Closer Than You Think (34 page)

Her hands flattened on his chest, her fingers furrowing through hair as they dug into his skin, body straining toward his. He let go of her breasts long enough to grab her hips and lift her the few inches he needed to hit the sweet spot between her legs. She moaned deep in her throat, locking her ankles around his calves, sliding her hands up his chest to lock around his neck. She clung to him like a vine, all revving motion, her hips meeting his thrusts, battering at his sanity.

‘I need to touch you,’ he gritted against her lips. ‘Let me touch you.
Please
.’

‘Yes.’ She peppered hard kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, back to his mouth. ‘God, yes.’

He shoved his hands between their bodies, yanking at the snap on her jeans, his fingers shaking as he pushed the zipper down. He was absurdly happy when he touched lace, then he delved beneath it and couldn’t think at all. She was hot. So damn hot.

And so damn wet. As his fingers slid through her folds, she made a little sound, half whimper, half moan, and he needed to get deeper more than he needed to breathe. Cupping her butt with his free hand, he hitched her higher against the door, pinning her with his thigh as he eased one finger up into that tight, wet heat.

She went perfectly still, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Her mouth opened in a small, silent O. Mesmerized, he could only stare.

He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. And then she started to move, slowly riding his hand. Squeezing his finger hard. Any blood that had remained above his neck instantly drained to his cock.

He inserted a second finger less gently than he had the first, pumping as hard and fast as he could with her jeans still on. He wanted them off, he thought wildly. Desperately. Wanted to see her. Wanted to taste her. Wanted to feel her come around him.

He dropped his face to the curve of her neck. Tasted her skin. Kissed his way lower as he pumped harder and faster. He could see her nipples poking against the silk of her shirt and he wanted them, too. Blindly he closed his mouth over a hardened peak, sucking through the silk, hitching her a little higher against the door, driving his fingers even deeper.

She gasped, her body going taut as a strung bow. On the edge, he realized, but not there. So he bit her, closing his teeth over her nipple just hard enough to shove her over, dragging a strangled cry from her throat as she came in a rush.

Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, dazed and sated, while he was still so hungry. He glanced at the bed. He could have her there in two steps.

He was so hard that he hurt, and she was looking at him like he was a king. He slowly withdrew his hand from her heat, holding her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked.
So damn good
.

If he didn’t have her soon, he was going to die.

‘Oh God,’ she breathed, her hands trembling against the back of his neck. Her pulse knocked at the hollow of her throat. ‘That was . . .’

Don’t say unwise. Don’t say it was a mistake. That I was a mistake. Say it was amazing. That I am amazing. Tell me you want me inside you
. He closed his eyes.
Please
.

‘Beautiful,’ she whispered, and his eyes flew open. She was staring at him, her green eyes darker, yet somehow luminous. ‘You made it beautiful. You made me feel . . . beautiful.’

‘Because you are,’ he whispered back.

He watched her glance guiltily at the bed, then back at him, and for a long moment they hung there, staring at each other, lust warring with indecision.

And then the doorbell rang, jarring them back to reality.

‘It’s the Feds,’ she whispered in a disgusted way that made him chuckle, despite the tightness in his groin.

‘I’m a Fed, too.’ He lowered her until her feet touched the floor, then hurriedly shrugged into his shirt. ‘You stay here. I’ll let them in.’

She looked down pointedly. ‘Better not tuck your shirt in for a while.’

He laughed, amazed that he could be delighted and sexually frustrated at the same time. ‘I won’t. Should I ask if they want breakfast too?’

‘If they want to take their lives in their hands, sure.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 8.55
A.M.

If he’d harbored any doubts that Faith was in Novak’s house, he harbored them no longer. From his minivan across the street, he watched Novak open the door to two more Feds. Big guys, both wearing black suits. Both looking like they could crush a man’s skull with their bare hands.

They were Faith’s security detail. She must have told them something pretty damn important to score federal protection. What had that been?

How nervous he allowed himself to become depended on exactly what she’d revealed. He needed to know. And in the meantime, he needed to make sure she didn’t tell them anything else.
Draw her out of that house. If you can’t, you’ll just have to wait her out.

He checked his watch with a grimace. The Feds guarding Faith would be looking for anything suspicious. Like a man sitting in a minivan for what had already been too long a period of time. A minivan that was also a liability.

Eventually someone would see the minivan owner’s body lying beneath his old van in the grocery store’s parking lot. The cops would put out a BOLO on her vehicle.

With me sitting in it, right here in plain sight
.

He needed to get another vehicle. He needed a place to hide where he’d have a bird’s-eye view of Novak’s garage and front doors, so he’d know when the Fed left and if Faith was with him. He’d be able to get a few shots off before the others came after him. And if he couldn’t get them in his sights, he could follow them without attracting the attention of the security detail.

He knew just which house to choose. At a minimum, he could hide the minivan it its garage. If he was lucky, the garage might hold a car he could steal.

I could get warm. Eat. Sleep a little.
He hadn’t eaten in hours. Hadn’t slept in days.

He wondered if the house’s owner was home, and if he was, how hard he’d be to kill.

Chapter Seventeen

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 9.30
A.M.

D
eacon looked for a place to park. He was only about a block from Jordan O’Bannion’s town house, but parking in Mount Adams was hard to come by. Deacon had only been here before as a tourist. It was one of the trendiest areas of the city, with bars, a nightlife and expensive real estate with great views of the river.

Faith’s uncle had left a message on Deacon’s voicemail at the precinct the night before, sounding frantic, demanding when he could see his niece and oh, by the way, what the hell was going on around his family’s old homestead.

His concern seemed a little odd coming from the man who’d taken Faith to R-rated movies and given her cigarettes when she was only fifteen, but Jordan
had
been younger at the time, Deacon supposed. Only twenty-six, Faith had said.

Although at the same age, Deacon had already joined the Bureau and had twice petitioned the courts for the custody of his brother. Both times he’d been denied, the judge deciding that a married couple in a stable household was in the best interest of the child.

At the time he’d been devastated, confident that he could raise Greg better than Tammy and Jim. Now, he wondered if that was true.

Think about Greg later, like when you’re in the principal’s office. Focus on Jordan now
.

Jordan’s townhouse looked to be turn-of-the century and was painted a periwinkle blue. The dormer windows on the third floor probably had a killer view of the park below. Deacon knew he was easily looking at a cool million in real estate. No wonder Jordan hadn’t wanted that drafty old house, he thought. Faith’s uncle was sitting on a goldmine here.

Deacon walked up to the brightly painted door and knocked. Nobody answered and he could hear no sounds inside. But he did hear something out back. He had to jog down three houses so that he could hook around behind them. A woman stood in Jordan’s back yard, raking leaves.

‘Excuse me, miss?’

The woman looked up, startled. She was mid to late twenties and wore her dark blonde hair in a rather severe bun. She backed up a few steps when she saw him. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Special Agent Novak with the FBI. I’m looking for Mr O’Bannion.’

‘He’s not here,’ the woman said in a hushed tone.

‘Do you know where he is? I really need to talk to him. It’s about his niece.’

‘Faith,’ she said. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s fine,’ Deacon said truthfully. Faith was incredibly fine. ‘I didn’t get your name.’

The woman arched dark brows. ‘I didn’t give one,’ she said, her voice just a hint louder than a whisper. ‘I’m Mary Jones, Mr O’Bannion’s housekeeper.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Ms Jones.’ He leaned forward. ‘Why are you whispering?’

She looked startled once again. ‘I didn’t know I was. I guess I’m used to talking softly. Mrs O’Bannion didn’t like loud noises, especially there at the end. God rest her soul.’

‘You knew her, then?’

‘Yes, of course. I was her caregiver for ten years. I miss her.’

‘I was under the impression that Mr O’Bannion took care of his mother.’

‘He did, but he’s a man. I was there to take care of her more . . . personal needs.’

‘I see. Do you know where Mr O’Bannion is? It’s important that I talk to him.’

‘He’s sometimes at the gallery this late, especially if the post-show party went well.’

‘This late? It’s not even ten
A.M.
’

‘The parties go on all night. Ten
A.M.
is late. But there wasn’t a party last night, so I’m not sure where he went after closing. I’d be happy to give him a message when he gets home.’

‘Thank you.’ Deacon gave her a card. ‘Please have him call my cell number on the back.’

‘I certainly will.’ Mary set the rake against the wall. ‘I have to get to my indoor chores now. Have a nice day, Agent Novak.’

‘Wait. Where can I find the gallery?’

‘It’s at the intersection with Hill Street. There’s a sign in the yard. You can’t miss it.’

Deacon turned in the direction she pointed. Hill Street was at the very bottom of the hill, ironically enough. When he turned back toward her, she was gone, the door already closing behind her. She wasn’t telling the truth. She knew where her boss was.

Deacon wondered if she was merely discreet, or hiding something. She was right, though. He couldn’t have missed the gallery, or its sign in the yard.
O’Bannion’s
was all it said, but it was nearly as large as a front door and intricately carved. Deacon got out of his car and walked around it to inspect it more closely before going to the front door.

‘He’s closed,’ a woman said from above him, her voice deep and sultry.

Deacon looked up and was glad he had on his wraparound shades, because his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. The woman sat in the window on the upper floor, balancing on the sill. She hadn’t been there when he’d driven down the hill. He would have noticed. Because she was as close to naked as was legally possible.

She was dressed in a tiny genie costume, complete with veil. A tiny pink genie costume.

Halloween
, he thought, relieved. She had to be a leftover partier from Halloween. ‘Ma’am, you could seriously break something if you fall.’

She laughed. ‘I won’t fall. I’ve done back flips off a beam narrower than this.’

A gymnast genie, then. ‘Do you know where Mr O’Bannion is?’

She smiled and pressed her finger to her lips. ‘Sshh. He’s here, but he’s not receiving visitors right now. We partied a little too hard last night and he’s a little unconscious.’

Good God
. What kind of drugs was Faith’s uncle doing? ‘Should I call an ambulance?’

‘Oh, heavens no.’ She fluttered her hand. ‘It’s just a hangover. We were doing tequila Jell-O shots until dawn. He’ll be fine when he wakes up.’ The genie sounded more than a little inebriated herself. It must have been some party.

‘I see,’ Deacon said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. ‘When do you expect him to regain consciousness?’

‘By dinner time. Maybe. Can I give him a message?’

‘No, I’d like to talk to him. Please wake him up.’ He started for the front door.

The genie looked back over her shoulder into the room with a frown. ‘I’ll wake him up and have him call you.’

‘I can wake him up.’

‘I don’t think you can. I know he wouldn’t want you to. He . . . he’s not presentable.’

It was Deacon’s turn to frown. ‘I don’t care.’

The genie slid from the windowsill back inside the room, then closed the window and pulled the shade. A minute later the front door opened and she stood before him, a cell phone in her hand. ‘You might not care,’ she said. ‘But he will.’

She showed him the photo on her phone and Deacon sighed. A man lay naked, curled almost into a fetal position, empty liquor bottles on his nightstand. He appeared well and truly passed out. She turned off her phone, her expression one of quiet entreaty.

‘Let him have his dignity, please. I will wake him, get him cleaned up, pour some coffee into him. As soon as he’s lucid, I’ll have him call you. Do you have a card?’

Deacon hesitated. Part of him wanted to grab Faith’s uncle and shake some answers out of him. Some smaller part, however, considered that Jordan would become part of his life should he and Faith build a relationship.
More like a big brother than an uncle
, she’d said.

‘If I say no?’ he asked softly.

‘Then I’ll close the door and tell you to get a warrant,’ she said. ‘You may be working an important case, but I won’t allow you to bully him.’

Deacon hid his annoyance. ‘I won’t bully him. I just want to talk to him.’ Since he wanted O’Bannion cooperative, not defensive, retreat seemed the wisest action. ‘He has my number, but here’s my card. If I haven’t heard from him by noon, I’ll be back to wake him up myself.’

‘I understand. Thank you.’ She took the card and started to close the door.

‘One more question,’ Deacon said. ‘What is your name, ma’am?’

‘Alda Lane.’ She closed the door noiselessly.

Faith had told him that she was glad she hadn’t developed a drinking problem after Jordan gave her beer when she was only a teenager.
It looks like Jordan wasn’t so fortunate
, Deacon thought, texting Bishop as he returned to his car.

Jordan O’B sleeping off a bender
, he typed.
Will meet u @ King’s soon
.

Bishop had been at the scene of the abduction at King’s College for the past hour. Deacon had detoured from meeting her there because of the call from O’Bannion.

Almost done here
, Bishop texted back.
Meet at attorney’s abt the will?

Deacon confirmed as two new multi-recipient texts came through. The first was from Isenberg and it was good news:
Bellman from hotel survived surgery. In ICU. Next 24 to tell.

At least that was one less body on the way to the morgue.

The second text was from Vince Tanaka. Deacon read the message, then simply sat for a moment, his eyes closed and bile rising in his throat.
Fucking hell.

CSU had finished removing the floor tiles in the O’Bannion basement. They’d found seven more bodies. Ten total. Ten blondes buried in Plexiglas coffins. No wonder this asshole hadn’t wanted Faith in the basement. He’d realized she would remember what the place looked like originally and notice how it had changed.

Another text came through from Tanaka, this one sent only to Deacon, asking him to contact the ground-penetrating radar expert for help in mapping the graves. Tanaka’s contact at the university was on sabbatical and they needed to know if anyone or anything was buried outside. Or inside, in the dirt under the layer of Plexiglas.
Please don’t let there be any more
.

Deacon had added Sophie Johannsen-Ciccotelli’s phone number to his favorites when they’d worked together in West Virginia the previous year. He called her and she answered right away. ‘Sophie, it’s Deacon Novak.’

‘Deacon! Long time no hear.’ She hesitated. ‘I saw you on the news this morning.’

‘In Philly?’ he asked, surprised.

‘It’s online and top of the hour on CNN. They said you were shot at. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Vest caught it. I’m calling because I need your help. I need to find someone with your scanning skills here in Cincinnati.’

‘Oh no,’ she murmured. ‘Not again.’

‘Yes,’ he said, knowing that she knew how he felt because she’d gone through it too. She had, in fact, gone through it more times than he had because she was the scanning expert everyone called when they found unmarked graves. ‘Can you recommend someone?’

‘Of course. Where is the site?’

‘A little town called Mount Carmel, Ohio, on the river near Cincinnati. It’s the O’Bannion place. The road doesn’t even have a name on the maps. I can meet whoever you send and show them the way.’

‘How many graves do you think you have, Deacon?’

‘Ten so far, all above ground. We don’t know what lies beneath.’

He heard the sound of an exhale, then the tapping of a computer keyboard. ‘Send me the GPS coordinates. I’ll have someone there by early afternoon.’

‘Thanks, Sophie. I owe you one.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ she said warmly. ‘What are friends for? Take care, Deacon.’

He disconnected with a sigh.
Ten so far
. He’d see Faith’s attorney with Bishop, then he’d go to the morgue. He needed to see the bodies. Needed to know what had been done to them.

He hoped like hell that the ME would find some way of identifying them. The killer in West Virginia had collected wallets with his victims’ ID, but they’d found nothing like that in the O’Bannion house. Families with missing kids would be coming out of the woodwork as soon as word spread of their grisly discovery.

It had been that way in West Virginia. He’d had to tell grieving parents that he’d identified their missing child, but he’d had to tell more grieving parents that he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure if he could go through that again, but it looked like he would have to.

If he didn’t, who else would? Besides, the victims themselves deserved the courtesy. Someone needed to care about them. Someone needed to get them justice.
That someone is me
.

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 9.45
A.M.

Faith dried and put away the last of the breakfast dishes, surreptitiously watching Special Agent Colby. His arms were crossed over his chest, his finger tapping the bicep of his other arm. He didn’t like playing babysitter and Faith didn’t think he liked her. But he’d do his job. Novak wouldn’t have left her alone with agents who weren’t qualified. She hoped.

‘I’m going to try to sleep,’ she told him.

‘We’ll keep everything under control out here,’ he said brusquely.

‘Where is Agent Pope?’

‘Doing a perimeter check. If you do hear any commotion, stay put in the bedroom. We will come get you when the coast is clear.’

‘Look for me under the bed,’ she said with a shaky laugh, grabbing her handbag as she left the kitchen. The weight of it returned some small measure of her confidence. Agent Colby gave no indication that he knew she had a gun in her purse. If Novak hadn’t told them she was armed, she wasn’t going to mention it. There was no way she’d be unarmed until this was all over.

She paused to check out Novak’s TV as she passed through the living room. He’d hooked up a cable tuner and his own Xbox 360. A few of the boxes on top of the console were multi-player games. That meant he had wireless Internet somewhere, which was good because she needed to send an email to her boss telling him she’d had a car accident and ‘complications.’