If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (7 page)

Idly, he palmed her breast. Her nipples were hard. It was cool in his little place and he knew it was more a reaction to the cold than anything else. At least right now.

He could make her nipples hard for him, and he’d done so.

Just like he could make her wet for him. Just like he could make her come for him.

It was erotic, drawing that reaction from their bodies even as they fought against it. Almost as erotic as the way they struggled when he shifted gears and focused on sweet pain instead of reluctant arousal.

He loved both.

He loved bringing a woman to climax and he loved bringing a woman to pained screams.

He loved the response … and she wasn’t giving him one.

She lay still, practically lifeless. Watching her face, he pinched her nipple cruelly, watching as she whimpered in her sleep and tried to twist away. She could only move so far, though.

So perfect and petite, her sleek, shining hair swinging
just below her shoulders, her skin smooth and pale and perfect, a narrow waist, high, small breasts, and long, strong legs.

So beautiful.

So beautiful … and such a fucking cunt. Too close. As erotic as it had been, as much as he’d loved hunting her down, it had been dangerous. Risky.

Memories danced through his mind and he shuddered, lost in them. Just thinking about last night was enough to make his dick hard as iron, even as his mind clinically, coolly listed and analyzed all the many, many risks.

Exciting. But too fucking risky.

She wasn’t quite so perfect now.

Red scratches and scrapes marred her pretty skin and there were mottled bruises at her wrists and ankles. When he’d managed to catch her, she’d been filthy, covered with dirt, her feet black from her run through the woods. He’d bathed her, then cleaned himself and burned the clothes he’d worn on his run through the woods. No evidence … none.

Now he had to figure out what to do.

He had to be careful.

Especially after this latest … complication.

He flicked a glance at his watch. Another half-hour, and he’d slip away. He had things to do. Plans to make.

He hit Enter and watched as his reply popped in the IM box.

Edward Lawson Reilly wasn’t lying. This would help him. He skimmed a hand through his hair, but the light
golden-brown strands fell right back into his eyes. Ignoring it, he pulled open a drawer and reached inside, pulled out the faded, tattered picture.

It was a picture of him from high school. Next to him was Hope, her long hair flying around her face. A happy smile curled her lips. Next to her stood the boy she’d married not long after she’d graduated.

They had all looked so young. So happy and hopeful. Innocent.

Hope’s innocence, her hopes, her happiness, they’d all been shattered. Hell, Hope was all but shattered.

A grim-faced, unsmiling little yellow emoticon appeared in the IM box, followed by a reply.

Law snorted.

She was trying to talk herself out of it—just like she had done for the past year. He didn’t need to see her to know that. He knew Hope too well.

It wasn’t a lie. He needed help around here and there wasn’t anybody he trusted as much as he trusted Hope. It was the God’s honest truth. So what if he would feel a lot better knowing she was someplace safe, someplace where she would feel safe … where she could heal.

The phone rang. For a second, it caught him off guard. It wasn’t quite nine in the morning and only a couple of people would think to call him this early on a weekend.

Still, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He had a way to get out of the talk with Hope and he planned to take advantage of it.

He closed the window before she could answer.

One thing about Hope, she had a hard time telling people “no.” Even when she really wanted to do just that.

Glancing at the caller ID, he grinned when he saw the familiar number.

He grabbed the phone and drawled out, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Huddling over the desk, Hope Carson stared at the laptop and the inactive IM window. She didn’t bother trying to send him another message. She knew Law. Once he got an idea in that hard head of his, he didn’t let go of it.

Still, she wasn’t sure she wanted to move to that small town.

Weary, she rubbed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling. Small towns made her nervous. She knew small towns. She and Law had grown up in one—the sort of place where everybody knew everybody else’s business.

She didn’t want anybody knowing her business.

But the fact of the matter was, she didn’t have a lot of options.

She was running out of money, she had no family, and if she didn’t find a job, she was going to end up living out of her car. Job choices weren’t exactly huge—she had no experience being much of anything, except a wife.

Closing her eyes, she ran her limited choices through her mind yet again.

Find a minimum-wage job and see if she could get an apartment. With no references, no credit history. Nothing. And she didn’t exactly want to leave a paper trail that could be easily followed, either. If possible, she’d rather leave no trail.

She couldn’t go back home, even if she wanted to, which she did not. Clinton, Oklahoma, wasn’t going to welcome her, not after what she’d done.

“No.” She opened her eyes and straightened in the chair, staring at the grim-faced woman in the mirror hanging over the simple utilitarian desk. “I’m not the problem. He is. I didn’t do a damn thing. He did.”

She couldn’t go back home, though, no matter what the reasons.

Not like she even had a place to go, anyway.

Her ex-husband, Detective Joseph Carson, had been found not guilty of spousal abuse and even now was living in the house where they’d spent the past ten years of their life. He had the house, he still even had his fucking job. Hell, while she’d been locked away like a prisoner, he had gotten a promotion.

He had everything.

Hope didn’t have jack.

“Stop,” she muttered. Rubbing the back of her neck, she forced her thoughts away from Joey. Feeling sorry for herself, feeling angry, none of it would help. She needed to focus on her next move, not think about the wreck of her life.

Shame tightened her belly as she thought about Law’s offer.

She could either hope she could find a job and a place to live, or she could turn to a friend.

“You look exhausted.”

“Law, I am exhausted.” Lena smiled at the concern she heard in her friend’s voice. Chances were, she looked like shit, but he was too nice to point it out so bluntly.

She slid her feet into a pair of flats and went to get her purse.

“Maybe you should try to get a nap instead of going into town,” he suggested.

Grimly, she shook her head. “No, I need to get this done.” She wouldn’t sleep until she’d at least talked to somebody. Not that she expected the talk was going to do much good.

After all, what could they do?

Nothing.

Shut up
, Lena thought, snarling at the quiet mental voice. “Come on. I want to get this over with.”

Off to her side, Law sighed. The floorboards creaked under him as he came to stand beside her. “Somehow, I knew you were going to say that. So why are we going to the county sheriff’s office? The Jennings boy and his friends hit your place, too? I heard them out on the road near my place around eleven or so. Looks like they tore up old Mrs. King’s front yard some, too. Saw it when I was driving in—the new owner is going to be hot.”

New owner—Ezra.
Oh, yeah. He’s hot, all right
.

Her belly fluttered at the thought, but fortunately, she was so damn tired, that was about all she was capable of at the moment. Sighing, she shoved her hair back.

“No, it wasn’t that.” Man, what she wouldn’t give for her problem to be anything so mundane. “Look … I’d
rather not go into detail about it right now. I’m going to have enough of a headache explaining it once.”

Excuse me, Sheriff, but I really think you and your deputies need to do something about the woman I heard screaming last night. No, sir, I don’t know who she was. No, sir, I don’t know where she was. No, sir, I don’t know where to find her. No, sir, I have no idea what should be done, but there has to be something
.

“Hey.” Law brushed his hand down her arm. “What’s going on, Lena?”

“Just a lot on my mind,” she said, forcing a smile for him. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

He had woken up in a lousy mood.

Ezra figured he was entitled. Little sleep, lots of pain, torn up front yard, all of it on the heels of one of those damn dreams. He wasn’t going to be in the mood to make nice.

Especially not with the village idiot.

Although, for the life of him, he could not figure out how in hell that village idiot had wound up wearing a badge.

“Look, Gomer, I don’t give a damn if they are just kids or not.” He glared at the round, ruddy face of Deputy Earl Prather.

Who gave you this damn job? Is your mama on the town council or something?
Ezra couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard he tried. A functioning brain stem was still a requirement for law enforcement, or at least he’d thought it was. “I’m tired of those punks joyriding on my property.”

“Mr. King—”

“Detective King,” Ezra snarled. He was being an asshole and he knew it, but he didn’t really care. He was too tired to care. His leg hurt, his head hurt, and he was
still carrying around the weight of that bad dream—like a nasty, clinging hangover. Only worse.

His leg was fucking killing him, knotting and cramping up on him. He had the bad, bad feeling if he kept putting weight on it, he was going to end up on his ass when it gave out under him and wouldn’t that just top off his morning nicely?

After those kids had woken him, it was nearly two before he was able to fall back to sleep. It had also required the help of another Vicodin. The quiet country nights didn’t help, either. He was used to the city and last night, the quiet had seemed almost oppressive. He’d ended up putting on his headphones and listening to Aerosmith on his iPod as he waited for the narcotics to kick in.

His mood wasn’t any better when he awoke and saw just how extensive the damage to his yard was. Half of his grandmother’s flowerbeds were trashed. Some of those pretty flowers he could remember watching her plant when he’d been a kid and now they were trampled—completely ruined.

He’d thought he could come here, get this complaint filed and hopefully the guys here could deal with those stupid kids. They’d been ripping through the back of his property with their four-wheelers off and on for weeks, but this time, they’d gone too far. He wanted to get this done with, then go home and grab a nap.

He hadn’t counted on running into some dumb-ass county deputy who couldn’t seem to understand the simple issue of trespassing.