Silent Night (25 page)

T
UCKER SCANNED THE
photos he’d taken on his camera’s display while Sam instructed her assistants on how she wanted the body bagged.

“What are you doing?” Finn asked, hoisting his duffel higher up on his shoulder, his gaze finally leaving Sam’s ass long enough to notice Tucker.

“Trying to figure out if these photos are too gruesome to show Miranda.”

Finn didn’t respond, but Tucker could feel him watching him. “What?”

Brushing his hands off on his jeans, Finn made his way around the altar to stand at Tucker’s side. “Look, man. I respect your instincts and I’m trying real hard here not to question you on this, but I don’t understand how you expect her to see something we can’t. We’re trained to look for this shit.”

Tucker leaned against one of the pews. He’d been waiting for the right time to tell Finn who Miranda was. He had no choice but to come clean now. “The reason I asked you here wasn’t just because I needed a set of fresh eyes to review the Dayton files.”

Finn’s brow creased, but he remained silent, his intense gaze watching Tucker.

“I needed your objectivity. So I’ve . . . kept some things from you that might have tainted it.”

The crease in between Finn’s brows deepened. “Like what?”

Tucker sighed. “Miranda isn’t just a nurse from the same town as Anatole. She followed him here because she has a personal stake in this.”

“Relative of a Dayton victim?”

“No. Worse. The guy convicted of the murders. She’s Bobby Harley’s sister.”

Tucker tensed, readying himself for the outburst that was sure to follow this confession. Finn’s face turned purple and in the moonlight, his glare became almost sinister.

“Have you lost your damned mind? That woman shouldn’t be involved in this case even indirectly, and sure as hell shouldn’t be connected to you in any way.”

He shouldn’t have put his friend in the middle of all this, but he trusted Finn. Finn knew he wasn’t some dumb-ass rookie making a novice mistake. He needed to process what Tucker had told him, and Tucker would give him the quiet to do so.

“We have got to cover your ass. It’s going to be real easy to pin all this on her. Not the murders, maybe, but the desperation of freeing her brother making her point fingers at a goddamned priest. This is not going to be pretty when it hits the papers.”

“We have a bit before that will—”

“If you’re right about this, people are going to start asking a lot of questions. They’re going to say you didn’t do your job and that she’s manipulating you. Eventually it’s going to bring the state police down on your ass and lock you out of this investigation completely.”

Tucker didn’t bother to respond. There was no point. Finn was on a rant and there’d be no stopping him until he’d finished, anyway.

“If you fuck this up, the state will take over and there will be an investigation. Best case, you lose your job. Worst case, your reputation. We’re going to have to pull some quick shit to keep them out of it. Damn it. I seriously can’t believe you did something so stupid.”

Tucker had prepared himself to turn over the case and face whatever shit flew down the pike when there was no other option. Calling in the authorities was sometimes part of the job. But Finn was right. It was a
shitty
part of the job. One he wasn’t willing to volunteer for so easily.

“So what do you suggest I do?”

Tucker followed Finn outside and watched as he lit a cigarette. Finn puffed quietly, the red tip glowing in the darkness. He began to pace, mumbling under his breath and occasionally shooting Tucker with a glare.

“If you have to call the state boys in, make sure you tell them that she came to you with her suspicions when the first murder occurred. Make sure they know that you called me in to help with the investigation and to keep tabs on her to assure that she isn’t involved in any of this.”

Tucker shook his head. “You’re not taking the heat for me.”

“Don’t be a martyr, asshole. You can help your woman more if you’re still active on the case than if they throw your ass off of it.”

“She’s not my woman . . .”

“I hope that part’s a lie. It’s bad enough that you did something so stupid. I just pray your reasons are worth it. Catch a ride back with the coroner. I’m taking your cruiser. I need to think about this shit you’ve dragged me into.” He tossed his bag at Tucker’s feet. “Chain of command can’t be broken. All evidence collected is in here. Sign off on it.”

“Finn, my intentions—”

“We’ll worry about your intentions later. Right now, I need to see if we can toss some dirt into that hole you’ve dug for yourself.”

A
T THE SOUND
of a car’s engine stopping outside, Miranda was out of the bed and peering out the window. She spotted the squad car, watched long enough to see Finn exit the vehicle, then greeted him in the living room. She’d hoped it would be Tucker, but Finn might share a few of the details.

She heard him stamp his feet but it still took a good five minutes before he let himself inside. He spotted her right away. “Didn’t expect that you’d still be up.” He hung up his coat and moved to the kitchen. “Going to make some coffee. Join me.”

It wasn’t a request, and she didn’t like the way he glared at her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Tucker?”

“Still at the crime scene.”

He stood at the counter until the coffee finished, poured two cups, then took his to the table. Crime scene photos were still spread across Tucker’s small kitchen table. Miranda stayed as far away from them as possible, choosing a stool at the bar instead.

“Finn? What’s wrong? You look . . .”

“Pissed? Yeah, color me that, Miranda
Harley
.”

Her heart sank. She knew Tucker would tell Finn the truth eventually, but she’d really hoped it wouldn’t have been until after the case was solved. Looked like Lisa had guessed Finn’s reaction. He was pissed.

“I hope you understand why we didn’t tell you.”

“What I understand is that a shit ton of trouble could fall on Tuck’s head because he’s trying to help you out.”

“Trouble?” Who the hell did this guy think he was? “He’s closer than anyone has been to catching a killer!”

“That’s not the way the state boys are going to see it. They’re going to see a woman hell-bent on saving her brother. A woman who has stalked a priest in Ohio, and was so obsessed that she followed him here. They’re going to haul you in for questioning, and Tuck, too. After twenty-four hours, they’ll probably let you both go. You’ll get to go on with your life. Tuck, however, will most likely lose his job, be brought up on charges for allowing you anywhere near these crimes, and then have to take a job in security because his reputation will be shot and another force won’t give him the time of day.”

She clenched her fists around her coffee mug, contemplated chucking it at Finn’s head. “Tucker hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Except let her review evidence with him and not arrest her when she’d gotten caught trying to break into the church. He didn’t know about the cameras she’d set up in Anatole’s home and office, but after what Finn said, she didn’t expect anyone to take her word for that.

“There’s protocol that has to be followed here.”

“I know that.” Tucker had told her that numerous times.

Finn drank deeply from his cup. “Did you consider the possibility that the priest looks guilty because you
want
him to be guilty? Are you okay with sending another innocent man to jail to free your brother? That he’d want someone else to go through what he’s gone through?”

“Big difference. Anatole isn’t innocent!”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s my job to figure that out.”

“I thought that’s what juries were for? Besides, it’s not your job. It’s Tucker’s.”

The kitchen grew quiet while they stared each other down. She liked Finn. Or at least she’d thought she did. Now he was coming across as a pompous ass, not much different from the chauvinistic cops in Ohio.

“Tucker brought me here because I’m damned good at my job, and even better at it when I’m partnered with him. He wants to help you, and all you’re doing is fucking up his career. Do you even see that? Do you even care? Can you even get your head out of your ass long enough to see that you’re going to cost a good man his job and his reputation because you’re too damned selfish to just stay the hell out of his way and let him do his job?”

His words couldn’t have cut deeper if they’d been slathered onto the pointy end of a kitchen knife and driven into her heart. “I’m not—”

“You
are
.” He sagged in his chair, the look of burning anger in his eyes fizzling out. “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole. But Tucker is like a brother to me, and I don’t like seeing him put in this position. If you care about him at all, and I think you do, you’ll deal with me on matters of this case and leave him out of it.”

She
did
care about Tucker. A lot more than she was willing to admit right now. And she certainly didn’t want to be the reason he lost his job. She chewed her lip, her whole body suddenly exhausted with worry as she slipped off the bar stool and walked wordlessly toward Tucker’s bedroom. The whole way, she could feel Finn watching her, and didn’t feel safe to fall apart until the bedroom door was closed behind her.

She wanted to hate Finn. To call him every ugly name she could think of, right to his face. But she couldn’t. Because he was right.

Falling onto the bed, she buried her face in a pillow and tried to cry. She couldn’t. Nothing would come because there was nothing left in her. She’d given every bit of herself to this case, and now she was bone dry.

T
UCKER SPED DOWN
the quiet streets littered with festival trash that would be cleaned before sunrise, vendor booths lining the walkways a blur as he maneuvered the cruiser down Main Street. The green and red lights wrapped around every signpost and fence were giving him a migraine, the irony of their cheerful brightness pissing him off with every wreath-covered street sign he passed. Soon, he was going to have to put out a statewide APB for a man of the cloth. Nothing about that made him feel any better.

But he didn’t see where he had a choice. He’d gone by the priest’s home where Goiter was positioned. There hadn’t been any activity inside the house. His next stop had been the church. The deacons were seated in the vestibule, their Bibles clutched in their hands. When they weren’t answering questions about the father, they were praying that he’d be found safely. In short, they hadn’t told Tucker anything helpful at all. The priest had been at Sunday Mass, professed that he wasn’t feeling well, and had gone home. Their phone calls and visits hadn’t reached the priest and when even his car hadn’t been seen, they were worried that perhaps they should start contacting local hospitals.

Tucker already had Shannon working on that, but told them that wouldn’t be a bad idea—after extracting a promise that if any of them found the good father, or spoke with him, they would call Tucker immediately.

It was nearly dawn and since there was nothing else he could do tonight, he went home. All the lights were off at his place, and when he pushed open the front door, there was no one to greet him. He’d half expected Miranda to be waiting up with questions he had no answers to, and, disappointed, he tossed his hat on the coatrack and gritted his teeth against the thought of another night on his own sofa.

Outside his bedroom, he could hear the muted sound of the television. Knocking softly, but not waiting for an answer, he opened the door. Miranda’s gaze shot to him, but his dropped to the laptop sitting on the nightstand. It only took a second for his brain to register what he was seeing—the tree-lined driveway and the Christmas squad car sitting there were a dead giveaway.

Pushing the door closed, his gaze sought out Miranda’s. “How the hell did you get a live feed on Anatole’s house?”

She reached across the bed and closed the lid on the computer. “Tucker, I can explain.”

Somehow he doubted that. “Start talking.”

Her fingers worried the hem of her pajama top. “When I arrived in town, I knew I couldn’t watch the priest all the time, something I really needed to do if I was going to find something that would prove Bobby is innocent.”

“What did you expect to find? Him carrying a dead body into his own home? Or into the church? Even if he had done that, the evidence would have been obtained illegally and wouldn’t be admissible in court. He’d walk.”

“I really didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem, Miranda. You don’t think. You’ve nearly screwed up my crime scenes, inserted yourself in my investigation, now I find out you have a camera on Anatole. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were working with that son of a bitch to make sure he was never convicted.”

The color drained from her face. “You can’t believe that.”

No, he didn’t, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shake some sense into her. But he knew if he touched her, he’d lose himself in the desperation filling her big brown eyes. He slammed the door, grabbed his coat, and headed back outside.

T
UCKER DIDN
’
T KNOW
how long he’d walked his property, but when he returned to the house, he was completely frozen. He leaned against the door, huddled over in near agony as the heat brought life back to his extremities. The walk had helped him clear his head, think rationally, and cool his anger.

He’d been outraged when he’d seen that feed. She should have come clean, told him the truth. Hell, it might have helped him pinpoint Anatole’s location by now.

He didn’t believe that any more than he believed she was working with Anatole. Miranda knew there was an APB out for the priest. If she’d seen him, she would’ve told Tucker.

Pushing off the door, he moved down the hall to his room before remembering it wasn’t really his anymore.

He turned for the bathroom. A hot shower was required if he was going to get any sleep at all. The sound of water running stopped him. If Finn was killing all the hot water, he was going to kick his ass.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Finn who stared back at him. It was Miranda, standing in front of him with a startled expression, her hair wet, dripping down her shoulders and arms and a body that was bare except for the brown towel wrapped around her.

“Hi.” The word escaped her in a whisper and for the life of him, he could do nothing more than repeat it back to her. “Hi.”

They stood there for a long moment, an unexpected game of chicken in his hallway. Who’d move first? Who’d be smart and get out of harm’s way before it was too late?

“Tucker, I’m so sorr—”

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him before he’d even rationalized his intention. She was soft, moldable, unresisting. She fit against him perfectly, and as the towel fell from her body onto the hall carpet, he slowly backed her into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Tuck—”

He buried her trembling voice beneath a kiss that pinned her to the wall. She was naked, and as badly as he wanted to look, he was terrified to. The minute he gave in to that need, he was a goner. Until then, she could still say no without thoroughly destroying him.

Her arms snaked around his neck and he lifted her by the waist, forcing her to wrap her legs around his hips. Hungrily, he devoured her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, groaning as her nails dug into his back. He needed to be as naked as she was, but he couldn’t bring himself to separate from her. This was no gentle make-out session, and the need in her kisses matched his own as he reached for the drawer beneath the sink and retrieved a small foil square.

She tugged at his shirt, pulled it over his head, leaving his bare chest pressed to hers. Her nipples brushed him and he finally dared to look down and catch a glimpse of the pink buds. And below that, the faint shadow of her heat pushed against his unbuckled belt.

As he worked to unzip himself, balancing her between his hips and the wall, his finger brushed the slick folds between her thighs and he froze, devastated by the sweet feel of her. She whimpered, and then her hands were on his zipper, frantically working to finish what he hadn’t been able to accomplish as he popped open the button.

He wanted to take off the pants, but Miranda wasn’t having it. The moment he popped free, she had the condom, opened it, and slid it over the length of him. He was struggling to register all she was doing, but thinking would have to come later.

She was riding him, burying him so deeply inside her before he could prepare that he lost control. He buried his face in her neck and stayed as still as possible, gripping her hips so tightly, he knew he was bruising her. But he had to stop her from wiggling. Had to keep her as still as he could or else risk ending this before it could really begin.

“Stop,” he breathed, the scent of soap and shampoo wafting off her damp skin and momentarily clearing his head. “Miranda, stop.”

She didn’t obey. She moved again, forcing him more deeply inside her. From this position, he couldn’t control her movement without risking dropping her. He turned with her in his arms, attached to him, coating him, and set her backside on the bathroom counter. She leaned back, her head against the mirror, and watched him.

No, not
him. Them.
Her gaze fastened on the very place where they were joined and as he followed it, and saw himself inside her, he lost his mind. He braced his hands above her head and gritted his teeth as she began to move again. He let her. If
he
moved, he was done for.

“Miranda, I can’t last if you—”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She arched toward him, wrapped herself around him again, and licked his mouth until, finally, he gave in and opened for her. He was able to lose himself in the feel of her mouth enough to chance moving, taking control. He thrust inside her, slowly, testing her ability to hold all of him. As her tongue slid along his, he reached between them and found the center of her need and rubbed, gently, slowly bringing her to the same realm of madness she’d already driven him to.

When she began to buck against his hand, he knew she was close. Their kisses became disconnected, as though she had to keep pulling away to catch a full breath. Each time she pulled away, inhaled, he looked down, watched their bodies move together for an insane moment, and then she was kissing him again. Over and over they danced that way, until she moaned into his mouth and her body went rigid against him. Slick wetness coated his finger, slid down her thighs to coat his. Her orgasm snapped the last thread of his control. He came with the force of a volcano, wincing against the pain of it, the ecstasy of it. The magic of it.

“Miranda,” he whispered, his body pulsing, his arm no longer strong enough to hold him against the mirror on its own. He pulled the other from between her legs, braced himself on the counter, but couldn’t bring himself to withdraw from her. He’d known Miranda for only a few weeks, but he felt as though he’d wanted to make love to her his whole life.

Make love? He hadn’t done that. He’d taken her in his bathroom, for God’s sake. Had used her. Fucked her. Guilt forced him to slide out of her, made it difficult to look her in the eye as he cleaned himself up. When he finally got the nerve to do so, he expected to see confusion, maybe a disconnection in her gaze. She was smiling.

“Thank you,” she said, shimmying backward so she could sit upright.

Thank you?
How was he supposed to react to that?

“I’m sorry, Miranda. It wasn’t my intention—”

“Don’t.” She reached for the small hand towel hanging on the wall and covered her breasts with it. “Please don’t apologize. That was . . . exactly what it needed to be.”

She leaned forward, buried her face in his chest, and gave it a light kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her, slid his fingers in her hair, and held her to him. Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head and said, “Thank you, too.”

She looked up at him, her eyes still near-black from passion, her lips puffy and red from his kisses. “Are you—are you still mad at me?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight? With you? Can I try to make you
un
mad?”

“I’m counting on it.” He helped her down, gave her a fresh towel to wrap around herself, and leaned over the tub and turned on the shower. He stepped inside and held out his hand. “Come here.”

He took her hand and pulled her forward.

Gingerly, she stepped over the rim of the tub and into his arms. He spent the next five minutes gently washing her body and allowing her to wash his. There was no way to keep from getting hard again, but it was too soon. He had to process all this first. Had to give her time to do the same. As she slid her soapy hand over his cock and around his balls, he drew blood from his lip as he bit down against the impulse to take her again. Hell no. Next time—and there
would be
a next time—he was going to make love to her in a bed, as she deserved.

“Dry off,” he said, kissing her nose. “I still need a real shower. Help yourself to my closet if you need something fresh to sleep in.”

“And if I choose to sleep in nothing?” She kissed his chin before pushing back the curtain and letting the cold air in.

“Then there won’t be much sleeping going on.”

“I can live with that.” She smiled over her shoulder at him, wrapped the towel around herself again, and disappeared, the soft click of the door closing behind her an unspoken promise of the night still to come.