Guilty as Sin (51 page)

The sensation was electric. A gasp caught in Ellen's throat. She clutched at his shoulders, then his head, raking her fingers through his short hair, pulling him tighter against her. The need for this act, for this man, burned within, wild, hot, too intense. She had never known what it

was to let go of her self-control completely, but she felt it sliding away from her now. The feeling was terrifying and exhilarating at once.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his lower lip slick and shining, the pupils of his eyes huge, ringed with neon blue. He looked uncivilized, as if the same fire in her had seared away the thin veneer of manners he wore in public, revealing what she had sensed all along was at the core of him—something dangerous, untamed, raw.

He moved away from her for a moment, and the sudden absence of his body heat left her feeling cold. She pulled her blouse together over her breasts as she watched him snatch the thick down sleeping bag from the cot and spread it open in front of the fireplace. Then he offered her his hand.

She stood, passive, as he undressed her. He freed her arms from the blouse and sweater, caressing her shoulders, her back, her belly. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the leggings she wore and drew them slowly down her hips, kneeling at her feet to remove them. All thoughts of being cold vaporized as he reached up and inched her silk panties down, following their descent with his mouth.

He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the soft spot below her navel as he slid his hands around to cup her buttocks, then dragged the kiss lower to the tender area just above the delta of dark-blond curls, then lower.

Ellen gasped at the touch of his lips, at the bold probing of his tongue. She tried to step back, but he held her easily, his fingers stroking, kneading, pulling her closer, tilting her hips into the shocking intimacy of his kiss. The intensity of the pleasure stunned her, scared her, swept her toward a towering precipice—and left her hanging there.

An involuntary whimper of frustration escaped her as Jay pulled her down to the floor with him and pulled her hard against him. He shared the taste of her own desire with her. She ran her hands along the taut muscles of his back, his arms, feeling his strength. His urgency seemed to feed her own.

When he rose on his knees to unfasten his trousers, she rose with him, pushed his hands away from his belt and unbuckled it herself. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his khakis and eased the zipper down. She touched him through the fine silk of his boxers, savored the feel of his hardness beneath the whisper softness of the fabric.

Jay tolerated her delicate teasing with gritted teeth, holding on to his control until he could stand it no longer. He wanted her, needed more lan the tentative feather touches she was giving him.

"Jesus, Ellen, touch me," he rasped, closing her hand around his shaft, guiding it slowly up and down the length of him. "Feel what you do to me . . . how much I want you."

A sense of feminine power swelling inside her, Ellen followed his commands, savoring the feel of him in her hand. Hot, hard, thick, pulsing. She traced her fingertips over the tip of him and found a spot that made him suck his breath in through his teeth. With his hand still curved over hers, she reached down and cupped him, and a shudder rippled through his whole body.

He drew away just long enough to shuck his pants and fish a condom out of his wallet. He came back to her ready, eager, the muscles in his arms trembling as he braced himself over her.

She arched up to meet him. Her eyes drifted shut as he entered her. Her body tightened around him like a fist.

"Sweet heaven," he groaned, fighting the instinctive urge to possess, to bury himself in a single stroke. "Relax for me, sweetheart," he whispered, slowly drawing her leg up along his thigh.

He slid a hand beneath her hip and lifted her into him, allowing mself to sink deeper, closer to oblivion. She caught her breath, then let go a sigh of pure sensual pleasure. Slowly, erotically, they moved together, without words, the glow of the fire gilding their bodies.

Ellen let go of the self-restraint that was so much a part of her, shivering inside at the idea of her own vulnerability.

Jay felt as if his soul were just an inch from hers, straining to connect in a way that was primal, more than physical, deeper than anything he'd known in a long time. More than he'd bargained for in coming to this place. He had meant to lose himself, now he wanted nothing more than to hold on to this moment, this night, this woman. The idea scared the hell it of him.

Then they were both beyond thought. There was only need and urgency, a rush to an explosion of bliss.

Ellen cried out as her climax came in wave upon wave. She held Jay tight as he came just after her. Even as the tension began to ease out of his body, she held him, suddenly afraid of what she would feel when she let go—alone.

Odd, when she had always felt comfortable with herself, self-sufficient, self-reliant, capable of sharing a relationship or going her own way.

She had never defined herself in relation to her status with a man. It was the case, she supposed. She had been feeling the weight of it pressing down on her like a pile of stones. For just a while she had felt the burden lift. For the time she could lie here next to Brooks with his arms around her, she felt . . . safe.

Safe. With a man she barely knew and barely trusted.

At 4:06 a.m. an explosion rocked Dinkytown. The blast shattered windows up and down one block, including all the windows in the Pla-Mor Ballroom. At 4:08 Alvin Underbakke called 911 to report the incident and request the fire department come and put out the blaze that was engulfing a big white Cadillac across the street from his house.

CHAPTER 27

"Where were you at four this morning?" Mitch asked, his hands braced on the back of the chair he should have been sitting in. Tyrell Mann met his gaze with arrogance. "Gettin' my beauty z's. Where'd you want me to be, Chief? What you tryin' to pin on my black ass?"

"Let's get something straight here, Tyrell," he said. "I don't give a shit what color your ass is, or any other part of you, and, frankly, I'm about ready to take that chip off your shoulder and put it where the sun don't shine. All I care about here is getting a straight answer. Where were you?"

"Like I said—asleep. We went to the party for the Doc, then crashed."

"At the hostel on campus?"

"Whatever."

Mitch straightened away from the chair and advanced toward him.

"Yeah, at the hostel," Tyrell gave in. "Why?"

"Someone blew up Ms. North's car this morning."

A nasty smile split Tyrell's features. "Was the bitch in it?"

Mitch leaned down into his face. "You know, Tyrell, it's that attitude that's going to land your ass in jail for the rest of your life one of these days. I thought you had to have some brains to get into the Cowboys."

"I got brains enough to know I can have a lawyer here if I want one."

"Why would you need a lawyer, Tyrell? You're not under arrest. Should you be?"

"Fuck you, Holt."

Ellen watched the exchange from the hall, where a one-way mirror gave a thirty-inch view of the show. The chances of one Cowboy giving up another were nil. The chances of their being tripped up in their story was slim. No one was going to get anything out of Tyrell. Down the hall Agent Wilhelm and J. R. Andersen were going through the same song and dance. Andersen played innocent, false concern oozing out of him like sap.

If one of the Cowboys had torched the Cadillac, it was going to take an eyewitness to finger him, and people in Deer Lake were in their beds at four o'clock on a Sunday morning. No one had seen anything. No one had seen Tyrell Mann or J. R. Andersen or Speed Dawkins or Todd Childs or anyone else.

They were wasting their time. Again. Ellen wondered if Garrett Wright was home right now browsing the Sunday Star Tribune, smiling to himself.

She checked her watch and shook her head. They were due at the psychiatrist's at four. She needed to call Cameron to let him know to pick her up at the law-enforcement center. She wasn't looking forward to the hour-long drive. Cameron would no doubt have as many questions for her as the reporters who were stationed outside the building, waiting.

News of the car fire had come to her at Jay's house via her beeper. He had driven her to the scene, raising a few eyebrows among the cops hanging around. Luckily, by then the reporters had already come and gone. Unluckily, they had gone in search of her. Rumor that the charred wreck might have been hers had sent them off in full cry. By the time they found her, they were foaming at the mouth, rabid for answers. She offered them none. Brooks shucked off their interest in him with the explanation that the explosion had damn near rolled him out of bed.

That the only explosion either of them had paid any attention to was of a sexual nature was nobody's damn business, but the reporters would make it their business, and Ellen knew it. She had watched it happen to Mitch and Megan. And if they chose to do so with her and Brooks, how long would it be before they jumped onto the fact that Costello and Brooks were fellow Purdue alums or that Brooks had been seen slapping shoulders with Costello at the benefit? The media had the power to turn a trial into a circus, complete with sideshows. She didn't want to see that

happen for the sake of Hannah and Josh. Or for her own sake, for that matter.

She pushed through the door into the squad room and headed for an empty desk. Christopher Priest rose from the chair where he had been left waiting, fury rouging his pale cheeks.

"This is an outrage, Ms. North. How much longer are the boys going to be interrogated without the benefit of counsel?"

"They aren't being interrogated, Professor. They're being questioned."

"I've called an attorney."

"You have that right."

"I've told you the boys didn't have anything to do with this. They were at the hostel. I checked on them."

"So you said. At about four a.m. Quite a coincidence."

His glare took on a sharpness Ellen felt like the blade of a razor, though he didn't raise his voice a decibel. "I resent the implication. First you take me to task for not supervising them closely enough. Now you call me a liar when I do check up on them."

"I didn't call you a liar, Professor," she said calmly. "I said it was an extraordinary coincidence. Just like Tyrell and Andersen and Dawkins being seen in the vicinity of my car last night, then the car's being disabled and subsequently blown to kingdom come."

"They're easy scapegoats," Priest began.

"No. Nothing about any of this is easy. I know you've got a vested interest in their innocence, Professor, but somebody has to be guilty, and it just might be your boys." She picked up the telephone receiver but pressed the plunger down with her finger, eyeing Priest curiously. "As long as we're standing here, Professor, can you tell me if you were with anyone last Saturday afternoon, after your lunch with your friend from Gustavus?"

The fury in his eyes was the strongest emotion she'd seen in him, yet he contained it.

"You're making enemies, Ms. North," he said quietly. "You'll wish you hadn't."

The Taker had warned him this would happen. Josh sat in the cushy blue chair in Dr. Freeman's office, staring past her to the fish tank that was stuck into the wall. He had been told someone would try to get inside his mind and open all the doors. He had been told never to let that happen. He knew how to do that. It was stupid simple. He imagined his body as just a shell and drew his Self inward, like a ghost, into his mind, where he shut the doors and windows tight.

It didn't make him happy to do this. At first he had thought of this place in his mind as a special safe place, but he didn't like all the things the Taker had put there. They made him sad. They scared him. They made his tummy feel weird. But he had been warned and he was afraid to disobey. Too many bad things had happened already.

He didn't like the way any of the grown-ups around him were acting. It had been a relief to come to Dr. Freeman's today. She was a pretty lady with dark-brown skin and a kind smile. She usually just talked to him, real easy-like. She asked him questions, but not the same way the cops had asked him questions. She never got that tone in her voice as if she wanted to shake him, or that tone that made him think she was almost afraid of him. She never seemed to mind when he didn't answer her. But then today she started talking about relaxing and asking him if he had ever played like he was hypnotized.

Bingo.

She wanted to hypnotize him. Just another trick to try to get him to say the things the Taker had warned him not to.

Josh gave Dr. Freeman a look of huge disappointment, got up from the chair, and went to stare at the fish, trapped inside that tank the same way he had to stay trapped inside his mind.

Watching on the other side of a one-way mirror, Hannah pressed ice-cold hands to her cheeks and willed herself not to cry. Mitch gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Agent Wilhelm blew out a sigh of frustration. Ellen North exchanged looks with Cameron Reed.

"It's too soon, I suppose," Ellen said.

Wilhelm grunted. "It might be too late for Dustin Holloman."

Rage twisted inside Hannah. It wrenched her out of Mitch's grasp and launched her at the BCA agent.

"Don't you dare blame Josh!" she snarled, hitting him before Mitch could pull her back. "He's just a little boy! It's not his fault you can't do your job! It's not his fault the world is crawling with scum like Garrett Wright!"

Hannah clawed Mitch's arm to pry it away from her, the fury, burning inside her. It terrified her, but she couldn't begin to suppress it. It was like acid in her chest, like blood pumping from an artery that had been severed.

"Let me go!" she shouted.

Ellen stepped forward, putting herself in front of Wilhelm. "Hannah, please calm down," she said quietly. "We don't blame Josh—"

"I'm taking him home," Hannah declared.

The decision was made without the usual mental weighing of pros and cons. It blurted out of her, this voice of instinct, now that the layers of education, domestication, socialization, had been slashed and torn apart.

She no longer cared what anyone thought. She knew she no longer bore any resemblance to the Woman of the Year image everyone in town had of her, and she didn't give a damn. All she cared about now was Josh, protecting him, fighting to get him the justice he deserved, fighting to protect him.

"I'm taking my son home," she said again, looking over her shoulder at Mitch, who had brought them up in his Explorer.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, Hannah, but we had to give it a try for Josh's sake as well as our own."

"No," she murmured as his hold on her arm relaxed and she stepped away from him. "None of this has been for Josh's benefit. Don't you realize that, Mitch? Nothing that happens now can change what Garrett Wright did to him or to our family. Nothing. Ever. The only thing we can hope for is revenge."

She walked out of the room, heading toward Dr. Freeman's office. At the door, she straightened her burgundy sweater and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. Then she knocked once and let herself in.

"Josh, we're going home," she announced, holding out her hand to him.

Mitch shot a glare at Wilhelm, who stood frowning, rubbing the sore spot in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Are you taking sensitivity training from Steiger in your spare time?"

"We're all stressed out," Wilhelm grumbled.

Ellen turned back to their window on the psychiatrist's office and watched through the smoky glass as Hannah knelt down to gather her son in her arms.

"Who can blame her?" she murmured to Cameron. "She's right. We didn't want this for Josh's sake; we wanted it to save our own hides. Sometimes I hate this job."

"For all we know, Wright beat us to this hypnosis thing," he said. "The man's a psychology professor, specializing in learning and perception. He might have wrung this kid's mind out like a sponge and put in whatever he wanted."

"There's a cheery thought," Ellen mumbled. "Think Dr. Freeman would give us a group rate?"

The session over, Dr. Freeman let herself into the room on their side of the glass. She offered no apologies and spared them none of her own feelings. She had felt it was too soon to try to pry into Josh's memories, and she had been right. He didn't trust her yet, and after this it would probably be some time before he would.

Mitch ushered Hannah and Josh out to his truck. Wilhelm climbed into his car alone and headed across town toward St. Paul and a meeting with Bruce DePalma, his special agent in charge. Ellen crossed the parking lot with Cameron.

"Think we should check my car for bombs before we get in?" he asked, only half teasing.

"It wasn't a bomb. It was just a flaming rag stuffed into the gas tank."

"Just."

The end result was the same. The Cadillac was trashed. Poor Manley had been stunned, walking around and around the burned-out hulk— although he had perked up when the press had turned their attention on him, the prospect of more free advertising offsetting his grief. He had even gone so far as to offer Ellen another loaner—on camera. She had declined, saying instead that she would take her own car back as soon as his people could spray some primer over the damage to the driver's door.

The worst thing was not knowing whether she was a target of Wright's supporters or Wright's accomplice. Or both. And aside from scaring the shit out of her, whoever was responsible had managed to further disrupt her life and add to the already overwhelming burden of the case.

She had planned to visit her parents after the session with Dr. Freeman. They lived just blocks away from Freeman's office, had called twice in the past week because they were concerned about her. But she had called them and canceled, not wanting to complicate Cameron's evening, and so he turned south on France Avenue and headed toward the Teeway.