A Stranger's Touch (21 page)

“I know it’s not Morley because...I was almost one of his victims.”

He heard a sharp intake of air. He hadn’t meant to alarm her. Only to tell his story.

Cut to the chase, Stafford. Get it over with fast.

“The reason Owens contacted me...the case where he’d first heard of me...” He cleared his throat. His voice still felt raw. He grabbed a fistful of grass and tore it from the ground. His hands still shook. “It involved my sister...Brianna...and her murder.”

Stafford listened to the water lap against the shore, feeling depleted. He tilted his head back and searched for the moon. He found it, off to his side, big and white, hanging just above the horizon.

“She was sixteen. I was fourteen.” Two years and a lifetime of experience between them. “She’d been on her own for a while.” A street kid. Turning tricks. Selling dope. Whatever it took to live. To stay clear of their father. And his beatings.

“I was supposed to see her that day. Give her some money.” Cash he’d stolen from his dad’s wallet. “But she wasn’t at the coffee shop, where we usually met. Then I heard her calling to me. Crying. Begging. Screaming.”

He was surprised at how calm he sounded.
Flat. Emotionless.
It wasn’t how he felt. A stab wound to the heart would have seemed like a scratch by comparison.

“But it wasn’t her voice. Not really. It was the connection you had with her. Right?”

Stafford didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded. Maggie shifted beside him, moving closer until their bodies touched. No walls. No barriers. Just the two of them, fighting their shared anguish together.

Maggie’s softness wrapped around him, her strength bolstering his. He held out his hand in return, to offer back what he’d taken. When their fingers entwined, every nerve he owned flared and his heart pounded its way to a new speed record.

At his side, Maggie sighed. Had she felt it, too? A link so powerful that together they could light up New York State?

Stafford couldn’t tell. She dropped her hand and they were back to business. “I thought Morley only stalked boys.”

“Boys. Girls. He’s an equal opportunity sadist.” And not the only one. Clifford Olson, a kindred sicko, died while serving time in a Canadian penitentiary.

“I went for help. I told my parents...the police...no one would listen.” Twenty years later, his anger was still close to the surface. He grabbed a rock and pitched it into the river to let off steam.

“I hitched a ride...to the Everglades...where he’d taken her.” To abuse her, kill her, and leave her for the alligators. Stafford worked his jaw, fighting the nausea.

“The scar on your chest.”

He touched the spot through his shirt. The mark had long since healed, leaving only the raw pain behind it. “When I found him, he tried to kill
me
. But he was interrupted...by the cabbie who drove me there, free of charge.” He smiled, remembering the man. The only one who’d believed him. “He saved my life.”

“And
that’s
why you didn’t tell me about the latest abduction.” Maggie reached out and stroked his arm. “That’s why you wanted to go back south.”

She understood. Warmth enfolded him, easing the grief and guilt he’d carried for so long. He turned and clutched her hand again, this time bringing it to his heart.

“I’ve followed Morley for years—tracking him, hunting him, so I can bring him to justice. I know,
for certain
, he doesn’t have Davie.”

Chapter Sixteen

M
aggie glanced at the clock on the dash as she drove. Three a.m.

Traveling through the night was a reckless mistake. But, in spite of Stafford’s protests, she’d insisted on continuing the search for Davie. Even though they had no idea where to find him. Exhaustion buzzed around her like the flies they’d left behind in Fort Providence.

It didn’t help that the only illumination came from the car’s headlights, and the scenery was a repeat of the last five hundred miles. Although an occasional bend in the road crept up on her, for the most part the highway was straight as a razor’s edge. And just as deadly, if she allowed it to lull her into a trance.

The word set her thinking about her companion. Maggie wondered if Stafford was replaying their heart-to-heart by the river. She’d thought of little else since he’d told her about his past.

Morley. Tommy. Brianna.

Now she understood the constant pain in his eyes. And she knew just what it had cost him to abandon his own search and return to help her.

She stole a look at him, still dark and brooding, but no longer such a mystery. A man of integrity. A man of passion. A man she’d already taken to bed.

Her tired limbs heated as her heart tried to burst through the jail cell of her ribs. When he wet his lips, breathing became a lost skill. Along with thought. It all felt dangerously close to...love.

“Watch out!”

Maggie jerked her attention back to the road and the hulking presence blocking her path. She swerved in time to miss a large bison, steering the car onto the grassy shoulder, missing the dense row of trees by inches.

“Are you all right?” Stafford’s hands wandered over her, checking for injuries.

God help her, every touch had her silently begging for more. “Fine,” she said, folding her arms across her chest to deflect the contact. “You?”

“I’m okay.” He kept up his scrutiny, his eyes replacing his hands.

She couldn’t look at that gaze and think straight. Maggie undid her seatbelt, easing the pressure on her bruised chest and searched through the car’s windows for the animal she’d almost hit.

Not a creature was stirring. Just two sleep deprived vigilantes on the road. She turned the key and killed the engine. “You were right. We should have stopped for the night.”

His leather jacket rustled as he shrugged. “We can rest here...then I’ll take over the driving.”

No reproach. No,
I told you so.
Just a gung-ho man, ready for anything she threw at him. She tried to hide her smile and couldn’t. “Stafford Webb...you are one amazing guy.”

He gave her a shy grin, like a teenage boy getting his first compliment from a girl. “Thanks. You’re pretty amazing yourself.” His smile faded and some of that earlier hurt stole the sparkle from his eyes.

Her heart clutched. Maggie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, his musky scent filling her lungs. She wove her fingers through his thick hair, tilting his head downwards until she could brush her lips against his lids. Kissing away the pain.

The simple act of comfort set her skin ablaze. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out reason. She felt his hands on her back—strong and firm—pressing her closer. His harsh breathing filled the small car, matching her own.

Maggie branded his mouth with a kiss, his answering groan fueling her desire. She slid her tongue over his burning lips—tasting, exploring, holding him tight, fearing she’d never get enough.

Cool air hit her fevered skin as Stafford yanked her shirt from her pants. His hands journeyed beneath the fabric, pushing at her bra, finding her breasts.

She started to undo her buttons but her shaking hands fumbled the job. She ripped her shirt open, the plastic fasteners pinging against the foggy windshield like a hailstorm in the middle of July. Blindly, she reached for the knob at her side, found it, and lowered her backrest until it was flat against the seat behind her.

Stafford’s brows lifted. “Slick.”

He performed the same trick with his seat, then returned to her breasts—lapping and suckling one,
while kneading the other, until her nipples were pebble-hard and throbbing.

Breath ragged, Maggie clutched that busy hand and skimmed it over her body, directing Stafford to the opening of her trousers. “Please,” she whispered.

As Stafford unzipped her, his tongue forged a fiery path down her belly, circling her navel twice, before he slipped his hand into her panties.

On a sigh, she lifted her hips toward him. She knew she was wet, could feel the slickness between her thighs as he traced a line from end to end. Stafford’s heavy breathing, his murmured praises of her beauty, and admissions that he was barely keeping himself from coming apart for wanting her, made her heart quiver and sent another rush of liquid heat to her core.

She moaned as he slid a finger inside her, then another, while his thumb made circles over the aching nub above. His rhythm increased, bringing her closer to the edge with every stroke. Then he pulled away.

She opened her eyes, used her lips to form a protest but lacked the air to make a sound. He took advantage of the moment, kissing her deeply before letting her catch her breath.

“Too fast.
My
way, this time,” he told her, his voice husky.

He tugged at her clothes, bringing her trousers and panties to the floor in a heap. He fought to free her feet from the tangle of material, his quiet curses making her chuckle.

“Enough comic relief,” he told her, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s get back to the serious stuff.”

Maggie’s laughter turned into an open-mouthed moan, as Stafford looped her knee over his shoulder and buried his head between her legs. She dug her fingers into his leather-clad shoulders, calling his name as the first spasms shook her.

Just when she thought it was over, he drove two fingers into her, her muscles contracting around him, urging him on. He lifted her bottom with his free hand, positioning her higher and thrusting deeper, leaving her gasping and hungry for more.

Maggie clawed at the upholstery and chewed her bottom lip until she tasted blood—anything she could think of to keep her thoughts from sneaking past her mouth. Treacherous words that fogged her brain as Stafford ignited her body.

I love you.

He separated his fingers, stretching her, filling her, while his tongue worked its magic on her most sensitive part. She bit down on the collar of her jacket to keep from shouting out the words as sparks of electricity, like streaks of lightning, danced across her eyelids.

Sated and boneless, she leaned back, panting and covered in perspiration, to find Stafford hovering over her, a satisfied smirk on his face. Those three words flashed through her mind again. Stronger this time.

“You’ll be even happier in a minute,” she told him, reaching for his zipper. “Your turn.”

* * *

Stafford sat back in his seat and smiled. Probably the goofiest, most satisfied smile that ever found itself on the face of a man. And he couldn’t stop.

When Maggie kissed him, he’d worried they were in for a repeat performance of the night they’d spent surrounded by the War of the Roses. Granted, he hadn’t worried long. Cognitive skills had left him somewhere between Maggie’s open shirt and her open pants.

He fixed his gaze on the woman who made him ache for a normal life—clothes disheveled, lips swollen from kissing and slightly parted, as if she were looking for more. Then she snored.

Stafford’s smile grew. He’d definitely tease her about that. For now though, he was thankful she slept. She needed to rest. And, with all the soul-baring he’d done in the last few hours, he craved oblivion too.

He folded his arms over his chest to draw in the heat and closed his eyes. He was just settling in when he heard a tap. He sat up, careful not to wake Maggie. He looked out the window at his side and saw…nothing.
Maybe it had started to rain and that was the noise he’d heard.

He leaned back again and heard a distinct rap. He bolted upright and squinted into the black night.

Just at the edge of the trees, something moved. With a quick look at his sleeping companion, he quietly opened his door.

Chilled, Stafford zipped up his jacket. He took a few steps away from the car when a puff of warm air whispered against his temple. His hair shifted. He looked in the direction of the breeze and saw a figure in the moonlight.

Tommy.

He tried to smother the guilt that caught his breath every time he thought about the boy and what he’d suffered. He flinched, expecting the same open wounds he’d seen the last time Tommy appeared to him. But the injuries were gone. The boy looked pale, like a breath could blow him away, but otherwise, just like any other kid.

Stafford felt a hand in his. With a slight pull, Tommy led him forward, taking him for a stroll. He tensed at the strangeness of the situation, but refused to analyze it. He didn’t want to do anything to interfere with what was happening. He focused on Tommy, the coolness of his hand, and the ghostly mist swirling above their heads, a prelude to the aurora borealis.

Night turned to day as the dead boy escorted him along a lonely, curving road. The sheared boulders at their sides bled into the gravel, turning their path a pinkish-gray. Manmade rock sculptures sprung up at the side forming the figure of a person.
An inukshuk.

Stafford read about them in a pamphlet at the hotel in Fort Providence. Used by the Inuit of the far north, the foot-high figures marked the way across snow covered wastelands. Stafford had noticed several along the highway they’d traveled.

The boy pointed to the rockman and smiled. Stafford wanted to ask a million questions, but Tommy held a finger to his lips. He kept following the boy, his own footsteps clicking against the pavement, Tommy’s silent.

They came around a bend and a lake appeared. Just past it was a house, fallen into disrepair. To the side, a rusted swing set whined. A tan, two-door sat in the driveway.

His heart galloped. Was the boy telling him where to find Davie? As if to answer, Tommy pointed and nodded.

Energized, Stafford started toward the house before he realized Tommy was no longer at his side. He woke and found himself still in the car, his arms folded across his chest.

Maggie stirred beside him. “That’s cute.”

Stafford looked down at himself. Somehow, the teddy bear they’d discovered in Enterprise had found its way into his arms. And maybe into his dreams. But why was a dead child telling him where to locate Davie? The thought sent a creeping chill through his gut. Could it be that he was already too late to save Maggie’s son? That Davie was on his way to join Tommy in whatever lay beyond?