Vision of Darkness (18 page)

“It feels a little strange. Awkward.”

“You’ll get used to it with practice.” He leaned down, his lips next to her ear. God, that scent was wonderful. He couldn’t help but drink it in as he guided the gun up. “When you’re aiming, you want to keep both eyes open. Two eyes are better than one.”

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. “Okay.”

“Imagine a chest on our Sox fan over there and aim for center mass. Now draw a breath, exhale, and pull the trigger with constant pressure. Don’t yank it or you’ll throw off your aim. Remember you only have a couple shots.”

The gun clicked. Neither of them moved.

“That, babe,” Alex whispered in the shell of her ear, “would stop any attacker in his tracks.”

“Mmm.” The gun dropped to her side and her body pressed back into his. Her eyes shut and her breaths came out a little faster. “You’re a good teacher.”

He snaked an arm around her waist and his hand splayed across her belly, holding her against him, pressed the length of his erection against her ass. She shuddered as he nuzzled her ear and glossy hair tickled his nose. He wanted to bury his hands in it, turn her around and devour those pale, trembling lips.

Hell.

A squeak escaped her throat as he spun her and dropped his mouth to hers, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she melted against him, mouth opening under his coaxing. Her arms coiled around his waist and her fingers traced his spine to the small of his back, raising goosebumps in their wake. She hesitated only a second, and then dipped her fingers under the band of his pants, encouraging him to do a little exploring himself.

Thrilled, he let his hands wander from her waist to cup her lovely ass under her T-shirt. Round and soft, skin smooth, and—oh shit, she was wearing lacy panties, a scrap of fabric so sexy that he started entertaining ideas of doing her while she still wore it. His cock perked up, totally on board with that idea as it strained for her through his pajama bottoms and his hips surged on their own accord.

Slow down, boy.
While his mini-me was all about the bump and grind, he planned to savor this for as long as possible. He pulled back a little and nipped her lower lip. “I figured it out.”

“Huh?” She looked up, those big, baby blues of hers dazed with lust.

“I figured out why you really took me to Grandma Mae’s today. You were looking for her approval. Did she give it?”

Her lips, beautifully swollen and wet from his kiss, curved upward in a guilty arch. “She approves wholeheartedly.” She blushed pink to the tips of her ears and squirmed away from him long enough to reach for her purse on the counter. After digging around for a moment, she held up a square tinfoil package. “She even gave me this.”

A condom.

Well, a guy couldn’t get more of an invitation than that.

His gut clenched as his erection went from a half-mast boner to a raging, demanding hard-on. He crushed his mouth to hers and backed her up against the counter as his hands crept underneath the T-shirt to her nearly nude body.

Moaning against his lips as his palms skimmed over her breasts, she lifted herself onto the counter. Alex levered her knees apart with his hip and nestled between her thighs. Longs legs wound around his waist and locked at the small of his back.

He could feel her heat, her readiness, through the thin barrier of clothes separating them. His brain sizzled with carnal instinct, blocking out faint protests still gnawing on the back of his mind. He wanted her clothes off. He wanted his off. Most of all, he wanted to sheath himself inside her warmth, possess her, make her his woman. He let his hands wander to her ass and traced the cleft with one finger. The delicate shudder that went through her about did him in right there.

Knotting the stupid sleep shirt in his fists, he was all ready to rip it off and take her right there on the counter, when a chill that had nothing to do with sexual arousal scraped down his spine. It was enough to jolt a little reason back into him. The window over the sink was no longer black, but glowing soft pink with the first rays of sunlight sneaking through the morning fog.

Alex dragged his mouth from hers, gasping. “We need a bed.”

“Mmm.” She nipped his earlobe. “My room or yours?”

“Yours.” The decision was a no-brainer. Her room was closer, which meant he could bury himself to the hilt inside her in the next minute. He scooped her into his arms and stumbled in the direction of her bedroom, swaying drunkenly past the grandfather clock and chiffonier in the foyer. She kissed his neck and then tasted his skin with the tip of her tongue. He shivered.

Even with his senses muffled and dulled to his surroundings, he was aware of every aspect of her body: the evocative scent of woman and strawberry shampoo, the sweet and salty taste of satin-soft skin, the curve of full, aroused breasts that moved every time she drew a quivering breath. All that combined with her tentative kisses and licks nearly brought him to climax. He set his back teeth. He’d never before wanted a woman so much that he couldn’t control himself.

Frustrated, he swept a handful of framed photos aside, plopped her down on top of the chiffonier and pressed her back to the gilded oblong mirror on the wall behind it. Using his weight to pin her immobile, he kissed her with bruising force just because he could not take another second of not having his lips against hers.

Pru’s hands flew up to grip his shoulders as he buried his face in the crook of her neck to give himself a minute to calm down. Her scent assaulted his nose. He’d never be able to eat a strawberry again without getting a hard-on.

Pru held him close to her chest, his cheek pillowed on her small but lovely breast, and he could hear the frantic drum of her heart. At least she was as aroused as he was. Behind her, the mirror reflected them as one being, a wild twist of arms and legs and tousled hair that made him smile.

Again, her tongue flicked experimentally, tracing his ear.

“Jesus, Pru.” Every muscle in his body contracted as pleasure curled inside him. His dick felt so thick and heavy he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk the rest of the way to the bedroom. He thrust his hips forward, grinding against her in a pantomime of the movements he so wanted to do horizontally, on top of her, naked in her bed. She let out a long, low moan, matching his movements. He caught her hips and held her still. Had to get control—had to—or he wouldn’t last thirty seconds.

Pru curled her fingers into the band of his pants and tried to pull him forward.

“Wait.” He stepped back and scooped her into his arms again. He wanted their first time to be in a bed, warm and cozy, where he could take the time to do her right.

“No. No waiting. Not now.” She closed her lips around his earlobe and wrapped her thighs around his middle. A tremble started in his gut and earthquaked down his legs. His muscles threatened to collapse under the onslaught and he had to catch himself with a hand on the chiffonier.

“Pru,” he groaned her name. “Ah, baby, I can’t take much more foreplay.”

“Okay.” Legs tight, she arched toward him, pressing her slick heat to his glans as it peeked out from the slit in his pants. The contact was electric. “I want you inside me, Alex. Now.”

All right, forget the bed. He jostled her around, trying to find the chiffonier again. Laid her across it, knocking more photos to the floor. He pulled off her panties and stepped back to kick his pants off when he noticed their reflection again. Her eyes wide, all pupil with a rim of blue, her parted lips swollen and wet, a flush high on her cheeks, her hair in tangles as she lay spread across the antique like an offering. He was bedraggled, his hair in disarray from her hands, his own lips bruised, eyes hooded and bright with lust, chest heaving. The mirror confirmed it—the two of them together like this was so right.

Alex grinned at the reflection, hooked his thumbs in the band of his pants, and the mirror shattered.

Every sense kicked back into high gear as glass exploded into shrapnel. He scooped Pru up and plopped her on the floor between the chiffonier and grandfather clock, while looking for the source of the shot from a defensive crouch. The hall and living room were empty, and no one stood on the stairs with a gun aimed at Pru.

“Stay down,” he ordered and grabbed the Ruger that was surprisingly still clenched in her hand, remembering too late that he had removed the bullets and cursing himself for setting down his own piece in the kitchen. He flattened his body against the wall and peeked around the corner into the dining room. Empty. Slowly, he crossed to the front door and tested the knob. Still locked, all the windows intact.

What the hell?

He threw the door open and stepped out onto the porch. The October air hit his bare chest like a baton, knocking him completely back to his senses.

The yard was empty.

Where had the shot come from?

Alex dragged a hand over his jaw and turned. Pru, as usual, had ignored his commands and swept up the remains of the mirror with a broom and dustpan.

He scanned the yard one last time then went into the house, shutting the door behind him.

***

Pru watched as Alex strode back into the house. There was something different about him now. Square jaw clenched, gray eyes guarded. She was so wet for him she felt the moisture dripping down her leg, but whatever they’d had a minute ago was now gone. Disappointment stole through her blood, but she refused to let it show.

Instead, she went back to cleaning up the broken mirror. “You are a jumpy one.”

He stopped several inches out of arm’s reach. “Someone is trying to hurt you, Pru.”

She stiffened for a split-second. His tone was so hard, so certain ….

“You’re ridiculous.” She set the broom and full dustpan aside, dusted her hands off on her shirt, and started straightening the photos they had knocked over in their moment of lust. “As I told you before, this happens sometimes. It’s the Green Lady. She doesn’t like men.”

“And you say I’m ridiculous? Listen to yourself. A bullet breaking the mirror is a hell of a lot easier to swallow than a ghost!”

“Maybe for you. Where’s the bullet, Alex?” She opened her arms, turning in a circle. “I didn’t find it while sweeping up the glass. It’s not in the mirror or the wall.”

He opened his mouth to reply, glanced around the hallway, and then closed it again without uttering a sound.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he finally said, enunciating each word.

She pointed a finger at his scarred chest, at the small gold cross swinging from the chain around his neck. “And yet you believe that if you get down on your knees every night and pray, God will forgive your sins and save your soul?”

His jaw tightened until a muscle ticked below his eye.

“No,” he said after a long second and stalked toward the stairs. “I don’t believe that either. My soul can’t be saved, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

CHAPTER 18

Sheriff Forbes rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger and leveled a hard stare across his desk at Helen Mallory. Having her show up at his office to report another “crime” was nothing new and normally, he would indulge her. After all, she was the wife of the mayor, one of Forbes’s biggest backers. It was all politics. But today, with Wade’s body still at the funeral home, Alex Locke—that city asshole who was present for what was now officially an accidental death—still hanging around Pru, and Lila VanBuran’s family breathing down his neck for some new clues to her disappearance, Forbes had no time for his own indulgences, not to mention Helen’s.

“Something’s wrong, Sheriff,” she continued to rant. This morning the preposterous woman had her blonde hair tied up in a tight bun, her lips painted an obnoxious shade of red, her nails like maroon talons as she grasped a bucket-sized purse on her lap. “Kevin hasn’t been home in days.”

“Kevin’s a grown man,” he pointed out.

“He is not. He’s my child, and needs constant, mature supervision.”

“Helen—Mrs. Mallory,” he corrected when she arched a regal brow and gave him a supercilious stare. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. They’d been classmates from kindergarten on through high school. After a football game his senior year, she’d let him, the conquering hero quarterback all pumped up on testosterone and adrenaline, fuck her brains out in the backseat of his old Camaro. And now she insisted he call her
Mrs. Mallory
. What a crock.     

“If you want to fill out a missing persons report for Kev, go on out and talk to Rhett. He’ll get all the paperwork around for you.”

She scowled at him, the look in her eyes much like bull’s stare before it ran you down. “You’re not going to do anything else? He’s the mayor’s son!”

“Yes,” Forbes said, mustering every ounce of patience he possessed, “I know. Just what does Richard think about this?”

Her lips pursed as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “He’s been busy.”

Meaning Richard thought the same thing as Forbes. Kevin, at thirty years old, was a grown man beaten down by an overbearing mother and probably took off for a couple days. He’d crawl back home when he ran out of money. Wasn’t the first time the kid had pulled a stunt like this.

Forbes tried to hold in a sigh and didn’t manage it. “If you’re truly worried, Helen, fill out the report and I’ll send some men to ask around.”

“That’s it?”

Had she expected him to call out the National Guard? Knowing her flair for the dramatic, most likely. Forbes spread his hands in a sorry-but-that’s-the-way-it-is gesture. “Unless you have proof of foul play, I’m afraid that’s all I can do now.”

Helen opened her mouth. Closed it and gritted her teeth in a tight, white smile as she stood. “I think you’ve gotten too cushy in this job, Bernard. I plan to speak to my husband about it. Don’t expect his backing during the next election.”

Forbes sat back in his seat and watched her march from his office. In the deputy squad room, Rhett stopped her with a hand on her arm. She snapped off a sentence at him, spun on her heel, and sulked out.

That woman was something else. Forbes pushed out of his chair, crossed to the window that overlooked the intersection of Main and Penobscot, where Mae’s Diner sat, and watched Helen huff her way across the street.

Let her pontificate to the patrons of Mae’s about the evil sheriff. It’d keep her out of his hair for a while at least, but he had no doubt she’d be back. He’d give Richard Mallory a call later today to smooth the waters, but he doubted anything would come of Helen’s threat. As much as she liked to make everyone think she had sway in her husband’s political affairs, it was a load of hooey.

Wishing for a cigar, Forbes returned to his desk as Rhett tapped on the open door and stepped into the office. “Sheriff?”

“Oh, don’t tell me. Kids are smashing mailboxes on Milbridge Road again?”

“Nah. All’s quiet for now.” Rhett shut the door. “Is Kevin really missing?”

“So says the queen bee. I know he’s your friend. Did he mention anything about taking off for a couple days?”

“Except for a passing hi, I haven’t talked to him in weeks. He’s been moody.”

Forbes tapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making a tsk sound. “About what I thought. He’ll be back. But, to please her highness, if you could go to Buzzy’s, ask around a bit, write up a snazzy looking report, I’d appreciate it. It’d give me something to show her next time she comes barreling in here.”

“Sure,” Rhett said, but didn’t move.

Forbes waited. When the deputy said nothing for several more seconds, he prompted, “Is there something else on your mind, son?”

“Alex Locke.”

Should’ve known. “What about him?”

“Where do I start?” Rhett made a sound halfway between disgusted huff and irritated growl. “He didn’t so much as look at a phone when we had him in the cage, but then he’s got a hotshot lawyer getting him out. Now I’m hearing he’s got another friend hanging around the lighthouse, a big Indian guy.”

“We can’t arrest him for that and, like that fancy lawyer of his said, we have nothing else on him.”

“He attacked me.”

“You pushed him first.”

Rhett opened his mouth. Forbes cut him off with an impatient gesture. “It’s not worth pursuing and you know it. We have bigger problems, like that missing girl. Her family’s whipped up about it again, saying how her cell phone last broadcasted a signal here in town. If they get to shouting loud enough, the media will notice and it’ll be a circus like it was last year.”

Rhett drew in a breath through his nose. “Where did they get the idea to check her cell phone?”

Forbes raised a brow. “They’ve hired a private investigator. A good one.” He sat forward and linked his hands across the top of his desk. “Listen, there’s no doubt in my mind Locke’s hiding something, but damn if I can put my finger on it.”

“We need to dig deeper into his background,” Rhett said with a note of command in his voice that always made Forbes’s teeth grind. He used that tone on purpose. A reminder that he had his eye on the position of sheriff and that, in his lofty opinion, Forbes was merely a placeholder.

“Maybe. Can’t spare the manpower though.”
And won’t sign off on overtime hours for you to foster a grudge.
Forbes spread his hands in the same that’s-how-it-is gesture he’d used on Helen. “Sorry, Rhett. In the scheme of things, Locke’s small change.”

***

Pru had to work.

After trying to convince her to take another day off and failing, Alex brooded through a cold cereal breakfast by himself at the kitchen table. The house, creaking at the onslaught of a blustery fall day, felt uncomfortable around him—not because it was empty, save for him and Triton, but because it didn’t feel empty.

The little hairs on his neck lifted with a chill and Alex gave up on his cereal. He took his bowl to the sink, rinsed it and left it in the dish drainer, then leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. Sitting on the floor at his feet, Triton tilted his head to one side, ears perked as if to ask,
now what?

“Beats me, pooch.”

Going into town was out of the question, especially since he couldn’t keep the persona of Alex Locke in place anymore and kept slipping back into his own skin. Best to avoid the sheriff, Rhett Swithin, Helen Mallory and everyone else unless he wanted to nurse a splitting headache by the time he got home. And even though he could feel Pru’s presence yanking him toward the diner moth-to-flame style, it was probably a good idea to avoid her as well, give them both time to cool off after the incident this morning.

Which still bothered the hell out of him. Not only did her parting shot about his crucifix still sting more than he cared to admit, but there also had to be a logical reason for the exploding mirror. He just couldn’t figure one out.

Goaded, Alex pushed away from the counter and headed for the foyer to take another look. Bits of glass still clung to the frame, fracturing his image as he braced his hands on the chiffonier and leaned in close. Had to be a slug here somewhere. Only thing that made sense. Mirrors didn’t randomly explode—or, hey, maybe they did. He’d believe in spontaneous mirror combustion before Pru’s ghost story any day.

Alex sighed and let his head drop forward out of pure exhausted frustration. Photos, knocked aside in the heat of the moment this morning, now lay in neat piles on top of the cabinet, waiting to return to their rightful spots. The top of the stack caught his attention: Wade Putnam standing on the bow of a boat with one brawny arm slung over his brother’s shoulders and the other around a man with a bushy white beard and pale eyes.

Cappy.

Alex picked up the photo. The nickname suited John Putnam Sr., who looked salty and grizzled, as if he’d be right at home at the helm of a ship. Either that, or on a package of fish sticks at the grocery store. He had a stubborn face and a glint of humor in his eyes. Alex could almost imagine the guy’s laugh, harsh and funny like a seagull’s chortle, and didn’t believe for one second this man would kill himself. He’d go out in a blaze of glory before taking the coward’s way. It just didn’t make sense.

“What happened to you, Cappy?”

A chill raked Alex’s spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement, shifting shadows in the stairway. Cool air brushed the skin of his bare back like the caress from an icy hand. He turned.

Nothing. The stairway was empty.

Triton whimpered. He patted the dog’s side and replaced the photo on the chiffonier as a knock sounded at the front door.

“Jesus.” Alex nearly jumped out of his skin and Triton barked twice at the figure on the other side of the glass before scampering into the living room to hide behind the couch.

Oh, yeah, he was a good watch dog all right.

Alex drew a breath to calm his pounding heart and flipped the lock on the door, fully expecting to see Nick and instead coming face to face with John Putnam Jr.

John Jr.’s smile froze. “Uh, I was looking for Pru.”

“She’s at work.”

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, gestured vaguely over his shoulder toward the carriage house. “She knew I was coming over to go through Wade’s—” His voice broke. “I, uh, need the key.”

Alex stepped back to let him cross the threshold. “I don’t know where she keeps it.”

“I’ll find it.” He started toward the living room, then stopped. He turned back and met Alex’s gaze with direct, bloodshot eyes. “Just so you know, I don’t believe you had anything to do with what happened to my brother.”

“Thanks.” Alex shut the front door, thought of the photograph of Cappy and his sons. He hated to cause the guy more grief, but a question nagged at the back of his mind, demanding an answer. “Hey, John. Do you think what happened to Wade has any connection to your father?”

John Jr. stiffened. He turned away quickly, hiding his expression, but Alex saw the flash of regret. “No. Dad killed himself.”

Right.
Alex watched him search the living room. He found the extra key to the carriage house in a clay pot on the mantel over the fireplace and hustled back to the door, still avoiding Alex’s gaze. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Alex waited until John Jr. disappeared inside the carriage house before closing the door. He strode over to the chiffonier again and picked up the photo.

Every instinct he possessed screamed that Cappy’s only surviving son was hiding something. He either killed his old man or—and Alex thought this possibility was more likely—he was covering for the murderer.

He’d give John Jr. some time alone in the carriage house, he decided. Then the two of them were going to have a little chat.