Infamous: (A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense) (15 page)

Taylor was on her way to the police station, on foot, which was going to take twice as long. She needed to see Anton and make sure he was okay and finally tell him what was going on. Or at least what she knew. Maybe she could talk to Nate, get some more police info or access to some files. She had a bad feeling there was no way to really prove what was going on, not without the killer trying again. Which she’d rather didn’t happen.

More dead people was definitely something Taylor wanted to avoid. Especially since she felt like, if she’d realized sooner what was going on, she might have been able to do something about it. Hindsight, though. She couldn’t help that she hadn’t put certain things together from high school. She’d been a little preoccupied back then.

She was heading towards Rose Lane so she could go around the back and scope it out when a pair of big hands grabbed her from behind and dragged her behind a building. She was about to scream when she heard Anton’s voice, low and urgent.

“Quiet, Taylor. Cops are out looking for me. I think some of them know we’ve been seeing each other.”

“How?” Taylor whispered. Feeling his body against hers reminded her of how much she’d missed him, alone in her bed last night. It had only been one day, and it was like it had been a year since they touched.

It seemed Anton was having similar thoughts because he was starting to touch her all over, hands running over her back, his breath hot on the back of her neck. She could feel him through his pants and clearly danger was a powerful aphrodisiac.

“I don’t know. Powell let me out. I was coming to find you,” he said, hands moving down to her waist.

“I was coming to find you. I found out some things when I went to see some of my grandmother’s old friends. I was hoping I could get you out so we could look for something together,” she started to explain, and then his hands were cupping her breasts.

“Anton! This isn’t the time!” she hissed, even though her body was letting her know in no uncertain terms that it WAS the time, right now, and please hurry up.

“I can’t help it. It’s been too long,” he said, nuzzling the back of her ear. She was looking out from the back of the house, which she dearly hoped was abandoned or at least empty right now, at the street. Cars drove by, but the two of them were concealed by trees and bushes and the house itself.

“It’s only been twenty-four hours,” she said, leaning back.

“You missed me. Admit it,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

“I admit nothing.” Taylor sighed, giving in. Adrenaline, fear, worry, and doubt had all combined and were now being channeled into something much simpler—desire. And it needed an outlet.

Anton turned her around, pushed her up against the wall, and kissed her. His tongue was restless; this was not going to be slow and tender. Taylor couldn’t wait.

She pulled at his pants, pushing her fingers along his stomach, feeling the firm muscles. And something else. Something hard and insistent.

Anton lifted her, clutching her to him. She could feel how warm and wet she was. She bit at his neck, touching him down below. She needed him to be inside her. It was the only thing that made sense right now.

Anton ripped her tights up one leg and pushed her underwear aside. Then he looked in her dark eyes and she nodded, pulling at him.

Then he was thrusting, taking root in her, bringing them both a little sanity, skin to skin.

Taylor bit her lip to keep from crying out. He was so deep inside her and she couldn’t stand it. Her body shook, shuddered, spiraled, and came. She held on to Anton, feeling like she was spinning out of control.

Then she felt him steady her, let her body recover from her shattering.

And then he began again.

“Anton, oh my god…,” she whispered, holding on for what felt like dear life. This wasn’t sex, this was flying.

“I know…I know…,” he said in her ear,. He felt like home inside her, hard and loving, rough and tender at the same time. She couldn’t get enough of the feeling. She wanted him to say inside her forever.

“Come with me. Come with me,” she said, pulling at him, contracting muscles that drove him crazy.

“Taylor…fuck…Taylor…,” he said, and then he was pumping into her, deeper, hard, his hand between them to bring her with him. She cried out softly in his ear lost herself as he  poured himself into her with everything he was or wanted to be.

They took a few minutes to recover, both breathing heavily, bodies still close and heated.

Taylor wanted to feel embarrassed but she just…didn’t. She felt good. When she looked up, Anton was smiling at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, pulling away and getting her clothes right again.

“Like what?” he asked innocently, doing the same.

“Like…like…the cat that got the canary,” she said, hating the expression.

He pulled her to him, laughing. “I can’t help it. You do things to me,” he said.

“Things? Great, how specific,” she said. He kissed her soundly and she pulled away, trying not to smile.

“Okay, okay. Down, boy. We have some work we still need to do,” Taylor said.

“So, what do we do, Sherlock?” he asked.

“Well, I need something from my grams’ house. And we need some files. Maybe Powell could help,” Taylor suggested.

“He’s helped a lot already,” Anton said.

“I figured that’s how you got out. He’s kind of like a guardian angel,” she said.

“Yeah, and I really owe him now,” he said.

“We both do. Let’s go to Grams’ house. I don’t think anyone knows I’ve been back there, except Susan. We can trust her. She was one of Grams’ oldest friends. We can at least stay there for the night and regroup,” Taylor said.

They had to take back roads and streets, eventually ending up on the path her grams had once taken when she was running away, the one the Rider was supposed to use. These days, mostly teens and joggers were on it, though at this time of year most folks started going to the gym in the next town because it got too muddy and treacherous when it was dark. They kept their ears peeled but heard no one. Yet Taylor still felt this sense of awareness. Like they were being watched.

She took Anton down one side of the path that got pretty steep about a mile from Grams’ house. She’d played there a lot as a kid and it hadn’t changed much, except for the litter being thicker. Bottles, wrappers, even a tire somehow. There always seemed to be a tire when it came to dump sites, no matter how far they were from an actual road.

They crouched down behind the house where the gate was hanging out, rusted and peeling. No one seemed to be around in the failing light, but they went to the back door anyway. Taylor found an envelope wedged under it, bright orange. She grabbed it and they went in with a creak.

Once they were in the kitchen, Taylor sat and opened the envelope. Like she’d suspected, it was from Powell. And it contained a report that she suspected no one had been allowed to see. Why it hadn’t been destroyed she couldn’t say; probably Powell had nabbed it for safekeeping.

As she looked it over, Anton looked around. He’d never been in Grams’ house.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, coming to stand by Taylor.

“Yeah, it’s…well. It’s what we thought. Nick and the other Saints were responsible for the Coulsons’ death. Nick was driving and ran them off the road. The others helped cover it up,” she said, sighing.

“That’s good, right? I mean, not for the Coulsons, but for us,” he said.

“Yes, but it still doesn’t explain why the Saints themselves have been killed. I still think it’s Nick, but he had to have faked his own death,” she said.

“Wait, what? You think Nick de Marco is still alive?” he asked.

“Yeah. And I think he killed those girls back in high school. Something kept nagging at me since I got back. I knew I’d seen him with both of them, but you know he was always going after different girls. But after they died, I saw him put something in his locker. It was only a few down from mine. I didn’t really know what it was, but then I remembered. It was their friendship necklace and bracelet set. They’d given them to each other at school. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I was too caught up in my own stuff. But then the ‘prank’ happened. I forgot about everything else after that. And Nick made that happen. He’d always hated me, but that was…something else. I think he wanted to hurt me, but I also think he knew I’d seen it.”

“Jesus Christ, Taylor. That’s a hell of a theory,” Anton said, rubbing his face.

“Yeah, but think about it. Nick was always up to something. And he really hated me. Like, a lot. I think he sent me that clipping to get me up here. To tie up every loose end left,” Taylor said.

“After a decade? And faking his own death?” he said.

“He’s crazy. And maybe he’s been keeping tabs on me. It wouldn’t be that hard to find out where I work. My byline is no secret. He might have known I was coming up here. As for the death, he’s covered up murder before. And it doesn’t matter anyway, he’s just going to keep doing it unless someone stops him. We have to draw him out,” she said.

“He’s capable of anything,” Anton said, touching her cheek.

“I know, but we have to do something, don’t we?” she said.

“Does it really matter?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. Otherwise, all this does is prove they were awful, but not that you didn’t have anything to do with these other deaths,” she said.

“Okay, good point.” Anton sighed and sat across from her. He looked tired.

“We should rest,” she said, suddenly beyond exhausted. She led the way up to her old room. The bed was a twin, but they’d manage.

They lay together, Anton against her back, blanket pulled up over them. She’d never had anyone in her bed at home, and it felt odd at first. But then his warmth was around her and she turned to put her face to his chest. And she fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time in too long.

Anton lay awake for a while, holding Taylor, wondering what the hell they were going to do. It seemed ridiculous and impossible, that he was holding Taylor Harlow and running from the law, not to mention a potentially deranged killer…and he was…happy? For the first time in forever. Being with her made him happy, no matter what else was happening. He didn’t really know how to process the feeling, it was so alien and strange. After everything they’d been through, all the things he’d done and said, and this current mess, she should be miles away. Instead she curled up to his chest, trusting him. It was humbling. He would not let her down again.

Taylor woke to the smell of something burning. She felt confused and sluggish. Her head ached and her throat felt thick. Anton was shaking her, pulling her up. It was too warm.

When she opened her eyes, she saw thick black smoke curling into the room from the door frame. Anton patted the doorknob and winced, snatching his hand back.

“Fire must be close. The hallway is out. We need another way out of the house,” he said. She shook her head, trying to get it clear. She started to cough.

“Window. Bit of a drop to the porch roof. Then down,” she said, coughing more. Her lungs felt heavy.

Anton pushed at the window, which was jammed at first. So he used his elbow and broke it, pushing glass away. He looked out and yelled “Fire!” They couldn’t hear sirens, so they had no idea how close or far they might be. They had to get out.

Taylor was confused. How had the fire alarms in the house not gone off? Why did she feel stupid, like she’d been drugged? No time. Have to get out.

Anton was pulling her toward the window, but she stopped him.

“Files. Need them,” she said, pushing to get them. Which was when the door suddenly crashed in, flames licking everywhere. The heat was unbelievable. She dropped the file and it started to smoke.

“Shit!”

“Forget it! Let’s get out of here!” Anton yelled. Taylor stood frozen for a second, then ran, grabbed the papers which were smoking, then ran back to the window. Anton helped her shimmy out and she dropped to the roof. He followed. But they weren’t safe yet.

The fire was already taking the first floor, and the porch was smoking. The roof wouldn’t hold for long.

They’d have to jump.

Anton looked at her, finally hearing sirens. They couldn’t be caught there. He knew it. She knew it. Their eyes met. Their hands clasped.

And they jumped.

The ground hit them both with a jolt that they felt in their teeth. They rolled, grateful they weren’t in flames. Anton reached out for her, but Taylor was kneeling, staring towards the back of the house. She clutched the papers to her chest.

The wind had been knocked pretty heavily out of her, but Taylor had to see if the house could be saved.

What she saw when she looked up was a house-shaped inferno. It was all fire and smoke. Whatever had been used to start it had made the fire hungry, and it was devouring her childhood home greedily. Tears started down her face and a rage started to burn inside her, like she was burning along with the house.

And then she saw movement that was not the fire out of the corner of her eye. Someone in dark clothes was moving quickly from the back, where he’d been watching. He turned, and she thought she saw a face she recognized. Their eyes locked, and then he was gone.

She tried to get up, but her legs still hurt from the jump, and she started to hack and cough from the smoke. Then the sound of the sirens got closer, and she realized they needed to get out of sight. There was no way they could explain this, or what Anton, a fugitive, was doing there.

“Come on. We have to go,” she said, pulling at his arm.

“Where?” he coughed.

“Not far. A friend. We have to be quick.”

As they ran, a figure from the woods watched them go with avid, hateful eyes. It would not make the same mistake again.