Closer Than You Think (30 page)

‘Can I take a shower and change my clothes first?’

Lust slapped him hard, but he kept his expression passive. ‘Yes.’

Her mask slipped, her lips trembling. ‘Will . . . will you go with me?’

‘To the house? Yes, of course.’

She forced a smile. ‘I didn’t doubt that for a moment. I meant upstairs.’ Her cheeks flushed a dark red, too harsh against her pale skin. ‘I won’t make any advances or try to take your shirt off again. If you could check my room first, then wait outside my door, I’d appreciate it.’

Every ounce of blood drained out of his head, straight to his groin.
The next time she tries to take off my shirt, there is no way in hell I’m going to stop her
. ‘I’d already planned to clear the room before you went in.’ He rose, offered his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.30
A.M.

‘Who the hell was
that
?’ he murmured to the man next to him, a harried reporter who’d been yelling questions at the white-haired bastard.

The man barely spared him a glance. ‘FBI. Name’s Novak. Do your homework, Jack.’

He melted back into the crowd, careful to keep his eyes down. He didn’t want to call any attention to himself. He just wanted to get away and do a search on Novak.

Who was an FBI agent. Now that was a surprise. The man looked like he was an actor or an escapee from a comic book convention. Special Agent Novak with his leather coat and spiky white hair should not be difficult to find. A guy like that must be a field day for reporters.

And Novak had the hots for Faith. He almost felt sorry for the man. Novak would die lonely, because Faith would die first.

Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.55
A.M.

Faith managed to stay upright for all of a minute and a half – the amount of time it took to get an elevator. When the doors closed after them, she leaned on the wall and looked at Novak, who was leaning against the opposite wall. ‘Your back is black and blue.’

He grimaced. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice.’

‘I noticed.’ Because she’d stared, holding her breath when he’d taken his shirt off. She would have had to be dead not to notice. His back was broad and roped with muscle. He’d rippled when he moved. And he had tattoos – three of them. A large one on his back, and one circling the biceps of each arm, all now covered up by the ugly FBI T-shirt and jacket. She wanted a closer look. She wanted a taste.

She needed to stop this hormone-crazed insanity. ‘My room has a kitchen. The freezer will have enough ice for your back.’
And you just invited him inside your room after telling him you wouldn’t make another pass
. ‘I can bring the ice to you. I’m not trying to pick you up. Really.’ The door slid open, giving her a small reprieve from her embarrassment. ‘The manager gave me another keycard. The old one was in my purse. Which you guys still have in evidence.’

‘Your purse can keep my coat company,’ he said dryly, his hand resting lightly on her back.

It took every ounce of her control not to lean into him. ‘That forensics guy, Taylor, he took your suit coat too. I was going to call you to warn you to stash your leather coat somewhere so that he couldn’t take it too, but my new phone got cracked when we hit the floor. I guess I can go back to my old one now. I’m not exactly incognito anymore.’ She stopped at her door. ‘This is it.’

‘Don’t use the old phone until I get it checked for viruses or tracking software,’ he said. ‘Give me your key and do not come in until I tell you to.’

She obeyed, leaning against the wall outside her room until the door opened again. Novak looked perturbed. ‘It’s clear now, but it looks like someone went through your things.’

Faith rushed in, then stopped, her body sagging in relief. The sitting room was exactly as she’d left it, as were the bedroom and bath. ‘I was going through my boxes last night,’ she said, ‘unpacking a few things. The mess is mine.’

He relaxed. ‘That’s good. But just to be certain, check for your valuables.’

She complied, opening the safe while he came to stand behind her, warming her with the heat of his body. ‘My personal papers are still here, including the deed to the house.’ She passed him an envelope over her shoulder. ‘Gran’s attorney’s name is on there, in case you need to contact him.’ She removed two handguns from the safe and heard him sigh.

‘I wondered why you didn’t ask for your gun back when you were so insistent we return your phone,’ he said. ‘How many more do you have?’

‘Just these. I have permits for both.’ She reached deep, extracting the small box holding her jewelry and the cell phone she’d disabled the night before. ‘Did you want this phone?’

‘Absolutely. I want to know how he tracked you. Wait,’ he said as she started to put the contents of the safe back. ‘There’s another envelope in there. What’s in it?’

She looked over her shoulder, startled to find him so close that she could see his individual eyelashes. They were white too. ‘My comic books.’

His brows arched, looking amused. ‘That’s your collection? In that one envelope?’

‘No. My collection is in a dozen boxes in Dad’s attic. That one envelope holds my best six. Most of them are only worth a few hundred dollars, but the one where Black Widow fights the Avengers is worth almost a thousand. Gran gave it to me when I graduated high school.’ Faith smiled at the memory. ‘She thought comic books were “appropriate fun for kids”.’

‘Unlike the R movies, bars and cigarettes your uncle exposed you to,’ Novak said dryly.

‘Oh, she never found out about any of that stuff. I would have been grounded for the rest of my life. Jordan never told because he would have been in even more trouble for corrupting me.’

Faith put everything back in the safe except one of the guns. She popped the magazine, reloaded and flipped the safety. She looked up to see Novak watching her every move. ‘I’m not giving this to you. I won’t be defenseless.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to. I was making sure you really knew what you were doing.’

She lifted her brows. ‘Did I pass?’

‘I’d still like to see you shoot, but yeah. You seem to know your way around a firearm.’

‘Thank you.’ She set the gun aside and returned to the sitting area, where she opened a box marked DRAPES and scooped out the pretty yellow curtains Lily had made for her apartment. ‘Everything’s here. My laptop and Xbox don’t fit in the safe, so I hid them under my curtains. Most hotel employees are honest, but there’s no point tempting fate.’

A beat of silence. ‘You collect comics
and
you’re a gamer. Really?’

A delighted grin had transformed his face, making him look young. Light-hearted, even.

It made her smile back, which made him dangerous. The black-leather-clad, larger-than-life Novak had captured her imagination. The Novak who cared about the victims had won her trust. But the Novak standing in front her now could easily steal her heart.

‘Since I was a kid,’ she told him. ‘You too, I take it?’

‘Of course.’ He picked up the game she’d played last night after the nightmare had robbed her of sleep. ‘You were killing those poor defenseless zombies?’

‘With unadulterated glee.’

His laugh warmed her down to her toes. ‘Me too. I have that same game. And this one, and these too,’ he said as he looked through the other games in the box. But his brows lifted in surprise at
Prison Escape
. ‘Not this one, though. Have you played it yet?’ he asked carefully.

‘I finished it. Twice.’

He blinked. ‘Oh. Then I guess I don’t need to warn you about the graphic violence.’

‘I find killing hardcore felons therapeutic. Especially after the sessions with the offenders.’

His eyes hardened. ‘Like Combs.’

‘And all the others like him.’ She forced a smile. ‘But if it makes you feel better, last night I only killed zombies, a few aliens and a horde of marauding Mongol warriors. It took me all night, but Genghis Khan and his crew will think twice before terrorizing Europe again.’

‘You played all night? Why? Were you that afraid that Combs would find you?’

‘Well, yes, but that’s not what had me up,’ she said, busying herself with removing the soiled bandages from her hands. ‘I had a nightmare.’

‘About Combs?’

‘No.’ Tossing the bandages in the trash, she washed her hands at the kitchen sink, scrubbing until she winced.
No blood this time,
she told herself
. There’s no blood on your hands
.

He followed her into the kitchen, giving his bruised shoulder an unconscious roll, which reminded Faith why he’d come to her room. She took the ice tray from the freezer and cracked the ice into a plastic shopping bag she found under the sink.

‘What did you dream last night, Faith?’

The same thing she’d dreamed for twenty-three years.
Twelve steps and a basement
. She wanted to answer him, to tell him about the nightmare, but the words simply would not come.

‘Put this bag of ice on your shoulder. It will help with the bruising.’ She focused on filling the ice tray with water, the task made difficult given the way her hands were shaking.

‘Let me do that,’ he said, so gently that it made her eyes sting. Reaching around her, he took the ice tray from her hands, filled it, set it aside. He didn’t move, didn’t step away. Didn’t touch her. He just stood at her back, warm and steady. Calming her with his presence. The seconds became a minute. One minute stretched into several, and still he said nothing. Did nothing. And slowly the realization seeped in that for the very first time in her memory, she didn’t feel so utterly and terrifyingly alone.

‘Deacon,’ she whispered, because she didn’t know what else to say.

He moved then, as if he’d been awaiting her permission, leaning closer until his nose brushed her hair. He inhaled deeply, sending everything within her liquid with longing.

She let her head fall back until it rested on his uninjured shoulder, closing her eyes. Wishing he’d touch her. Needing him to.

His hands slid up her arms, covering her shoulders, pulling the rest of her body fully against him. ‘Don’t cry, Faith,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Please.’

She touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet. ‘It’s just . . . nice to be held. Thank you.’

His hands tightened on her shoulders, the only warning before he turned her around and wrapped his arms around her. One of his hands threaded through her hair, cradling her head against his shoulder. The other hand rubbed her back in long, slow strokes.

Feeling safe, cared for. Being held. Things that so many took for granted. Faith knew how rare they were. Having them now, from this man . . . She’d kept the events of the day boxed in, compartmentalized. It was how she’d coped her whole life. But now the walls crumbled, and the grief and fear from the day and, all the days that had come before, welled up with the force of a flash flood until she was sobbing harder than she had in the police station.

‘Sshh,’ he murmured. ‘You’re here. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.’

Maybe you should let him. Maybe he’ll stop once I’m gone
.

No.
She immediately smacked the notion down. Combs wouldn’t stop once she was dead. He’d go on, hurting other people, more young women like Arianna and Corinne. Like his own stepdaughter and her friend. Like Gordon. And he wouldn’t care. Good people’s lives would be ruined and the bastard would not care.

‘All those people,’ she whispered into Novak’s chest. ‘He’s killed so many innocent people. How can I live with that, Deacon? How can I make this right?’

He tugged on her hair gently, urging her to look up at him. He wiped her tears with his fingers. ‘You’re innocent too,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t you ever forget that.’

‘Would that mother in Miami think so? Could I honestly have expected her to?’

‘You can’t think like that,’ he said, his voice husky.

‘How do I not think it, Deacon? How do you stop from thinking about it?’

He said nothing for a long moment, his eyes locking with hers. Then he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, so gently. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her temple, then returned to her mouth for another kiss, harder this time, but still careful.

‘Like that,’ he murmured, his mouth curving ever so slightly. ‘Just like that.’

She stared up at him, stunned. Then, like the lash of a whip, the need rose as swiftly as the grief had done. Clutching handfuls of his jacket, she pulled him down as she lifted on her toes to kiss him back. Hard.

He made a low sound of approval and took over, taking it deeper, angling her head to perfect their fit. This was no pity kiss, she thought. His heart was beating so hard she could feel it. Or maybe it was her own heart. It didn’t matter. She let herself go and enjoyed being kissed by a beautiful man who totally knew what he was doing.

She slid her hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt and wanting more. He felt good. So, so good. She wanted the shirt gone. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to know if the rest of his skin was as tanned as his face.

He ended it too soon, dragging a protest from her lips as he pulled back far enough to search her face. His cheeks were dark, his mouth wet. But it was his eyes that grabbed her, always his eyes. They glittered like gems. Aroused, yet contained. Watchful.

He was waiting for her to make the next move. She wasn’t sure what that should be.

She lifted a tentative hand, feathering her fingertips along his eyebrows, so white they leapt from his bronzed skin and so bright they made the blue and brown of each iris seem even more brilliant. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,’ she whispered.

His eyes flashed, making her shiver in anticipation as his mouth came down on hers again, voracious this time. His hands tunneled into her hair as he backed her into the counter, his hips pressing against her insistently, dragging another moan from her throat.