Darker Than Desire (12 page)

A hand reached up, touched his cheek. “You're always so serious, David.”

“Little reason to be otherwise.”

“True.” She moved then and he didn't even have time to brace himself before she had settled herself in his lap, one leg planted on either side of his hips. Her hands came up, cupped his face. “How much longer until you decide to tell me?”

His hands moved of their own volition, fingers splayed wide across satiny soft thighs. “Tell you what, Sybil?”

“Don't play games with me.” She dipped her head so that her hair fell around them like a curtain. “You've never done it before. Don't start now.”

Noise clamored in the back of his head, all that chaos rising to a roar as he stared into those beautiful eyes. They slid between gold and green, and right now they all but glowed as she watched him.

Send her away. Tell her.

He slid his hands up, cupping her ass. And he groaned when he found her naked under that sorry excuse for a skirt. “I keep thinking it's time to tell you to just go. To stay away from me.”

“That's what I thought.” She rubbed her mouth against his. “Why don't you do it, then? So I can ignore you and we can fight it out?”

The cool silk of her hair brushed against his cheek. He tangled one hand in it. “This isn't a game anymore.”

“It never was.” She eased back, watching him with knowing eyes.

He curled his lip. “It was one thing when you were fucking some Amish builder. It's another thing when it's David Sutter, possible murder suspect, sick degenerate. It's just a matter of time before the cops decide to start pulling me in, demanding answers about what happened the night I disappeared. Just a matter of time before everything comes out in the open. When nobody knew—”

She lifted a hand and pressed her finger to his lips.

“I always knew.”

*   *   *

He flinched.

Sybil watched as his face went tight, watched as his eyes went blank.

The hand on her hip tightened reflexively while the one fisted in her hair fell away.

He surged to his feet, moving so fast, she would have tumbled to the ground if it hadn't been for his holding her tight against him.

But then he let her go and she had to hold on to the railing for balance.

“What?”

He had his back to her, those strong shoulders straining against the cloth of his T-shirt. He looked so different now. Those simple clothes he'd worn for years had been a mask. He wore a dark T-shirt and black jeans and he looked like a fallen angel—sent by Lucifer to taunt and tempt and destroy.

He could destroy
her
. So easily. She'd been in love with him for years and nobody had as much power over her as he did. “I've always known,” she said again, refusing to allow her voice to shake, refusing to let herself look away when he turned to face her.

It had been his eyes.

How anybody had ever looked into those eyes and not known she couldn't understand.

Those eyes now cut into her and she tried not to tense as he closed the distance between them. His hands came up, bracketing her in as he grabbed the railing on either side of her hips. “Explain that, Sybil,” he said, his words short, bitten off like it was a chore just to talk.

For him, it was. She knew that. She knew more about him than he'd probably like. She knew so much about him that there were times when she'd lie in bed and cry.

“What's there to explain?” she asked softly, lifting a brow and meeting that searing blue gaze. “That first time you came in town—fifteen years ago, five years since the night you disappeared. You were there for that damn candlelight vigil. I heard you introduce yourself as Caine, but even then, I knew who you were.”

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

The glow from a few hundred candles might strike some people as pretty. The somber atmosphere was probably poignant to others.

To Sybil, it was just a sham.

She'd seen the blown-up pictures placed on easels and the sight of them had sickened her. The people of Madison hadn't just made
one
set of images, but five, and from her position she could see all but one set. There was a set on the steps and then the others were spread through the crowd so everybody could gaze upon the faces of the Sutter family.

Diane. Peter. David.

Of the three of them, only one was really worth mourning over.

Sybil had met the boy—younger than her by two years, but he had old eyes, even then.

Of course, if she had parents like Diane and Peter, she'd probably have old eyes, too.

Her mother used to clean for Diane, but then she'd been fired.

At the time, Sybil had wanted to be pissed—at the kid.

It was something they'd found in his room that had led to her mother being fired. Maybe Sybil shouldn't have said anything, but that wouldn't have helped.

How could she keep quiet about it anyway? Blood on the sheets wasn't exactly a
normal
thing. Well, if David had been a girl on the rag, maybe. But that wasn't the issue. She'd told her mom. They'd looked at the sheets and they'd mentioned it to Diane. Diane was a bitchy thing and Sybil had never liked her, but she had to care about her kid, right?

She'd looked at the sheets. Looked at them. Then she took the sheets, folded them neatly. “David plays a lot of sports. He hunts with his father and is the typical boy. He gets injured sometimes. He is also a restless sleeper. He has some scrapes on his back. I cannot
believe
you would imply something like this. I'll send your final check to your house. Now please leave and do not ever let me see you again.”

Karen Chalmers might have been a broke woman who hustled to pay her bills, working every odd job she could find, including cleaning houses, offices and any other place that would pay, but she had a spine of steel. Standing by Sybil, Karen had seemed to grow three inches as she faced Diane Sutter. “I wasn't
implying
anything, Mrs. Sutter. I just wanted you aware that your son had some sort of injury. I know how teenagers are. Clearly, you are more concerned about your image than you are about the fact that I was just concerned. I expect the check within the next two weeks, as discussed when I started working for you.”

She'd turned to go, nodding at Sybil.

“You will be paid when I see fit.”

Karen had then looked at her daughter. “You will cut the check within two weeks of service unless you want it known that you don't pay for services rendered. You see, unlike
you
, I don't give a rat's ass what people say about
me
. I'll make sure tongues wag in this town. If you don't want that happening, then cut my damn check.”

Once they left, instead of going home, they had gone to the cops, spoken with Chief Andrews.

But nothing ever came of it.

David, and his parents, had disappeared a few months later. Along with a girl who lived a few blocks away from Sybil. Sybil had liked the girl—a lot. Her name had been Lana Rossi and she was one of the few people who didn't back down from anybody, including Sybil's bitchy little sister.

And Layla
was
a bitch. Sybil didn't know why, didn't understand what had gone wrong inside Layla's head, but the wires were all crossed.

A song started to ring through the night and Sybil sighed, lifted her face to the night sky. “‘Amazing Grace.' Please.”

Turning away, she started down the street but hadn't gone more than a few feet before she crashed into Vernon. He caught her arms, steadied her. Distracted, ready to be distracted even more, she met his wide, wicked smile with one of her own.

“Why aren't you down there singing ‘Kum Ba Yah' with everybody else?” he teased.

Shoving her hair back, she cocked a hip and planted a hand on it. “First, I had to work. Helping Lancaster in his studio, and it was my night to close things up. Second, they are singing ‘Amazing Grace.' Third, I'm not going to a vigil when I couldn't stand two of the people they are weeping and wailing about.”

Vernon's brows shot up. “Yeah? Which two?”

“Mommy and Daddy Sutter. She was a bitch and he was just as bad. The whole town is blind, too busy adoring them, but I know better.” She sighed and looked over at the church. From there, she could still see one of the pictures of David. He'd been a nice-looking kid. Sullen, quiet. But who could blame him? “Anyway, I don't want to talk about them.”

“Me, neither.” He moved in closer. “How about we go grab a bite to eat instead?”

*   *   *

Exactly seventy-two minutes later, she all but fell out of his truck, desperate to get away.

“A bite to eat doesn't mean I'm going to spread my legs, you son of a bitch,” she snarled as he came around the truck, rubbing his jaw where she'd elbowed him.

“You are such a little cock tease.”

Planting her feet, she steadied herself. She was tired of this. Layla fucked everybody with a dick and people seemed to think Sybil was the same. She liked sex just fine—
more
than just fine—but she was rather selective about her partners and it took a lot more than just one or two dates before she decided if she was going to sleep with somebody.

Curling her lip as he drew closer, she raked him up and down with a look. “Please, Vernon. Don't flatter yourself. You'd have to have a cock worth teasing before I'd bother with you.”

He tried to cage her in up against the shop window, but she dashed to the side.

Her heels were going to be problematic here, she realized. But as she went to kick them off, a shadow peeled itself off the wall.

As he moved in between her and Vernon, her heart stuttered for a few beats before it settled back into a normal rhythm.

“I think the lady is done with you.”

His voice was rich, deep. Sinful, seductive as chocolate. Something in her belly clenched just at the sound of it. As his words connected in her brain, she arched a brow.

A white knight.

She hadn't ever had a guy rush to her rescue before. It was … sweet. She'd never really needed it, either. She could handle Vernon—she'd handled worse. Regardless, it was still very sweet.

Vernon sneered at him and she had a moment to catch her breath, debate about how to handle the change in circumstances.

“Go back to the farm, boy,” Vernon said, his voice mocking.

Sybil flicked a look over his clothes, saw the simple blue shirt, the sturdy, plain brown pants. The dark bowl of a haircut and the hat he held clenched in one big hand completed the picture.

An
Amish
white knight?

Weirder and weirder.

Vernon moved in closer, his face in a scowl, but all the man did was stand there.

Then Vernon reached out and the man moved, caught Vernon's hand in his.

It was done, then. Sybil's mind was still processing it and she couldn't believe what she'd seen. Vernon was on the ground, facedown, his voice high, pinched from pain, while the man still held his wrist, twisted and wrenched up in the air.

“I told you that it was time to leave the lady alone.” His voice was as steady as if he'd been discussing the weather.

“All right, all right, I get it, I get it!” Vernon was whimpering by the time the final words left him. “I'm sorry, fuck—Sybil, I'm sorry. Tell him to—”

A moment later, the man let go.

He turned to look at her.

She staggered back against the window as those eyes connected with hers.

His face—harshly hewn, darkened by stubble, the face of a man who'd looked into hell. It didn't fit that rich as chocolate voice. But it fit those eyes. She knew those eyes.

She'd looked into them once before.

“Are you well?” he asked, his voice oddly formal.

“You…” She licked her lips. “You're…”

“My name is Caine,” he said, dipping his head. “I saw what was happening and wanted to help. Are you well?”

Caine.
She blinked and passed a hand over her eyes.
Caine?
She sucked in a slow breath, let her brain process that as she thought about the circus, draped in somber clothing, going on behind her.

Then, as understanding dawned, she met David Sutter's eyes.
Caine.
So he'd remade himself.
Good for you
, she mused. Meeting his gaze, she nodded. “I'm fine, thank you … Caine.”

*   *   *

The memories of that night, as clear to her as if it had just happened, spun away. Blinking, Sybil turned her head and looked over David. His gaze bored into hers.

“How did you know?”

“Your eyes.” She shrugged. “Like I told you, anybody who looked into your eyes and didn't see it, they were just blind.”

A little like him, she supposed. He looked at her now and didn't see. He'd looked at her for all these years and didn't realize it. They hadn't become lovers until a few years later. He hadn't even trusted her at first—she knew he didn't really
want
to trust her now, but in some way he did. Otherwise she couldn't do what she was doing.