Web of Smoke (23 page)

“Listen to me!” he snapped. “You sure as hell better not be talking to the cops, lady. And don’t bother trying to trace this call. I won’t be here that long.”

“Let me talk to Jessica now.”

He didn’t answer, letting her stew in his silence.

“What have you done with my daughter?” she pleaded.

“Nothing yet. I’ve decided to give you a second chance.”

“Second chance?”

“Yeah, but don’t fuck it up, Kathy
,
or you’ll be seeing your baby girl in pieces next time.”

“I swear to you, if you’ve hurt her, I will hunt you down and—”

“What? What will you do?”

She didn’t answer. He could hear her crying.

“That’s what I thought. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Kathy
.
I had a good time the other night. Let’s do it again. Maybe this time we’ll let Jessica watch. That way she’ll see how much you like it.”

“You’re sick.”

“Two hundred thousand dollars and you’ll get your daughter back.”

“Two hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? I don’t have that kind of money. I barely have two hundred dollars.”

“That’s a shame. Two hundred thousand or I tell Jessica her mommy puts out on the first date. Maybe I’ll show her how it’s done.” His laugh had a maniacal edge to it. It scared him. Made him feel out of control.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Kathy whispered. “She’s just a little girl. A kid. She doesn’t understand.”

“Make it twenties and fifties. Or I make her understand.”

“I don’t—I don’t have it. How am I going to get that kind of money?” she cried.

He replaced the receiver, staring at his shaking hands. His face was now covered with sweat.

Shit, this was screwed. He knew she was telling the truth. He’d seen how she lived. Kathy didn’t have anything he wanted, but Christie did.

He lifted the receiver again. He’d deal with Christie soon, but first he had to get rid of the kid.

His next call went to his mother. She answered on the second ring.

“Beth McClain.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

As soon as they climbed into the Jeep, Sam grabbed Christie’s hand and flattened it against his thigh, binding her to him both physically and emotionally. There’d be no retreat for her this time.

His blue jeans felt soft beneath her fingers, his leg hard with tensed muscles. Her gaze kept drifting to his profile, studying the straight nose, the sexy curve of his firm chin. The dimple that winked in and out of his cheek as he nibbled on his bottom lip. He turned and gave her a look that smoldered. She knew the same expression burned in her own eyes.

She rolled down her window and tried to concentrate on the scenery instead of Sam. The sun dangled low in the western sky, giving the few puffy, white clouds gathered around it a peachy hue. The evening air felt warm and thick. It rushed through the window, wrapping them in a seductive allure.

Her gaze was drawn back to Sam.

He squeezed her hand, his fingers circling her wrist and rubbing the sensitive pulse that pounded there. The trembly feeling he started raced up her arm and through her body. The dimple appeared again. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

A gust of wind blustered through the window and billowed his shirt, giving her a glimpse of his bare chest, lightly scattered with baby-soft hair. She remembered how it felt pressed against her breasts, beneath her fingers. Her heartbeat tripped up.

She felt fiery and liquid, alive like a drop of oil dancing on a sizzling skillet. It had been too long since she’d felt like this. Felt so
female.
A seductress in control. They spoke with sideways glances and feather-light caresses. How much farther to Sam’s house?

He stopped at a red light, leaning over to capture her lips in a stolen kiss while silent mechanisms controlled nonexistent traffic. No such signal existed inside Christie to monitor the rush of emotions that raced unchecked just under the surface.

At last, they turned onto his street, then into his driveway. She followed him up to the door and inside, waiting as he ordered the dogs outside, locked the door, pulled the blinds, and then turned to stare at her.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly. “You didn’t change your mind on the way, did you?”

Shaking her head, she whispered, “You have to know your mind to change it, and all I know is what I feel. I feel right.”

His lips closed over hers, warm and firm and soft as suede. A light bristle of beard roughened his cheeks and chin and she rubbed her fingers against it, shivering with remembered awareness, trembling with anticipated intimacy. Inhaling, she allowed herself to be submerged in his scent and feel. His chest was hard, his belly flat as a board, and she took her time exploring each familiar muscle there. She teased herself, yielding to the desire to touch his skin, but only permitting brief caresses.

His fingers went to work on the buttons of her blouse, letting the material fall away from her skin a bit at a time. She felt powerful and provocative, centered like a glittering opal in his fixed stare.

Tucked close to the heat of his body, enveloped in his scent and embrace, the past seemed as real as a movie. The here and now was so much more important.

He nibbled on her lips, taking his time with slow, deep kisses that went on and on until she felt as weightless as light. His big hands caressed her back and hips, roved over her flat belly, dipping lower, then straying up to the lacy cups of her bra. His touch was gentle here, rough there. He touched her as if she was his and she responded as if he was right.

She pulled his shirt from his pants and thrust her hands under, shivering with sensation as his hot skin touched her palms.

He undressed her with sensuous reverence, looking at her as if she were a work of art, something to be admired and touched with the utmost respect. And then his lips were on her, his tongue teasing her nipples to hard points, sending hot shivers over her body.

She kissed him feverishly, showing him what she could not say, begging for what she was afraid to ask. But he understood. Every signal she sent he answered, moving in perfect rhythm to her needs, giving and taking with such fine balance that she could no longer distinguish which was the giving, which was the taking. The only thing that existed was Sam.

He pulled her into that dazzling room of passion, thrusting her under the light of dizzying heights and sensation. She clenched her eyes against the brightness and let go to the spiral of hot, liquid excitement that whirled her back to the floor. She opened her eyes and looked into his. She saw the same surprised aftershock in his gaze that she felt in her own.

Who knew what danger or terror waited for them outside? Staring into Sam’s eyes, Christie didn’t care.

In a husky voice, he said, “We shouldn’t have quit on us, Christie.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

DC sat on the counter, tapping his hunting knife on the edge of the Formica top. It made a tinny sound. A hollow sound that matched his mood.

The girl was huddled on the floor in the corner, watching him with eyes wide and full of fear. Her fists clenched and unclenched over the edge of the blanket she’d pulled around herself. She looked like she was trying to disappear under its folds. She was terrified.

As she should be.

The knife tapped away. His foot, crossed over his knee, waggled in time with it. He shifted his weight so he could reach the faucet. He added it to his drumming. The mismatched clanging competed with the alarms sounding in his mind and the brain-splitting headache pounding on his brain. He didn’t care. At this point torture was preferable to the nagging fear clouding his vision, impairing his judgment.

Things were going from bad to totally screwed. Mary Jane was dead. Forever gone, while his mother, as usual, survived. And, as usual, his mother had the power to help him but wouldn’t. He ceased his banging, tilting his head to the side. Was that her car he’d heard? The faint hum thinned and vanished as it moved on.

Shit, he was in deep. He had half a mind to do the kid and get the hell out of town. But he’d come too far to scrap it, and he had a lot invested in the deal.

Everything was tied to the deal. He had nothing left but the hundred bucks he’d lifted from Sissy and a lot of trouble to his name.

Jumping to his feet, he chucked the knife into the sink. It clattered around, startling the kid. He scowled at her, watching, as she cringed into the corner.

“You want any more?” he asked, pointing to the open pizza box on the counter.

She shook her head, pulling the blanket, like a cloak of armor, around her slim shoulders. For some reason the gesture made him a little sad, but he crushed the emotion.

Looking at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, he began to wonder if his mother would stand him up. Even though he knew he had her backed into a corner, he couldn’t erase the feeling that she would somehow ditch him. Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. Heartless bitch.

As if summoned by his thoughts, her car sounded in the driveway and, moments later, the front door opened and closed.

The girl watched from the floor, still as death.

“Go to the bathroom,” he commanded.

Without a word she raced down the hall and shut herself in. Feigning a relaxed position, he slouched against the counter and waited for his mother to find him.

She’d come straight from work and when she rounded the corner, a swirl of navy blue silk and expensive perfume followed her. When he was little, before he’d come to the realization that she’d abandoned him to his brutal caretakers and wasn’t coming back, he’d thought she was beautiful. While he lived with his grandparents, DC had dreamed of seeing his mother’s sweet, pure face on the day she would come to rescue him. His memory had kept every detail intact.

She slammed her suede purse on the counter and glared at him.

“Hello, Mommy. Good to see you.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she snapped, wagging a red-tipped nail at him. “You don’t ever call me at work again. Understand?”

DC popped the top on a beer, watching her over the rim as he swigged the entire can. Finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and belched.

“You’re drunk,” she accused.

He wasn’t, but if it pissed her off, he’d pretend. “I’m fucked up,
Mommy dear.”

“Quit calling me that, you bastard.” She turned and glared at the pile of pizza boxes and beer cans on the counter. “You’re still a filthy pig,” she said with disgust. “Everything you touch, you destroy. Well, let me tell you, you’re going down with this one, DC. Down.”

He cursed the hot flush that raced up his face. He didn’t give a shit what she thought about him.

“Down?” he repeated. “I’ll take you with me, Mommy. You taught me everything I know.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been a fool, but it’s over now.”

His palms felt sweaty, his stomach sour. Pushing away from the counter, he looked out the back door, hiding his face from her. At times like this, she reminded him of his grandpa’s dogs. He didn’t dare show fear or she’d rip him limb from limb.

She picked up the scent anyway, and gave a cold, knowing laugh that turned him to face her. Her smile revealed perfect, white teeth that gleamed in the harsh glow of the kitchen light. Like fangs, DC thought, immediately wishing he could snatch back the thought and with it, the terrifying images that snarled through his subconscious.

“You’re a little confused, Mommy,” he sneered, trying to match her frosty composure. “It’s not over. It’s just starting.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it, maybe it is. But I’m out of it, DC. If you have half a brain, you’ll get out, too.”

“I gotta dump the kid. Help me out and I’ll leave. I’ll vanish. Poof,
like magic.”

She shook her head, frigid grin unchanged. “I don’t believe you. I can’t help you. You’ve locked yourself in, DC. The only way out is to run.”

“You sound concerned, Mommy. I’m touched.”

“I don’t give a damn what you are, DC, unless it’s gone.”

He groped desperately for an edge. “How’s your son?”

“It won’t work. I covered my tracks, DC. No one can ever take him away from me.”

“I wonder what he’d think if I told him the truth though?”

“He wouldn’t believe you,” she said, a nervous twitch ticking the corner of her eye.

Finally, a chink. DC pressed.

“I think he would. He’d be pretty upset, too, once he found out that he could have had a perfectly good family if it wasn’t for you.”

“Shut up, DC.”

“Pissed off.
That’s what he’d be once I told him how I snatched him away from his family, just because you wanted him. He could have had a real mother, instead of you. God knows I’d be thrilled to hear it, but James will be mad, I bet. And what about your hubby? Think he’ll come visit you in prison?”

The delicate balance of power shifted in the tense quiet that hung between them.

“What do you want, DC?” she demanded.

“I told you. I need to unload the kid.”

“What happened to your big deal that was going to make you rich?”

“There’s been a delay. I don’t have time to wait. I want to get rid of the kid now.”

“A delay? Don’t take me for a fool, DC. Your deal won’t work. It just took you this long to figure that out.”

He glared at her. “It will too work. I’ve even done it before. Twice, in Kansas. You of all people should know that once you get the little guy on your side, anything will work. All it took was a cooperative ambulance driver, a little help from the admissions clerk—”

“I don’t want the details, DC. I could care less, so screw your wonderful plan. There’s nothing I can do for you. Every cop in the state is looking for her. I’d be stupid to help you,” she said.

She shook her head, her expression one of total revulsion, as if just looking at him could make her sick. The taut knot of anger in his gut pulled tighter.

“People are looking for her. They’re on every street corner, handing out her picture. Handing out yours with it.”

She was right. It pissed him off to admit it, but she was right. He cleared his throat.