The Missing (12 page)
Authors: Shiloh Walker
Tags: #Contemporary, #Romantic Suspense, #Romance Suspense
Taige struggled, kicking at his shins. But her bare feet weren’t going to do much damage. She ended up with a sore foot, and that only made her madder. “Let go of me, damn it,” she snarled.
“No. I did that once, and I’ve hated myself ever since,” he said, his voice calm and soft, gentle even. Taige leaned forward to bite him, and Cullen jerked back at the last second. Then he flipped her around in his arms, pressing her back up against his front and wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug that effectively pinned her in place.
Seething, she reared back with her head, but he moved his out of reach and kept her from smashing his nose the way she planned. “You son of a bitch, you didn’t let go of me. You kicked me out of your life. There’s a big-ass difference, and you got no right doing this to me.”
“Doing what?” he murmured. He nuzzled her neck. When she flinched and hunched her shoulder to keep him away, he just shifted his focus to her shoulder, kissing the skin bared by the thin straps of her shirt.
Making me still love you. Making me still need you.
The words leaped unbidden to her mind, and she almost blurted them out. She had a little bit of pride, though, and she managed to keep them behind her teeth. Barely. “Touching me like this. Talking to me like you give a damn. Any of it.”
The words leaped unbidden to her mind, and she almost blurted them out. She had a little bit of pride, though, and she managed to keep them behind her teeth. Barely. “Touching me like this. Talking to me like you give a damn. Any of it.”
“You like me touching you,” he whispered. Slowly, his arms loosened, and the hands that had been restraining her left her arms to cup her hips. He pulled her back against him, and the feel of him through his jeans had her wanting to strip naked and beg him to touch her.
But she didn’t have to beg. Even though she hated herself for being weak, when he slid one callused hand up her side to cup her breast, she groaned and arched into his touch. He squeezed her nipple, rolling the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it lightly. Cullen rested his chin on her shoulder, and together, they stared at the sight of his hand moving under the thin cotton of her shirt. “You like it when I touch you,” he repeated, and his voice was hoarse and rough. The sound of it sent shivers dancing down her spine. “And I do give a damn. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t keep coming to you.”
If you cared about me, you never would have left me,
she thought. But she didn’t say it. She was tired of fighting him. This was inevitable. He would touch her, and she would let him. He would strip her clothes away and she his. He’d make love to her and for a little while, she would pretend it was real and that he did love her, that he hadn’t ever left her.
she thought. But she didn’t say it. She was tired of fighting him. This was inevitable. He would touch her, and she would let him. He would strip her clothes away and she his. He’d make love to her and for a little while, she would pretend it was real and that he did love her, that he hadn’t ever left her.
And when it was over, and she woke, she’d feel that much emptier inside, that much lonelier.
His hands grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it off. The shirt went flying. Gathering the thick mass of her hair in his hand, Cullen bared her neck. She shivered when he bent down and kissed her skin. Then he bit her gently, his teeth grazing her skin and leaving a burning, sizzling path. He spoke, and when he did, it was an eerie echo of one of the last things he’d ever said to her. He’d said it time and again in their dreams, almost as though he had to hear it.
“Tell me that you love me, Taige,” he ordered gruffly as he slid his hands around and cupped both of her breasts. He teased the nipples, and each slow tug of his fingers sent need streaking through her, arrowing down and echoing low inside her belly. She squirmed and pressed her butt back against him.
“I love you,” she murmured, parroting back the words he needed to hear, words that she had to say. If she didn’t need to keep saying them, would she keep having these pointless, painful dreams? She reached behind her and pressed her palms to his muscled thighs, her fingers clenching and digging into the worn material of his jeans so she could tug him closer.
She felt him working the zipper of her shorts, and she bit her lip, holding her breath as he opened the faded denim and slid his hand inside her shorts and panties. He cupped her in his hand and pushed two fingers inside her. She keened out his name and rocked against his hand. Cullen wrapped an arm around her, lifting her against him, and she felt them moving. Opening her eyes, she saw that he’d moved them closer to the deck, and then he slid his hand out of her panties. When he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, she felt the heated moisture there. He guided her hands up, bracing them against the deck floor. Where they stood, the deck’s floor came up to her chest, and she leaned against it willingly, letting it support her a little as Cullen stepped back and stripped her panties and shorts away. They fell in a tangle around her ankles, and she went to kick them off. Cullen cupped her hips and leaned against her, muttering roughly, “Be still.”
It was déjà vu; she felt like she was reliving that last time with him, and as desperate as she was for him, she almost pulled away. She had to deal with that pain in real life. Was she going to have to deal with it here, too? Was he going to walk away from her again?
Her body was weak, though. Her sense of self-preservation might be telling her to run, but the rest of her was screaming,
Stay!
Taige remained motionless, leaning against the deck with her palms braced on the smooth, faded wood. She heard the harsh rasp of his zipper and caught her lower lip between her teeth, need and anticipation twining through her. She was so hot and shaky, so hungry and so desperate for him. When he pressed against her, she jolted as though she had been shocked. Her legs were pinned together by the shorts at her ankles, and he had to work his way inside, pushing through the tight tissues and forging his way in, deeper and deeper.
Stay!
Taige remained motionless, leaning against the deck with her palms braced on the smooth, faded wood. She heard the harsh rasp of his zipper and caught her lower lip between her teeth, need and anticipation twining through her. She was so hot and shaky, so hungry and so desperate for him. When he pressed against her, she jolted as though she had been shocked. Her legs were pinned together by the shorts at her ankles, and he had to work his way inside, pushing through the tight tissues and forging his way in, deeper and deeper.
She groaned at the sensations dancing through her. The line between pleasure and pain blurred. She arched back, trying to take more of him. He gripped her hips and pulled back. When he shoved in, hard and fast, the line between pleasure and pain disappeared altogether. She screamed, a startled cry. He did it again, and she whimpered. Again and she twisted against him, unsure if she wanted him to do it again or if she wanted to pull away. Again, and she erupted, crying out his name and coming with an intensity that stole her breath away.
But he wasn’t done. He kept slamming into her. With her hands braced on the deck and his hands cupping her hips and holding her tight, she stood there, a willing vessel for him but too satisfied, too drained to feel anything beyond the pounding of her heart and the friction as he shafted her.
The roaring in her ears subsided, and she heard him muttering under his breath. “You’re mine, damn it. I want you back. Never lose you again—mine . . .”
Strange words, considering. But then he slid his hand around her hip, spearing through the curls between her thighs, seeking out the hard bud of her clit. She went from letting him ride her and thinking about the weirdness of her dreams and how her heart hurt just being with him like this to hot, hungry, and desperate, as desperate as he was. As though he had just been waiting for that response, he stopped touching her clit, left her hovering on the brink of orgasm. He trailed his fingers, wet from her, up over her hip, the small of her back, and up her spine. Then he bent over her, crowding her closer to the deck and bracing his hand by hers. “I love you,” he rasped in her ear. “You’re mine . . . aren’t you, Taige? Say you’re still mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed, even though deep inside she wanted to scream in denial.
Satisfied, he rode her hard, driving her to another climax before he came, and then he pulled back long enough to pull his jeans up. Taige leaned against the deck, panting for air and her knees wobbling. Then he pulled her into his arms and lifted, carrying her out of the warm summer sun and into the cool, quiet darkness of her house.
IT wasn’t a weird way for him to wake up, but it sure as hell was unsettling. Not to mention a little bit embarrassing, Cullen mused as he climbed out of bed and stripped the sheets away. Wet dreams were supposed to stop after puberty . . . right? Whoever came up with that obviously hadn’t had dreams about Taige Branch.
Bizarre dreams, dreams that seemed too real for them not to be true.
Bizarre and powerful enough, unsettling enough, that one dream was enough to hurl him into a black mood that could last for weeks. It was a good thing they didn’t happen too often. He’d spent most of his life trapped inside a guilt-induced rage.
Guilt and need colored too much of his life as it was. If these dreams came more often than they did, he’d probably end up on a shrink’s couch. And he didn’t have time for that.
From somewhere in the house, he heard music, and he glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. Shit. He’d wanted to be up an hour ago. They had too much stuff to do today, and now he was going to be running late.
“Daddy . . .” There was a knock on his door. Years of experience kept him from reacting when the door swung open, and he saw his daughter standing there with an expectant look on her face. He shifted his armload of sheets and blankets a little lower, just in case.
“Gimme a few minutes, Jilly,” he said. “Overslept.”
She grinned at him and said, “Hurry up, sleepyhead.”
She slammed the door behind her, and automatically, he called out, “Don’t slam the doors.” Then he looked down at his armful of sheets. He didn’t have time to mess with them right now, so he carried them into the bathroom and opened the closet in there, dumping them into the hamper. Marci, the cleaning lady, would be in while they were gone, and she’d make the bed with clean sheets, and he could wash the dirty ones when he got back.
Too bad he couldn’t deal with the lingering echoes of the dream just as easily.
The haunted look in Taige’s eyes bothered him. A lot. She wouldn’t tell him what was going on, and Cullen knew from experience that if she wasn’t going to share what had caused those shadows, he may never know.
Thinking of her, the weird, too-real dreams, Cullen found himself walking out of his bathroom and into the office that was on the other side of his bedroom. He opened the connecting door and went to the bookshelf that spanned the entire northern wall. On the top shelf, out of Jillian’s reach, was a fat leather album. Inside it were pictures, newspaper articles, some clipped from the paper and some printed off the Web, all of Taige Branch.
He’d seen the first one nine years ago, the day after Jilly was born. He’d been looking through the fat Sunday paper. The nurse came in, bringing Jilly with her, and Cullen had tossed the paper onto the narrow, uncomfortable couch. A section slid to the floor, and when he picked it up a few minutes later, time froze.
Down in the bottom right corner on the last page of the section was Taige. It wasn’t a great picture. She had sunglasses on and was looking away from the camera. The bold caption above the picture read, “Local Psychic Saves Kidnapped Child.”
It had happened in Mobile. Some thug pulled a woman out of her car at a stoplight and either didn’t see the baby sleeping in the back or didn’t care. Two days of nonstop searching had turned up nothing. Then a college sophomore showed up at the police department. She’d said she could find the baby. Cullen knew that must have been hard for her, going there and knowing she’d be ridiculed, and after she helped, she’d become the focus of rampant speculation.
As promised, and without any help from the police, she’d found the baby. All it had taken was getting to the mom’s side. The paper didn’t detail what all had happened beyond her finding the child, but Cullen had done some digging. After the police found the baby exactly where Taige had told them to find her, they had arrested her on suspicion of kidnapping.
The charges were dropped only after they failed to find any evidence at all linking her to the carjacker turned kidnapper, but not until she’d spent a week in jail. Nobody had come to post bail, and by the time Cullen knew a damn thing, she’d been released.
There were other stories, some of them no more than a paragraph or two and others that were nearly full-page stories featuring color pictures and interviews with people who claimed to know her. Dante and Rose had been mentioned in a few, always with something along the lines of “No comment” when asked about Taige Branch. A couple of enterprising reporters had even unearthed some of the kids she had helped when she was younger.
The most recent article was nearly two years old. She’d either gotten better at keeping her name out of things, or she had people helping her on that end. He had a feeling it was a combination of both. Over the past few years it was getting harder to find any information about her, but he had a friend who worked for the FBI. A paper pusher more than anything, but Grant Wilson had confirmed that the FBI did have special task forces, and Taige Branch was often called in to work on kidnappings or other crimes related to children.
He touched his fingers to the grainy image of her face. It didn’t seem as if she had aged a day physically, but there was a hardness to her that made him hurt inside. He didn’t imagine she’d had much choice but to develop some armor, given the life she lived.
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