Finding Grace (26 page)

Jack pulled her into his arms and rocked her. “That
fucking sonofabitch. Thank God you didn’t go to the light like you
talked about before. I’m sorry, Grace. Sorry that it took us so
long to find you, sorry that I wasn’t there that morning to stop
him. You’ll never know how sorry.”

Thorne let him hold her, let the tears come. It felt
so good to just let go. And when she felt his gentle kisses drying
her cheeks and his mouth met hers, she gave his tongue entrance,
invited him. And if it was pity? Right now, she’d take whatever he
had to give her. She didn’t object when he picked her up and moved
her to the bed, turning out the light on the way, kissing her all
the while, making her want him so much she was sure she’d die if he
didn’t take her soon. But he seemed to be in no hurry, the rat
bastard. He was probably trying to forget her ugly scars.

She was more than willing to help him. Her need for
the taste and feel of the skin beneath the sweater her hands had so
lovingly knit had her jerking it off carelessly, her fingers and
lips frantically remembering every hard plane, every feather of
hair. She licked and tasted, and still he lay there,
uncharacteristically unmoving.

Frustration overwhelmed pride and she slid his
zipper down, startled to find a very nice surprise. Evidently, her
scars hadn’t distracted him as much as she’d thought. Or he was
thinking of another woman, one without issues and scars.

Long experience diverting her mind allowed her to
shove the thought away, along with the feelings that accompanied
it, choosing to focus instead on the heat and smooth hardness of
him. Large, strong hands that had been fisted at his sides grasped
her upper arms when she slid down to wrap her lips around all that
wonderful Jack-ness.

She would have protested when he pulled her up if
his deep groan hadn’t sounded more like a pained growl, making her
wonder if she’d hurt him. The list of what she didn’t know about
pleasing and hurting a man in this situation was longer than some
of her better application code.

Besides, he was pulling her sweater off now—slowly,
though, too slowly; the same with her jeans and embarrassingly damp
panties. His touch was gentle, his tongue on her nipples light and
teasing instead of hard and insistent as it had always been. He was
sweating and breathing awfully hard for someone who wasn’t moving
much, too. Her body responded in kind. It was very confusing.

One thing was clear: she wanted to kill him for
torturing her like this. Once she was done with him, anyway. And
that was going to take more than this first release her body was
screaming for. Her fingers slid over the slick glaze on the steely
muscles of his shoulders and back, then lower to cup and squeeze
the firm peachy ass she was so fond of, pulling him inside before
he could stop her. She’d wanted every hard inch of his desire and
she had it now, whatever his problem was, goddamnit.

He struggled against her for a moment. His powerful
glutes tensed in her hands, only making her clamp down on him more
resolutely, with all of the muscles of her body.

This time, his moan was more one of surrender, so
she was surprised when he rolled, pulling her on top of him into a
new position. It took her a few bumpy strokes to figure out how to
set a rhythm that would push her over.

When she finally succeeded, the pleasure was almost
too much. Then he started touching her in all the right places, and
it started over. His touches were almost too light to even be
teasing, and he backed off every time she even got close again. It
was maddening.

He must have sensed that she was too far gone to
keep it up because he rolled her beneath him once again, his
strokes steady, but too gentle, not forceful as they usually were.
He was shaking so hard, she was worried about him. Finally, he let
out a yell people up and down the block must have heard and gave
her two powerful thrusts before he melted into her, gasping.

He rolled off her soon afterward, mumbling some
words she barely caught—“sorry…after…you need…tried…damn hard…”—and
some she didn’t. Then he spooned her back, put his arm around her,
and promptly fell asleep.

Not Thorne. She lay awake thinking what a nice guy
Jack was. She knew it had been hard for him—would have known even
if he hadn’t just said so himself. It was in the way he’d just made
love to her, all soft and sweet instead of hard and demanding as
he’d always been. It had taken him a lot longer, too.

It was the scars, of course. They turned him off.
Even if he couldn’t see them in the dark, he wasn’t likely forget
they were there. And he hadn’t even seen the worst of them—barely
the least.

But he thought she’d needed some loving, so he’d
done his damnedest to give it to her, poor guy. He must feel really
sorry for her.

What kind of woman did it make her to take him up on
that? She was thankful her thoughts dissolved before the answer
came.

* * * *

Thorne slept well and beat him out of bed again. It
took some serious persuasion to talk Jack into taking her to get
her hair cut, followed by some none-too-subtle threats, pleading,
and a promise to make it brief to get him to drive on to Blackridge
and give her a few minutes alone, but she managed it.

Standing in her office, she ran her hand through her
hair. It was so short it almost stood up. She’d gotten rid of the
purple. She no longer had a use for it, any more than her tinted
glasses. Major Shithead had kept the lights on twenty-four/seven,
which, besides sucking royally at the time, had made them too dark
for her to wear inside now.

The only disguise she still had use for was her old
clothes. She could tell herself that it was because she hated
shopping, which was a certain and abiding truth. If it was also
true that they hid her scars, there was no need to remind anyone
about them, was there?

She and Jack had walked in together. No point in
hiding that any more, either. Even if it was only temporary, until
he decided she was well enough to handle his rejection. She didn’t
want to think about what would happen after that, whether she’d be
able to handle seeing him all the time, knowing he didn’t want her
anymore. But hey, people lived with things like that every day. No
point in dwelling on something she couldn’t change, right?

Thorne looked around the room that had once been
familiar to her. It felt different. Both her chair and the window
looked new, but that wasn’t it. She ignored the niggling
possibility that maybe it was because
everything
was
different now and there was no going back.

It was much easier to crank up her stereo and let
the music wash over her while she tried to find her old groove.

* * * *

Paul stood outside the door with Farley, observing
Thorne. She was pale, but she looked a lot better than he’d
expected—than she should—after everything she’d been through. He
was seeing firsthand just how damn tough she was. There was
fragility beneath, though, and a kind of tired resignation that was
new and perplexing.

He looked up when he heard her say, “Christ, Farley,
take a fucking picture, why don’t you? You’re giving me the goddamn
creeps.”

But she turned the music down and waved them in, all
sassy charm and confidence. The warmth was real. He wasn’t so sure
about the confidence.

Farley was actually blushing. He tried to cover it
with a grin and said quickly, “I don’t know, if it wasn’t for your,
uh, unusual taste in music, I wouldn’t have been sure it was really
you, Thorne. It’s good to see you…Um, I mean, you’re looking
good…uh, cute…uh…” He trailed off.

First blushing and now tongue-tied? Farley? What was
his world coming to? Paul sent up a silent prayer that Dagger was
still on the phone with Mills, because if he’d picked up on it, it
wouldn’t end well for Farley and there’d be another damn mess to
clean up.

Time to step in. “Farley’s right, it is good to see
you. We weren’t expecting you back so soon. I thought you and
Dagger—”

“I figured the best way to thank the team for
rescuing me was to get my lazy ass back in here. Besides, you can’t
expect poor Jack to babysit me forever, can you?”

What the hell was she talking about? Knowing how he
felt about her, Paul was sure Dagger wouldn’t want to do anything
but
take care of her. Before he could make any sense of her
comment, he heard a male voice with a decidedly feminine inflection
in the hall.

“Hello? Hellooo? Is there anyone home? I’m looking
for Thorne, she’s supposed to work here.”

“Back here, Trent!” She hopped up, smiling, and
turned off the music altogether.

Grateful for an interruption that seemed to please
her and distract him from more worrying, he nudged Farley further
into the room.

A small man breezed past them, scarf flapping in his
wake, breathless and pouring out a rush of words. “Oh, Thorne,
there you are! I’ve been worried sick about you. Where on earth
have you been? Are you trying to send me to an early grave? Oh,
love the hair. Fabulous. But you look too wan to have been
vacationing somewhere sunny and warm with that sulking brute—”

Dagger’s grunt behind him brought the torrent to a
halt. Paul guessed it was the first time he’d noticed anyone else
was there.

Farley started talking, and Thorne, obviously
knowing the man much better than any of them, managed to pull out a
chair in time for him to collapse into it.

“Kidnapped? That’s terrible! I had no idea.” Trent
held his hand to his head. “Oh my, I’m feeling a little faint…”

“Slow, deep breaths, Trent. I’ll get you some tea.”
Thorne was struggling to get her grin under control.

“No you won’t,” Dagger said without so much as a
blink. “You sit down and I’ll get the tea. How do you take it,
Trent?”

“Sweet and blond—like my men, please. Thank you,
Jack.” He smiled seductively and winked right at Paul. Then, with
an eye toward Dagger’s retreating back, he leaned over to Thorne
and said in a loud whisper, “Will wonders never cease. I never
figured
him
for the nurturing type.”

Before Paul could find his way back from the
never-never land where Dagger could possibly know this guy in time
to be offended at the wink, Farley murmured to him that it was too
bad Mills wasn’t here because he’d have a heart attack. Paul ended
up choking on something between hilarity and relief.

“He just feels sorry for me.” Her words snapped him
like a wet towel. If Thorne really thought that…He saw Trent sit
back and tilt his head like she’d said something incomprehensible.
The perceptive little man had just earned points in Paul’s
book.

Before he had a chance to get to that worrying he’d
been trying to get around to, another voice greeted them.

“Where is everybody? I was in the neighborhood,
thought I’d stop by, see how it went with Thorne’s rescue.”

“Well, if it isn’t Captain America.” Thorne smiled
and called out, “Hey Jack, we’re gonna need another chair.”

“And none the worse for the wear, if I may say so
myself.” Luke smiled back at her.

Paul saw his friend studying the fine bones of
Thorne’s face, get a little lost in the depth of those big gray
eyes and that soft warm smile. When Dagger came back with Trent’s
tea in one hand and a chair in the other, Luke gave Dagger the kind
of nod that told Paul Luke had a better understanding now of how
Dagger had fallen so hard for her.

Introductions were made and Luke said, “Wait, are
you the Trent Dagger mentioned to me that day down at the
precinct?”

“Who’s Dagger?” Trent looked over his shoulder
suspiciously.

“That’d be me.”

Farley chuckled.

“Ohhh, Jack. Why is everyone looking at me like
that? It’s perfectly acceptable to use monikers when introducing
someone, you know, and it might eliminate some of the confusion. Of
course, it does seem more apropos than Peaches.”

The chuckle erupted into a fit that looked like it
might knock Farley out of his chair.

Thorne frowned and looked at Dagger. “Wait, when did
you talk to Captain—uh, sorry, Lieutenant—Rigby, Jack?”

Dagger swallowed like he had glass in his mouth.
“That’s where I was that morning when Darmfelder came.”

“He was reporting the caddy’s disappearance.” Luke
put in quickly.

“The caddy got stolen? How come this is the first
I’ve heard of it? You love that gas-guzzling behemoth more than
life itself.” Thorne said, still frowning.

“More important things on my mind.” Dagger said it
in a tone that told everyone in the room how he felt about
Thorne.

“Wait, Capt—Lieut—”

“Just Luke is fine, Thorne.”

She was fired up about something, that was for sure.
She’d missed the most romantic thing Paul was absolutely certain
Dagger had ever said in his life.

“Okay, Luke then.” Thorne grabbed her backpack and
dug around in it before pulling out a sandwich baggie and thrusting
it into Luke’s hand. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.
Remember the murder I mentioned after Sarah’s kidnapping?”

“Murder? Another kidnapping? Oh my!” Trent emptied
his tea in a big gulp.

Farley leaned over. “Need something a little
stronger in there, Trent? Why don’t you let me freshen that for
you?”

Trent smiled sweetly. “Well, if it wouldn’t be any
trouble…Thank you.”

Luke fingered the baggie. “I take it this is
evidence?”

Thorne shook her head. “Not evidence, exactly, just
fingerprints and DNA under those fingernails. The killer’s name is
Darryl. I’m sure that if you go back and examine the evidence you
have, it’ll match something. I doubt he did it alone, though. He’s
a fucking coward. Probably can’t even pee by himself. Oh, and we
can prove he was in the area, too. His initials are on the dance
game that night at O’Leary’s, two blocks from where William was
found. There were plenty of witnesses who saw him enter the same
ones just a few weeks ago, including Jack, Paul, and Farley.”