She Can Kill (She Can Series) (22 page)

A fireman interrupted them. “Chief, the gas is off and the windows open. You might want to air the house out for a few more hours, but you can go inside.”

“Thank you,” Mike said.

The firemen climbed on their truck and pulled away. The gas company vehicle followed.

“Can I go inside and pack a few things?” she asked Mike.

“Yes.”

Cristan herded Sarah across the street. “Pack enough for a few days.”

How had her life come to this? To keep her girls safe, she had to send them away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Settled in the soft leather of the Mercedes, Sarah rested her head against the back of the seat. Cristan hadn’t spoken on the short drive to his house, but the quiet between them was comfortable. Whatever reservations she’d had about him were gone. He’d risked his life to save her.

She’d sent a bag of clothes with Mike to Sean’s house for Alex and Em. When she’d talked to the girls on the phone, Alex had been excited for a “sleepover.” Sean’s daughters were five and seven. Em was hesitant, but Sean had assured Sarah that he and his wife would distract her with games and movies. The former army ranger would keep the girls safe, but Sarah’s chest ached with missing them.

Cristan parked in the garage and led her inside. The faint beeping of an alarm panel sounded from the hallway.

“I’ll be right back.” Leaving her in the kitchen, he disappeared down the hall. The beeping ceased.

He reappeared in the doorway. “Do you want something to eat or do you want me to show you to your room?”

Sarah leaned on the island. The events of the morning whirled in her head. She was shaking inside. Soon, those shakes were going to work their way to the surface and she’d prefer that happen in private. “I’d really like to take a shower.”

“The guest room is upstairs.” He showed her into a utilitarian room. The sleek, dark queen-sized bed and dresser contrasted with white linens. Other than the lamps on the nightstand and dresser, the furniture was bare. He led her to the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He brought her clean towels, a thick robe that looked brand new, and her bag. On his way out the door, he said, “I’ll make some lunch. Take your time. Lucia doesn’t need to be picked up from school for a few hours.”

She listened to his feet descending the stairs. Alone, the enormity of her situation crashed over her, as if she were standing in the ocean, glancing back at the shoreline, while a huge wave broke unexpectedly over her head. The feeling swamped her until she could barely breathe.

The image of Troy’s gun in her face was branded in her mind. Had he always been this terrible? She tried to reconcile the young man she’d married with the one who’d nearly killed her but couldn’t. Troy had been wild in a boys-will-be-boys way, partying hard with his teammates, but nothing suggested seven years later he’d want to kill both of them. Heaving to her feet, she hobbled into the adjoining bathroom. She placed her palms on the vanity and stared in the mirror. She couldn’t reconcile her reflection with the naive eighteen-year-old who’d married Troy either.

Her lip was swollen, and a ring of bruises circled her throat. How much did she have to take? When could she say
uncle
? Last October, Troy had broken her arm and given her a concussion. She’d rebuilt her life, and he’d knocked it down like a Jenga tower. She gripped the granite vanity. She could not give up. More than her life was at stake. If she surrendered, her children would pay the price. She would do whatever it took to get through the next few days. Troy would be caught. He’d be arrested and put away. There was no way he’d be able to worm his way out of assault and attempted murder charges, not after what he’d done. There was too much evidence this time to fall back on the he-said-she-said argument he’d used in the past. This time, Troy hadn’t bothered to cover his tracks.

Because he wasn’t expecting to live to be arrested.

She shuddered. She dropped her jacket on the floor, reached into the shower, and turned on the water. She found hotel-sized shampoo and soap in a drawer. Unfortunately, she knew just what to do after having the hell beaten out of her: wash off the blood, ice her injuries, and take a couple of ibuprofen. She felt better with a plan of action, even if it only covered the next thirty minutes.

The hot water coursed over her skin. Sarah scrubbed her hair and body over and over. Still, she could smell the gas, Troy’s sweat, and the oily smell of his gun. She rinsed her mouth, but the taste of her own blood lingered. Pieces of her week played in her mind. The two dead robbers. Troy attacking her. The barrel of his gun large as a cannon in her face. She put her back to the cold tiles and slid down to the floor. She hugged her knees until the water running over her skin grew cold.

“Sarah? Are you all right?” Cristan opened the shower door. Concern overrode the apprehension on his face. “I’ve been banging on the door. You didn’t answer.”

She shivered. “I’m OK.”

“The water’s freezing.” He reached in and turned off the faucet. Snagging the towel from the vanity, he wrapped her in it and lifted her from the shower floor. He carried her into the bedroom and put her on the bed. Then he grabbed another towel from the bathroom and rubbed her dry.

She should have been embarrassed, but it was her emotional transparency that she found most humiliating, not her nudity. The first time he’d seen her naked she was a basket case. Not the sexiest of moments. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? For being human?”

“I’m a blubbering mess.” Her teeth chattered.

“You’re hardly blubbering.” He tugged the duvet off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. “The past week has been stressful. I think you handled it admirably.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. My ex-husband tried to kill me. I had to send my children away to keep them safe. I lost my job.” She took a deep breath. “I know that Troy will eventually be caught. The girls are safe with Sean. But what can I do? I hate letting my family and friends do everything for me.”

“Doing everything alone isn’t usually the best option.”

“But how long can I allow other people to carry me?”

“You’ve come a long way in a short period of time.” Temper and regret flashed in his eyes. “Do you think it would be better to have no one? I made that choice, and my daughter suffered.”

“I’m grateful for my friends and family every day. They’re the reason I’ve stayed in this town. I don’t know how the girls would have gotten through this divorce without support, and my kids are more important than my pride.” Sarah’s sigh trembled in her chest. “If only I didn’t feel so useless.”

“You are hardly useless. You give yourself no credit for what you’ve accomplished. You’ve fought hard for your children. You’ve been a wonderful friend to my daughter, and I’ve seen you take care of your sister.” Cristan gently blotted her hair with the towel. “Every time you’re knocked down, you get up again. That’s the true test of strength.” Cristan frowned as he scanned her face and neck. “You deserve a man who treasures you.”

Sarah had no words.
What would that be like?
She couldn’t imagine. The desire that bloomed inside her was nothing like she’d ever experienced. This man would never raise a hand to a woman. This man would never toss away his own child.

He set the towel on the bed and brought his hand back to her face. A gentle finger traced the bruises on her throat. “I should get you some ice.”

Cristan leaned away, and Sarah caught his wrist. “Don’t go.”

His eyes darkened, and the muscles in his forearm tensed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She fought for the words to express what stirred in her heart. The best she could do was, “I need you.”

For the first time since she’d left Troy, she didn’t want to be alone. She needed to be touched. She needed him.

His lips thinned, and his body went rigid. “I’ve done some terrible things in my past, Sarah. You’re wholesome and innocent. You deserve better than me.”

“I don’t care what you were in the past. It’s what you are now that matters. Isn’t that what you just said to me?” But what if he didn’t want her? She stiffened. “I’m sorry. I assumed you were interested, but how could you be? Look at me.” She waved a hand over her bruised knees.

Cristan took her by the arms and turned her to face him. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His hand fell to caress her knee. The touch of his fingers sparked heat deep inside her. Her leg shifted, inviting him to stroke higher. “These are the marks of courage. You fought back.”

When she looked at her bruises, she saw weakness.

“If I hadn’t been concerned about an explosion, I would have killed him for hurting you. I still want to, more than I should.” He dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to the uninjured side of her mouth. “Inside and out. There is a light within you. Kindness and compassion. Those are the qualities that make you shine. Those are the sources of your strength.”

His fingers trailed down the side of her neck. He stroked her shoulder and continued down her arm to her back. Pressing his palm flat against her lower back, he held her still as he moved closer. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her hip. “Never think that I don’t want you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me.” But as she said the words, she knew they weren’t entirely true. He would never raise a hand to her, but she’d let him into her heart and made herself vulnerable. She’d given him the power to hurt her as seriously as Troy’s fists had. But it was too late to pull back. He wanted her, and that was enough to push her desire from a simmer to a boil.

He hesitated, the muscles of his neck tightening with the effort. “Sarah . . .”

Her name sounded half protest, half plea.

She slid her hands up his chest and curled her fingers in his sweater. “Please.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Her trust leveled him. How could a woman offer him her bruised and battered soul? He wasn’t worthy. But the soft body pressed against his was more than he could resist.

She squirmed closer. A restless leg slid against his thigh. The towel slid off her body. And the sight of her was his undoing. His hand slid down her collarbone and chest to cup one full, creamy breast. Her head fell back, and the moan that escaped her lips sent blood rushing to his groin.

“Sarah.” He brushed a thumb across her nipple, his touch featherlight.

Her hands were pulling at his sweater. He helped her, peeling it off and dropping it to the floor. Her hand splayed on his chest, her fingers pale and slim and feminine against his darker skin. She was the light to his darkness, the kindness to counter the cruelty of his past. Everything about her made him feel stronger and more masculine.

He eased her back onto the bed, his intention to take her slowly and with great care. His gaze raked over the slim length of her. The bruises mottled in stark contrast to her fair, soft skin made him want to show her what it was like to be cherished. Every inch of her.

“You’re so beautiful.” He touched his lips to her shoulder.

She flushed, pinkness warming her creamy skin. He brushed his lips across her collarbone and continued to the side of her breast. When his mouth closed over her nipple, her body surged off the bed. Her hands clutched his shoulders, then moved lower to tug at the waistband of his jeans.

“There’s no rush,” he said. He hadn’t touched a woman in years. He had every intention of making this special, of enjoying every second of his reintroduction to intimacy.

But her fingers were working the snap of his pants. “More, please.”

“I don’t have any condoms. I’m sorry, but I’m happy to give you
pleasure. More than happy.” He trailed his fingertips up the inside of her thigh. Satisfaction swelled in his chest as her legs separated
to
give him more room.

“I have some.”

Surprised, he pulled away.

A blush rose into her cheeks. “They’re in my purse. My sister gave them to me. She said I should, um, ‘get back on the horse.
’
” The wry smile that tilted her mouth pleased him.

He chuckled.

“In that case.” He lifted his body from hers. In two seconds, his jeans hit the floor.

“What’s that?”

He unstrapped the sheath on his calf and set it on the nightstand. “A knife. I like to have a backup plan.”

Grabbing her purse, he tossed it onto the bed next to them. She dug a condom out of an interior pocket, handing it to him.

“There’s still no rush. I want to enjoy every second with you.”

She reached for him. “Don’t make me wait too long. Internal combustion would be a terrible way to go.”

“I’ll see what I can do to take the edge off.” Naked, he stretched out beside her, their bodies pressing together. Her softness cradling his hard limbs. Her skin was smooth and silky against his. But those delicate hands on his body were going to hurry things along too quickly.

He slid down on the bed, his mouth cruising over her flat belly and hip. He licked his way to her center. At the first touch of his tongue, her body arced off the bed and her hands delved into his hair. He’d meant to give her a release to ease her need, but the sweet taste of her fueled his desire. And the way she responded had his erection throbbing. It didn’t matter what he did, he needed her. Now.

Grabbing for the condom, he covered himself and rolled on top of her. His chest, and other things, aching with the need to be inside her.

“I’m not hurting you?” he panted in her ear.

“Hell, no.” She took hold of his hips with both hands and guided him to her core. “Just keep me from exploding.”

Laughing, he buried his face in her damp hair and slid inside her. Her silky heat closed around him as if welcoming him home. She bowed beneath him, her legs coming off the bed to wrap around his waist.

“I hope you have another condom. Against my best intentions, this isn’t going to last very long.” Was the pleasure this intense because he was inside of Sarah or because it had been a very long time since he’d been with a woman?

“Yes,” she breathed. “I have more. Please save the finesse for next time,” she begged. “I need . . .” Her voice trailed off as a groan ripped from her throat.

He levered onto his elbows. If this was going to be quick, he was determined it would still be meaningful. She met his gaze, her eyes darkened, the lids heavy with desire. He withdrew and thrust into her again. It was her, he decided. All her.

Her hands clutched his shoulders. The nails digging into his back spurred him to move faster. Her body bowed.

“Cristan.” Her breathless cry grabbed him by the balls and
drove him over the edge.

Her muscles went taut, and she closed around him, holding him tight. He held his weight off of her with a hand on the mattress while his breathing recovered. He rested his forehead against her shoulder.

Sweat coated their bodies, and her skin bloomed a healthy pink.

Lifting his head, he scanned her face for any signs of regret. His chest lightened when he saw none. He kissed her cheek. “Thank you. I can’t express what you’ve done for me.”

She brushed her fingers across his temple. “Right back at you.”

His heart swelled. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve given me a great gift.”

“You said it’s been a long time since you’ve been with a woman. How long?”

“Long enough that I don’t remember.” He rolled to his back. “I told myself I was keeping my distance from people to protect Lucia, but in truth, I was punishing myself. I blamed myself for my wife’s death. If I had demanded we leave, maybe she wouldn’t have been killed.”

Sarah rested her head on his chest. “
What if
is a pointless game to play.”

“It is.” He brushed his fingertips across her shoulder. “The good news is that I’m not willing to live that way anymore. Not everyone has the privilege of living. It’s a sin to waste a single moment on regret.”

“So you’re going to allow yourself to be happy?”

“I’m going to try.”

The lazy tilt of her smile stirred his blood all over again. “How long do we have before you need to pick up Lucia?”

He glanced at the clock. “More than two hours.”

She grinned. “In that case . . .”

Laughter rumbled from his chest. “I’m supportive of a gift that keeps on giving.”

Making love to her was no hardship. He’d do anything to keep the desolate look from her eyes. When he’d found her in the shower, she’d looked beaten. But now she was straight and her eyes clear. An hour later, she was more relaxed, curled under the covers as she slept soundly.

He stepped into his pants. Downstairs, he stopped in his office. His initial query had finished, eliminating all repeat clients of the firm. He doubted Maria had rented a house last year. He quickly programmed a new search, narrowing the client list down further by eliminating condos and attached units. Maria wouldn’t want to share walls. Next, he excluded the few properties close to Westbury. If Maria had spent a significant amount of time in the small town, she would have stood out. His accent still garnered attention from the locals.

A short time later, he was left with several dozen properties outside of Westbury but within a thirty-minute drive. He printed the list, accessed the online Multiple Listing Service, and reviewed each house one by one. Maria Vargas would not make do with rough lodging. She was accustomed to the finer things in life. She would also prefer seclusion, so close neighbors wouldn’t be desirable. On pure instinct, Cristan sorted the rental listings down to a final six. Four mountain properties for skiers, a farmhouse, and one waterfront property with a boat and dock.

Now what? He couldn’t leave Sarah alone, and they needed to pick up Lucia in a short while. He could send the list to Mike, but what would the cop do with illegally obtained information? Not much. But Mike’s friend Sean wasn’t bound by the same legal restrictions.

Cristan had to face it. He needed help. He couldn’t do everything himself. Not this time. He called Sean and explained the situation.

“Give me those addresses,” Sean said.

Cristan read the list. “Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Sean disconnected the call.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he returned to Sarah. The waiting would be the death of him.

Dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, Sarah punched a ball of risen bread dough in Cristan’s gourmet kitchen.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” Lucia sat at the island.

“It’s only temporary.” Sarah used a rolling pin to flatten the dough into a rectangle, then rolled it into a loaf and placed it seam side down in a greased pan. She covered the dough and set it aside to rise a second time. “I appreciate your dad letting me stay.”

Lucia glanced up from her schoolwork. Her pencil hovered over a sheet of lined paper. “Well, you couldn’t go home, not with your ex-husband on the loose.”

Cristan had insisted that Lucia deserved to know the basic truth. He’d left out a few of the more intimate details, like what had happened between them that afternoon, but she needed to be on her guard, both against Troy and the person who was after Cristan.

“I’m sure the police will catch him soon.” Sarah moved to the commercial stovetop set into the island and stirred a pot of chicken, black bean, and sweet potato stew.

“You can stay with us as long as you want.” Lucia stared at Sarah’s neck for a minute before returning to her math problem.

Repeated applications of ice had minimized the swelling, but nothing but time would erase the black-and-blue ring. Too bad she hadn’t thought to pack a scarf.

“Do you miss the girls?” Lucia asked.

Sarah sighed. “I do.”

Cristan emerged from the door that led down to the basement. After they’d made love again, he’d taken her on a tour of the house. In addition to giving her the basic layout and showing her how to use the alarm system, he showed her where weapons were hidden in his house. In each bathroom, there was a knife affixed to the top of the medicine cabinet. The top edge of a framed painting in the family room held a handgun. In the kitchen, another handgun occupied one of the slots in the wine rack. And the stash of weapons in the basement could arm a small police force. If she hadn’t seen the dead bodies of those robbers, she’d think Cristan was paranoid. Considering what he was facing, he was merely prepared.

He went to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “Coffee?”

She shook her head. Her stomach was already roiling. Coffee would not help. His gaze caught hers and held it. Despite their afternoon of intimacy, they hadn’t graduated to displays of affection in front of Lucia.

Lucia shut her notebook. The slap of paper echoed. Cristan bobbled his coffee. Hot liquid spilled over the rim onto his hand. He shook the drops from his hand, picked up a dishcloth from the counter, and wiped his mug.

“Do you want me to leave the room so you can kiss her?” Lucia asked. “I know something is going on between you. Honestly, I’m thrilled. So don’t feel like you have to hide it.”

Cristan cleared his throat. “We’re not hiding anything.”

Lucia rolled her eyes.

“Really,” Sarah said. “We’re just not quite ready to define our relationship. It’s all new, and a lot has happened in a short period. Give us some time, OK?”

“OK.” Lucia smiled. She gave her father a look. “See? That wasn’t very complicated.”

Sarah checked the dough and moved the pan into the oven. The
smell of baking bread filled the kitchen. Lucia’s willingness to com
municate with Cristan, albeit with some attitude, was a good sign.

Cristan scanned the kitchen. “Can I help?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. I have dinner under control.”

Light poured from a set of French doors and gleamed on the black granite counters. The view was stunning. A lawn sloped to the river and a small boathouse constructed of weathered gray wood. The sunset rippled orange and pink on the river. “And this kitchen is amazing.”

“I can’t take any credit for this house. It came exactly as is.” He moved to the wooden chopping block and minced the cilantro she’d washed. “Surely, I can help with something.”

“You can cook?” Sarah stirred the stew.

His knife chopped in practiced motions. “My early efforts weren’t pretty, but I learned.”

“Dad makes great empanadas,” Lucia said.

He finished mincing and washed the knife. “But nothing that smells like this.”

Sarah checked the bread. “I love to cook, and I need to keep busy.”

“Well, then feel free to use my kitchen at any time.” He took a stool at the counter next to his daughter and watched as Sarah served the meal. “As long as you leave us samples.”

The scene appeared relaxed but the undercurrent of tension couldn’t be denied. Lucia picked at her food. Cristan ate with robotic
mo
tions that suggested he was fueling his body more than enjoying his meal. Sarah ate the tender stew, but her throat was too sore to swallow bread. She took an ibuprofen. Then she and Cristan cleaned up the kitchen side by side.