Don't Cry (36 page)

“It must have been rough for you and for Hart and your father when she killed herself.”

“You have no idea.” Audrey opened her eyes and looked at J.D. “It was as if our family was living inside a nightmare that just wouldn't end. First Blake disappeared and then Enid committed suicide and my father…I don't know what we would have done if Geraldine and Willie hadn't stepped in and looked after Hart and me. And Garth…Uncle Garth handled everything. There were weeks when we didn't see Daddy at all, and then when we did, he seemed like a stranger.”

“You'd have thought that eventually he would have reached out to you. He might have lost his son, but he still had a daughter…a daughter who needed him.”

Audrey clenched her teeth tightly.
I will not cry. I will not cry.

Suddenly, while she was trying so hard to hold herself together, J.D. closed the distance between them, put his arms around her, and pulled her into a comforting embrace. As if responding to him was the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. He leaned over just enough so that his chin brushed against her cheek.

She couldn't explain why she suddenly felt so safe, why it seemed that as long as J.D. held her, nothing and no one could ever hurt her again. Such a foolish thought, such an illogical feeling.

He splayed his hand across the center of her back and caressed her from neck to waist, his touch unbearably gentle. She relaxed against him, giving herself over completely to the pleasure of being in his arms. Warm, salty tears streaked her cheeks and spilled over her lips. The anger and pain and soul-deep hurt she had been holding inside for days on end poured out of her as she clung to J.D. Sobbing, moaning, holding nothing back, she allowed herself the much-needed emotional release she had been denying herself. And all the while, J.D. simply held her, stroked her, nuzzled her tenderly. How long he held her while she cried, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that when cleansing relief washed over her and she lifted her head to look into his eyes, she realized she wanted him.

“Audrey?” He whispered her name.

“Yes.” Just one word, but that was all he needed in answer to his unspoken question.

He lowered his head until his mouth reached hers. She held her breath, anticipation spiraling through her. His lips brushed across hers, both eagerness and hesitation in the touch. She understood he was giving her one last chance to change her mind and that the next move was up to her. Overwhelmed by his restraint in allowing her the power to take what she wanted, what she needed, Audrey circled his lips with the tip of her tongue.

J.D. groaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Be sure this is what you want.” He grabbed her upper arms and pressed her down onto the sofa cushions. “If you don't stop me now, there won't be any turning back.” He hovered over her, his hot gaze boring into her as he waited for her response.

She tried to speak, but couldn't force the words from her throat. Staring up at him, her mouth opening, her body trembling beneath him, she pulled one arm free of his tight grip and lifted her hand to his face. Her fingers traced the same path that her lips had made only moments before, pausing to dip one finger into the moist interior of his mouth.

J.D. sucked her finger in and Audrey panted as she eased her finger from his mouth. Visibly shaken, he drew in a deep breath and released it on a ragged groan before he kissed her. As his mouth covered hers, she felt him shift his weight and insert his knee between her thighs, effectively parting her legs. The kiss went on and on, robbing her of breath and all coherent thought. By the time he reached beneath her, unzipped her dress, and pulled it down to her waist, she had unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it loose from his pants. He kissed, licked, and nipped her throat and shoulder and blazed a trail down to the lace cups of her bra. While he effectively undid the back hook and deftly freed her breasts, she raked his back with her fingers, loving the feel of his hard muscles and masculine heat.

The moment his tongue flicked across one tight nipple, she whimpered and lifted her body up and into his erection.

They tore at each other's clothes, pushing up, shoving down, ripping apart until she felt the tip of his penis pressing against her mound.

“God, Audrey, I need to protect you.” He growled the words against her ear.

“It's all right. I'm protected,” she told him as she dug her nails into his firm buttocks. She was still on the pill even though she hadn't been involved in a sexual relationship for several years.

Her assurance snapped the final, tenuous threads of his control. He slid his hands beneath her hips, lifted her urgently, and thrust into her hard and deep.

Within minutes, she climaxed, the fury of her release shocking in its intensity. She had never reached an orgasm so quickly. His climax followed hers within seconds, his masculine roar of triumph sending aftershocks of pleasure through every nerve in her body.

What could have been an awkward moment after they made love on the sofa, especially with both of them still partially dressed, became instead a romantic interlude. J.D. lifted himself up, shucked off his shirt, tossed it onto the floor, and then stood and dropped his pants and briefs. He kicked them aside and stood there in front of her completely naked. Without missing a beat, he reached down, hauled her to her feet, and dragged her wrinkled dress over her head and off. After going down on his knees in front of her, he kissed her belly. She shivered. He stuck his tongue into her navel. She moaned. He buried his face against her mound. She cried out. And then he kissed her hips, her thighs, her knees, and finally looked up at her and smiled.

“You're even more than I thought you were,” he said.

“More what?” she asked as she reached down and urged him to stand.

He revisited the trail he had taken on his way down, only this time he took his time to maul her breasts on his ascent up to her mouth. With his lips almost touching hers, he told her, “You're more beautiful, more giving, more exciting, more woman in every way.”

“Oh…” She was on the verge of telling him that he was responsible for her being all those “more” things when he unexpectedly swept her up into his arms. She gasped and then laughed as she draped her arm around his neck.

“I'm spending the night,” he told her. “I just wanted you to know, in case there were any doubts in your mind.”

No doubts,
she told herself.
Not about being with him tonight.

When he carried her into her bedroom and tossed her in the center of the bed, she looked up at him, and suddenly second thoughts did creep into her mind and she wondered if she was crazy for doing this. J.D. Cass was probably more man than she could handle. There was a primitive masculine streak in him a mile wide, and that frightened her. She would never be able to tame him or control him. But would she really want to do either? On some purely primeval level, wasn't that part of what attracted her to him?

“I'm glad you want to stay,” she said, pushing aside all doubts.

He crawled into bed with her, inching his way slowly toward her like a large, powerful animal stalking his prey. When he covered her body with his, bracing himself over her with his hands on either side of her head, she reached for him, her fingers exploring his wide, muscular shoulders.

He gazed down at her, his eyes black with desire. The moment her lips parted, renewed hunger plain on her face, he swooped down and kissed her.

She returned the kiss and was amazed that she could be aroused again so quickly.

He lifted his head and smiled. “Don't plan on getting much sleep tonight, honey. I've had a few erotic fantasies about you and I'm planning on fulfilling every one of them.”

“If we're playing true confessions, then I have to admit, I've had more than a few fantasies about you, too, Special Agent Cass.”

“Mmm…If we're going to fulfill all of your fantasies and mine, maybe we should get started right away.” He circled her ear with the tip of his tongue. “The only thing we have to decide is who goes first.”

“We can take turns,” she told him. “Who knows, we may share some of the same fantasies.”

“One way to find out.” He rolled off her and onto his back. “Ladies first.”

With a feeling of incredible feminine power surging through her, she tiptoed her fingers up and down his semi-erect penis and smiled when he moaned. Moving upward, she found his nipples and rubbed them with her index fingers.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and urged her head down to his chest. When she licked first one nipple and then the other, he moaned again, deeper and louder.

“Honey, I'll give you an hour or two to stop that.”

“Oh, I don't think you'll last an hour,” she told him, feeling quite sure of herself.

 

Hart sat alone in the dark room. He couldn't go on this way, knowing what he knew. Not now. It was only a matter of time before someone started asking questions, before someone stated flat out that Regina Bennett had not kidnapped Blake.

All these years, everyone had believed that Blake was one of the Baby Blue toddlers, abducted and probably killed by an insane woman who kept ending her terminally ill son's life again and again by murdering other little boys. If only it had been true. If only twenty-five years ago, Regina had sneaked into their house on a warm summer day and taken Blake from his bed.

If only…

He had tried to forget.

He had pretended it never happened. He had halfway convinced himself that Blake really had been kidnapped.

He had lied the day Blake disappeared. He had lied to his stepfather. And he had lied to Audrey.

He wondered if she had suspected the truth, at least back then, before the lies had replaced the reality, before everyone believed that Regina Bennett had taken Blake.

He shouldn't have lied. He should have told the truth.

Hart knew what had really happened to his baby brother.

 

Garth downed another hefty gulp of whiskey, coughed, wiped his mouth, and set the glass in front of him on the table. Peggy Ann came into the kitchen, her housecoat open all the way down the front, revealing her large, drooping breasts, her still-flat belly, and her dark furry pussy. He had left her in bed a few minutes ago, after he'd hammered into her until he came. He had no idea if she'd had an orgasm or not and he really didn't give a rat's ass. He had gotten what he needed and that's all that mattered tonight. But the short-lived oblivion had lasted only as long as his dick stayed hard. After that, all his troubles came rushing back, bearing down on him, crushing the life out of him.

Peggy Ann eyed the open bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table. “Save a little of that for me.”

He reached out, ran his hand inside her housecoat, and squeezed her butt. “I'm going to get stinking drunk tonight, drunk enough to pass out,” he told her.

“Go right ahead.” She pulled her housecoat together and tied the belt, effectively concealing her naked body. “It won't be the first time you've slept one off in my bed.”

“You're a good woman, Peggy Ann. A good friend.”

She took a glass from the cupboard, sat down at the table across from him, and picked up the whiskey bottle. “You're beating yourself up for no good reason.”

“What do you know about it?” He glared at her as she filled her glass halfway with Jack Daniel's.

“I know you're carrying around a load of guilt and pain because of what happened to your little nephew. I know because you've cried in your beer and mumbled in your sleep a few times over the years. You think there's something you should have done or could have done to save Blake.”

Garth stared at Peggy Ann, wondering if she actually knew the truth. Had he ever been stupid enough during one of his drunken blackouts to tell her what had happened that day, the day Blake disappeared? Surely to God, he hadn't.

“Blake wasn't one of Regina Bennett's victims,” Garth said and waited for her response. “It's only a matter of time until everybody knows.”

“Yeah, but you couldn't have known that before now. Nobody could have. It made perfect sense to assume that the Baby Blue Kidnapper had taken Blake the same way she'd taken those other little boys.”

Garth breathed easier. Peggy Ann didn't know the truth.

No one else knew the truth. Only he and Hart.

Hart had been awake all night. Thinking. Praying. He needed a drink, needed a fix, needed the courage to do what he should have done twenty-five years ago.

But you were just a kid. Only eight years old.

Kids do what grown-ups tell them to do, especially grown-ups they love and trust the way he had loved and trusted Uncle Garth.

He did what he thought was best for everyone, didn't he?

But lying had been wrong then and it was wrong now. If he had told the truth back then, would his life be any different now? He'd never know for sure. It was too late to change the past. But it wasn't too late to change the future.

I can't keep this secret any longer. If I do, I'll lose what little hold I have on my sanity.

He got up out of the chair where he had been sitting all night, walked to the windows facing east, and drew back the curtains. Dawn light spread across the horizon, where golden-tinged pink tentacles heralded a new day. A new beginning. A chance to right old wrongs.

Tears swelled up inside him, gathered in his eyes, and seeped steadily down his stubble-rough cheeks.

Before his courage evaporated like the morning dew, Hart picked up the phone and dialed his uncle's cell number. The phone rang and rang and rang. The call went to voice mail. Hart hesitated, then said, “We need to talk. I've made a decision that will affect us both. Call me as soon as possible.”

Hart returned the phone to its base and then glanced at the wall clock in the dimly lit living room. He would give Uncle Garth until noon to return his call before he contacted Audrey. If he was going to do this—finally do the right thing—he would need to rely on his sister's strength to see him through the ordeal.

 

She had come into the house to get some Kool-Aid. She had mixed two packages of her favorites—lemon and orange—that morning before breakfast, so the gallon jug should be nice and cold by now. The back storm door shut behind her as she entered the kitchen. Immediately, she heard someone screaming and then someone else shouting. What was going on? Could Enid be having another one of her sick spells? No, probably not. Enid always cried. She never screamed. And the shouting voice belonged to a man. But not her father. Her daddy was at work.

Forgetting about how thirsty she was and how delicious the Kool-Aid would taste, Audrey left the kitchen and followed the sound of the voices. By the time she reached the foot of the stairs in the foyer, the screaming had stopped and had been replaced by hysterical sobs.

She took a hesitant step up the stairs and paused when she saw her stepbrother on the landing, his face pale, his eyes wide, his lips quivering. What was wrong with Hart? He looked funny. Odd funny. Not ha-ha funny.

Audrey raced up the stairs and when she came face-to-face with Hart, he stared right at her, but it was as if he didn't see her.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

He just kept staring at her.

And then behind them, the nursery door closed, but not before she saw Uncle Garth. Her gaze had connected with his for a split second.

Reaching out, she gave Hart a gentle tap in the center of his chest, thinking that would snap him out of whatever was making him act so odd. His only response was nonverbal. He began trembling as if he were very, very cold.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “What's wrong with you?” She called out, “Uncle Garth? Help us. Something's wrong with Hart.”

“It's my fault,” Hart said. “It's all my fault.”

“What's your fault?”

“Blake…my fault…all my fault.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. What about Blake? What's your fault?”

Everything began to spin around and around. Audrey and Hart were swept up into a whirlwind, a dark tornado that twirled them around and around, deeper and deeper into its vortex. And inside that same tornado, the violent wind took Blake higher and higher until he finally disappeared.

 

Audrey's terrified cries woke J.D. instantly. He shot straight up. Then he turned and looked down at the woman beside him as she thrashed and moaned. Tears dampened her face.

She was having another nightmare.

J.D. caressed her cheek before cupping her chin with his hand. “Audrey, honey, wake up.”

She struggled for breath. “No, please, no. Don't take him.”

J.D. ran his hands down her throat, over her shoulders, and curved them around her upper arms. He gave her a gentle shake. “Audrey. Audrey, wake up. Whatever is frightening you isn't real. You're dreaming. You're having another nightmare.”

Her eyes flew open. She stared up at him. “J.D.?”

“Yeah, honey, it's me.”

“Oh God. It was awful.”

He pulled her up and into his arms, holding her naked body against his, soothing his hand over her back, whispering comforting words to calm her. “It was just a dream. You're all right. You're safe. Nothing can hurt you.” He placed a tender kiss on her shoulder.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his. “Hold me, please, J.D. Hold me.”

“I've got you.”

And I'll never let you go.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked as he held her. “Is it the same dream you've been having for weeks now?”

She lifted her head and stared at him. “How did you…? Oh, Zoe told you.”

“She wasn't breaking a confidence. She told me because she was worried about you.”

“Sometimes, the dreams make sense, as if I'm remembering what really happened that day, but sometimes they're all mixed up and crazy and don't make any sense at all.”

“Dreams and nightmares are like that.”

“I had thought that if we ever found Blake that maybe…maybe the dreams would stop.” She pulled away from J.D. “What a horrible mess…Everything is so…so…” She looked at J.D. “Porter Bryant, a man I thought I knew, a man I—”

“Cared about,” J.D. said.

“Yes, I cared about him.” As if only then realizing she was naked and her breasts were uncovered, she grasped the sheet and lifted it up to her neck. “Don't you want to know if I slept with him? You could have had sex last night—all night—with a woman who had been having an affair with a serial killer.”

“You never slept with Bryant,” J.D. said with absolute certainty.

She glared at him. “How did you know?”

“Because you said you cared about him, not that you loved him.”

A pink stain colored Audrey's cheeks. “You're assuming a great deal.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are, if you think I have to love a man in order to have sex with him.”

“Don't you?”

“You think I love you?” She huffed loudly, her eyes bright with indignation.

“Yeah, I think you do.”

“Why, you egotistical, conceited—”

He effectively ended her verbal tirade by kissing her as he toppled her onto her back. She struggled. He held her down and deepened the kiss. She writhed beneath him, halfway fighting him, halfway aroused.

He slid his mouth along her cheek and to her ear. “I think I love you, too.”

The moment his words registered in her mind, he felt her immediate surrender and knew that she wanted him again, every bit as much as he wanted her.

 

Garth woke with the mother of all hangovers. He managed to get out of bed, stagger to the bathroom, and take a piss. He felt like holy hell.

He needed a shower and a shave. He needed a cup of coffee. He needed to come up with a plan. There had to be a way to convince everyone that although Regina Bennett had not kidnapped Blake, someone else had. He couldn't let the truth come out, not now, not after twenty-five years, not after everything he had been through with Hart.

He would figure out something and then talk to Hart. The boy would do whatever he told him to do. He always had.

But first things first. Shave, shower, and—

“Hair of the dog that bit you.” Peggy Ann entered the bathroom and held out a large mug to him. “Irish coffee.” She chuckled.

He took the mug, lifted it to his mouth, and took a few sips. “Thanks.”

“Want some breakfast?” she asked.

“Maybe some toast and more coffee.” He saluted her with the mug.

“Sure thing.” She turned to go, then paused and said, “Oh, by the way, your cell phone's been ringing, but I didn't answer it.”

“If it was anything important, they left a message.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured.”

Twenty minutes later, shaved and showered, Garth pulled on a clean pair of boxers—he kept a few things at Peggy Ann's for times like this—and removed the dry cleaner's bag from a pair of khaki slacks and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt. Dressed and his hair combed, he headed for the kitchen.

“I could use a couple of aspirin,” he told Peggy Ann as he set down the empty mug he had brought from the bathroom. “And about a gallon of black coffee.”

She opened a drawer beneath the kitchen counter, retrieved a bottle of aspirin, and threw it to him. He caught it in one hand, screwed off the cap, shook several tablets into his open palm, and tossed them into his mouth. Just as Peggy Ann put the refilled mug in front of him—only coffee this time—he noticed that she had laid his cell phone on the table.

After downing more coffee, he picked up the phone and checked for messages. When he heard Hart's voice, his stomach muscles knotted.

“We need to talk. I've made a decision that will affect us both. Call me as soon as possible.”

God damn it! Didn't he have enough to worry about without Hart going nuts on him?

He listened to the second message.
“I'm going to tell Audrey the truth and ask her to go with me to tell Wayne. I want you to be with me when I tell them. It's what we should have done all those years ago.”

Garth clutched the phone with brute strength, his mind screaming, his body rigid with fear.

“What's the matter?” Peggy Ann asked as she set a plate of unbuttered toast in front of him.

Taking quick, deep breaths, Garth willed himself under control. He slid back his chair and stood. “I've got to go. I don't have time to eat anything.”

“Duty calls, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He took the time to kiss her before he left. “See you later.”

“Sure thing.”

Could he make it back to his place and stop Hart before he spilled his guts to Audrey? He had always been able to control Hart, but if he couldn't stop him before he spoke to his stepsister, then all hell would break loose. Whatever influence he'd had over Audrey when she'd been a child no longer existed. He had spent years worrying about those damn nightmares she'd had, afraid maybe she had seen more than he thought she had that day, that the truth might be locked in her subconscious. Eventually, he had stopped worrying about it; but if Hart told Audrey, Garth knew that there was nothing he could do to control her now.

Nothing short of killing her.

 

Fresh from her morning shower, dressed in aqua velour pants and matching scooped-neck top, Audrey hummed as she prepared cinnamon French toast for brunch. J.D. had suggested they shower together, but she had known where that would lead and told him they would shower separately. They had spent the entire morning in bed. Making love. Napping. Making love. Napping.

She needed some time alone, a breather from J.D., so that she could think straight. When he touched her, every rational thought went out of her head. Everything had happened so fast. Too fast? Probably. Did she regret what had happened? No, she didn't regret anything, not one single moment.

“I think I love you, too.”

He had said it only once, but once had been enough. The question was, did he mean it? Or did he tell every woman he slept with that he thought he loved her? No, she didn't think he did.

But are you sure?

That was the problem. She wasn't sure. Not sure about J.D.'s sincerity. Not sure about her sanity. Not sure if they were beginning an affair or if she had been nothing more than a one-night stand. Make that one night and half a day.

Lost in thought, the ringing telephone startled her. She hurriedly flipped the slices of French toast browning in the square frying pan, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and lifted the portable phone off the base on the counter.

“Hello,” Audrey said.

“Hi, sis. You busy?”

“I'm in the middle of fixing brunch.”

“I…uh…need to talk to you.”

“What's wrong?”

“Can you come over here?”

“Where's Uncle Garth?”

“I don't know. Out somewhere. I tried to call him earlier this morning to tell him…His phone kept going to voice mail. I told myself that if he hadn't called back by noon, then I wouldn't wait any longer, that I'd call you.”

“Hart, what is it? Has something happened?”

“I can't tell you over the phone. Please, Audrey, please…I need to see you. I have to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“I need your help. I have to tell you the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“I know what happened to Blake.”

“What did you say?”

“Uncle Garth made me promise not to tell anyone. He said if I told, they'd put her in jail or lock her up in the loony bin. I should have told the truth. Once everyone knows, it'll be better for all of us. It'll be better for me.”

“Hart, what are you saying? Are you talking about Enid? Did your mother do something to Blake?”

The dial tone hummed in her ears.

“Hart! Damn it, why did you hang up?”