the tremble in her voice.

“You don’t want to be. And soon you won’t be. But I can only hold back so much.”

And he was holding back, but he hadn’t retreated. Even though his hands had stopped, they hadn’t withdrawn. His thumbs were mere inches from the fullest part of her breast, tempting, tantalizing.

She didn’t want to be afraid. Today she’d faced a killer without fear. To be afraid of this, her own sexuality, seemed ludicrous and more than a little sad. She was standing in the arms of a good, decent man who knew everything about her and wanted her anyway. She’d walked away from too many things in her life.

There was no way in hell she was walking away from this.

Before he could say another word she pushed his hands up. His groan mixed with hers as he claimed her, covering her lace-covered breasts with his palms. It felt good. Too good. And not nearly enough. She pressed back against him, feeling him hard and ready against her. She wriggled, wringing another groan from his chest.

“No,” he said, his mouth on her neck. “Not yet.” She pressed harder backward. His thumbs found her nipples and electricity sizzled over her skin. “It’s not time.” But he was breathing hard in her ear and his hips were thrusting, the rhythm making her crazy for him. “Dammit, Susannah. Tell me to stop. Please.”

And he would stop if she asked. She knew it. Just as she knew she didn’t want him to. “I almost died today.”

“I know. I can’t stop seeing it happen again and again. But that’s not good enough reason to do this now, tonight. We’ve got time. Lots of time.”

“I’ve waited long enough. I came back here to get my life back. Help me do that.”

He hesitated. “How do you want it?” he asked roughly.

The question thrilled her darkly and she thought about the dusty box he’d hidden back in his closet. But this was new. She was new.

“I want to see if I can do it… normally.”

“Susannah, any way we do it will be normal. I promise you that.”

“I… want to see your face.”

He stilled, laying his cheek on the top of her head. “Give me a minute.” She counted the beats of her heart until he slid his hands out from under her sweatshirt. “Go sit on the bed.”

She obeyed, watching as he lifted the basket, dogs and all. He put them outside the door, closed it firmly. Then he knelt in front of her. “You’re sure this is what you want.”

She nodded, meeting his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“All right.”

She expected him to rise then, but he stayed where he was, running his hands up and down her calves. “What?”

He smiled. “You New York women,” he teased. “Slow down, Susannah. Stay a while.” He looked up, his eyes gleaming. “I intend to.”

Her chest tightened and she had no response, which made him smile.

“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a skirt like this.”

“At my parents’ funeral. Last week,” she managed, and he nodded.

“I wondered then what it would be like with you. What it would take to get you out of that proper suit. What would it take?”

She swallowed. “Ask me. Nicely.”

He sat back on his haunches. “Take off your skirt for me. Please.”

Her heart thundering, she slid off the bed. His hands played up and down her legs as she struggled with the button at her back. He watched, black eyes intense. Finally she simply yanked the button off and his lips twitched. “That was your last clean skirt.”

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused unsteadily.

He lifted his brows. “Aren’t you?”

She was, she realized. “Yes.” She stood, her hands stilled on the zipper, making him wait this time. His eyes went dark and his hands tugged at the hem and she complied, easing the zipper down and pushing the skirt past her hips.

He took it the rest of the way, staring at the lace underwear Mitra had so skillfully chosen. “Pretty,” he said, huskily. She started to take them off but he stopped her. “Not yet. Sit back down.” He leaned in close and pressed his lips to the inside of one thigh, then the other, until her legs quaked.

“Luke,” she whispered, waiting for his mouth to touch her where she throbbed, but he didn’t, bypassing her panties entirely. He pushed the sweatshirt up only far enough to kiss her stomach.

“I keep thinking about you kneeling in the woods in your bra.” His voice was ragged. “Show it to me now. Please.”

Again she complied, knowing he was exciting himself as well as her. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, waiting. He drew a breath, let it out. “Nice. Very nice.” Gently he pushed her knees apart and knelt between them, running his hands up her back. He kissed his way up her stomach, then between her breasts. She waited, holding her breath, but he kept going up, kissing the hollow of her throat. Her laugh was strangled.

“Luke.” She felt him smile against her throat.

“Are you having a nice time, Susannah?”

She wanted to throttle him. “Yes. No. Dammit, what are you waiting for?”

“I’m wooing you,” he said lightly. “You want to rush through. I’ve waited for a long time for this.” He nuzzled her breast through her bra and she gasped.

“You met me last week.”

“But I’ve waited for you forever.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes sharp. “I have. That sounds like a line, I know. But it’s the truth.”

She ran her thumb across his jaw, feeling his stubble tickle her skin. “I know.” She leaned forward, touched her lips to his. “I have, too.”

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“Then stop teasing me,” she whispered back. “Do it.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth.” She swallowed. “On me.”

His smile was fierce. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” God, she felt like she was going to explode. She flattened her palms on his cheeks and pulled his face to her breast. Hungrily he took her in his mouth, sucking hard through the lace. His hands twisted the clasp at her back, popping it free with startling ease. But she didn’t think about where he’d learned the trick, because he was pulling the bra away and his mouth was on her flesh. She held him close, her head thrown back, eyes closed, absorbing.

He pulled away, just enough to see her face. “Susannah.”

She dropped her head forward, focusing on his face, already missing him. “What?”

“Watch,” he said thickly. “Watch us.”

She lifted her eyes to the mirror over his dresser and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his dark head at her breast. Erotic. Sweet. The combination left her breathless. His hands clutched her thighs, his thumbs teasing at the lace edge of the panties she knew had to be soaked clean through. “Luke.”

He looked up, his mouth wet from sucking her breasts. “What do you want?”

She was shivering uncontrollably. But the words simply would not come.

His eyes dropped to her panties, then looked back up, hungry. “Well?”

“Please,” she whispered.

“Ask me,” he said. “Nicely.”

She pursed her lips. Her cheeks flamed hot. But he wasn’t moving. He was waiting. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Taste me. Please.”

He threw her legs over his shoulders, then groaned, and whatever she’d intended to say evaporated because finally his mouth was on her. He kissed and licked and nipped, all through the lace until she thought she’d die. She pushed at the panties, until he shoved them down her legs. His tongue went deep and she groaned, long and loud. But orgasm shimmered frustratingly out of reach. “Luke. I can’t.”

He worked two fingers up into her. “Yes you can. Come for me, Susannah. Let me see you.” He opened her up and kissed her again, sweetly, slowly building her back until she was gasping once more. She was so close, teetering on the edge.

So close and not there. “I can’t.” Tears burned her eyes. “Dammit.”

He lurched to his feet, kicked off his trousers, and ripped open a condom. “Stand.”

She blinked away the tears and looked up at him, breathing hard. “What?”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the dresser. “Look at me,” he said harshly, wrapping her hair around his fist, forcing her chin up. “Look at my face.”

She did, staring at him in the mirror as he spread her legs with his knee and entered her in one hard, deep stroke and on a low cry she came, convulsing around him. His face tightened and he thrust hard once, twice, and on the third time he threw his head back and groaned her name. Then he sagged, pressing her against the dresser.

She laid her cheek on the cool wood. “Oh my God.”

He was breathing hard, every breath pushing her into the dresser. “You came,” he said, satisfaction in his tone.

“Yeah.” She struggled up on her elbows and stared at him in the mirror. “Thank you.”

He smiled, still puffing. “My pleasure. Any time. I mean that.”

A laugh bubbled up. “I did it. My God, I did it. Without…” She faltered.

“Paraphernalia of any kind,” he supplied cheerfully. “No whips, chains, or cuffs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Yeah. That. I did that.”

He lifted his brows. “I helped.”

She laughed again. “I’d say so. Now, if I don’t go to sleep soon, I’m going to die.”

He backed away, then lifted her into his arms easily, carrying her to the bed. He tucked her under the covers. “Where should I sleep?”

She looked up at him. “Do you want to be alone at three a.m.?”

His eyes flickered. “No.”

“Then sleep here.” She smiled. “I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

He chuckled. “Damn.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 12:45 a.m.

The throbbing in her arm woke Bobby with a start. She poured herself a cup of water from Grandmother Vartanian’s silver tea service, swallowed the Ibuprofen Charles had left, then tried to relax in the sleeping bag she’d liberated from the basement. The sleeping bag had Daniel Vartanian’s name neatly printed on the label, along with the number of his Boy Scout troop. Of course he’d been a Boy Scout. She rolled her eyes.

The bag smelled musty, but it was clean. She’d spread it out on the box springs in Susannah’s old bedroom after dragging the remnants of the mattress from the bed. Someone had come through and trashed the house, slashing every cushion and mattress with methodical care. Toby Granville or Randy Mansfield, she thought. He’d been looking for Simon Vartanian’s key to the damn safe-deposit box.

Toby and Simon had hidden their incriminating rape pictures there, she knew. She’d liberated the pictures a few years ago. It had been handy having Rocky working in her uncle’s bank. Bobby knew what was in the safe-deposit boxes of a number of the townspeople of Dutton. Knowing their secrets when they all still treated her like white trash who’d had the good fortune to marry into wealth had made her feel powerful.

None of that mattered now. What she needed was money to get away. She’d be able to sell several of the Vartanian family heirlooms, like Grandmother Vartanian’s silver tea service. The thought of it made her smirk. After all this time, she finally possessed the family silver. She knew there were more treasures. When she got her hands on Susannah, she’d force her to show her all the hiding places in this old house.

She’d use some of the cash she’d get for the Vartanian treasures to buy a passport with someone else’s name. Someone else’s face. Hers was now plastered over every news program in the country. Maybe even the world.

Dammit. What was I thinking this afternoon? I could have been caught.

She’d been thinking the way Charles had wanted her to think. She’d been single-mindedly focused on humiliating Susannah Vartanian and seeing her die in a very public way. Because that’s what Charles wanted.

He hated Susannah, which was interesting, to be sure. But what Charles wanted or Charles felt didn’t really matter now, either. What matters is what I want.

And I want Susannah Vartanian dead. If it’s a private event, so be it.

But now Bobby knew Susannah was far stronger than she’d given her credit for. I need to heal. Then I’ll finish what I started. Let Charles think she was killing Susannah for him. Bobby knew the truth. I’ll kill her for me. Then she’d get away.

Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 2:45 a.m.

The weeping woke her. Susannah lifted her head from the pillow, momentarily disoriented. The bed wasn’t hers and her body was sore in all kinds of places. But the smell of cedar and the sound of Thor’s muffled snoring immediately calmed her.

She was in Luke’s bed. But he wasn’t.

Gingerly she slid from the bed, suddenly feeling every one of the bumps and bruises from the last three days. Wincing, she shrugged into the shirt he’d thrown on the floor. It smelled like him, cedar and a little sweat.

I boarded that flight out of LaGuardia Friday morning hoping to change my life.

That, she thought as she rolled up Luke’s shirt sleeves, she certainly had done.

Darlin’ had stationed herself outside Luke’s spare bedroom. The door was ajar and Susannah pushed it open enough to peer inside. It was his home gym and in one corner hung a punching bag. Draped around the bag, his shoulders shaking, was Luke. Susannah’s eyes stung at the sight. So many times over the past few days he’d been moved or his eyes had even grown bright, but this… This was soul-wrenching grief and it tore at her heart.

“Luke.”

His bare back went rigid. He pushed against the bag until he stood straight, but didn’t turn around. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said stiffly.

“It’s almost three a.m.,” she said. “Par for the course. Can I come in?” He nodded, still not looking at her. She rubbed her hands over his back, feeling every muscle tense. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“Nate called.”

“Nate, from ICAC.” Dread pooled in her stomach. “They found Becky Snyder’s little sisters?” The little sisters who Monica’s friend Becky had died trying to protect.

“Yeah. On a podcast. Pay per view. Nate sent out pictures of the children after we left the empty apartment this morning.” The apartment whose address Monica Cassidy had committed to memory, keeping her promise to help Becky’s younger sisters. “One of our partners in Europe contacted him. They’d seen the kids. Nate saw them tonight. Online.” He rested his forehead on the punching bag. “He’s ripped up.”

“I can understand that.”

“We see these kids, Susannah… We know they’re out there and they’re suffering but we can’t find them.”

She pressed her cheek to his back, wrapping her arms around him. She said nothing, refusing to minimize his grief with platitudes.

“Nate,” he went on, “has been there for days, watching tape, looking at pictures. I should have been there. Should have been watching. I’ve left it all to him.”

“While you’ve been vacationing in Bali,” she murmured. “Luke, you’ve saved so many. Ten girls, not twenty-four hours ago. Don’t beat yourself up like this.”

“I know. Why isn’t that good enough?”

“Because you’re you and you care, too damn much. You know you’ve done your best because you’re not capable of doing any less. You have to hold on to that.”

His hands covered hers. “That helps. Really.”

“You’ll find Bobby Davis, then you can help Nate find the Snyder kids and the others that keep you awake at three a.m. Did Nate track Becky’s stepfather?”

“No, but we know Snyder had those kids here in the city once. Nate’s going to take face shots of the kids to the area schools, see if he can find them that way. But they could be anywhere in the world by now. There’s nothing keeping him here in Atlanta.”

“Maybe there is. Maybe this scumbag Snyder has roots you don’t know about. What made you know he was in Atlanta to start with? When he still had Angel and Becky?”

“Things we saw in the pictures, things around the room where the kids were kept. A Braves cap, a tomahawk, the kind you get on free day. Stuff like that.”

“Untraceable stuff that thousands of people have,” she said quietly against his back.

“Yeah.” The single word was bitter and hopeless.

“Come back to sleep,” she said. “You need to rest. You’ll be sharper.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Then come back to bed anyway.” She tugged and he followed, stopping when he got to the bed. She was wearing his shirt and it shifted when she climbed on the mattress, revealing the dark bruise on her breast, courtesy of Bobby’s bullet. His temper flared higher, remembering how close he’d come to losing her.

He shook his head. “You go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll go watch some TV.” He knew his moods, knew he was too savage right now to risk getting into the bed with her. She was bruised. She had to hurt like hell.

And I’m ready for round two. He swallowed when she knelt on the bed, her small hands reaching for his. Very, very ready.

“Don’t shut me out,” she said softly. “I didn’t do that to you.”

“It’s not the same.”

She frowned. “Because you’re on the dark side now?” She slipped her fingers inside the waist of his jeans and tugged him closer. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

He pushed her away, as gently as he was able. “It matters to me.” He turned to leave, but she was quick, getting to the door before he could and leaning against it, her chin lifted, challenge in her eyes. “Susannah,” he warned. “This is not the time.”

“That’s what you said last night. You were wrong then, too.”

With a curse he tried to move her out of the way, but she put her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist, attaching herself to him like a limpet. “Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t push me away.”

He braced his hands on the door and they hung there. “Don’t you know I’ll hurt you?”

She kissed his jaw. “Don’t you know I need to help you?”

“You can’t.” He was knowingly goading her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Watch me,” she murmured, kissing his cheeks, his lips, which he held firmly closed. Undaunted, she moved to his shoulder, kissing and licking her way down to his chest. Still he resisted, until she sank her teeth into his shoulder and bit. Hard.

The rubber band of his restraint snapped. With a growl he shoved his jeans off, and hands shaking, grabbed another condom from the drawer. Without thinking he dropped them both to the bed, her arms still locked around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he thrust into her hard.

She was tight and wet and he pounded into her until the simmering pit of his temper boiled over and the world went black. His body went taut, arching back as he was slammed with the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced. Too late he realized she hadn’t been with him. He’d left her behind without a care.

Shuddering, mortified, he dropped his head, unable to meet her eyes. He’d used her viciously. “Oh God,” he said, when he could speak. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

She didn’t sound mad or hurt. He lifted his head and looked down at her. She was smiling at him. Perplexed, he frowned. “Didn’t I hurt you?”

“A little. I’ll live. How do you feel?”

“Good,” he said cautiously.

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I was here, don’t forget. It was damn good.”

He let out a breath. “For me, yes. I was selfish. I didn’t take care of you first.”

“I know that. I’m sure you’ll fix that oversight next time. So how do you feel?”

Her grin was contagious. “Damn good.”

She leaned up, kissed his chin. “And I saw your face,” she added, triumphant.

“You saw my face before.”

“Mirrors are cheating. This was real.” Her grin softened, her smile luminous. “You think you robbed me of pleasure. You have no idea what this means, Luke.”

“Then tell me,” he said quietly.

Her smile faded completely, leaving her eyes full of yearning. “Do you know what it meant to sit at your family’s table? Do you know I’ve never done that before? Never. Not once, in my entire life have I had a family dinner with people who loved each other. You gave me that.” He opened up his mouth to speak, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. “You gave me more than that. You gave me back myself. I wanted to do something for you. If you were selfish, it was in making me work so hard to do that.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She studied his face, then shook her head. “No, you didn’t want to be hurt.”

He looked away. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she said dryly.

He dropped his head. “I’m so tired,” he said. “And it never stops.”

“I know,” she said again. “Go to sleep. It’ll still be there when you wake up.”

“Will you?” he asked, and one side of her mouth lifted.

“Be here when you wake up? Where am I gonna go? I’m out of clothes.”

Reluctantly he withdrew from the warmth of her body, repositioning her so that she snuggled, spooned against him. “There’s always the outfit Stacie bought you.”

“I gave it back to her. Besides, I can just see me wearing that to my arraignment if Chloe decides to charge me. The judge would think I’d been busted for hooking.”

Her wry tone didn’t fool him. “What will you do?” he murmured, tightening his arm over her waist. “Can they really disbar you?”

“Sure. I can appeal it, but Chloe’s right. A room full of reporters was the wrong venue to break the law. I’ll be on the front page of the morning paper in a few hours. I was already all over the TV last night.” She sighed. “I’ll be the subject of discussion over coffee and water cooler breaks. And I knew it would be so from the moment I stepped on that plane Friday morning. I’ll be okay. The worst that can happen to me is a lot of publicity and maybe a misdemeanor. Chloe’ll cut a deal, no time served. It’s what I would do.”

“You didn’t find that gun in your father’s house,” he said quietly, and she said nothing. “Susannah?”

“Some things are best left unanswered, Luke. If you know, you could be subpoenaed. You’d have to tell. Either way, I wouldn’t change a thing. Would you?”

“No. Except now Leo gets an even better Christmas present for the rest of his life.” He tugged at the shirt she wore, kissed the shoulder he’d bared. “So what will you do if you can’t be a lawyer anymore?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking about what I said to that reporter today, about every woman having the right to disclose her assault or not. I push these women to disclose every day as a prosecutor.”

“That’s your job, to get convictions.”

“I know, and I’ve served the state well. But during the trial… I always think about what it would have been like had I come forward. I would have been so scared. They are, too. They have to live it all again. The state stands against the perpetrator, but nobody really stands for the victim.”

“You’re thinking of victim advocacy.”

“If I get disbarred. Even if I don’t, it’ll be hard for me to go into a courtroom and not have the focus be on me and not on the victims. I’m going to have to do something different, no matter what Chloe decides. Hell, maybe I’ll set up a Kool-Aid stand.”

He yawned hugely. “Will you sell cherry flavor?”

“Grape,” he heard her reply sleepily. “Nobody hates grape. Sleep, Loukaniko.”

His eyes popped open. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

“That nobody hates grape. And go to sleep,” she said, annoyed. “So go to sleep.”

“No, the Loukaniko part.”

She craned her neck to look up at him over her shoulder. “Leo said that was your real name. That’s why your mama calls you Lukamou.”

Luke bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Um. Lukamou is like… ‘my dear.’ Loukaniko is a big fat sausage.”

She winced, then her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Sorry. I blame Leo.”

“Brother Leo just dropped a rung on the Christmas present ladder.”

She snuggled back against him. “Although, I suppose under certain circumstances Loukaniko could apply, too.”

He snickered. “Thank you. I think.”

“Go to sleep,” she said quietly. “Lukamou.”

His arm tightened around her, and on a contented sigh, he let himself drift off.