Closer Than You Think (71 page)

‘Deacon, please.’ She grasped his shoulders, trying to pull him to his feet. ‘Hurry.’

‘I don’t want to hurry this time.’ Gently he pushed her hands away, washing up her legs, hearing her whimper when his thumbs toyed with her inner thighs. He ran his soap-slicked fingers through her slicker folds, not giving her any of the pressure she needed to come. He rinsed her as her legs started to tremble.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Or I’ll do it myself.’

Lust slammed into him at the thought. ‘Next time,’ he said. ‘I want to watch you.’

She laughed weakly, grabbing his hair and tugging. ‘Cover your mouth,’ he cautioned her. ‘Don’t make a sound. Bishop has ears like a bat.’ And then he set his mouth on her, her muffled scream the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. She tasted like soap and herself and he licked and lapped until her knees gave out. He gripped her hips, pressing her into the tile, keeping her upright.

She was close. He could feel it. Looking up to see her, he plunged his tongue into her. Her body arched like a bow, her shoulders pressing into the tile, her head thrown back, biting down on her hand to control her scream. Then she collapsed, boneless. Dazed and blinking slowly.

He rose, blindly reaching for the condom he’d left outside the shower. He was trembling now, his hands unable to tear the packet. She took over, her movements slow but steady.

‘I should do the same thing to you,’ she muttered. ‘But I want you inside me too much.’ She slid the condom over his cock, her hand continuing down to stroke his balls.

‘No. I’m too close,’ he rasped. ‘If you touch me, it’ll be all over.’

She jerked her hands away, raising them as if she were being robbed. ‘Hurry, Deacon.’

‘I don’t want to hurry.’ He lifted her, winding her legs around his hips. ‘I want this to last for ever.’

‘I will hurt you,’ she threatened. ‘I swear I will hurt you if you don’t—’ She ended on a strangled moan when he started to enter her. ‘Yes. Please.’ She arched her back, forcing more of him in. ‘You feel so good. So good. More. Give me more.’

He was easing his way in when she grabbed his hips and yanked, shattering his control. He growled and thrust the rest of the way in a single stroke, covering her mouth with his to swallow her gasp. He began to move, wanting to go slowly but unable to muster the control. He found himself pounding into her, his thrusts keeping time with her chanted pleas for more.

Her
more, more, more
changed to
please, please, please
, then pants of
almost, almost
. She was so beautiful, a sensual green-eyed goddess.
Who wants me. Just the way I am
.

His orgasm broke free, slamming up his spine, exploding in his body as he buried his face in the curve of her shoulder to silence his shout. His release set off hers and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as her hips bucked and jerked against him.

Deacon was shaking, his limbs like rubber. ‘Oh God. I can’t stand up.’ He braced his foot against the side of the tub, leaning into the wall so he didn’t end up on his ass, dragging Faith down with him. One hand against the tile, the other keeping Faith upright, he pulled out of her body, feeling bereft as he did so. He lowered her to sit on the edge of the tub, then disposed of the condom and turned off the water.

Her gaze dropped to his groin and she licked her lips. His cock twitched hopefully, but she shook her head. ‘I’ll have to get my revenge another time,’ she said. ‘I got nothin’ left. I don’t even think I can make it to the bed.’

He helped her from the tub and dried her as slowly as he’d washed her. Minutes later, she was spooned against him, his arms wrapped around her, fast asleep. Deacon took a moment to capture the moment to his memory. He was happy. And at peace.

Tomorrow would be another day of identifying victims. But until then, he was going to let his mind and body rest and savor the feeling of holding a kind, courageous, beautiful woman who thought he was a superhero.

Cincinnati, Ohio, Thursday 6 November, 4.30
A.M.

The light knocking woke Deacon up. He’d been dreaming that he was holding Faith in his arms. And then realized it had been no dream. At some point they’d changed positions. No longer spooned, he lay on his back with her draped over his body like a soft red-headed blanket.

Again he heard the knocking. ‘Deacon? It’s Scarlett. I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

He slid out from under Faith’s warmth, murmuring in her ear to send her back to sleep.

‘Just a second,’ he said to Bishop. He pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then slipped through the door, making sure Bishop didn’t see inside. Her expression said she wasn’t fooled.

‘This isn’t camp bed-check. I don’t want to know,’ she said, then held up her phone. ‘Just got a call from Vega in Miami. She finally talked to Combs’s girlfriend today, but the conversation didn’t go as she’d expected. Combs is dead and probably has been for a month.’

Deacon did a double-take. ‘What? How?’

‘The girlfriend claims he met a man who forced him to drive out to the Everglades at gunpoint. The man shot him and left him there. The girlfriend witnessed this and didn’t want to be a target so she didn’t tell anyone, burying Combs herself.’

‘Vega found his body?’

‘Yep. An hour ago. We both got texts, but I didn’t wake up until she actually called. She said they found a bullet in his head. Ballistics matched the gun that killed Gordon Shue.’

Deacon slumped into the nearest chair. ‘You’re kidding. Shit. So Combs was never any part of this at all?’

Bishop took the chair next to him. ‘Nope. Vega checked his cell records. He got a call from a pre-paid, Miami area code, the night before Gordon Shue’s murder. She thinks this mystery guy may have tried to get Combs to kill Faith and for some reason he said no.’

‘That makes no sense, given that he’d tried to kill her before.’

‘She also said that Combs seemed afraid of him, because he’d taken out all of his money from his bank account like he was getting ready to run. Oh, and this is important, too. She said the girlfriend claimed that Faith took the picture that got Combs arrested in the first place.’

Deacon blinked. ‘Really. Who told her that?’

Bishop narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m tired and cranky, so cut the shit, Novak, and be my
partner
. Did Faith take the damn picture?’

‘Yes,’ Faith said from behind them. ‘She did.’

Deacon whipped his head toward the sound of her voice. She stood in the doorway to her own room, dressed much as he was. ‘How much did you hear?’ he asked soberly.

‘All of it.’ She sat on the sofa closest to him. ‘So he’s dead? All of this, all of my trying to outrun him, change my name, it was all for nothing? He was already dead?’

‘Looks that way,’ Bishop said. ‘The Miami ME said that the level of decomp was consistent with a month in the ground. I have photos if you want proof.’

She grimaced. ‘That’s all right. I believe you. Was the girlfriend able to give a description of the man who killed him?’

‘Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. She said he was as big as Combs, but walked like a robot, and that he was bald, like shiny bald.’

Deacon frowned. ‘Some killers shave their heads and remove all their hair to prevent leaving DNA behind.’

Faith crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘I suppose you could go up to all the suspects and pull their hair to see if they’re wearing a wig. Only half kidding there. So, if Combs wasn’t involved at all, where does that leave us?’

Bishop rubbed her forehead. ‘The suspects left are Jeremy, Herbie Three and Stone.’

‘And Jordan,’ Deacon said. ‘Let’s add Jordan back in the mix for now. I still need to check Alda Lane’s alibi. Until I confirm it, let’s consider him a possibility.’

Faith looked uncomfortable, like there was something she wanted to say but did not.

‘Okay,’ Bishop said, ‘Jordan’s back on the leaderboard. The motive is still the damn house because the attacks started after the will was read.’

‘Unless they didn’t,’ Faith said quietly.

Deacon and Bishop stared at her. ‘Somebody tried to kill you before this?’ Deacon asked.

‘Maybe. One of the things I was trying to tell you last night was what we found when we started looking at the Foundation scholarship recipients. Two major patterns emerged. One was that several of the recipients don’t appear to have ever existed. They were fake.’

‘Someone was skimming,’ Bishop said.

‘Jeremy accused Jordan of skimming twenty-three years ago,’ Deacon said.

‘To my knowledge, that was never proven,’ Faith protested. She sighed. ‘But you have to consider it. The other pattern that emerged was the timing of some of the abductions. Corinne and Arianna were taken the day after my old apartment burned. Roxie Dupree the day after I was almost run off that bridge.’

‘Oh wow,’ Bishop breathed. ‘This is huge. Does Isenberg know this?’

‘Yes. She was at the house most of the time I was there yesterday.’ She gave Deacon a gently chiding look. ‘So I really was very safe.’

‘Point made,’ he acknowledged. ‘What other abductions connect to you?’

‘One happened the day after my grandmother’s will was read, one a week before my grandfather died, another the day after my grandfather’s will was read. And then a woman was abducted three years ago, a few days after I had a very bad car accident.’

‘A week before your
grandfather
died?’ Deacon blinked, losing the thought as her last four words sank in. ‘Wait.
You
had a car accident too? Three years ago?’

‘I did. So did my dad, about ten years ago. We’ve had a lot of car accidents in our family. I’d never really thought about it before.’

‘What happened in your accident?’ he asked.

‘I lost control of the brakes and went across the median, but I steered out of oncoming traffic and hit a tree. At the time, no one looked for tampering. The police thought I’d fallen asleep at the wheel, and I thought it was possible, because I was having trouble sleeping. I’d had my throat slit by Combs and was divorcing Charlie because he’d been cheating on me. I didn’t make a fuss because I didn’t want my dad to know. He thought my mother had died in a car wreck and I didn’t want to worry him.’

Bishop frowned, puzzled. ‘Wait. I’ve had this question for days now and have to ask it: how could your father not know the truth about your mother? Wasn’t there an autopsy?’

‘No.’ Faith shook her head, her eyes going vacant. Her defense mechanism, Deacon knew.

‘Fuck this,’ Bishop said briskly. She got up and grabbed Faith’s chin and gave her a little shake. ‘Deacon’s not going to make you talk about this because he’s gone soft over you. I have not. So snap out of the trance, Faith, and answer my questions. Was there really a car accident? Or was that just what the family told people?’

Faith recoiled, but her eyes focused, then narrowed angrily as she jerked her chin free. ‘Yes, Detective. There was an accident. I saw the pictures of the crashed car. It burned up. I saw the pictures of her charred body. And don’t put your hands on me again.’

She saw pictures?
Deacon stared at her, horrified.
Why? Who in God’s name would have shown her pictures?
And then her words sank in. ‘Wait. I thought your mother killed herself.’

‘She did,’ Faith replied flatly. ‘The car accident was just a cover up.’

‘Was there an autopsy?’ Bishop asked again, not apologetic in the least.

‘No. The coroner said there wasn’t much of her left, and no one wanted an autopsy. My grandfather had just died, and then my mother, and they just wanted to bury her and move on.’ But as she said it, Faith looked away and her words came out with a slight sing-songiness, like they’d been repeated in her mind for a long time.

Bishop gripped her chin again. ‘Did you find your mother hanging from the ceiling in your grandmother’s basement?’

Faith lurched to her feet and, fists clenched, rocked up on her toes, nose to nose with Bishop. ‘Yes!’ Faith shouted. ‘I found her, dammit!
I found her
.’

‘How?’ Bishop pressed, holding her ground. ‘From a rope or a scarf?’

‘From a
rope
. She was hanging from a
rope
and she was
dead.
Are you happy now? My mother committed suicide and I found her.’

‘How high off the ground were her feet?’ Bishop asked, her tone unforgiving.

Still on her toes, Faith clenched her teeth and blinked hard once, sending tears down her cheeks. ‘This far,’ she spat defiantly, spreading her hands about five inches. ‘
Why?
’

‘Had she kicked over a chair?’

Faith blinked again and slowly took a step back, looking at Bishop like she’d suddenly spoken a foreign language. ‘What?’

‘
Had she kicked over a chair?
’

Uncertainty clouded her eyes and she wiped away more tears. ‘I . . . I don’t know. Why?’

Bishop sat down. ‘All right. How did she end up in the car? This is important, because there
have
been a lot of car accidents. Yours, your mother’s, your uncle Jeremy’s. The mother in Miami. So how, Faith?’

‘I don’t know.’ Still standing, Faith suddenly looked sick. ‘My uncle took care of it.’

Deacon’s jaw dropped. ‘How?’

‘
I don’t know
.’ The exasperated words shot from her mouth. ‘I was only nine years old. He just told me he’d handle it.’

‘What happened that day, Faith?’ Bishop asked calmly. ‘Start from the beginning.’

Faith took another step back, then another, shaking her head as she blindly backed into the table. ‘I . . . I . . .’ She shot Deacon a look of panicked desperation. ‘I’m—’

She turned and ran for the little powder room and slammed the door. Deacon closed his eyes, exhaling at the sound of Faith retching. He dragged his palms down his face, unable to remember a moment he’d felt this helpless. Except the night his own mother had died.