Vanished in the Night (21 page)

Even your average sociopath generally tried to stay
on the right side of the law. Mostly, anyway. Prisons were full of people without consciences who also didn’t have the education, the smarts, or much in the way of opportunities. The bulk of Zach’s work was putting those people there.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. He could see by the set of her jaw that she’d decided to knuckle down and figure out how to get through the situation.

“Do you feel safe staying here?” He wasn’t crazy about her being in this condo alone.

She glanced around her kitchen. “I’m not sure. I’ve been here all day and nothing happened.”

“Is there someone you could call to come stay with you?”

She shot him a look. “I can just imagine that conversation. ‘Hey, it’s possible that a dangerous psychopath is stalking me. Wanna have a sleepover?’”

He snorted a little, then drummed his fingers on the table. “I could take you to my mother’s. She has an extra bedroom. You’d be safe there.”

She threw him another look.

Yeah, he hadn’t thought so. He walked into her living room. “Crap, I forgot your couch is so small.”

The thing wasn’t much more than four feet long. There was no way in hell he’d be able to sleep on that.

She turned to look at it. “So?”

“So do I look love-seat length to you? Plus it’s that patio furniture stuff. It’s not even a real couch.”

“It’s a real couch and it’s called wicker. It’s made for indoors.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not made to be slept on.” At least not by males over six feet tall and pushing two hundred pounds.

“No. It’s made to be sat on.” She clearly wasn’t getting his point.

“So where am I going to sleep?”

She froze. “Uh, your apartment? Your mother’s place? I don’t know.”

“No way. I’m staying wherever you’re staying. That’s a given.”

“A given by whom?”

“Mainly me, but with a strong second from whoever decided to leave you that gift on your front porch.”

He could almost see the wheels turn as she tried to put together an argument but couldn’t. Finally, she said, “You know what? I need a drink.”

“Thank God. I was starting to think you were a teetotaler. I could live with that, I guess, but it was going to be an issue eventually.”

She laughed. “Which means you’d like one, too?”

“Yes, please.”

He followed her into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle
of Maker’s Mark out of a cupboard, took out two glasses, put two pieces of ice in each, and then poured in the whiskey. She handed him one, picked up the other, clinked his glass and said, “Cheers.” Then she took a long, healthy sip.

He raised his glass and did the same.

15

Here in the kitchen, with him so close and the whiskey warming her belly, Veronica finally let go. She was tired and lonely, and he was warm and strong. And he was a good man. He cared about the same things she did. Human dignity for everyone, and protecting children, and helping those who couldn’t or wouldn’t help themselves.

He also had shoulders to die for, thighs that made her breathe hard, a fantastic smile, an adorable dimple, and a butt that would have made Michelangelo weep. Oh, and man, could he kiss.

Who would it harm if she spent a night inside those strong arms, feeling safe and connected to another human being? She was so tired of being alone.

She’d spent her childhood alone because she could
never be sure what condition her parents would be in. How could she let anyone know that her father came home, got stupid drunk, screamed at his wife, smacked her around, and passed out? The shame of it was too much.

Even after years of therapy and a lot of Al-Anon meetings, she didn’t want anyone to know any more about her family than she had to let them know. How could they fail to be repulsed by her after seeing where she came from? Or at least wary.

Not Zach, though. He’d met her father yet here he was, looking at her with those deep, dark eyes that warmed her even more than the whiskey did.

Veronica set her glass down softly on the counter and took Zach’s hand. “You’re right. You absolutely cannot sleep on that couch.”

And then she led him to her bedroom.

Zach had been pretty sure what her intentions were from the second they walked into the kitchen. There’d been the slightest flush on her pale cheeks. Her eyes had been huge and dark. She’d bitten her full lower lip the tiniest bit, and then knocked back the whiskey as if she needed courage.

The woman was made of nothing but courage. Anyone who could spend a lifetime dealing with
her excuse for a father deserved a combat medal. He could only imagine what her mother had been like. It had to have been a messy, violent childhood. Yet here she was, standing on her own two feet, never making excuses, never backing down. It made his chest swell every time he looked at her.

Then there were the attributes that made other things swell. The curve of her breasts, the fall of her hair, the delicious arc from her waist to her hips. The way she gazed up at him from under the sweep of her bangs.

In her room, she turned to face him, and he slid his hands to her waist, pulled her to him, and brought his lips to hers. She tasted like heaven. Her lips were so soft and so sweet, and when they parted he had to fight to keep his control. He wanted to throw her on the bed and devour her. He wanted to pour himself into her, screaming her name to the sky. He wanted desperately. Hungrily. Passionately.

But she felt so small in his arms, so soft and delicate, and he didn’t want to hurt her. He gently laid her on the bed, following her down, his hand behind her head to guide her. Then he was looking down into her eyes. Her chest rose and fell beneath him, pressing her breasts against him, tantalizing in their warm, soft pressure. She reached up, tangled her hands in his hair, and brought his mouth down to hers again.

Her tongue swept against his lips and her hips rocked against him. He moaned. Her hands left his hair and began to work the buttons on his shirt, undoing them with quick movements. In seconds her hands were on his chest, running the length of him, gliding over his nipples. He kept kissing her.

He trailed his hand down her side and lifted the hem of her T-shirt. Her skin was so soft and smooth, like satin beneath his hand. She pushed him up with both hands on his chest, sat up, and stripped the T-shirt over her head.

“In a hurry?” he asked, trying like hell to look at her face rather than her chest.

“Aren’t you?” She sat with her arms braced behind her, her lips swollen from his kisses. He could see her pulse beat in her throat. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were beyond huge. His heart beat so hard, Zach thought it might jump right out of his chest.

He unclasped her bra, slid it down her shoulders, and laid her back down on the bed. “Nope—no hurry at all.”

Veronica apparently took that as a challenge; her hands went straight to his belt. As she started to undo it, he leaned down and circled one perfect pink nipple with his tongue.

She sighed and her hands slowed. Her back arched. He turned to her other breast, spurred on by the
sound of her sighs. Her hips rose against his and he fought for control, raising his head and looking down at her. She smiled up at him.

Eyes locked on hers, his hand went to the top of her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping. He toyed with the lace edge of her panties; her flesh quivered beneath his hand.

Then she was pushing him away again, stripping the jeans off her legs and the panties down her hips. She lay back before him, completely naked, completely delicious, completely clear about what she wanted from him.

But he wanted to look at her first. He wanted to memorize the silken expanse of her skin, her rounded belly, the curve of her hips, the perfection of her breasts. She was everything he’d imagined and more. Much, much more. In his imagination, she hadn’t radiated this kind of heat. Her eyes hadn’t held that hunger. She was so much better real than in his imagination, and she’d been pretty freaking good in his imagination.

He couldn’t keep his hands off her another second. He glided his hands up her legs. Her thighs parted for him and his fingers slid into the hot, slick center of her. Her hips bucked and she arched her back.

She wanted this just as much as he did. He reveled in making her feel this way, in driving her on as she
moaned beneath him, grinding herself down on his hand. He couldn’t wait another second.

He stood and shucked off his jeans, then pulled a condom out of his wallet.

“Hurry,”
she said.

After a few seconds that felt like a lifetime, he was covered and ready. She pulled him to her. He could smell her arousal. It made him want her even more. “You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked.

She smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure this is what I want. I really, really want it right now.”

He obliged.

They lay spent and tangled in each other’s arms. Veronica listened to Zach’s heartbeat slow, the frantic tattoo of her own heart slow returning to normal as well.

“Wow,” she finally said.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely wow.” He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Completely and totally wow.”

“Do you think it’s because we’re both so stressed? Or was that significant somehow? I mean, first times aren’t always so amazing.” They tended to be awkward, and occasionally embarrassing. Rarely were they wow worthy.

“I think that I refuse to overthink it, and I’m going
to stick to wow.” His voice was a rumble deep in his chest that tickled her ear. His breath came more slowly, more evenly. He was falling asleep. How like a guy.

“Do you know what happened to Max yet?” She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.

“Not exactly. We have some guesses.” He propped himself up, too, so he was facing her. “I’m not sure you’re going to want to know what went on up at that school. I’m not sure
I
want to know, but it’s my job to find out.”

She shuddered. “That bad?”

“And possibly worse.”

“It was my fault, you know.” She had to tell him. She had to tell someone. That hard rock of guilt in her chest was getting too heavy to carry by herself.

“What was?” he asked quietly.

“That Max was sent to that school. I was the one who found the marijuana. I didn’t know what it was and I put it in my Fisher-Price kitchen. My dad found me playing with it and asked where I got it. And I told him. I don’t know what I was thinking.” That was a lie. She’d been thinking that Daddy was going to hit her the way he hit Max, and that it would hurt.

“You were a little girl. I’m guessing your thinking wasn’t terribly complicated.” He ran a finger along her jawline.

His touch made her want to melt into him, but her mind was racing, like a mouse in a maze, from one corner to another. “It hurts so much to remember. I’ve always regretted it. But to think that it was because of me that he was sent to the place where he was murdered—it’s too much.”

“You didn’t send him there. You were a child. You didn’t control anything.”

That was exactly what she wanted to hear. She wanted to be exonerated of all the charges she was bringing against herself. It wasn’t that easy, though.

“Do you think my father knew what they were going to do to him when he sent Max there?”

Zach sighed. “I doubt it. It doesn’t add up. Besides, a lot of those schools are great. If it wasn’t for a school like Sierra, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

“You went to a reform school?” She pulled back to see his face better.

“My dad was killed in the line of duty when I was twelve. I kind of went off the rails for a while. I was pretty angry.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. A muscle in his jaw tensed a little, but his voice stayed calm. Of course, he was good at that calm-voice thing. She’d seen him do it in quite a few situations now.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He reached over, still without looking at her, and took her hand. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

He nodded and ran his thumb along her hand. “True enough.”

She thought for a moment. “Do you think it’s possible that my father thought he was actually helping Max? Could he have been trying to do a good thing?”

Zach blew out a breath. “That’s a tough one, Veronica. I wasn’t there and even if I had been, I doubt I would have been able to figure out your father’s motivations. He was . . . a difficult guy.”

How diplomatic. Her father had been an asshole. “You don’t have to pussyfoot around everything. I know who my father was. I know what he was.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to rub your nose in it.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. She scooted closer so their bodies were pressed tightly together.

“That’s true. I do need to know what happened to Max. I need to understand why someone would do something like that to him. He was just a kid.”

He frowned. “You know as well as I do that people don’t always have good reasons for what they do. You must see it all the time.”

That was definitely true. The number of good intentions exposed as bad ideas in the emergency room was legion.

“It’s no different with us. Oh, by the time they get to trial, they often have a reason for what they did.
But it always sounds like an elaborate justification to me. Most of the time, people act on instinct. They react without thinking. They follow someone they shouldn’t follow, or give in to anger or fear or frustration or hatred. Reason doesn’t play a big part in it.”

That was a bleak view. “So you’re telling me there’s no real closure?”

“Hell, no. Closure, I believe in. It’s part of why I do this job. I may not be able to tell someone why something happened, but I can find out what happened. I think it helps. Don’t you think that being able to stop waiting for Max to show up at your door is going to bring you some kind of closure? Maybe not right away, but eventually?”

Veronica tucked her head against his chest. Would it? She didn’t know.

“You don’t have to decide right now, you know. You can think about it for a while. You could even sleep on it. How long has it been since you really slept?”