Hearts Awakened (21 page)

He’d created a monster. Mark relaxed into Chris’s leather recliner and eyed the white board leaned against the den wall. A timeline of the twenty-four hours before and after Jenny’s disappearance took up most of the space. He’d given Chris carte blanche with Jenny’s case, hoping a fresh viewpoint would turn up a new angle, and the younger man had run with it. His den looked like an investigative war room.

Mark tapped a pencil on the legal pad balanced on his knee, still eyeing Chris’s notes. He didn’t see anything new. Maybe there was nothing to see. Probably, he was destined to never know what had happened, to always live with the uncertainty.

Chris paced before the board, beating a dry-erase marker against his thigh. He stopped and rapped a timeline item. “What about this? The grocery store before the festival. Did you go with her?”

“No.” Mark sketched a cube in the pad’s margin. “I was finishing a split shift.”

“So she could have stopped somewhere else and you wouldn’t know about it?”

“Yeah.” Tossing the pad and pencil aside, Mark leaned forward, hands between his knees. Seeing the last hours before Jenny’s disappearance in a black-and-white list felt weird, like it had all happened to someone else. Mark rubbed a hand over his face. It had happened to someone else—the inexperienced boy he’d been. He wasn’t that boy anymore, but the totality of the little incidents on that board had shaped the man he’d become.

Chris added a question mark next to the
goes to grocery store
entry. “All right. So there it is.”

Mark nodded, staring at the board. There it was. The last normal day of Jenny’s life. Breakfast at the roadside diner, a visit to her mom’s, lunch with a friend at home, a trip for groceries, an afternoon at the town festival with him.

She’d needed to go to the restroom, had joked about the baby sitting on her bladder. With a smile and a wave, she’d walked to the old town hall. He’d gone to get her a candy apple, her favorite fall treat.

He’d never seen her again.

After fifteen minutes, he’d gone looking for her, thinking they’d missed each other. She wasn’t at the town hall or even at the old elementary school, its exterior bathrooms open for the hundreds of festival goers. Or at any of the booths, where he pulled her photo from his wallet and asked each and every vendor.

She wasn’t there all that evening, when he and the other local cops searched the area and the surrounding woods, calling her name until he was hoarse.

She wasn’t there each weekend when he came back for three months, until the trips came with fewer and fewer frequency, his hope getting smaller and smaller.

Even though she wasn’t ever there, he wouldn’t let himself admit she was dead.

Until the night of their baby’s due date, when her best friend came seeking and offering comfort. Then he believed they were dead.

He knew he was.

Because in those few seconds with Laurie writhing beneath him, panting in pleasure, scoring his back with her nails, with an orgasm barreling through him, he’d forgotten Jenny, forgotten the pain.

Jenny was dead, their future was dead, and he’d never wanted to live again.

Until Tori.

Nobody got in that deep in a few days, but he damn sure had. She’d made him want to live again, to believe in the future.

Laying things on the line with her the night before had been hard. He hadn’t slept most of the night, second-guessing himself, going to the window to look at the light in hers, wanting to show up at her door and give her what she’d wanted, whether she was ready to face her fears or not.

“Cookie?” Chris’s quizzical voice jerked him out of the musings. “Did you hear me?”

Mark ran a hand over his nape. “No, sorry. I was thinking.”

“I asked if you knew a Harold McNeely.”

The name nudged at his memory. “Yeah. I mean, kind of. He was one of our neighbors. He’d be close to fifty now.”

Chris picked up a file from the stack on the coffee table. “He pay a lot of attention to Jenny?”

Mark shrugged. “Not really. I mean, no more than most. She was a pretty girl. Guys looked. Why?”

“He’s serving six years in Reidsville.”

A chill shivered down Mark’s spine. “For what?”

“Aggravated sexual assault and sodomy.” Chris tapped a finger on the file. “Attacked a woman in Berrien County. She was seven months pregnant. Lost the baby.”

“Damn.” Mark repressed a shudder. Son of a bitch.

“Want to talk irony? He’s on the same cellblock as Billy Reese.” Chris laid the folder aside. “We could go over there this weekend, too. Talk to him.”

“Yeah.” Mark rubbed his hands down his face, avoiding the stitched area at his eyebrow. Too bad he couldn’t have five minutes alone with Billy Reese while he was there. Just five minutes. That was all he’d need. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Chris slumped into the other recliner. “Rigsby did a hell of a job with this.”

“He liked Jenny. She used to babysit their kids. He took the case personal.”

Nodding, Chris reached for his soda. “It shows, but you can see where it went cold, got pushed to the back burner. There were thirteen Jane Doe remains he never checked out.”

Mark quirked an eyebrow. “And how many have you checked out?”

“Eight so far. None of them fit.” A sheepish expression flitted across the angles of Chris’s face. “I admit it. I’m obsessed. It’s like a huge jigsaw puzzle. I lie awake at night, trying to put it together in my head.”

The kid was a born investigator. Why the hell had Tick and Stanton put him in a patrol car? He was good with the dog, yeah, but that bulldog attitude and enthusiasm would go a lot further in investigations.

Mark should have that level of enthusiasm for this case. He should be the one out checking out Jane Doe reports, instead of leaving them to Chris. His lying-awake-at-night hours should be dedicated to finding Jenny. Lately, those hours had belonged to Tori.

“There you go again,” Chris said, and Mark shot a glance at him. “Off in La-La Land.”

“Sorry. Can’t concentrate today.”

“Too busy thinking about Tori Calvert, huh?”

“Too busy thinking about putting you on nights for a solid month because of that stupid stunt you pulled last night.” The irritation crawled into his voice.

“Hey, she wanted to talk to you and you were going to bail on her.” Chris held up his hands. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do me any more,” Mark muttered.

Chris’s soda can hit the table with a soft thunk. “She’s hot for you.”

“Can it, Parker.” With tight movements, Mark tugged his gum from his shirt pocket. Damn. Empty. He shoved the package back in its place and ran his hands over his knees.

“Seriously. If you didn’t see the way she was looking at you last night, you’re freakin’ blind.”

He slanted an irritable glance in Chris’s direction. “What look?”

“That was one hungry woman, Cook. Starvation hungry and she wanted you on her menu.”

He didn’t need the mental images that kicked off in his head. He was supposed to be patient, give her time and space, not think about ways to show her what they could have together, if she’d just step out from the shadows of her fear.

His skin two sizes too small, Mark shoved to his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

A deep laugh rumbled over Mark’s ears. Chris folded his arms behind his head. “I’m talking full-course meal hungry. Double-helping hungry. She wants you.”

“Shut up, Parker.” He didn’t need this. He
really
didn’t need this. The hope was hard enough to control without Chris’s good-natured ribbing.

“Just calling it like I see it.”

“How many night shifts did you want to work?”

Chris pushed the chair to its reclined position and crossed one ankle over the other. “Hey, I like working nights. You’ll have to find another threat.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Mark waved a hand at the board, the Preston map pinned to the smaller bulletin board, the stacks of reports. “It’s not like we don’t have enough to keep us busy.”

Chris settled deeper into the recliner, leather creaking beneath him. “Letting the past take your mind off the now, huh?”

Damn bulldog tendencies. The kid needed to apply them to the information in front of them, not Mark’s personal life. Mark narrowed his eyes at him. “Drop it, Parker.”

“Consider it dropped.” Pushing against the footrest, Chris brought the chair to an upright position. He reached for a file, eagerness lighting his features. “Know what else I did? Searched the Internet for similar cases in the same time period. Came up with two. One in Georgia, one in Alabama. I’ve got the information here somewhere.”

Mark accepted the sheaf of papers Chris proffered. He skimmed the first one, a tiny protest beating at the back of his mind. He wasn’t hiding behind the past. He merely needed answers. That was all. No need to hide from the fear that Tori would decide he wasn’t worth it and leave his future stretching before him, a vast empty wasteland.

Tori opened her eyes. Despite the nap, she didn’t feel rested. After a day with her family, visiting Caitlin and Tick’s baby, getting roped into painting, she’d needed some time to decompress. With that in mind, she’d put on soft instrumental music and lain down. Sleep had taken her quickly, but weird, half-remembered dreams disturbed her slumber.

Arms folded over her stomach, she stared up at the ceiling. Seduce him, Caitlin said. She made it sound so easy and for her it probably was. Tick was absolutely besotted with her, had been forever. With Mark, Tori didn’t have that luxury. Right now, she wasn’t sure what she had, except a man who thought she was worth waiting for.

With a disgusted sigh, she rolled to sit on the edge of the bed. “Get on with it, Victoria. Get up, get moving, find a way to deal.”

The first step in dealing would be a shower. Then…well, when she was clean and felt more like herself, she’d figure out where to start. In the bathroom, she tugged her T-shirt over her head, shed her jeans and dropped everything in the hamper. Soon, hot water sent up clouds of steam, and she stepped into the shower and pulled the clear curtain closed. The pulsating jets caressed her head, moved like massaging fingers over her back and shoulders. She rotated her neck, letting the tension drop away.

Show him how important he is.

He was important. She could trust him. At this point, no doubt lingered about that. Last night had been as good as a commitment.
She
was the one locked into not moving forward. So how to go about showing him what she was beginning to realize? Lord, she was so out of her element.

She changed the showerhead setting to a slower, rainlike fall and reached for her soap and sponge. Luxurious suds filled the steam with the scent of oranges and spices. Eyes closed, she soaped, sliding the sponge over her skin. Water flowed along the line of her body, between her breasts, down her stomach, over her thighs. Suds followed more slowly, like leisurely hands, shaping and caressing. Mark’s hands, holding her breasts, teasing hardened nipples, smoothing down to her stomach, and lower. She followed his phantom path with the sponge.

A tingly ache pierced her stomach, throbbed between her thighs and sent liquid fire along her veins. A soft moan escaped her lips and her eyes flew open. The sponge dropped to the tub floor. Her body pulsed with an unfamiliar, irresistible need. She pushed her wet hair back with both hands, nails digging into her scalp. She loved him. She wanted him, her entire body filled with sexual desire just from
thinking
about him. But she wanted more than fulfillment of her desire. She wanted
him
—the tender and caring man under the droll façade.

She knew he dreamed of her. Could this woman, the one aching with need, be the one from his fantasy? She wanted to be.

Seduce him. Entice him. Show him how important he is.

Could she really? The idea sent a shiver over her already too-sensitive skin. Her confidence lifted a scant inch or so.

She turned the water off, pushed the curtain back and reached for a towel. At the mirror, she wiped away the steam and stared at herself. Excitement glinted in her eyes. What was the absolute worst that could happen?

“He could say no.” Her voice emerged wry but a little breathy.

He’d already said no, that they weren’t ready, that night in Winn Dixie. The worst had already happened. She’d lived. He’d lived. So, even if he said no again, she really had nothing more to lose.

And everything to gain.

Had Tori’s place been this quiet? There’d been no radio or television on, but her presence had livened the apartment. He missed her laugh, her voice, the whisper of her sigh. With an oath, he grabbed a bottled water and slammed the refrigerator door. Waiting this out was going to be a bitch.

He lifted the bottle, icy water trickling down his throat. The rest of the night stretched before him, empty. Nothing appealed—television, reading, looking over the files he’d brought with him from Chris’s.

A quick rap at the door echoed in the silence and he jerked, coughing as water tried to come out his nose. Who the hell? Setting the water aside, he headed for the door. Probably Chris, with more theories and ideas and questions. The tension attacked his neck again.

“You know, when I gave you this case…” The words died in his throat. Standing outside his door was the last person he’d expected. Not Chris Parker, laden with file folders and bulldog eagerness. Standing outside his door was Tori Calvert, dark hair gathered in a loose, messy knot that made his fingers itch to take it down. She had one denim-clad hip cocked to the side, a graceful hand splayed on it.

“Hey, I know you weren’t expecting me.” She gave him a breezy smile while he tried to gather his wits. Between her low, hip-clinging jeans and a thin baby blue T-shirt, the rhinestone dangle in her navel sparkled at him. She’d done that smoky-eye-makeup thing too, making her eyes bigger and darker, deep enough for a guy to lose himself in.

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t call first.” She patted the center of his chest and brushed by him with a whiff of something spicy and citrusy. “I wanted to see you and your truck was out front.”

Under that snug shirt, she wasn’t wearing a bra. The thin material clung to the rounded fullness of her breasts and outlined the subtle jut of her nipples. His mouth went dry.

“I’ve been thinking today but I still don’t really know how to tell you where my mind’s been.” Her bright chatter filled his home and she shot him a sweet, sassy look. “You can close the door, Mark. I’m not going to bite you.”

Oh man, but he wanted her to. He narrowed his eyes and closed the door. She was up to something, and heaven help him, he couldn’t wait to find out what.

She leaned over to tug out a stool at the kitchen bar and he averted his gaze from the shift of her breasts. Her jeans slipped with the stretch and from this angle he could just make out the red, rounded edge of her tattoo. A heart. Either that, or she had “Supergirl” tattooed on her delicious little ass. He wouldn’t put it past her.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tori, what kind of game are you playing?”

She settled on the stool, hands in her lap, and when she looked up at him, all playfulness had disappeared from her eyes. “It’s not a game. Not to me.”

Deciding to take a different route, one that would maybe keep him from grabbing her or groveling at her feet, he rubbed a hand over his nape and crossed to sit on the other stool. “How was your day?”

“Good.” A smile playing over her pretty mouth, she ran her palms down her thighs. The soft movement of her breasts beneath the shirt was a constant temptation, his palms tingling with the need to touch her. “I went over to Cait and Tick’s, and we visited the baby. He’s doing really well. Cait’s almost back to her old self and Tick’s stubborn as always.” She glanced up at him. “I had a serious talk with him today.”

He rested a hand on the counter. Man, she smelled good, warm and spicy and feminine, all at the same time. “Yeah? What about?”

“You,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “About how miserable I am without you. About how sure I am about you.”

“God, Tori, don’t do this.” He closed his eyes. How was a guy supposed to resist this—the way she looked, her scent, the things she said.

“It’s the truth. I finally decided you’re worth fighting for, worth doing whatever it takes for us to work. You’re worth facing the fears, all of them.” Hands framed his face and her fragrance surrounded him as she stepped between his legs. Soft breasts pressed to his chest and he opened his eyes. She held his gaze, the dark depths of hers serious and pleading. Her finger feathered across his lips and need punched him in the gut. He didn’t simply desire her, he needed her, and he wasn’t strong enough to keep holding back. “And since you’ve been asking all the questions tonight, this one’s mine.”

He swallowed hard, fists clenched so he wouldn’t touch, wouldn’t pull her closer and do what he really wanted to do—devour her. “Thought you weren’t playing games.”

“I’m not. I’ve never been more serious in my life.” She moved closer and tilted her head back, still holding his gaze. She trailed a finger from his lips, down his chin and chest. “So the question tonight is…do you want me?”

He stared at her and Tori shivered, despite the warmth of his body this close to hers. Inside, she was shaking, her stomach hollow and jumpy. She’d been scared to death since he opened the door, ready to drop the confident air and scurry back to the safety of her apartment. Now, pressed to him, a thin layer of cotton separating the wall of his chest from her bare breasts, she was ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.

When he didn’t speak, her nerves stretched. His heart thudded against her finger. She took that as encouragement.

Nothing to lose. Everything to gain.

She ran her other hand up his nape, fingernails sifting through the short hair. If he would just touch her, say something, so she wouldn’t feel like she was making the biggest fool ever of herself. She tilted her face up to his. “So what about it, Mark? Do you want me?”

A slow smile spread across his face and her stomach performed a leisurely, spinning somersault. “Honey, I’d be crazy not to,” he said, his hands settling at her hips. His thumbs brushed the exposed skin above her jeans and her skin burned. “I think the real question is whether or not this is really what you want.”

“Absolutely,” she whispered.

His eyes flared, grew smoky. He tightened his easy grip on her hips and lowered his head. An ache fluttered low in her stomach, her legs weakening. His mouth touched hers, a feathery mingling of lips. The sensation from the simple kiss shivered through her, warmth licking at her veins. He angled his head, tongue teasing at her lips, seeking entrance. Holding his head still, she opened her mouth to him.

He came to his feet and pulled her closer, deepening their kiss, his tongue moving against hers in gentle strokes. He tasted of wintergreen, a blend of icy mint and fiery passion, and she wanted more, everything he could give her. Desperately, she wanted to give it back, to make him feel everything he was awakening in her.

She slipped her fingers beneath his collar, loving the heat and texture of his skin. Holding on to him because her legs trembled, she experimented with flicking her tongue against his. Mark groaned, his arms tightened, hands easing beneath the hem of her T-shirt. The imprint of his fingers burned into her skin.

He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged. “Tori,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, “you’re incredible, honey.”

Being with him like this was incredible. The tip of his tongue traced her mouth, tangled with hers. She caressed his shoulders and biceps, a heated restlessness brewing in her. There was no fear, simply the heat and the ache pooling in her stomach and Mark kissing her, his fingers stroking her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung, breasts tingling, the painful desire spilling over and flowing through her. They were pressed together now from chest to knee, the thick ridge of his arousal nestled between her thighs and stomach. The urge to rub against him, to center that hardness where she needed it most and seek relief from the pressure building in her, made her face burn. She’d never acted this way before, but she’d never loved anyone like this before either.

He rubbed her back, long, sweeping caresses that pulled her into him. His mouth left hers again, and he pressed kisses along the line of her jaw. Tori let her head fall back, welcoming the exquisite sensation of his lips moving over her throat. A small moan escaped her and he chuckled, the deep, hoarse sound vibrating against her.

She wanted to touch him, to discover the planes and angles of his body. Shuddering as his mouth found the hollows of her collarbone, she slid her arms around his waist and let her hands explore beneath his shirt. He was solid, real, everything she needed.

“Mark,” she said, surprised by the breathiness of her voice, “I want to please you.” She traced the line of his ribs, delighting in the shift of muscle and skin beneath her hands. “But I need you…”

The words trailed off as he cupped the sides of her breasts beneath her thin T-shirt. The roughness of his palms intoxicated her, nipples hardening, breasts aching. With his thumbs, he eased the shirt’s hem up, baring her to his hungry gaze. Her stomach clenched, knees weakening.

His hands moved to cradle her back. He nuzzled one nipple, a light caress that sent a shock through her. “Oh honey, you please me. Believe me. And I need you too.”

“No, that’s…” His tongue danced around one tight crest and she gasped, digging her nails into his ribs. He laughed against her skin, hot breath setting her nerves on fire. The desire to press her pulsing center against his hardness pounded in her again. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“Anything.” He closed his mouth over her nipple, a strong sucking that rocketed sensation straight to her center. A dampness flowed between her thighs and she pressed them together, a vain attempt to assuage the throbbing there. “Honey, you can do anything you want to me. Whatever feels right.”

He took her other breast in his mouth, drawing the aching flesh in, soothing it with his tongue. One hand moved around to cover her other breast, thumb flicking against the nipple. She clutched at him, her knees ready to give out. Rubbing her chin against his hair, she arched into the magic his mouth worked on her. “Mark…I’m going to fall.”

“I want you to,” he whispered. Hands sliding to cup her rear, he lifted his head and kissed her, mouth teasing hers again. His tongue coaxed her, until her arms were around his neck, her hands running over his hair, bare breasts pressed to his chest. “But I’ll be right here to catch you, Tor. I promise.”

Fingers and arms flexing, he picked her up, holding her easily. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She obeyed, linking her ankles at the small of his back. The movement brought their bodies into intimate contact, his hardness rubbing against her, and he groaned, eyes sliding closed for a second. With implicit trust that he wouldn’t let her fall, she cradled his face and kissed him, mimicking his earlier teasing. His hands tightened on her buttocks, grinding her into him before he stepped into the hall.

“Where are we going?” she murmured, loving the taste of him.

“My bed.” The raspy words sounded dragged from him. “Before you drive me crazy and I forget about not wanting to take you on the counter or against the wall your first time.”

Her first time. Her eyes prickled. Over the years, she’d had too many people say she wasn’t a virgin because of the attack, but here was Mark, tempering passion with consideration. Warmth and tenderness flowed through her and she blinked the tears away. Holding his face, she leaned back, absolutely certain he wouldn’t drop her. Her gaze locked with his, desire clouding his gray eyes, making them the color of a stormy sea.

Her mouth trembling, she stroked her thumbs over his cheeks, a hint of stubble abrading her skin.
I love you
hovered on her lips, but she stopped, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t say the words—it was too soon and he wouldn’t believe her. After tracing his mouth with a finger, she leaned forward to kiss him. “Thank you.”

His lashes dipped and he hugged her close. Tori buried her face against his neck, the clean scent of him swirling around her. In his bedroom, he lowered her to the floor. She couldn’t resist a glance around. A lamp burned atop a mission-style dresser with a large mirror, and a plump comforter in shades of gold and brown covered his bed. The room was neat, everything in its place, but like his living room, no photos, no personal touches adorned the area.

Arms around his neck, she cast him a teasing glance. “You need some stuff.”

He traced her mouth with his tongue. “I need you.”

Hands slipping to her waist, he backed them toward the bed. Requiring air, Tori pulled her mouth away. Her hair had come loose, falling from the knot, and she lifted both hands to push it back, releasing the tiny clips. Riveted on her, his eyes darkened, and the planes of his face hardened.

Tori froze. “What? What did I do wrong?”

“Wrong?” He laughed, the sound harsh and strained. “Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong. Look.”

With gentle fingers, he grasped her chin and turned her gaze toward the mirror. The woman gazing back looked wanton—mouth swollen, hair tumbling around her shoulders, T-shirt pushed up above her breasts, the hardened nipples thrust upward by uplifted arms. With an embarrassed laugh, Tori reached for her shirt. “Oh my gosh. I look—”