Wicked Release (22 page)

35

T
he next morning, the smell of fresh brewed coffee and the sizzling of bacon in a frying pan woke Jess from a deep slumber. Her body was stiff and aching, a painful reminder of the nightmare attack the night before. She whimpered as she rolled to her side to check the time. Six-thirty. That left her a couple of hours to get the photos filed for Sam.

She was suddenly very grateful that she had put her clothes on over her shorts and tank-top pajama set the night before. Otherwise, she would have been sleeping nude in Dane's guest bedroom. Even still, the tiny shorts left little to the imagination—it was a little more skin than she cared for Dane to see. She peered out the door, making sure he wasn't in the hallway, and just as she was about to run out, her toe hit a folded robe on the floor outside her door. She bent, lifted it, and read the attached note.

 

After sliding her arms into the soft terry cloth, she finished up in the bathroom and slipped her pants on under the robe before she went downstairs for breakfast. Dane was sitting at his kitchen table, reading
The Sound and the Fury
and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Faulkner?” she said as she walked in.

“Surprised?”

Totally.
But she wasn't about to admit that. “Just figured you as more of a Hemingway guy.”

“Hemingway has his moments, even if he was a drunken asshole ninety-five percent of the time. I left you a mug next to the coffee machine. Sugar is out and half-and-half is in the fridge.”

Jess helped herself to the coffee, noticing the heaping plate of bacon and scrambled eggs beside it. “Holy crap, that's a lot of pig on that plate.”

“You don't have to eat all of it.”

“Isn't some of it for you?”

She peered around the column separating his dining area from the kitchen and saw as he held up his own plate. She grabbed hers along with the coffee and sat across from him, eyeing the food like a virgin in a whorehouse. “Please don't tell me you eat like this every day? You'll never make it past forty.”

She glanced up, catching his weary gaze before he quickly slipped his mask back on. There was a sort of ghostly pallor to his skin that she hadn't noticed the other day.

“I don't eat red meat,” he answered quickly. He set his book down beside his plate. His breakfast was entirely different from hers. It looked like egg whites with some sort of herb, a slice of smoked salmon, and half a grapefruit.

“Why'd you go to the trouble of making it for me, then?”

He shrugged. “I had leftover bacon from when a friend was visiting. And I remember your sister once telling me that you two would always splurge on the really good cuts of bacon when you were in high school. Even when you couldn't afford it. She said that some women turned to chocolate or booze, but for you both, bacon was your comfort food.”

“That's quite a memory you got there.”

“When it comes to your sister, it's damn near photographic.”

An alarm on his phone went off and he hit a button, pulling pills from out of his pocket and swallowing two. Realization pinged in Jess's brain and she fell back against her chair, nibbling on a piece of bacon. “Of course,” she said aloud. “I'm such an idiot.”

“What?”

“You have a heart condition, don't you?”

He froze, his mug of black coffee half-raised to his lips. Even his grip on the handle seemed to tighten “I do,” he said after a long pause.

“And you're the reason Cass was trying so hard to get Biophuterol in a drug trial here in Portland.”

His jaw tightened and he stood, taking his plate with him. “Your sister was philanthropic. She wanted to produce drugs to help people, not to make money.”

Oh my God. It's all falling into place.
“And when she couldn't legally get the drugs into your hands . . . she did it illegally. You're the reason Cass got involved in all this.”

The dishes crashed into the sink. “Fuck. Yes, okay? Yes. It's my fault—”

“I didn't say it was your fault. I said you're the reason. There's a difference.”

“Well it
is
my fault. If it hadn't been for me, she wouldn't have felt such an urge to help.” His body sagged and Jess got up, moving over to stand with him. “She saved my life. Without those drugs, I wouldn't have lasted another week with my heart as weak as it was.”

“But the drugs helped?”

“They changed my life. I'm still not perfect, but they allowed me to get to this point and now—” He stopped.

“Now?” Jess thought back to her reading the other night. “Are you growing immune to the effects of the drug?”

“Starting to,” he said. “It's only meant to bridge the gap while you're waiting for a transplant.”

“You've been waiting a while?”

“Over a year. I don't want to jinx it . . . not that I believe in those things . . . but I may be getting a new heart. Soon. I got the call yesterday.”

“And that's why you came to say good-bye last night,” she said, finally understanding. “Cass would be so happy,” she said, “that it all wasn't for nothing.” Stepping forward, Jess placed her arms around Dane, pulling him in tight for a hug. “Congratulations on the new heart, Tin Man.”

He chuckled against her shoulder, squeezing her tightly back. “I'm glad you know. I kept telling her that I could find another way to get the drugs. That I could go to Canada and get them in myself . . .”

“But she worked in pharmaceuticals. It was probably easier for her to bring in cases of medicine from over the border, huh?”

“She fudged some paperwork. No one suspected a thing. Until your boyfriend found her picture at border patrol.”

“You could have told me sooner about all this. You know I don't think you killed Cass. Even with the lies you told me . . . the look on your face when you talk about her? You loved her.”

“I did.” His voice cracked.

“But they're still going to need an alibi, Dane.”

He shook his head, pulling out of the hug. “I can't give you one. And if they put me on the stand, I'll plead the Fifth—”

“That's the biggest misconception of trials,” Jess interrupted. “Pleading the Fifth only works if you're guilty of something.”

His chiseled, pale face turned to hard stone before her eyes. With a single nod, he repeated, “I know. As I said, I'll plead the Fifth.”

36

A
s hard as she tried, Jess wasn't able to get anything more out of Dane. The ride back to her house was almost silent, not the comfortable silence she'd come to accept at times. This one was terse and made worse every time she attempted to talk.

Thankfully the drive was short and their good-bye even shorter. Two hours after getting home Jess was showered and had her flash drive loaded with the edited shots she'd taken the night before at the crime scene. When she walked into the precinct Sam rushed toward her, his eyes wide and wild, bloodshot like he hadn't slept a wink the night before.

“Jess.” He grabbed at her shoulders and yanked her into his chest, crushing her in a hug. Years of backbreaking training to become detective had solidified Sam's body into practically a weapon and his strength, even in this show of affection, was quite literally taking her breath away.

Hundreds of thoughts blazed through her mind, the most potent one being the way Sam's arm was hooked around her waist. The way his body pressed against hers, melting her against his hardened frame.

“Where the hell have you been all night?” She cringed as what she thought was a sweet moment hemorrhaged into pure fury.

“How did you—”

“Come here,” he snarled, taking her arm. Despite his anger, his touch was tender. He brought her into an empty office where he bent over the computer, tapping keys like a madman. “I called you all night long. I slept in my car outside your house waiting for you to return before I gave up and came here to wait.”

“Why—why would you do that?” Had Dane called him about the attack and not told her?

“Because of this.” He stood, pointing to his computer screen. “Are these your images?”

She looked at the thumbnails. They were the images she had taken of Cass's house the first day she arrived. She had thought she might be able to use them to sell the place. “Yeah. Why do you have my pictures?”

He held up the memory card reader, showing it to her. “So this is your memory card?”

Jess licked her lips nervously. “Yeah, I guess. I mean that's the brand I use. And if it has my pictures on it—Sam, what is going on?” She'd never seen him so angry. Yes, he'd been mad at her in the past, but this was something entirely different. This was more than a tantrum from a dominant personality not getting his way. It was a mixture of fury and terror; his eyes blazed with both and his angled features were tight.

“What about this image?” His voice lowered as he moved the cursor, enlarging a picture of Jess sleeping.

Like an avalanche beginning at the top of her head, every muscle in her body slowly lost control until she was trembling. Even her teeth were chattering. “Wh-where did you get that?” But even as she asked, she already knew the answer. Her sister's murderer had gotten into her house more than once. There was a pattern. All this time, she thought he was looking for the money or the drugs . . . but, no. It was more than that. It was the power play he got off on. He had enjoyed last night. It was fun to him—not only threatening her, but being turned on by her terror as he pressed his gun into her back. And he had been there looking for her parents' medical records. Not the money. Not the drugs. Records that she hadn't been able to bring herself to look at since before the attack last night.

“Jessica.” Sam was breathing nearly as hard as she was. “I need you to tell me the truth. And whatever the answer is, it'll be okay.”

“The truth? The truth about what?”

“Has anyone been spending the night at your house? Anyone other than me?”

An indignant laugh popped out of her mouth despite her fear. And slowly, her concern for her life morphed into outrage at Sam's question. “Do you actually believe that I've been with anyone else? How can you even think that?”

“I'm not accusing you here, Jess. I know I seem . . . well, I haven't given you any reason to trust me enough to tell the truth. But this is for your own good. If you've been with anyone—anyone who might have stayed the night—”

“No!” she shouted, then looking around, lowered her voice. “No. No one.”

“Not even Elliot?” he asked, his voice tighter than before. “He's never spent the night? Never tied you up and driven you crazy?”

Mortified, her face flamed, initially with embarrassment that quickly morphed into need. The memory of her tied down with Sam going down on her caused her body to tighten in all the right areas.

“I haven't been with anyone else. Though the world is supposed to believe that I'm fucking Elliot, I can't. I won't. And not to mention he doesn't want to, either. That's not what we are to each other. I've only been with
you
since I arrived. And for some stupid fucking reason you're the only one I
want
to be with.” Tears danced in her eyes and she ducked her face down in an effort to hide them. Pain splintered inside of her, leaving wreckage in its aftermath.

“Jess.” Everything about Sam softened as her name slid off his tongue. “I'm sorry . . . as a detective, I use tactics to get the truth out of people. I—”

“Forget it,” she said, turning for the doorway. “I understand. You're just doing your job.”

As she reached the edge of the desk, his forceful body pinned her against the door. His breath was hot and rough against her ear and it sent waves of warmth spiraling down her body.

He linked his fingers in hers, tugging her arms above her head as his teeth grazed her ear with a wicked nibble.

Sliding his other hand down the length of her arm, he scooped it into her pants, popping open the button and unzipping it first. She panted, biting her lip to quell the moan building in her chest as his fingers dipped below the elastic of her thong. Nimble fingers slid over her sensitive flesh, stopping to cup her between her thighs. He paused before curving his finger and stroking her clit.

“Damn, you are so fucking wet.”

Every all-too-sensitive inch of her body cried in pleasure as those fingers crept toward her swollen, aching core.

His mouth moved on top of hers and he drank her whimper, rolling his tongue into her mouth with a skilled lick. He pulled away from the kiss, and his teeth grasped her bottom lip, nibbling and sucking as he pulled away. “How hard would you come for me?” he asked, thrusting two fingers inside of her. “How many thrusts would it take?”

Oh, yes. Yes, please.
She needed it. Her head fell back against the wall and as she opened her mouth to answer him, he took her in another kiss, speeding up his finger thrusts and adding pressure to her clit with his thumb.

He pulled his fingers slowly out of her and Jess heard her own shattered cry, squeezing her eyes shut.

His fingers were damp as he slid them back to her ass, letting the moisture and slow pressure ease one finger inside her tightest area. She moaned as the sensation, utterly different from any other, took hold of her body. It was an easy, lustful stretch and his finger worked her open, wider, with skill so adept and wicked that it could only be described as an art form.

He continued until he was fully inside, filling in an area where she hadn't even realized she needed him. His touch was searing and as he placed his thumb gently back onto her clit, she jumped. Everything was heightened; with one finger, he managed to fan a single flame into a blazing inferno.

“Sam, please,” she pleaded.

“You like that?” he asked as that diabolical finger shifted back, nearly pulling entirely free before he slid it back inside of her again. A gradual, steady push, this time not stopping until he was buried deep.

She arched her back, searching, fighting for that right angle, the last thrust that would catapult her over the edge. It was so close—so very in reach. It was right there, and yet, she felt paralyzed. As though it was being dangled in front of her, just beyond where she could grab it.

He dropped his lips to her strained neck, running his tongue along the roped muscle there. “Is this what you want?” he asked, flicking his finger faster over her clit.

“Yes, please, yes—”

He pulled back from her neck. “Look at me, Jess.”

She opened her eyes, the soft yellow light warm around his chiseled face. “Call me Jessica,” she said. She had no idea why, but with Sam she wanted him to take control. To handle her body in ways she could never be capable of herself.

“You want me to call you by your full name?”

During sex, absolutely. It felt so good. “Yes,
sir.
” As the word left her mouth, the wet heat poured harder from her sex. The word came so naturally in the heat of the moment. And felt so right. Right for her—for
them
.

A flaming need overtook her as he pumped a finger into her vagina as well, the heel of his palm adding even more pressure to her clit. “Yes, yes . . . just like that,” she said as an incoherent cry shattered the quiet office. Thrusting her hips into his hands, she writhed against him and clawed at his shoulders with clenched fingers. His mouth devoured her, his tongue raking over hers, but Jess met his kiss with an even greater claim of her own. He was anything but tender as his raw, animal nature took over in pleasing her. But that was okay—she didn't need tender. She didn't need him to make love to her. She needed release. Explosive, mind-blowing release.

Her brewing orgasm crackled against her spine as he massaged her with agile, swift strokes. Her vagina pulsed a warning—a demand for relief just before the orgasm slammed into her fast and hard, rocking through her body. Her arms jerked around Sam's neck as her sex and ass convulsed around his fingers, tightening and releasing, leaving her helplessly weightless in his arms. A groan climbed up her throat and blended with Sam's as it burst from her lips. The room warped around her and even as the spasms slowed, he continued to pump inside her, making sure he had milked every bit of pleasure he could from her body.

She slumped against the wall, her legs beginning to work again as his fingers eased carefully out of her body. When she opened her eyes, she was met with his sensuous smile. He released the hold on her hand and brought his fingers to stroke the svelte column of her neck. That orgasm should have satiated her need, but rather than satisfy her thirst for Sam, it seemed to only further trigger her hunger.

He twirled a section of her hair that had fallen from the confines of bobby pins, stroking it between his thumb and finger before he pushed it back and away from her face. They rested there, his forearms framing her body on the wall behind her.

After a few minutes, Sam straightened her blouse as she zipped up her pants. “Well,” he said, “should we get your crime scene photos down to CSU and find these bastards?”

The reality of their situation came slamming back into her. The panic and terror she felt the night before as a man waited in her house. “Sam, the reason I wasn't home last night and why I didn't pick up my phone—someone attacked me. Inside my house. Whoever's doing this still has access.”

Sam's face became red as he sucked in a sharp breath, pushing his lips together in a hard, thin line. “What happened? Why didn't you call me?”

“I think ... I think the only reason I'm alive is because Dane was there and scared him off.”

His face flamed a million shades of scarlet. “What the hell was he doing there? You know what? Never mind. That's the least of our concerns. First we have to figure out what they want inside that house . . .”

“I've been trying to figure that out, as well. At first, I thought it was Cass's money or . . . something. But last night—I found this.” She pulled the medical records from her purse and smoothed the stack of papers on Sam's desk, explaining the note from Dr. Brown to Cass. “I think the man who attacked me was looking for this.”

Sam squinted, flipping through the paperwork. “Did you read this?”

“I started to but I haven't had time to read all of it.”

“What do your parents' deaths have to do with Cass's murder?”

“I've been trying to figure that out.”

He scanned the pages, his eyes flitting from left to right while Jess read from beside him. “I have no fucking clue what this says. Damn medical jargon. I only understand one out of four words,” he said.

Jess collapsed into a chair, dropping her face into her hands. “Damn. I was really hoping you'd have some answers.”

Sam shook his head, folding the papers and handing them back to her. “No. But I know someone who might.”

“Someone we can trust?”

He thought about that a moment. “Right now, I don't know who we can trust. But she may be our only hope. We should still lie low, especially regarding our relationship.”

“I don't know that our relationship matters as much now in the grand scheme of things.”

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You may be right, but I'd rather not take any chances. Have I mentioned lately that I'm sorry?”

“For?”

“Everything. For not being there for you when we were teenagers. For helping my mother cover up the car accident. I'm sorry.”

Sadness tingled in her chest and Elliot's words from earlier buzzed in her head.
Cass knew the most unforgivable secrets are the ones that take the most courage to be honest about
. “I know you are. It must have been really hard for you to tell me the truth after all this time. And it was a long time ago. We were both young and stupid.”

“Yeah, but your stupidity didn't ruin lives.”

She sighed. “If I forgive you, Sam, then you have to also forgive yourself.”