Connecting Strangers (Discovering Emily) (25 page)

His arm slides around my waist, and he pulls me close. I look up into the perfection of his hazel eyes. “After you brought up Kathleen, everything I said…the memories came rushing back, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

The words are unimportant. I stand on tiptoe and kiss him. It’s brief and light, but before I can back away, he drags me in for more. Hunger rips away the past few hours, and we’re stumbling toward the sofa, lips fused, bodies connected.

Wanting skin on skin, I begin to unbutton my shirt, but Adam has the common sense to pull me toward the door. “Not here,” he whispers. He turns the knob and guides me out into the waning evening.

“Dammit.” Icy wind slaps my face, but it doesn’t cool the heat pouring through my veins. I leap into Adam’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. It’s been too long since I’ve felt him like this. Hard and insistent against me.

“We have to get inside the…” Adam is mumbling against my lips.

“The keys.” My vision is so hazy I can’t help him, but the jingle reassures me until they slip from his fingers and hit the cold ground.

Adam’s curse is colorful, but he manages to scoop up the ring without letting go of me. He unlocks the doors while I kiss the corded muscles of his neck.

“Emily, you have to…” He breaks off once he manages to get the door open.

I let go to climb into the seat, but he’s not interested in the driver’s side. He slides beneath me to claim the passenger’s seat, and I’m grateful he parked around the side of the house. There aren’t any windows for Francine to peek out of.

My fingers fumble with the bomber jacket he’s wearing, trying to push it off his shoulders. We bump heads trying to help each other get rid of as much clothing as possible. Though the temperature has plummeted, we’re oblivious to the cold. Our pants cause condensation to form on the windows, offering extra protection from potential prying eyes.

“Damn.” Adam grows still against my neck.

I’m losing oxygen fast, panting while my head spins. “What is it?”

He rubs his hands up and down my arms, closing his eyes. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Shit.” My head drops to his chest. I try to mentally calculate the time, but it’s too much of a risk. Reluctance in every muscle, I start to climb off of him, but Adam stops me with his hands on my hips. “We can’t do anything,” I remind him through gritted teeth.

“No, we can’t have sex, but there are so many other rides on the playground.”

A smile breaks over my face. “Thanks for clearing up my myopic point of view.”

“Happy to help.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and lean in for another kiss. A fist bangs against the window before our lips can connect. I shriek and try to climb to the driver’s side of the truck.

“It’s okay. It’s just Francine.”

“Emily, you have a phone call.”

“Who is it?” I turn so Adam can fasten my bra.

“State police I’m freezing my ass off so I’ll tell the guy you’ll be right with him. Just get dressed quick.” She mutters about the cold as she hurries away.

“Why would the state police be calling me?” My fingers don’t want to cooperate with buttoning my jeans so Adam helps me with that, too. I continue talking to myself when he lifts me out of the truck. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“The sooner we get inside, the quicker we’ll find out what’s happening.” We rush into the house to find Francine pacing back and forth in front of the phone. She stops and points to the cordless phone lying face up on the coffee table.

My hands don’t want to function, and it takes me several tries to stab the speaker button. Francine’s face lights up when I tell the deputy sheriff there are people in the room with me.

“I apologize for calling at this time of the evening, but yours is the only number we have as a contact. And since Mr. Metzger has no other relatives, we’re going to have to ask you to come identify the body.”

“The body?” My brain had centered on those two words. “Mark Metzger’s father is in Broomtown. I’m sure he can identify his son.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer, Ms. Jacobs. We need you to identify a body we believe is Ike Metzger.”

“Ike Metzger’s dead? Was it…? What happened?” I shouldn’t care, but I’m confused. Relieved.

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss those details, Ma’am.”

The deputy sheriff talks for several more seconds, but I only hear mumbles until Adam ends the call. His strong hands settle on my shoulders, and he pulls me back against his chest. “You okay?”

“Hell, yes, she’s okay.” Francine answers for me. “If she’s anything like me, she wants to dance a damn jig. That whole family tree was just chopped down.”

“Just give her a minute, okay?” Adam wraps his arms around and holds me tightly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…” Not sure how I feel. Maybe a little worried. Like this isn’t really over. Everything seems too neat, or maybe I’m just used to being suspicious. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Ike Metzger has always been a force in Broomtown.” I clutch Adam’s hand. “Do you think you can find out what happened?”

“If you want me to. And I’ll take you tomorrow morning to make the identity.”

Adam puts his cheek next to mine.

“You will?” I twist my neck so I can see his face. The warmth is back in his eyes, and I close my eyes and touch my forehead to his. The words we spoke in anger now forgotten, I hang on to him like I’m afraid of losing him. Maybe I am. If anything this day has taught me, life is ethereal.

“I’m not about to let you go through this alone, Emily. You’ve been through enough.”

I touch his unshaven jaw. “Always my protector.” When a shadow passes over his face, I touch his unshaven jaw. “I meant that in a good way.”

Adam turns me in his arms. “Do you want to pick you up around eight?”

“I’d rather you wake me up around eight.”

Eyebrows lifting, he stands and extends his hand. “Then we’d better move this conversation to another area of town.”

“Yeah, go. Never mind me,” Francine snorts. “And never mind that I’m not over being irritated with you, Adam.”

With a shrug, he’s out the door, pulling me behind him. “She’ll be over it by tomorrow.”

“How can you be so sure?”

We stop at the door to his truck, and he backs me against the frigid steel. “Because she can’t stay mad at me, especially when she knows her best friend is so into me.”

My laughter rings out into the night “Maybe I shouldn’t go home with you after all. You don’t need a bigger ego.”

“No.” He grows solemn. “I just need you.”

The night fades, the world shrinking to just the two of us standing alone in the iciness of a Kentucky winter. I love him. The words are there, dancing around in my head, but they won’t come out. So I stand on tiptoe and kiss him. And hold him. It’s the only way I can communicate for now.

I turn to my side and prop my head up on my elbow. Adam is still asleep, and I watch him. The stubble on his jaw, the long eyelashes many women would envy, and the full, moist lips I could drink from every day.

My heart has found a home, and though the words remain trapped inside me, I hope he knows. He hasn’t pushed for anything beyond what we have right now. It’s enough. I want to be with him, share every day with him, and now that I’ve been released from the captivity of Mark’s domineering presence, I can.

Adam sighs in his sleep and rolls to his back, his hand automatically reaching for me. I take his fingers in mine and bring them to my lips, kissing the tip of each one gently. By the time I finish, his eyes are open, the sleepy hazel orbs watching me with such intensity I forget what I’m doing.

“How long have you been awake?” I love the husky tone of his voice first thing in the morning. It’s warm and inviting, and I seek the shelter of his arms, nuzzling my face against his neck that smells faintly of the spicy soap he used last night in the shower. Actually,
we
used.

“Not long,” I finally answer his question. “I was just lying here thinking about a shower.”

Interest flickers into his gaze. “Good hygiene is important.”

“Even though we did shower last night…” I inject a note of doubt into my voice.

“But we did exercise afterwards.”

The reminder brings a smile to my face, and my muscles tingle in response. I don’t deny his choice of words. Last night, I’d celebrated my freedom, indulging in fantasies long kept dormant. Adam hadn’t complained, and the light in his eyes tells me he won’t object to another exploration.

I roll out of his arms and sit up. “You start the shower; I’ll start the coffee.” My feet hit the cold floor, and I yelp.

“Sorry. I’ll get a rug for that side of the bed.”

“Make it both sides. I might want to claim your spot one night.”

“Really?” He sits up, the sheet draping to his waist. Muscles and golden skin distract me. “And what if I told you this has been my side of the bed for as long as I can remember?”

“I’d say you make sacrifices when you’re in a relationship.” My voice falters. “I mean, if that’s what we’re in. I could be jumping the gun. It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s always been—”

“Emily,” Adam interrupts me before I can mortify myself further. “Come here.”

I’m halfway across the floor when an insistent banging on the front door halts my progress. Once glance at the digital clock has me frowning. “It’s really early for visitors.”

“Might be work.” Adam snags his pants and slides them up over his hips. “Just go start the shower, and I’ll get the coffee after I’m done.”

In theory, the plan sounds like a good one, but I’m far too wary of strangers knocking on doors to leave this one to Adam. So I grab the robe Francine bought me and head out after him.

“Why don’t I hear water running?” He gives me a mock angry look before swinging the door wide.

Francine’s standing on the porch, her face pale. Both Gary and Art are with him, and my heart plummets. An entourage at this time of the day can’t be a good thing. None of them wait to be invited in. They just plow right past Adam and start unbuttoning their coats.

“Jefferson Winslow dropped this off about thirty minutes ago. Said it was urgent and that some guy paid him $100 to see that Emily got it today. Something tells me it isn’t good news, and honestly, I debated even bringing it over. She’s had enough bad news to last a lifetime.” Francine presses the note into the palm of her hand, not quite willing to relinquish it.

My legs begin to shake when I reach for the envelope, my mouth so dry I can’t speak. Francine’s not in any hurry to hand over the note so I take it from her with a little bit of force. As I tear open the envelope, my hands grow icy. Before I unfold the piece of notebook paper, I brace myself. This isn’t going to be good news. The sinister meaning behind the simple message squeezes all the air out of my lungs.

I’m not finished with you, Emily.

I back up without looking behind me. “It isn’t over,” I whisper.

“Emily, what is it?” Without waiting for an answer, Adam takes the note from my hands and scans it. “Do you know who wrote this? Did you recognize the handwriting?” He gives me a little shake to snap me out of my stupor. “Emily, do you know?”

I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. Shock wraps itself around me like an unwelcome blanket on a hot, summer day. Denying the obvious won’t serve a purpose, but I’m having a difficult time believing the truth of the message. It has to be a joke, a cruel one at that.

Because I haven’t answered Adam, Francine prods me. “Emily, what’s going on? Talk to us.”

“Is there something you want me to do, Francine? Get her a glass of water or something?” Art hovers over me like he’s scared I’m going to faint.

“Water?” She looks at her brother over her shoulder. “Why does everyone think a glass of water is going to solve anything? She’s not dehydrated.”

I reach for the notebook paper again and scan the one line. Maybe I’m mistaken. Anyone could have written this. But I know better. I’ve seen the writing too many times.

Adam squeezes my hand. “Whoever wrote that is wrong, Emily. It
is
over. Mark’s gone, and so is his father. You can start over now. You
are
starting over.” He sits beside me on the couch, and I’m wooden when he tries to embrace me. “Tell me who wrote it, and we can go from there.”

Though I hear his words, I’m focused on the rapid thump of my heart. I fold the paper into a square. “Ike Metzger wrote it.”

Francine makes a gurgling sound. “But he’s dead.”

“I know.” I stare at each letter. “But it’s his handwriting.”

“Some sick son-of-a-bitch is trying to play a joke,” Art mutters, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Well, when we find him, we’ll show him a thing or two about what’s funny.”

“I need some…” I stand and start walking toward the bedroom, not quite sure what I need. But it isn’t to be surrounded by people no matter how much they love me.

Adam tells the trio goodbye not long after I exit the room, and he seeks me out. I’m standing at the window, looking out at nothing when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me.

“We’ll find out who wrote the note and put an end to this, Emily. I promise.” He hugs me close to his chest.

“People don’t just reach out from beyond the grave.” I turn in his arms. “Maybe Ike wrote it before he died, but we don’t even know how he died. What if the person who sent me this note made him write it? Adam, there’s someone else out there, and I don’t know what they want with me.”

“It doesn’t matter what they want. They aren’t going to get it.” His tone is fierce, protective.

“I can’t go back to being the victim. I won’t.” But I don’t pull out of his embrace.

“So we’ll do this together.”

“Together?” The one word gives me hope.

“That’s the only place I want to be, Emily.” He slides his hand alongside my cheek. “And if calling it a relationship makes you nervous, we don’t have to define it.” His fingers tickle the line of my jaw. “All you need to know is I’m yours, and as long as you want me, I’m here.”

Words of surrender, carrying such power. I close my eyes and let them sink in. He’s a magnetic force, drawing me to him. In his arms, the world fades. He’s mine as much as I am his. No, I don’t say the words aloud, but my body speaks for me. I’m a part of him, and whatever danger is approaching, we’ll face it together. Because neither one of us can imagine being apart.