One to Protect (One to Hold Book 3) (10 page)

I head down the hall, hurrying to my dresser. I have something red and lacy in mind, something I know is Derek’s favorite, but I pause in front of my mirror, my eyes searching my neck in the reflection.

A flash of panic hits me, and I quickly feel all around the dresser top. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before. The excitement I was just feeling is gone, and I grasp my neck.
Where is it?

Running back to the bathroom, the towel still tied under my arms, I pass him headed in my direction.

He steps back against the wall. “Melissa?”

Confusion is in his voice, but I can only think one thing. “No!” I cry, plunging my hands into the receding water and feeling around frantically.

I can’t find it. I sit back on my heels watching the water disappear. “No no
NO!!!
” Diving forward, I plunge both my hands in the half-inch left, frantically sweeping dying bubbles aside, feeling all over the bottom of the large tub.

Derek grasps my upper arms. “Mel, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not here.” My throat is so tight, I almost can’t speak the words. Jumping up, I run to the kitchen, my eyes sweeping every inch of the floor as I go.

My bag is sitting on the counter, and I grab it, flip it over and dump the contents all over the bar. Lipstick, wallet, keys, pens, peppermint, loose change, dental floss… I sweep my fingers through it all, desperate. “No!” I whisper, my voice cracking with tears.

Derek’s right with me as I run out to the side porch, flipping on the light. So much adrenaline is pulsing through me, I don’t even notice the cold. Shoving my hands into the cushions, I grasp and feel…

Nothing.
Nothing
…

It’s not there.

“Oh, god!” I collapse against the small couch, a flood of tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’ve lost it… I’ve lost it.”

“What, baby?” Derek’s voice cracks now. “What have you lost?”

“Your necklace…” A sob hiccups in my throat, momentarily stealing my words. “Your heart… I lost it. Oh god…”

More tears soak my cheeks, and he pulls me against his chest. We’re both sitting cross-legged in towels on the floor of my screened-in side porch. It’s freezing, but I can’t tell if I’m shaking from the cold or the heartbreak.

One large hand holds my waist, the other smooths my back, but even Derek’s massive strength can salvage what’s happened.

I lean back to look at him, but I can’t speak. The shivering and crying have stolen my words.

I can tell he’s lost. His brow creases with helplessness. “But… It wasn’t really my heart. It was just a symbol—”

Shaking my head, my chin drops. “No. You gave it to me. It was the first thing you ever gave me, and I loved it so much.” Tears are streaming down my face. I can’t stop them.

I’m on the verge of ugly crying, and I don’t even care. That little necklace was more precious to me than the most expensive piece of jewelry I might ever get in my life, and now it’s gone.

“Melissa. Stop. Look at me.” He lifts my chin and pulls my face close to his, kissing the tears on my cheeks. “My heart is here, with you. You always have my heart, even without a symbol. I’m always yours.”

I slip my arm around his neck, burying my face against his shoulder, and he gathers me to his chest and stands, holding me. For the briefest second, I wonder at his ability to do that so easily. Then my memory floods as he walks us back to the bedroom and fresh tears come.

“You’re so tired.” His voice is quiet and soothing as he places me on the bed, pulling back the blankets. “We’ll look for it tomorrow. It’ll turn up. I promise.”

I want to believe that, but somehow, I’m certain it’s gone.

Untying the towel still under my arms, he removes it then lifts my legs and puts them between the sheets. We’re both naked when he slides in beside me. Hugging me close, he strokes the top of my arm slowly.

“Just rest, and trust me. We’ll find that necklace.” His voice is warm and comforting, and I must be more tired than I realized. Or the sadness has taken my strength.

Either way, it’s not long before my heavy limbs relax, and I succumb to sleep.

Chapter 7: Patrick’s Proposal

Derek

Only a few times in my life have I felt completely helpless, and the top two occurred in the last twenty-four hours. Watching Mel fall apart last night was almost as bad as that fucking drive from Raleigh. Holding her now as she sleeps, I think about what happened.

As if dealing with Sloan isn’t enough, she’s completely undone over a necklace, a trinket that cost me less than two hundred dollars. You’d think it was made of pure platinum encrusted with diamonds.

If I remember correctly, she threatened to throw it in the ocean once when she was angry with me. Now it’s more valuable than what we thought was hidden in Al Capone’s empty vault, and I can’t console her.

At the same time, I adore her so much for it.

The fact that such a small thing, the only thing I could find that late night in Scottsdale to give her—the night when she’d first wanted to tell me she loved me but couldn’t. I’d wanted to tell her I loved her, too…

It
had
been pretty important that night to do something to mark the moment. Everything in me demanded I make her mine forever, but I knew what we had in the desert was tentative. We hoped for so much more, but we couldn’t have it then. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, yet she’d stolen my heart. That necklace was the only thing I could give her to make it real.

With a deep exhale, I accept what she’s feeling right now over losing it. It’s pretty heartbreaking, and as much as I mean it when I say it doesn’t matter, I know how sentimental that delicate piece of 24-karat gold is.

It’ll turn up.
I reassure myself as much as her. And dammit, if it doesn’t, I’ll fucking buy her another one. Maybe the new one
will
be platinum encrusted with diamonds. I can even have it delivered with the original message.

She stirs, and I hold her closer. She’s upset, but asleep, she looks peaceful. I want her to feel calm and not worry.

Her blue eyes blink open, and her voice is a soft whisper. “Hi.”

The familiar squeeze of love hits me right in the stomach, and I never want it to ease, no matter how many years we pass sharing the same bed. No pacing ourselves, only love, as much and as often as we want it.

“Feeling better?” I smooth my palm over her forehead, back into her hair, but her soft lips press together.

“Not really.”

I roll forward and kiss that ivory forehead, right where my hand just was. “I’m sorry I have to leave with Patrick today, otherwise I’d stay here and tear the house apart until I found it.”

“It’s okay.” She pushes me onto my back, resting her cheek on my chest, hugging my torso. “I know this job is important, and I don’t mind searching by myself. It’ll probably be easier because I know where all I’ve been.”

My phone buzzes, and I glance at the clock. “I’ve got to get moving, or I’ll be late meeting Patrick.”

We both sit up, and she wraps the sheet under her arms as her eyes travel around the room, scanning all the baseboards. I know she’ll do it—the whole day, searching.

Cupping her jaw, I kiss her lips lightly. “Try not to worry. I’ll make it right. No matter what.”

Her eyes flicker to mine and she manages a little smile. “Be safe today.”

Melissa is on my mind the entire drive to Raleigh. I want to be there with her and make sure she’s not sad, or worse, crying again. Patrick’s ahead of me on the borrowed bike, and I follow him off the Interstate in the direction of the seedy bar.

Once we’re in the parking lot, he slows down and motions for me to find a spot while he manages the bike. I meet up with him heading into the Skinniflute, but he holds my arm before we enter.

“When we meet with Toni this time, hang back. Let me take the lead.” His brow is tense, and I notice his jaw flex. “She wasn’t too thrilled about working with you.”

Glancing away, I exhale a laugh. “That makes two of us. Sloan Reynolds is used to high-class action, not part-time hookers.”

My partner releases my arm and jerks the metal door open. “She cleans up well, and she owes me a favor. Just let me handle it.”

Following my abrupt departure yesterday, Patrick set up a meeting when she wasn’t on the clock. As a result, Toni Durango is sitting in the same wooden booth waiting when we enter the dive.

As directed, I hang back while Patrick strides over, smiling that cocky grin of his. “Thanks for meeting up with us today.”

A cup of coffee is in front of her, and she sits up, leaning forward over the table. “What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette.”

“You quit?” He slides in next to her, and I take my place across the table, hands on the bench at my sides.

“For the fiftieth time. I don’t expect it to stick.” She has the voice of a smoker, low and husky.

I try to picture her “cleaned up” as Patrick put it. Today, she’s wearing thick black eyeliner, fake lashes, and velvet red lipstick. Her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I fully expect to find tattoo sleeves if the leopard-print cardigan she’s wearing over her black tank comes off.

Sloan will
not
go for this.

Her brown eyes meet mine. “Patrick said the reason you ran off yesterday was about this guy.”

Sliding a glance at my partner, he’s still wearing his lady-killer grin, but his eyes are telling me to take it easy. Like this is my first job.

“He’s an abusive asshole, and I suspect a murderer. My concern is he’s coming after my fiancée, who happens to be his ex-wife.”

This girl has either seen a lot of shit or she’s used to handling it, because her expression never falters.

Her lips press together then, and her eyes narrow. “They always come back. You think they’re gone, the law is on your side, but there’s no stopping those motherfuckers.” Her hands tighten around the mug in front of her. “The only good abuser is a dead abuser.”

“Sounds like you have experience with guys like this.”

“Not me.” She shakes her head and looks down. “My step-sister was shot by her ex before they finally put him away. Lylah’s aunt was almost beat to death… If there’s one kind of trouble I
do
avoid, it’s creeps like that.”

Patrick leans forward as if on cue. “He’s into sex for hire. Our plan was to set the guy up. Use you as sort-of… bait.”

“We’ll be there the whole time,” I add. “You wouldn’t be alone with him ever.”

She blinks down to the table. “What’s in it for me?”

As much as I’m sure we have nothing in common, I’m on her side this time. I wouldn’t ask any woman to play prostitute—even ones with experience, and I’m about to call the whole thing off when Patrick cuts in.

“Five thousand dollars, immunity… and knowing you helped get a killer off the streets.”

Poker face or not, I saw her eyes spark at the mention of money. We didn’t discuss it, but I’m slick with his proposal. I’d gladly pay any amount for the peace of mind Melissa and I will gain knowing this guy is dealt with.

She studies the coffee cup as she appears to be turning the prospect over in her mind. “Why can’t you get him yourself? Without me?”

I answer this one. “He’s not your average, run of the mill lowlife. He’s connected. He’s got money, power, and lawyers who can get him out of anything.”

“Escorts,” Patrick adds. “He uses
escorts
.”

Straightening her arms out in front of her, she examines her fingernails. “In that case, I’ll need some of that money up front. Mani-Pedi, hair, body makeup to cover the tats…”

“What tats?” Patrick’s brow creases, and she smiles like he’s so naïve.

We both watch as she removes her sweater, and just as I suspected. Sleeves.

“Well fuck me.” He laughs. “I had no idea.”

She laughs, too. “I did fuck you. It was pretty fucking hot.”

“Okay.” That’s the last thing I’m interested in hearing about. Their whole connection still pisses me off. “We can give you a thousand up front. Do the works. Hair, wardrobe—”

“I know my job.” Her eyes flash at me, and her voice is sharp.

I put a lid on it. Patrick’s right. She responds better to him.

“This guy prefers wavy, light brown hair.” He reaches inside the leather bike jacket he’s wearing and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. “Something like this.”

When he puts the sheet on the table, smoothing it open, you would’ve thought it was on fire. Toni jumps back then she stands quickly out of the booth, snatching up the page.

“What… Where did you get this?” She seems panicky now, and Patrick’s out of the booth just as fast.

“It’s the Baltimore police report. It’s who we think is his last victim. It’s what put Derek on the alert.”

“No.” She’s shaking her head, and I can see her eyes flying down the page as she reads. “No…”

The first indication she’s crying are the lines. It’s like an invisible hand draws two black stripes down each of her cheeks from the outer corners of her eyes to her chin.