The Departed (19 page)

His mouth caught hers and she bit his lip, then sucked it into her mouth. When he shuddered against her, she smiled. Against her belly, she could feel him, hard and thick. She worked a hand between them and closed her fingers around his cock, stroking him.

Taylor tore his mouth away. “Fuck, don’t do that. I’ll lose it right here.”

“That’s fine with me.” She smiled up at him and continued to pump. The thought of making him shatter like that had her belly going hot and tight. He wanted her that much—this controlled, contained man wanted
her
that much.

He reached down and caught her wrist, stilling her actions. “It’s not fine with me.”

“Spoilsport.” She squeezed him and then let go, still grinning. A thought occurred to her. “I don’t have anything with me, Jones.”

His lashes flickered. “Me, neither.”

“I’m still on the pill.” A blush crept up her cheeks but she didn’t look away as she added, “I haven’t been with anybody since you.”

“Me, neither.” He closed his eyes, pressed his brow to hers. “I can stop. Go to the store.”

“Or…” She wiggled under him, stroking a hand down his back. “We can do something really stupid again.”

“We could.” He nipped her lower lip and then lifted his head, staring down at her. “Something really fucking stupid. We both know better.”

“Yeah.” She cupped his hips in her hands and met his gaze. Her heart, always so damned weak when it came to him, trembled and stuttered inside her chest. “Make love to me, Jones.”

He braced one elbow on the bed by her head. “Say my name, Desiree.
My
name…” he muttered.

“Taylor. Make love to me, Taylor.”

His mouth captured hers as he shifted and positioned himself between her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped against her mouth.

As she did, he pressed against her, the broad head of his cock nudging against her exposed, slick folds. She whimpered and arched, rubbing against him. “Damn it, Dez, be still…”

She couldn’t, though. Aching, all but dying for him, she tightened her legs around him and arched up.

Taylor swore and pushed, driving deep, burying himself inside with one hard, heavy thrust that tore a scream from her throat. Again, again…he shifted his body so that each thrust had his body stroking against her clit, a burning, taunting little tease—driving her insane.

* * *

HER eyes, so dark and deep, stared up at him, her gaze glassy. Drunk with need, drunk on her, Taylor cupped the back of her head and kissed her, dying for more. Bored with her? With this? Not in this lifetime. The little muscles in her sex clenched around him, milking him, clutching at him as he withdrew.

So fucking sweet, so hot and so wet…He groaned out her name against her lips as she shuddered under him. Her body went rigid against his, tight with the need to come.

He’d wanted this to last…but there was no way it could. No way
he
could, not with her. Not with how much he wanted her, how much he needed her. Nobody else had ever done this to him, shattered his control like it was nothing.

Taylor worked a hand between them and stroked his thumb over the erect little nub of her clit. Lifting his head, he stared at her, watched as a harsh, broken sob fell from her lips.

Her nails bit into his skin as she started to come and he gritted his teeth, holding back until he saw her going over. Then, and only then, did he bury his face in her neck and start to move again, hard, fast.

He muttered her name, blind to everything but her…completely and utterly lost in her.

* * *

“THAT was definitely something stupid,” Dez murmured once she could breathe again.

“Yes.” Taylor had her tucked up against him, her back against his front, one arm wrapped around her waist. “I plan on doing it again later.”

“I like that plan. But why later?”

He nuzzled her neck before responding. “We have to go back out to Beau Donnelly’s place.”

And with those words, reality came crashing back in. Sighing, she eased away from him and sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed. “Yeah. There is that. Shit.”

Behind her, she felt the bed shifting. Despite his apparent change of heart, she was still caught off guard when he came up to sit behind her, wrapping her in his arms. “We may not find anything. Probably won’t. But we owe it to that boy, to his family, to at least try.”

“I know.” Brooding, she stared off into nothing, wishing she could use her gift in a little more active fashion. “Don’t suppose you’ve called any of the others out here, have you?”

Several moments of silence passed before he answered. “No. I’ve considered it a few times, but my gut is telling me that isn’t the answer. You are.”

Dez made a face. “Some answer I am.”

“You’re more of an answer than you realize. For this…for me.”

Her heart did a slow, lazy flip in her chest. Trying not to let it show, she chuckled and said, “Wow, Jones. You’ve gone and turned all poetical on me.”

“And you’re still a smart-ass. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the answer here. Everything’s tying into you and you know it.” He rubbed his lips over her shoulder. “We’ll go out to the Donnelly place after you eat some breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, sighing and easing away from him. But before she could take a step, he caught her wrist.

Looking back at him, she arched a brow.

“You’ll eat,” he said, his voice flat.

Dez narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You need to eat. Has it occurred to you that part of the reason your ghosts are affecting you so much is because you’re run-down and worn out, and stressed on top of that? Not eating isn’t going to help.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes.

“Dez. It makes sense—none of my team has ever been able to work as well after they’ve been sick or injured. Extreme physical exhaustion is pretty close to sick. If you can’t shield as well when you’re tired, then it makes sense that they are able to talk to you all the time now.”

For the longest time, she just stared at him. Then, setting her jaw, she tugged away. “Fine. I’ll eat. But don’t be surprised if it doesn’t make a difference.”

“It’s not going to be an overnight thing,” he pointed out. “You need regular, decent meals and regular, decent sleep.”

“Fat chance,” she muttered with a snort. “Last night was the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. She’d slept well. And Taylor had been there.

Coincidence, she told herself. That was all it was.

THE Donnelly house was silent. Nobody responded to Taylor’s knock and Dez was just fine with that. She’d rather not have to face the emotion of his distraught parents before she had to try to focus on some practically nonexistent trail. Finding that trail, assuming she
could
, was going to be hard enough.

First, she went back to where she had been the previous night and just stood there. Back when she’d first started training for this job, she’d had an instructor who had taught her how to meditate. Dez had hated it. It was tedious, boring as hell…and useful.

It was a way of blocking out everything but the
one
thing she needed to focus on. Right now, she needed to block out everything, and everybody. Including Taylor, including the fact that they were going to try out a
relationship
. Including the fact that they’d had mind-blowing sex not that long ago, including even the fact that she was almost positive she had bruises in the shape of his fingers on her ass.

Blocking all of that out, she leveled out her breathing and just…drifted.

Drifted until she came in touch with something that didn’t quite fit.

There.

Faint…it was so faint.

A thin, insidious thread of rage. So tenuous and weak, even one false step would break it.

I’ll just have to be careful not to break it, then
…

She started to follow, one slow step at a time.

* * *

We had a lovely day together, my angel.

Although we did have an unpleasant interruption—I’m sorry for that. You shouldn’t have to tolerate such behavior.

The pen paused, tapping against the paper.

That punk. So rude.

I’m sorry he had to interrupt our time together, angel. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it. Not that it will be necessary.
He doesn’t even see how easily everything is tied to him…

Again.

* * *

BRENDAN stared at his father, a distraught, terrified look plastered on his face, and all the while, he was thinking,
Fucking again…somebody fucked things up again
…

“Beau. You said Beau’s in the hospital,” he whispered. “In a coma. But I just saw him. Last night. And he was fine.”

Not supposed to be in the fucking hospital. Should be in the damn morgue. What the hell happened?

“I know.” With understanding, compassionate eyes, Joshua Moore reached out and rested his hand on Brendan’s.

His wife sat at his side, sniffling delicately—all without ruining her makeup, Brendan noticed. Classy bitch—that was Jacqueline. She wasn’t his mom—his mom was dead. Jacqueline was nothing more than a brainless bimbo who’d fuck his father’s friends in exchange for favors. Brendan wasn’t supposed to know, of course, but he did. He knew all sorts of shit about his dad.

And he bet his dad knew exactly what had happened last night with Beau, too. Looking down at the table, he waited until he had a few tears in his eyes and then he looked up. With his voice shaking, he said, “What happened, Dad? Was…is this my fault? We…we had an argument, you know. Nothing’s been right ever since Tristan died. Beau was in one of his moods and wanted to get drunk and I didn’t…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Man, I shouldn’t say this.”

“Come on, buddy. You can tell me anything.”

He gave his dad a tremulous smile. “Yeah. I know. Beau was talking about taking some of his dad’s liquor again. I didn’t want to. We yelled at each other.” He reached up and probed his eye, gave his dad a sheepish smile. “This…well, it wasn’t from me and Kyle wrestling around like I said. It was Beau. I told him I wasn’t going to let him get my ass in any more trouble and he called…” He shot Jacqueline a nervous look. “He called me a pussy. I shoved him and he hit me. I told him—sorry, Dad—I told him to fuck off and then I got out of the car and headed over to Kyle’s. I…he didn’t have a wreck or anything, did he? Was it my fault? I know he’s screwed up in the head. Maybe I should have…”

“It wasn’t a wreck.” Joshua patted his hand. “It was an accident—a terrible one, but I think he got drunk and just fell asleep.”

“Thank God for that girl Tiffany,” Jacqueline said, her voice soft. She shot her husband a quick look and then lowered her gaze, sighing. “She’s like his angel or something.”

Brendan felt the hair on the back of his neck go up. “Tiffany?”

Both of them gave him an odd look and it wasn’t until then that he realized he’d said it all wrong. Giving them a weak smile, he said, “I’m just all messed up. I want to go see him. Can I?”

“I don’t know yet,” his dad said, sighing. “I’ll have to make some calls and see.”

“Okay.” He licked his lips and then, careful not to let anything show in his voice, he said, “What did Tiffany do? And what happened to Beau, anyway?”

“He fell asleep in the garage with his car running. Or maybe he passed out.” The man sighed, looking exhausted. “I don’t know. But for some reason, Tiffany was in the area and she heard his car.”

“That engine,” Jacqueline murmured. “It’s hard
not
to hear it.”

“Yes. She ended up breaking the side window and going into the garage, opening up the door. If he lives, it’s going to be because of her.”

That little bitch
.

* * *

SURREAL
wasn’t a word that normally belonged in Taylor Jones’s vocabulary, but today it did. The logical, normal part of his brain kept trying to intrude, but for once, the rest of him was louder, able to silence that logical, normal part of him.

Even now, as he trailed along behind Dez through the frost-covered grass, his brain was only half focused on the job. The rest of him was thinking about everything
but
the job.

Was he really going to do this? Try for some sort of relationship with her? Was she really going to give him that chance? Had he lost his
fucking mind
? Those were the thoughts eating up the other half of his brain as they walked through the meadow.

Still, half a brain was enough to notice when she tensed up and stopped. Under the beat-up leather coat, her shoulders were tense. Her head slumped. Her hands, hanging at her sides, curled into fists so tight, her knuckles were bloodless.

A soft, nearly soundless moan escaped her and everything in him demanded that he go to her.

But he didn’t—couldn’t—because that could too easily break the connection. So as much as he wanted to grab her against him and keep her away from whatever was hurting her, he shoved his hands into his pockets and held still, watching.

Watching her so closely, he knew the exact moment she started to tremble, the exact moment she started to sway.

Oh, fuck
—

He lunged forward just before she would have hit the ground. Catching her shoulders, he pulled her back, bracing her against him and staring down at her face. Her eyes were wide and fixed, staring upward at something he’d never be able to see.

“Dez,” he snapped out, keeping his voice hard and flat. “Come on, Dez, snap out of it.”

She only whimpered, huddling back against him, shaking, shuddering. This was bad. Dez wasn’t generally one of his people to get hit like this. It had happened before, but not often. Usually her connections were a lot more peaceful, a fact that he’d always been thankful for. He knew how to bring her out of this, but damn it, he didn’t want to have to do that with her…

Unaware of the plea in his voice, he whispered, “Come back to me, Dez. Come on, don’t make me do this…”

She tensed, almost like she was seizing. Squeezing his eyes closed, he gathered her against him and sank to the ground.
Fuck—

Setting his jaw, he pressed his fingers to her neck, tried to pretend he wasn’t stalling. Her pulse was strong and steady against his fingers, her skin warm. And her eyes, those dark brown eyes, were still locked, still fixed on whatever hell she’d lost herself in. Whatever hell she’d
stay
lost in until he pulled her out, or forced her out.

Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to hers.

“Dez…”

She jerked again, the motions of her body unnatural, harsh and erratic. Her hand came up, almost nailing him in the side of the head. One of his psychics sometimes had what looked like a grand mal seizure with her visions and this was too fucking close. And it was
Dez
, damn it.

A strangled, choking sound left her and he swore. Shit, he had to get her out of whatever she was lost in—
now
.

As a fist closed around his heart, he lifted his head and stared down at her head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted his hand.

Before he could strike, though, abruptly, she screamed. And then, just like that, her eyes cleared and she sagged against him, gasping for air. Small, broken sounds, almost like sobs, escaped her lips.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…”

IT was almost an hour before she could focus enough to think.

How did some of the others
do
this? she wondered. Nausea, pain, and grief swirled inside her and she wanted to gouge her eyes out, scrub her brain with bleach—
anything
that might undo what she’d gone through.

What that girl had gone through…
Oh, God, that poor baby…

Wrapped up in a blanket, curled in the corner of a couch, she stared down at the glass of whiskey Taylor had pushed into her hand and tried to get her throat to work so she could speak.

“You ready to talk?”

She looked up at him and noticed lines of strain fanning out from his eyes. Odd. She’d never seen that on him before. She sipped from the whiskey and distracted herself by looking around. She didn’t recognize where she was—didn’t even remember how they’d gotten there.

“Where are we?” she asked softly.

Taylor sighed and came farther into the room. He sat on the ornate coffee table, just inches away from her, elbows braced on his knees. A bitter smile twisted his lips as he looked around the room. “My…home, I guess you’d call it,” he said.

She blinked. “You…you
guess
?” she said.

“Doesn’t feel like home.” He shrugged. “The manor hasn’t been home to me in a very long time. But it is mine. I don’t live here. I only come here once a year. It was closer than the house where you’re staying, though, and I wanted to get you someplace warm.”

Then he glanced at the whiskey and added, “And someplace that had something for you to drink. You looked like you needed it.”

“Yeah,” she murmured faintly. She stared at him for a moment and then shifted her gaze to the room. It was…enormous. She thought of the little, squalid apartment she’d grown up in with her mother, back before the woman had abandoned her. Most of the apartment could have fit in this room. Swallowing, she looked back at Taylor. “Man. I had a feeling you came from money, but this…well. This is a little more opulent than I’d bargained for.”

“Money doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot, sometimes,” he said brusquely. A bitter smile came and went. “People think it can solve all ills, fix all problems. It doesn’t.”

He shoved up off the table and moved away, stalking over to the window and staring outside. The stiff set of his shoulders, the rigid line of his back, they spoke of pain. And more, she could
feel
the pain in him. She wasn’t always able to pick up much from him and she was glad of that. But right then, she could feel so much misery inside him, it almost swamped her. She suspected it was because her shields were just about decimated, thanks to whatever had hit her earlier, leaving her more vulnerable.

She wanted to go to him, but she wasn’t sure she could handle the pain in him just yet.

“I take it whatever made this place stop being your home—that was something money couldn’t fix.”

Taylor closed his eyes. “Yeah.” Then he blew out a harsh breath and shot her a narrow glance. “But I don’t want to get into this. We’ve got other problems on our hands. The boy. And whatever it was you felt out in the meadow.”

* * *

AS Dez lowered her gaze to stare at the glass of whiskey, Taylor stared at her. She was still off—her color ashen, her hands shaking. Every once in a while, a shudder would wrack her body and he’d glimpse something in her eyes that just about tore his heart out.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t protect her from it, either.

“What happened out there, Dez?” he asked softly.

She shot him a look through her lashes. “I…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. “I’ve been aware of something ever since Tristan moved on. A ghost. Old. Faint. Her presence…she feels young.”

Taylor tensed. His heart slammed against his ribs. Casually, he leaned back against the windowsill. “She?”

“I think.” She gave him a strained smile. “And I can’t even be sure that’s who I touched today. I do know today was a girl.” She lifted the glass to her lips but her hands were shaking so hard, the whiskey was splashing out.

Taylor went to her. Dread curled through him, flooding every last inch of him.
Not Anna, not Anna, not Anna…
Automatically he started to slip a hand into his pocket, only to realize the necklace wasn’t there. Fuck.

Dez’s hands were shaking. Focusing on that, he covered her hands with his, steadied them as she sipped, and then he pulled the glass away. “What happened?”

She looked at him, her eyes all but black with horror. “He called her his angel.”

Tears burned in her eyes and her voice broke. “His pretty and perfect angel…his one and only.” A harsh sob left her, and for a moment she was quiet as she struggled to get herself under control. She took a deep breath, then a second. When she looked back at him, her eyes glittered with rage, with hurt, with horror. “I can’t see either of them, not yet. She’s too fractured and I was lost inside her. I’ll try again—I have to. She’s a very big part of why I can’t leave yet. I just feel like I’m still supposed to be here. Although why she’s pulling at me like this, I don’t know. I’ve never connected with any of my ghosts like this.”

She took a deep, shaky breath and rested her head back against the couch. “I hope I never do again.”

Taylor felt like he was going to snap. He wanted to rage—wanted to scream. Instead, he took a sip of the whiskey he’d poured for himself. Cool. Be cool. He didn’t know if this was anything connected to him at all.

Like hell
—

No. He might not have any documented gifts, but his gut rarely steered him wrong. And everything inside him screamed a warning. This was Anna. After all these years…
Anna
.

And, coward that he was, he wanted to force Dez to leave. Not just the house, but the entire fucking town. Keep her the hell away from here, so maybe she couldn’t ever establish the deeper connection she needed to solve this one. Then he looked at her, her dark, soft eyes locked on his eyes, and he felt his heart all but shatter.

What if that deeper connection came from
him
? Things had gotten weird for Dez from the get-go here. She’d had an odder, deeper connection almost from the time she’d stepped foot inside the town. No, he didn’t have any connection to Ivy, to the boys who’d hurt her. But he had one to this town that went deep—very deep. And Dez had a connection to him. Psychics worked on a different wavelength than others. Sometimes those connections defied logic. He’d seen it happen more than once.

Was
he
the reason all of this was happening now?

Swearing, he turned away, slamming his glass down on the mantel. Whiskey splashed out but he barely noticed. He gripped the icy marble in his hands. Blood roared in his ears, and grief, pain, tore through him.
Anna
—

The misery he’d seen in Dez’s eyes, the horror.

No. Not Anna…

Lifting his head, he stared at the back of a silver frame. He kept it turned away because he couldn’t stand to constantly see her face when he was here.