Anything but Mine (11 page)

She collapsed into his arms and he folded her close, his mouth meeting hers. The sharp taste of her own desire blended with the hot silk of his mouth and she moaned again, fumbling at his button and fly. He was hard, ready, and she wrapped a hand around him, wringing a groan from his throat. Steadying herself against his shoulder with her other hand, she lifted and poised over him. She caught his gaze, dark and smoky with desire, and slowly slid down, until all of him was inside her, with her body still trembling around him. She gasped, pausing to catch her breath, as her body stretched to accommodate his.

Pleasure contracted his face, eyes sliding closed. He gripped her hips harder. “God, Autry.”

Pressing into his shoulders, she lifted and squeezed her muscles around him. The exquisite feel of him hard within her took her breath. She dropped again and cupped his jaw. He lifted his lashes, gaze burning into hers.

“Yours, Stan,” she whispered, easing up and down on him, their bodies sliding wetly together. “We’re yours.”

His mouth found hers, hands at her hips helping her move on him, until the pleasure built in her once more, washing over her moments before he stiffened and groaned, thrusting higher.

With aftershocks trembling in her body, she sighed and buried her face against his throat. Against her lips, his skin was hot, salty.

He rubbed his hands over her back and kissed her jaw then her temple. He pressed his cheek to hers, a gentle contact. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She turned her head, capturing his lips. “Show me.”

Gathering her close, he lifted her to the bed. He stripped away his slacks and made love to her again. The slow, thorough exploration left her drowsy and sated in his arms, whispering more reassurances that she was his and he’d never lose her. Only as sleep closed in did she realize he hadn’t said he was hers.

Tick dropped the banker’s box on the dining room table. Tension and dread sat in a knot at the base of his neck. He didn’t want to delve into the darkness hiding in this box, into what his own failure had cost his hometown.

“What are you doing?” Caitlin opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. Once they’d arrived home, she’d swapped her dark suit for a tank top, pajama pants and the ever-present boot socks.

He lifted the first file from the stack. “Going through the Schaefer case again.”

She grimaced over the edge of her glass. “Why?”

“Because.” Copies of Amy’s diary entries hit the table with a thud. “Schaefer didn’t father Amy Gillabeaux’s baby. I need to find another way to connect them.”

She drained the milk and set the glass in the dishwasher. “Need any help?”

He glanced up from the initial report on Sharon Ingler’s disappearance. Memories of that night, walking through the dark pine woods, yelling for Sharon while Schaefer waited yards away, flashed in his head. The fury pressed in on him again.

Smothering the rage, he laid the report aside. “No, precious, I’ve got it. Go on to bed.”

“Tick, it’s eight o’clock. Bed? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The threat of that two percent risk and what it could mean to her health hovered in his head. “You should get some rest.”

“Did you not hear me at lunch today? Dr. Astin said everything looks good, I’m in great physical condition and—”

“Cait.” Their gazes clashed across the island. He blew out a long breath. “I’m going to worry, all right? I just am.”

She skirted the island to link her arms around his neck. “Your overprotective male tendencies are damn cute at times, Lamar Eugene, and I love that you want to take care of us. But you’re not going to drive me or yourself insane for the next eight months. Are we clear on that?”

“Crystal.” He kissed her, letting the anger and worry slide into the sheer pleasure of her presence. Arms draped about her waist, he tugged her closer and inhaled her unique scent, warmth and spice and pure Caitlin. “So is that offer to help still open?”

“Mmm.” She brushed her mouth against his cheek and tugged away. “Of course.”

The house quiet around them, they settled in at the table with legal pads and the reams of copies, scratching out notes. He laid out the department’s patrol schedules from the previous spring and picked up Amy’s diary entries. She’d never mentioned Schaefer by name, but if he could link the nights she described her sexual encounters with what appeared to be a cop to nights Schaefer had been on duty…well, maybe that would go a long way toward convincing a jury the two had been intimately involved. Transcripts. He’d need the radio transcripts to show any blocks of time in Schaefer’s shifts when he’d have had time for a little backseat tryst.

Just because Schaefer had turned out not to be the father of that baby didn’t mean Amy hadn’t tried to convince him he was.

He just needed something, one little thing, that would definitively tie Schaefer to each victim, beyond the similarity of the killings, beyond the randomness of the victims.

They had been random. Victims of opportunity. The old nicotine urge tugged at him and he reached for one of the peppermints scattered across the table. The cool spiciness of the candy exploded in his mouth. Opportunity. He reached for the shift schedules again. A link had to exist, somewhere.

“Damn it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. If the link was here, he sure didn’t see it.

“I know.” Caitlin leaned back with a wince, covering her lower abdomen with one hand. “I don’t see anything either.”

Unease tingled to life in him. He laid a hand on her thigh, rubbing in a light circle. “All right?”

“Yes. It’s just a twinge.” She shrugged and straightened. “Something about the uterus stretching. I had them last time, early on.”

Her gaze lifted to his, the loss of that first baby, the one taken from them by the brutal attack she’d suffered, hanging between them. He swallowed. “You’re sure.”

“Tick, it’s a twinge, not a cramp. There’s a difference, believe me. Dr. Astin and I covered this as well. When it’s a cramp or there’s blood, then we worry.”

Holy hell, he needed a cigarette. He rubbed a hand down his face and crunched down on his mint, shattering it into tiny shards.

“We should be able to work this backward.” Caitlin’s husky voice pulled him back to the task at hand. She shifted and tucked her ankle beneath her. “All right. She mentions him, at least we think it’s him, on May sixteenth and again on the twenty-second. Was he on duty or not?”

He flipped back through the schedules. “Not.”

Paper rustled. Caitlin twisted in her chair to rest against him. “There’s no activity on his credit card those nights. Or Amy’s.”

He rubbed his hand down her arm, reading over her shoulder. A heavy knot of frustration settled in him. “Nothing.”

She flinched. He felt the small movement all the way through him. “Cait, I don’t like this.”

“Tick, I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about.” She touched his hand, her fingers light on his skin. “I’m serious, I had the same twinges with that first pregnancy.”

Maybe, but it didn’t make him feel better. “You cannot expect me to go through this without smoking.”

“Yes, I can.” She handed him a peppermint, a familiar mischievous glow in her green eyes.

Almost two hours later, he pushed away from the table. Cellophane candy wrappers littered the pine surface, along with crumpled sheets of yellow paper, filled with his and Caitlin’s crossed-out notes. They couldn’t find a discernible pattern between Schaefer’s shifts and Amy’s diaries, or even between Schaefer’s shifts and the victims’ disappearances.

Holy hell, at this rate, Autry might actually be able to get the guy off. If she did…

Schaefer would come after Caitlin. A shudder traveled down Tick’s body. He knew it, as surely as he knew he’d die loving her. In Schaefer’s journals, the ones Autry had managed to get excluded, he’d detailed fantasies of killing Caitlin, who he saw as more of a challenge than his previous victims. Just reading those entries had turned Tick’s stomach.

If Schaefer got out, walked away…

Tick would kill him before the bastard touched her. It was that simple.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Lord, he was tired. Those doubles and the stress were catching up to him.

Caitlin slipped from her chair. “I’m going to get—”

The words ended on a hiss of pain and she cringed. The hair lifted on his nape, his heart thudding, adrenaline pouring into his system.

She looked at him and pain darkened her eyes almost to black in her pale face.

“What’s wrong?”

“That was a cramp.” She bent slightly, hand covering her abdomen. “And I think I’m bleeding.”

He reached for her, faltering at the ugly red stain suddenly blooming at the apex of her thighs. His stomach dropped. “Oh, Lord.”

“This isn’t good, Tick.” Her husky voice broke and she bit her lip.

“Come on.” He lifted her easily and carried her through to their bed. Keeping one hand on her hip, he grabbed the phone and fumbled through the bedside table for the OB/GYN’s card, although he knew in his heart what that blood and her pain meant.

Punching numbers with one hand, he stroked the dark silk of her hair with the other. Eyes closed, she winced and curled her knees toward her belly. Tears trickled from between her lashes, a sob making her breathing harsh.

He leaned down, brushing his mouth against her cheek. “Hush, precious. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

The insistence of a ringing phone penetrated Stanton’s exhausted slumber. Cursing, he slipped his arm from beneath Autry and rolled over to grab the offending receiver. “Reed.”

“It’s Tick.” He sounded drained. “I need to take a couple days off.”

Stanton squinted at the clock. “It’s four in the morning, Tick. Couldn’t this wait? And why the hell are you wanting to take time off when you know what McMillian needs?”

“Cait miscarried.”

Oh, shit. Stanton sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Autry shifted beside him, murmuring. Stanton sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.” Desolation lingered in Tick’s voice. “Listen, I’ll take care of the Schaefer stuff from home, but it’ll be a couple days before she can go back to work. I want to be with her right now.”

“Yeah, sure.” Stanton cleared his throat. “So how is she?”

“Groggy from the sedative. They had to do a D&C, but she can go home in a few hours.”

Stanton chafed a hand over his disheveled hair. “Take what time you need. And Tick? I really am sorry.”

“Thanks. Later.”

The line went dead. Stanton replaced the receiver and slipped back into bed. Rolling to his side, he gathered Autry close. She rubbed her cheek on his arm and sighed. He spread his hand over the hard bulge of her belly. Even if he couldn’t feel it, their baby lay under his palm. Growing. Moving. Waiting to be born.

He closed his eyes, moving his fingers in a small circle. Falconetti had been fine at dinner and now her baby was gone. The speed and lack of warning was scary.

Autry had said it herself earlier—she was only with him because she was pregnant. If they lost this baby, he’d lose her for sure. His chest went tight and cold. He could keep her safe from the stalker, but how could he protect their child from the capriciousness of nature?

Damn sure he’d have a list of questions for Autry’s doctor in the morning.

She flicked a glance up at Stanton, wanting to see his reaction as badly as she wanted to see the reality of their baby. He stared at the screen, his jaw slack, eyes amazed. She smiled and squeezed his fingers, wrapped around hers. He looked at her, grinning, and warmth swirled through her.

The technician moved the transducer over Autry’s stomach, increasing the pressure. The picture flickered, shifted, morphed into a new angle. “Would you like to know the sex?”

Autry met Stanton’s gaze, and at the fascinated awe on his face, her heart constricted with happiness. She nibbled at her lip. “Do you want to know?”

“Yeah.” His attention slid back to the display. “I do.”

Autry turned to the waiting medic and nodded. “Please.”

A smile tipped the corners of the tech’s full mouth. “Then say hello to your daughter.”

A girl.
A thrill rushed through Autry, similar to the first primal one she’d felt when the pregnancy test stick had turned a shocking shade of blue.

“And there…” the sonogram wand trailed up the side of Autry’s abdomen, “…is her face.”

“Oh my God,” Autry breathed, staring. A tiny mouth pursed, and minuscule fingers curled along a rounded cheek. The baby’s thumb flexed. “Stanton, do you…?”

“I see.” His voice emerged strained, a little choked, and she looked up at him. He stared at the screen with a rapt expression. A wide grin lit his face. “I don’t believe it. Look at her.”

“She’s real.” She couldn’t decide which she wanted to watch more—the awesome sight of her baby or the fascination on Stanton’s face.

“She’s beautiful.” Ignoring the sticky gel on her stomach, he cupped a hand along her side.

The technician’s soft chuckle burst the bubble of isolation around them. “All right, a few more measurements and we’re done.”

Stanton pulled his hand away, but kept his gaze trained on the monitor during the remainder of the procedure. When they met with Dr. Hampton in her office after the sonogram was finished, he was full of questions—was the baby’s development okay, what were the risks of miscarriage at this point, were there any precautions Autry needed to take?

A tiny frown tugged at her eyebrows. Hands between his knees, he leaned forward, the force of his attention focused on the doctor. His concern centered on the baby. She wanted to laugh at herself, but the damned tears gripped her throat again. She had what she wanted—he’d become an interested father—but was left wanting more. Was it too much to ask that some of his concern extend to her?

Dr. Hampton smiled, an indulgent expression Autry figured she reserved for nervous fathers-to-be. “Everything is going just fine. The baby’s development is normal, no problems with mom or baby.” She glanced at Autry’s chart. “Autry, you’re gaining weight nicely—not too fast or too slow. I’d say at this point we’re looking at a textbook perfect pregnancy. Any other questions? Concerns?”

Stanton clasped his hands. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.” She scribbled a renewal prescription for Autry’s prenatal vitamins and slid it across the desk. “Here you go. We’ll see you next month.”

At the front desk, Autry stopped to schedule her appointment. Stanton held the door for her and she slid her sunglasses on as they stepped into the bright morning sunshine. A light breeze played with the leaves on a crape myrtle by the walkway and stirred Autry’s hair.

Stanton pointed his remote at the Explorer and pressed the unlock button. “So you really are feeling all right? I mean, you’ve been under a lot of stress—”

“What is with you?” She put a hand on his arm and glanced up into his face. He shrugged, muscles flexing under her fingers, and a sensory memory played over her, of the same movement against her palms last night, as she rode him. Her face flushed and her body warmed, a low, tingly sensation in her belly. “Stanton?”

He glanced away, then swung his gaze back to hers. The hazel depths were haunted. “Falconetti had a miscarriage last night.”

Surprise and sadness slid through her. Caitlin pregnant? “Oh no, that’s awful.” She shook her head. “When did she find out she was pregnant?”

“Tick just told me a couple days ago. He sounded pretty cut up about losing it.”

“I’m sure,” Autry said, her voice soft. She dropped her hand from his arm and turned toward the truck. “Do you mind if we stop by my place? There’s some of that gel on my blouse, and I want to change before the hearing.”

“No problem.”

In the passenger seat, she fastened her seatbelt and adjusted it to lie low over her abdomen. With him beside her, the warm male scent of him filling the air, she had to fight off memories of the night before. In his arms, forgetting everything but him had been too easy. This morning reality was everywhere she looked and she didn’t want to face it yet.

What she wanted was his touch, more of him, anything but having to admit she could reach him more easily on a sexual level than any other. But maybe she could use one as a step to the other. Keep one connection open until it built to something else. She shifted in the seat, half-turning toward him.

“Stanton?” She ran the back of her knuckle over the side of his neck. Muscles jumped under her light touch.

He braked for a stoplight. “Hmm?”

“Last night was fantastic.” She eased her fingertip into the collar of his shirt.

A smile quirked at his mouth. “Yeah, it was.” The light turned green, and he accelerated. A hand covered her knee, palm a little rough against her bare leg. “Seeing her this morning…that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Autry stared at the contrast of his tanned fingers against her paler skin and renewed desire tingled through her. She stroked his wrist. “Me too.”

“Have you thought about names?”

In abstract terms, she had, when she hadn’t been worried about crazed stalkers and helping a murderer go free. “I know I don’t want her to have anything Tick or my dad can shorten into a weird nickname.”

“Or something too different.” He grimaced. “Hadden says every new teacher he’s had since kindergarten has called him Hayden at first.”

She frowned. She hadn’t considered that. “If you’d known, would you have called him something different?”

“I didn’t name him.” His mouth formed a thin line. “Renee and I had agreed on Thomas. She changed her mind when he was born. Guess she figured it was her due since I was an ocean away.” He squeezed her knee. “Tell you what…on the way home, we’ll pick up one of those baby name books and start going through it. How does that sound?”

Sensation tingled out from the point of contact between his hand and her leg. She cleared her throat, not wanting her voice to come out husky and full of need. “I’d like that.”

He swung the Explorer onto her street and a moment later into her driveway. Loss washed over her as she stared at her little house. It didn’t look like a safe haven anymore. She fumbled through her purse for her keys as Stanton came around to open her door.

His hand under her elbow, he escorted her to the back door, the fresh wood of the repaired doorframe not yet painted. When she stepped into her kitchen, the house smelled different, as though fear had tainted the rooms. She shivered.

“Autry?” He stared down, his eyes concerned, and she made herself smile for his benefit.

“I’m going to change. I’ll just be a minute.” She hurried down the hall to her bedroom, not giving in to the urge to check every shadow for an intruder. She changed blouses quickly, half-listening to the sounds of Stanton rustling through her refrigerator. If she knew him, throwing out milk and other items with past-due dates.

Sure enough, when she returned to the kitchen, he was holding a can of whipped cream aloft to check the “use by” date. The muscles in his forearm rippled with the movement. He shot her a wry glance. “Why do you have three cans of whipped cream in here?”

Her cheeks warmed. “It’s my craving food.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Straight out of the can?”

“Yes.” She crossed to take the bright can from him. “Is that a problem?”

His mouth curved. “Not at all. If you’d told me, I’d have gotten you some for my place. We’ll pick some up on the way home.”

“Thanks.” She shook the can and popped the top free to squirt a small amount on her finger. With a sublime sigh, she sucked the sweet cream off her fingertip. At Stanton’s harsh intake of breath, she met his gaze. He stared at her, hazel eyes dark and hot.

Impish desire seized her. On this level at least, she could keep a connection open and she wanted to be connected to him again in that elemental, man-to-woman way that always thrilled her to the core. She nudged the refrigerator door closed before spraying another puff on her finger. Eyes locked on his, she lifted her hand and spread the white fluff on his mouth. On tiptoe, she brushed her tongue over his lips, licking away the sweetness, blended with his taste.

He gasped once and tangled his hand in her hair, taking her mouth in a hard, deep kiss. She sucked his tongue between her lips and he groaned, backing her into the refrigerator, hips pressed into hers. Her fingers flexed on the can with a compulsive grip and whipped cream exploded between them.

Surprised, she squealed and Stanton pulled away, the white stuff in his hair, on his jaw, smeared down his shirt. He swiped a hand down his chest, glanced at the mess and grinned. Autry laughed.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” He ran his sticky finger down the side of her neck, and still laughing, she tried to squirm away.

“Stanton, stop…” The words died in her throat as his mouth followed the trail of cream, sucking, licking, nipping. She moaned, the sensation shooting straight to her belly and lower, to pool between her legs. Yes, definitely connected. He slid his hands along her thighs, pushing her skirt up to cup her hips and pull her into him.

He lifted her, draping her thighs over his, so his legs supported her body. The upward movement dislodged one of her refrigerator magnets, which tumbled to the floor with a soft clatter. Autry slipped an arm around his neck, playing with the hair at his nape while his mouth continued doing magical things.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against the hollow of her throat and she felt his mouth move in a smile. “Sweet too.”

She shifted her hips, rubbing against the hardening bulge behind his fly. He sucked in a breath, hands tightening on her, and she laughed. “My court appointment isn’t for another hour. What time do you have to be in at the department?”

“I’m just the sheriff. A political figurehead.” He licked a dollop of whipped cream from her collarbone, his tongue slick and a little rough. “Cookie’s there and the place can run without me for an hour.”

“Political figurehead, my ass.” She nipped at his earlobe. However, his job, the political aspects between them, were the last things she wanted to focus on right now. Instead, she wanted him, hard inside her, making her forget the real world for a while.

His fingers busied themselves, unbuttoning her blouse. He fumbled, tugged a little hard on one tiny pearl button, and it pinged to the floor. A thrill of desire tingled down her spine. She liked him eager. “We can do a lot in thirty or forty minutes. Take a shower—”

“Have dessert.” With a deft movement, he released the front clasp on her bra.

“We haven’t had lunch yet.” Her voice emerged breathless and shaky.

“That’s the problem with you lawyers,” he murmured near her ear. He plucked the can of whipped cream from her hand. “Always getting hung up on technicalities.”

He flipped the can upside down, and with a gurgling hiss, it released rosettes of cream on her sensitive nipples. She gasped, at the sudden coolness, then the heat of his mouth closing over them in turn.

She laughed again, arching into him, hands tangling in his hair. “Lunch is vastly overrated anyway.”

Damn, he couldn’t concentrate.

He couldn’t get rid of the huge grin, either.

Stanton stretched, tuning out the speaker addressing the local civic club. His entire body ached, as if he’d gone through a major run followed by a strenuous workout, but damn if he cared. Being with Autry again was worth any lingering discomfort.

Once hadn’t been enough—he’d taken her in the kitchen and afterward she’d seduced him in her shower as they washed away the sticky remnants of whipped cream and enthusiastic lovemaking. He’d ended up late for Rotary and she’d almost been late for her hearing. His tardy entrance had garnered a couple of dark looks from two of the county commissioners, but their disapproval didn’t come close to touching the warm glow of contentment in his chest.

He sipped at his tea. Content. Yeah, that’s what he was. Having Autry in his life again offered a sense of balance, an escape from the everyday loneliness. And nestled in her womb was the most beautiful, amazing thing he’d ever seen—his unborn daughter. The level of excitement engendered by seeing her surprised him. He found himself impatient, ready for her to be born so he could hold her, look for Autry’s features or his own personality in her. He’d been so busy, consumed by his career, when his sons had been born that he’d missed that.

He wanted to nurture, foster that relationship with his daughter. Along the way, he’d learn how to repair the one with his boys, too. He could start by taking them for pizza after Hadden’s game, telling them about their sister.