Darker Than Midnight (23 page)

She pursed her lips and blew every bit of air from her lungs. Then she marched straight to River, wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. “You are a total ass, you know that?”

He was stiff for a moment, but she didn't let go, and a second later, he muttered, “Hell,” and slid his arms around her waist, hugging her back. “A guy could almost think you'd been worried about him.”

“I don't worry about anyone.”

“Bull.”

She rested her head on his chest. “You broke into Ethan's office, didn't you?”

“Yeah. But I didn't get caught, and I made sure your car wasn't spotted.”

She backed away and looked up at his face. “That was a stupid thing to do, River.”

“It was the only thing to do.”

“Why? The lawyer's going to get your medical records. You didn't need to go steal them.”

“I didn't.”

“Then what—?”

He silenced her by pressing his mouth to hers.

The kiss took her by surprise. She twined her arms more tightly around his neck and returned the kiss more eagerly than was probably polite. It set her on fire, and she opened her mouth, inviting more. He gave her more, his tongue twining with hers until he'd stolen her breath and jump-started her heart rate. When he finally lifted his head, passion clouded his eyes. He swallowed hard and backed away. “You're killing me, you know that?”

She felt cold without his arms around her, wanted to dive right back into them, but restrained herself. “Not my intent, River.”

“No, I didn't think it was.”

She sighed. It was clear he wasn't ready to go any further, and the kiss had been nothing more than an impulse.

“I like you,” he said at length.

“Well, hell, what's not to like?”

“I'm just in no position right now to—to—”

“To jump my bones?” She walked as casually as she could manage to the sofa, plunked herself down onto its cushions and tried to pretend she wasn't itching to rip the clothes off him and take matters into her own hands.

“To start any kind of a relationship.”

“Well, that's a relief, because I'm not, either.”

He frowned at her, but didn't join her on the sofa. Instead he took a seat a safe distance from her, in the overstuffed chair. The big chicken. She rolled her eyes and drew a throw pillow into her lap. “When did I give you the impression I wanted a relationship?”

“I don't know. I just…”

“Look, I'm not a blushing virgin. And I'm not on the hunt for a life mate. Don't read so much into a passing physical at
traction. I do not equate sexual gratification with romantic involvement, River. I'm not going to wake up in the morning convinced I'm madly in love.”

He looked her square in the eye. “I might.”

She blinked, utterly shocked. So much so that she almost jumped to her feet. She managed not to, settled for just saying, “If that's the case, consider the offer withdrawn. I'm not into hearts and flowers.” Then she narrowed her eyes on him. “Or are you just trying to scare me off? Hell, River, a simple ‘thanks, but no thanks' would suffice.”

He shrugged. “It's not that I don't want you.”

“Jeez, cut the drama. Forget it. If you get hard up, do what I do and take care of it manually.” She did get up then, and walked to the kitchen, needing something to distract her from the odd rush of conflicting emotions his confession had stirred inside her. She went to the coffeepot, changed her mind and poured a glass of V-8 juice instead. “So did you find anything useful at Ethan's office?”

“No.” He got up and came into the kitchen. She stood leaning against the counter and sipping her juice. “I was hoping for his old appointment books—personal ones, you know? I thought we could see if anything corresponded with the times when Steph was inexplicably absent. But there was nothing at the office. If he has anything like that, it must be at his house.”

She lowered the glass and licked the juice from her lips. “You are
not
thinking about breaking into his house.”

“Aren't I?”

“River, can't you just wait for the medical records? We find discrepancies, we get a search warrant, and—”

“And by then he'll have hidden or destroyed anything incriminating. He might have already.”

“So you finally believe it might have been him?”

“I think I have to consider the possibility,” he said, and he didn't look as if he liked it.

“Breaking into his house isn't the way to find out for sure, River.”

“It's the only way I can think of.”

She set the glass down hard. “You're being obstinate. And you're going to get yourself thrown right back into that hospital if you don't use your head.”

She knew he didn't agree, but didn't say so. “I saw my lawyer today. Met him at a coffee shop so I wouldn't be spotted near the office. He gave me some cash, and the key to the storage unit where all my belongings have been stashed since the town took possession of the house.”

She tipped her head to one side. “Did you check it out?”

He shook his own head. “I was hoping you'd come with me for that.”

Jax lifted her brows.

“I…it might be tough. It might get dicey. Maybe even enough to induce a blackout.”

“They're emotionally induced?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I honestly don't know what the hell induces them. I also don't trust myself not to miss something important. My head's not working on all eight cylinders yet, you know? Besides, I'm too close to it to be objective.”

“You think there might be something there?”

“I don't know. It's worth a look, though. Will you go with me?”

She pursed her lips. “Where is it?”

“About forty minutes from here, fifteen miles this side of Burlington.”

She glanced at the clock. “Okay. Let's do it.”

“You don't want to wait until nightfall?”

Jax drained her glass and set it down. “I have a date tonight, River. I plan to talk to Ethan…at length.”

“I wish you wouldn't. If he is somehow involved in any of this—hell, Cassandra, he could be dangerous.”

“Like the shit you've been doing today
wasn't
dangerous?”

“It's my problem. My risk to take. Not yours.”

“It's my
job
to take risks. You're a cop, you know that.”

“I don't want you to do it.”

“Why? Are you really worried about me, River? Or are you just afraid he'll be willing to scratch that itch of mine for me? Don't worry. He's not my type.”

“And I am?”

Oh, yeah, she thought. He was. Dark, dangerous, so good-looking it made her mouth water. He was her type, all right, damaged cranium and all. She didn't say it. She just looked at him and let him read whatever he wanted to in her eyes.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, and then slid his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him, taking her mouth as if he really meant it this time. He bent her backward over the counter, one hand on her buttocks, tugging her closer. His hips ground against her, and she felt him, hard beneath his jeans.

She wanted him. Despite his earlier warnings, she wanted him bad, and she wanted him now. Jax had always been one for instant gratification. She didn't hold back now. She didn't care what he thought of her—she just gave herself over to the moment and knew she wasn't going to regret it.

His hand moved, sliding up to her waistband and diving inside her jeans, in the back, palm skimming over bare skin, cupping and squeezing her there. She rocked her hips against him to let him know that was good, and she pulled her own hands up and between them, shoved his chest so he backed away just slightly, and then tugged her blouse up over her head and tossed it aside. She yanked off the bra, as well.

He stared at her chest. She had great tits and she knew it. He seemed to agree, because a second later both his hands were on them, and then his mouth. As soon as his warm tongue flicked over her nipple, her body quaked and quivered, and she clutched his head in her hands and arched closer. He
took the cue, sucking the entire nipple, drawing hard on it, tugging and biting.

Oh, he was so good. She moaned a little louder every time his teeth closed on her, to let him know she liked it. His reaction was just what she wanted. He bit her harder, and pinched the other nipple while he did.

He was making her knees weak. She drew her hands between them again, and unfastened her jeans, then undid his and shoved them down over his hips, boxers and all. She wrapped his erection in one hand, which she slid up and down, thumb playing with the tip where there was already a droplet of moisture beading.

He was big.

He stopped suckling and straightened, put his hand over hers and took it away. “It's been too long,” he said.

She smiled, knowing he would come in her hand if she didn't give it a rest. So she willingly released him, shoved her jeans off, and stepped out of them. He peeled off his shirt and stood there looking at her, not touching, except with his eyes, and that was plenty. And yet nowhere near enough. She reached for his hand and drew it to her, pressing it between her legs. He watched her face as his fingers parted, explored, entered her. She knew he felt how wet she was, how ready. “Been a long time for me, too,” she told him. “Don't make it much longer, okay?”

He slid his fingers in deeper, withdrew them slowly, pinched her clit and made her gasp. Enough already. She twisted her arms around his neck, pulled herself up him, wrapped her legs around his waist and wriggled herself into position over him. And then she slid him home and he tipped his head backward, groaning loud. He filled her, stretched her, driving the breath from her lungs.

He staggered forward, until he pushed her up against a wall, and drove into her, deeper than before. Then he spun her
away from the wall and dropped to his knees on the floor. His hands clasped her hips as he pushed into her, holding her to take him, all of him. She arched backward in pure pleasure, and when she did he took her breast in his mouth again. Driving, biting, sucking, driving again, holding her and giving her everything. All of him.

She clutched him with her entire body when the orgasm broke through her, and she felt him releasing into her, felt him tense and stiffen, and moan as he climaxed. Then he wound his arms around her. He held her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe, and for a long while she didn't want to, because her body was still pulsing with pleasure.

When her brain cells floated back from orbit and settled into place again, she found herself cradled in his arms, her legs wrapped around him, and her head tucked between his neck and shoulder. He was holding her tenderly, still kneeling, rocking a little, kissing her hair now and then.

She licked her lips, found her voice. “If I'd known you were that good, I wouldn't have taken no for an answer the first time.”

He looked at the clock. “I lasted a whole ten minutes.”

“Best ten minutes I ever spent,” she said. “And it was long enough.” She lifted her head, looked into his eyes, saw something there and wondered if it was the afterglow of passion, or something else. Then she decided she didn't want to know. Gently, she extricated herself. “If we're going to head to that rental unit…”

“I know,” he said. But he was looking at her still. Looking at her in a way that made her want to squirm.

“So I'll duck into the shower. Be out in a flash.”

“You want company?”

She forced a smile. “Not this time, River. But you hold that thought.”

T
he sprawling rental place sat in the middle of a flat, open field, and consisted of three long buildings, each with large white doors front and back. Every white door had a giant black numeral painted on it, and an 800 number was painted on the sloped metal roof of the building nearest the road. River assumed the office was off-site, since there wasn't anything resembling one there. The driveways were paved, smooth blacktop spreading right up to the doors.

He glanced at Cassandra as she pulled her car in. She hadn't said much on the drive here, and when she had spoken it had been about his case, about his health, about her job or the house. Not once had she brought up what had happened between them this afternoon. He hadn't bought into her claims that sex between them wouldn't mean anything. God knew it had been shattering to him. And not just because it had been mind-blowing in its intensity. There had been more. Just knowing her that way, being inside her, a part of her—it felt intimate. It felt important.

He supposed he'd better keep that to himself. She was trying hard to go with the illusion that it was casual, nothing more than mutual pleasure, a little much-needed release for them both. And maybe for her it was.

But not for him.

“There it is,” she said. “You have the key?”

He dipped into his pocket and drew it out. “Got it.”

She pulled the car to a stop. “This is good, out of sight from the road.”

He nodded. His unit was on the back side of the first building, nearly in the center of it. No one would notice them parked here, not unless they were specifically looking for them. He got a little shiver up his spine at that thought.

Cassandra noticed it and looked at him. “What's wrong?”

River sighed. “Maybe you should drop me off, go for a drive, and then come back later.”

Her brows went up. “I thought you wanted me with you for this.”

“I did. I do. It just occurred to me that my lawyer probably knows I'll be here today. He could have tipped someone off. And even if he didn't, it's no secret he stored my stuff here. If the cops thought of it, they could be watching this place.”

“Hell, River, if he had tipped anyone off, or the cops were watching, we'd be surrounded already.” She frowned and tilted her head to one side. “You getting some kind of protective urge toward me now that we've slept together?”

He averted his eyes. “No more than I already had.”

“I don't do the helpless female bit, so do us both a favor and fight that urge. Okay?”

“I'll try my best.”

She nodded, opened her door and got out. “Let's do this, then.”

He got out as well, took a careful look around, listened to the sounds around him. He didn't hear much. A crow scolding another. The breeze whistling around the edges of the buildings. A car way off in the distance. Moving to the overhead door, he used his key to open the lock. Then he pulled the door upward.

There was a light, but he didn't need it to see the past. It
rushed toward him in the flood of sunshine that invaded the long-hidden shadows. He saw his car—a six-year-old Chevy Blazer, red with silver side stripes—and then he was in it, driving through the countryside, with Steph laughing in the passenger seat. A U-Haul trailer tagging behind them, carrying everything they owned to their new home, their new life.

“River?”

Surrounding the car were other ghosts—the furniture. The sofa and chairs they'd picked out together. The dining room set. Their dresser. Oh, God, the crib. They'd bought it the day she'd told him she was pregnant, jumping the gun when they didn't even have a room ready for it yet.

“River?” Cassandra's hand settled on his shoulder. “You okay?” He blinked the ghosts away, gave his head a shake. “Yeah.” Stacked amid the rest were boxes. Everything, an entire life, reduced to boxes, each one labeled in black ink. Dishes. Bedding. Clothes. Shoes.

He closed his eyes.

“Maybe you're the one who needs to take a drive, huh?” Cassandra asked. “I can go through this stuff while you—”

“No. We're here, let's just get it over with.”

Nodding, she moved away from him, located the light switch and flicked it on. She didn't pause to examine much, but went to the Blazer, peering inside. “Huh,” she said. “Keys are in it.”

He wasn't surprised. There wasn't much need to take the keys out when the vehicle was locked up tight. “No plates,” he said. “Registration, inspection, insurance, all expired.”

“Still, it's wheels. You think it still runs?”

“Battery's probably gone dead.”

She nodded, moving on past the Blazer to the nearest stack of boxes. She dug in, finding one marked “Personal Items” and pulling it free. She sat on the floor with the box in front of her, opened the lid and began pawing through the contents.

He didn't want to, but he forced himself to move deeper into the past and do the same. But every item he pulled from the box he chose was like a knife in his heart. Photos of him and Steph, together, happy. Her makeup and hairbrushes. Her jewelry.

“Anything?” Cassandra asked. She'd gone through three boxes, rapidly, efficiently. Nothing close to the way he was doing, taking out each item, touching it as if it could somehow erase the past, fighting his way through the pain to the point where he could set it aside and reach for another.

“Here. Let me finish this one. You grab another box, huh? Pick a good one. I'm not bothering with the ones marked clothes or bedding or the like.”

He nodded as she sat down, closer to him than before, and pulled the box to her. He watched her as she began sorting the items, her movements crisp, brisk, emotionless. Then he turned to the stacks of boxes and started moving them aside in search of one that might hold items of interest. They'd have to go through them all, eventually. But that would take time. Several visits back here. He wasn't looking forward to it.

He moved another box, then frowned at the white surface that stood behind them. “What the hell is this?”

“What?” Cassandra set her box aside and got up, coming closer, peering through the opening in the boxes. “Is it your fridge?”

He shook his head. “Our fridge is still in the house. Fridge, stove, dishwasher, furnace. Part of the deal I made with the town. They covered my legal expenses, kept the taxes paid up, and paid for my care at the state hospital—up to a max of two hundred K. That ran out in the first six months. They got the house, property and major appliances. Besides, it's not a fridge.”

“Okay, freezer, then.” She moved aside a few more boxes, and he joined her, until they had exposed the thing completely. “See? It's your freezer.”

He blinked, shaking his head. “A freezer is a major appliance, Cassandra. If we'd had one, it would have gone with the house. But that's a moot point because…we didn't have a freezer. That's not mine.”

Cassandra drew a breath, lifted her chin and went to the chest-type freezer, gripping the lid and tugging upward, but it didn't budge. “Locked.”

“Figures.” He looked around. “I used to have tools. A bunch of them…” He rummaged through the piles.

“There should be a tire iron in the Blazer, right?”

He glanced at her, surprised he hadn't thought of it himself, and went to the car, located the tire iron–slash–jack handle, and carried it to the freezer. He was wedging the narrow end under the freezer's door when she put a hand on his shoulder.

“You sure we should do that?”

“How else are we going to know what's inside?”

Cassandra held his eyes. “Maybe we should tip Frankie off about this. Let her check it out.”

“We don't know if there's anything to tip her off about.”

“River, I can't think of too many reasons to hide a locked freezer inside a locked storage unit. I don't think you can, either.”

“We won't know until we look.” He hesitated, then added, “If you want to wait outside—”

“Yeah, right. Open the damn thing already.”

He nodded once and pushed on the bar for all he was worth. The lid came up slightly, and he jammed the iron in farther, and pushed harder. A second later, Cassandra's hands were bracketing his on the bar, and she was pushing, too.

The lid snapped upward all at once, the end of the bar springing up with it and narrowly missing her face. She jumped back as it clattered onto the cement floor and the lid fell down again.

“You okay?” he asked, checking her for injuries. He didn't see any.

“It missed me. I'm fine.” She turned to the freezer, and he saw the way she braced herself, squaring her shoulders, clenching her jaw. “Here goes nothing.” She opened the lid, which came easily now that the lock was broken. The stench that filled the place turned his stomach.

They stood side by side, shoulders touching, looking down into the freezer. There was only one item inside. A large, lumpy object entirely encased in black plastic trash bags.

Cassandra reached into a pocket, pulled out a jackknife, flipped it open. Then she leaned over and, with the sharp side up, carefully cut a long slice in the plastic, near the rounded end. She handed the knife to River without looking up. He took it, eyes on the bag as Cassandra took hold of the edges of the plastic and pulled them apart. Then she pulled her hands backward, staring at what she'd revealed.

A face. A human face, partially decomposed, before it had dried to a leathery texture, probably due to the airtight conditions, fixed in an eternal grimace. River knew that face, even in this state.

“It's Arty,” he muttered.

She frowned.

“Arty Mullins. He used to mow our lawn in the summer, shoveled the walk in the winter, just to earn a few extra bucks.” River closed his eyes, lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “He wouldn't have hurt a fly. Had the mind of a child. Used to spend his days walking the streets, offering to help people. Lived in a halfway house—up until he moved away.”

“I don't think he ever moved away,” Cassandra said.

“Hell, he didn't deserve this.”

“No one deserves this,” Cassandra muttered. She reached for the freezer's lid, lowered it slowly. “We have to let someone know about this, River.”

“Yeah. One more murder charge to add to the pile against me.”

“You don't know that. Hell, did you even have a motive to want this guy dead?”

He lifted his head, met her eyes. “Come on, Cassandra. You're a cop. You tell me. If you were trying to make a case, what would you say?”

She couldn't hold his gaze. “I suppose…he might have been a witness. Maybe he saw what happened that night.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, except for one thing.”

“What would that be?” He knew his voice was lifeless, grim. He felt pretty grim right now.

“You didn't kill this man, River. You said this unit was rented for you
after
you went into the hospital. You couldn't have stashed him here.”

He narrowed his eyes, searching hers.

“And that means someone else killed him, maybe because that someone knew what Arty saw that night. Knew, maybe, that it would have cleared you, and implicated them.”

“You're reaching.”

“It's the only thing that makes sense.”

“Not the
only
thing.” He shook his head slowly. “How can you be so sure it wasn't me, Cassandra? Maybe the freezer was with my other stuff when it was moved here for me. Maybe no one ever bothered to look inside. How the hell is it that you believe in me more than I believe in myself right now?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. You're not a killer. Killers don't run around half drowning themselves in freezing water trying to save the life of a bungling stranger, River. They just don't.”

He sighed. “You're biased.”

“No I'm not. I believed in you before you jumped my bones. Though I admit that was good enough to sway me.”

Shaking his head slowly, he ignored her little joke. “You're trying to atone for what your father did. And I'm your big chance.”

“You think I'm that capable of self-delusion? That bad at being a cop?”

“I didn't say you were a bad cop.”

“You'd better not. 'Cause it's not something I'd let slip by, River. I'm a good cop. Damn good. I've got instincts like nobody I know and I'm telling you right now, you didn't kill this guy. And you didn't kill your wife, either.”

River closed his eyes. “I wish the hell I could be as sure of that as you are.”

“You will be, once the facts are out. Until then, why don't you just trust me on this one. Stop questioning yourself. Unload some of that unearned guilt from your brain and maybe it'll make room for your own cop sense to come back, full bore. Okay?”