Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (40 page)

She reached the end of the hallway and turned left, to find another hallway stretching before her. Five doors down she came to an open set of double doors, with
SHER DEPAR
stenciled on the left half and
IFF’S TMENT
on the right, so that they made whole words only if the doors were closed. Inside was a long room with a high counter running the length of it; behind the counter were several desks, the dispatch radio, and two offices, one of which was slightly bigger than the other. The biggest office had Sheriff McFane’s name on the door, which was half-open, but Faith couldn’t see into the office from where she was standing. Photographs of past sheriff’s hung on the wall, the extent of the parish’s efforts at decoration. It wasn’t a cheerful effect.

A middle-aged woman in a brown deputy’s uniform looked up as Faith approached the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to speak with Sheriff McFane, please.”

The deputy peered over her reading glasses at Faith, obviously recognizing her from her visit the day before yesterday. All she said, though, was, “What’s your name?”

“Faith Hardy.”

“Let me see.”

She went into Sheriff McFane’s office with only a perfunctory knock, and Faith heard the murmur of voices. The deputy came out, said, “Come through there,” and indicated a half door at the end of the counter. She hit a buzzer located under the counter, and the door clicked open.

Sheriff McFane came to the door of his office to greet her. “Good morning, Mrs. Hardy. How’re you doin’ today?”

For answer, Faith held up the note. “I got another one.”

The good humor faded from his face, and he was instantly serious. “I don’t like this at all,” he murmured, plucking an evidence envelope from a desk and holding it open for Faith to drop in the note. She released it with the air of one disposing of smelly trash. “What does it say?”

“I haven’t read it. It was under my windshield wiper this morning when I got up. I’ve only touched one corner, so I wouldn’t smear any fingerprints, assuming any are left. The paper’s wet,” she explained.

“Dew. That means it had been on your windshield for several hours. Actually, we have several good prints already, from the other note and the box. The problem is, we won’t be able to find a match unless the note writer has been fingerprinted before.” He ushered her into his office and dumped the note out onto his desk blotter.

“Since you haven’t read it yet, let’s see what it says.” He opened the lap drawer of his desk and pawed through the contents, finally coming up with eyebrow tweezers. Using the tweezers and the tip of a pen, he carefully unfolded the damp paper. Faith angled her head to read the block letters:

YOU’RE NOT WANTED HERE LEAVE BEFORE YOU GET HURT

“Same person,” Sheriff McFane said. “No punctuation.”

“A deliberate signature?”

“Maybe, but could be it’s just a departure from his usual style, sort of camouflage.” He frowned at her. “Mrs. Hardy
—Faith—Gray and I both told you the other day, living out there all by yourself could be dangerous.”

“I’m not going to move,” she said, repeating a sentence she must have said twenty times when she had been here to fill out the report on the dead cat.

“Then how about getting yourself a dog? It doesn’t have to be a guard dog, just one that will set up a racket if it hears anything outside.”

Surprised, she stared at him. A dog. She’d never had a pet of any kind, so that option simply hadn’t occurred to her. “Why, I think I will. Thank you, Sheriff. That’s a good idea.”

“Good. Get one as soon as possible. Stop by the pound and pick out a young, healthy one. A half-grown youngster would be good, still young enough to take to you real quick, but old enough that it can bark, not just make puppy yaps.” He looked down at the note on his desk. “About all I can do right now is have my deputies drive by your house a couple of times each shift. We just don’t have much to go on.”

“And a few notes and a dead cat aren’t exactly the crime of the century.”

He gave her a quick grin, full of Huckleberry Finn charm. “Can’t even get ’im for cruelty to animals. If it makes you feel any better, the cat wasn’t tortured. It was a road kill. Somebody just scooped it up, is all. It makes
me
feel a little better about the danger of the situation. A real psycho would have enjoyed killing a cat.”

It did make her feel better. The memory of that mangled little corpse had made her feel sick every time it came to mind. The cat was still just as dead, but at least if it had been hit by a car, it had probably died instantly. She couldn’t bear to think that it had suffered.

She left the sheriff’s department and retraced her path. Halfway down the long corridor, she saw a tall, powerfully built man with long, dark hair stop to speak to the little blue-haired lady.

Faith’s heart almost stopped. Without missing a step she whipped around to go back toward the sheriff’s department, panicked at the thought of facing him again after the
rawness of their last meeting. It was a purely instinctive reaction; her mind knew she needed to talk to him, but her body fled.

She heard the low rumble of his voice, recognizable anywhere, and speeded her steps. As she reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner, she glanced back and saw him striding rapidly toward her, his long legs shrinking the distance between them at an alarming rate. His dark eyes were locked on her.

She whisked around the corner, and the women’s rest room was right there, on the left. She saw the sign and darted inside, then pushed the door closed and stood with one hand pressed to her chest in an effort to calm the thudding of her heart. She glanced around. She was alone in the tiny, two-stall facility, and she waited, frozen, for the sound of his footsteps passing by.

The door swung abruptly inward, forcing her to jump back to avoid being hit. Gray filled the doorway, big and muscular and threatening, a dark scowl on his face. His eyes glittered like black ice.

Faith tried to back away, but she bumped against the wash-area counter. There was very little room for maneuvering in the tiny rest room. “You can’t come in here!”

He stepped forward and shut the door. “Are you sure about that?”

She took a deep breath, reaching for calmness. “Someone will come in.”

“Maybe.” He moved closer, so close that only inches separated them and she had to tilt her head back to see him. “Maybe not. You chose the place, I didn’t.”

“I didn’t choose anything,” she snapped. “I was trying to avoid you—”

“I noticed,” he said dryly. “What are you doing here?”

There was no reason not to tell him. “I found another note on my car this morning. I brought it to Sheriff McFane.”

His scowl grew darker. “Damn it, Faith—”

“He told me to get a dog,” she said, interrupting the sermon. “I was just on my way to the pound.”

“That’s a good idea. Don’t bother with the pound,
though; I’ll get one for you. Why didn’t you answer the phone yesterday?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.” She glared up at him. “I’ll get my own dog, thank you. And I’m not pregnant.”

His dark brows arched. “How do you know? Did you start your period?”

“No, but it isn’t the right time of the month.”

He snorted. “Honey, I’m Catholic. I know a lot of kids who got their start at the wrong time of the month.”

“Maybe you do, but you can take my word on this.” As she spoke, she tried to slide sideways.

Gray put his hands on her waist, trapping her. “For God’s sake, stand still,” he said irritably. “You’re always trying to run away. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“The same thing you did the last time I saw you,” she retorted, then blushed. As much as she had dreaded meeting him again, now that it had happened, she felt the usual rush of excitement. No matter what, she could never be matter-of-fact about being with him, whether in battle or anything else. Gray wasn’t a man who elicited boredom in the people around him. He was too big, too vital, too overwhelmingly male and sexual. Even as a child she had responded to his presence, and now that she was a woman, the effect he had on her was painfully magnified. She would try not to let
him
know it, but she couldn’t lie to herself. Already her body was tightening, growing warm and moist with response. It was instinctive, and totally separate from the dictates of her mind.

His brows lowered over those midnight eyes, which began to glitter. “You liked it,” he said softly, dangerously. “Don’t try to pretend you weren’t willing. I felt every little ripple, baby.”

Faith felt the color intensify in her cheeks, and not just from embarrassment. If only he hadn’t touched her, if only he weren’t so close that she could smell him, hot and musky and deliciously male. “No,” she said just as softly. “I wasn’t saying that.” She paused, gathering herself for the lie of her life. “I just don’t want to do it again. It was a mistake, and—”

“You’re lying.” His gaze was on her breasts. Slowly his
eyes lifted, and his expression changed again, tightening with lust. “Your nipples are puckered,” he whispered, “and I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t have to look down to see if he was telling the truth; she could feel the heavy tightness of her breasts, feel her nipples rasping against the lace that covered them. Warmth was gathering in her body, seeping down to pool in her loins. She stared helplessly at him.

Color darkened his high cheekbones, and his breathing deepened. “Faith,” he murmured.

The tension was like a cord between them, thrumming with awareness. She felt as if the cord were being reeled in, inexorably pulling them together. Panicked, she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed, with a total lack of results. “We can’t,” she said weakly. “Not here, for God’s sake!”

He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fastened on her mouth. He said, “What?” in an absent tone as his hands tightened on her waist and pulled her against him. She moaned aloud at the feel of his hard, vital body pressed all along her. He bent his head to kiss her, and she automatically lifted her mouth. His lips were soft, his mouth hot. Response thrilled through her, as irresistible as the tide, and her hands stopped pushing against him to clench fistfuls of his shirt. He urged her even closer, and slanted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. She made a little “hmmm” of delight and sucked at it, curling her own tongue upward to stroke his.

He shuddered as if struck, and cupped her buttocks to lift her hard against his thick erection. The heat of desire exploded into a wildfire, melding them together. He tore his mouth free and groaned, “Jesus,” as he jerked up her skirt and roughly shoved her panties down her thighs.

The sink counter was cold against her bare buttocks, and she blinked at the shock, surfacing a bit from the dark tide. “Wait,” she blurted.

“I can’t.” His voice was rough, shaky. He gripped her hips with one arm as he bent to strip her panties completely off. Before she could react, he straightened and hoisted her onto the counter. Pushing her thighs apart, he moved between
them, then began jerking frenziedly at the zipper of his fly. He grunted as he freed his erection, and then guided himself to her. Faith dug her nails into his heavy shoulders as she felt the heat of his naked flesh pressing against her soft folds, burrowing between them, searching for the opening to her body. He found it, and she moaned at the pressure as that heavy invasion began. He pushed into her, stretching her almost unbearably. She was still a little sore from the first time, and he felt even more massive than before.

Then he was in her to the hilt, and he paused, resting his damp forehead against hers. “God, you’re tight as a fist,” he gasped. She was trembling violently, and he gathered her closer, stroking her back, comforting her. After a moment he moved experimentally, restrained little thrusts that set off spasms of painfully intense pleasure and made both of them shudder wildly.

“Just putting it in you makes me ready to come.” His voice was thick, his breath warm in her ear. He thrust a little harder, a little faster. She felt the thick ridge of his penis head moving back and forth inside her, and her inner muscles clamped down in frantic pleasure. She moaned again, digging her nails into him in an effort to control that wild rush. He cursed, the words low and shaky with delight. Putting his hand on her bare bottom, he pulled her to the edge of the counter, positioning her so that every thrust ground him against her exposed, straining little sexual nub. It was what he had done before, and she had no more defense against it than she’d had the first time.

He began thrusting heavily into her, pounding toward orgasm. She felt on fire, arching helplessly to meet his hips, the ecstatic tension in her loins coiling violently, out of control, her body taken over by and intent on this swelling, ungovernable pleasure.

The door creaked as it began to open.

Gray moved like lightning, slapping his left palm against the door and slamming it shut before it had opened more than a fraction of an inch. “Hey!” a woman squawked indignantly from the other side.

“This one’s occupied,” he said hoarsely, not missing a beat with his plunging hips. “Go somewhere else.” Faith
couldn’t say anything. Her eyes widened with alarm, but all she could do was look helplessly up at him.

Gray’s lips drew back over his teeth and his head dropped forward as he began hammering faster. His face was flushed, satisfaction only a few moments away.

Faith shuddered wildly as the coil of tension suddenly released and the fierce, pulsing flood of sensation swept through her. Shivering and pushing hard against him, she buried her face against his chest and bit his shirt to muffle her gasping cries.

He kept his hand flat against the door, gripping her bottom with his right hand to anchor himself. He shoved hard into her, twice, three times, again, then bucked violently. His head fell back and a harsh, guttural cry rumbled up from his chest.

There was an insistent banging on the door. “What are you doing in there?” the woman said in shrill, grating tones. “That’s the lady’s room! You aren’t supposed to be in there!”