Memories of Us (17 page)

“By the end of the first month, I’d moved in with him. He did put an engagement ring on my finger, I’ll give him that much. Whether or not he really intended to marry me? Who knows. A few weeks later, a college girl from Americus filed a complaint against him, said he’d let her out of a speeding ticket in return for oral sex. The media got a hold of that and the other girls started coming out of the woodwork. He’d been using the badge for a while, to get whatever he wanted from them.

“When the GBI came around, asking questions about one particular incident…” Her lashes fell. “I lied for him, because he asked me to and I believed in him.”

Tom swallowed an oath.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, her own filled with self-recrimination. “A grand jury indicted him. The night before he was to surrender to the GBI, he called me from a payphone outside that little dive bar in Putney. He’d been drinking and he was crying. Confessed to all of it and then he shot himself with his service revolver.”

“With you listening.” Tom cupped the back of her head, massaging the tension lying along her nape.

She nodded. “Everyone knew I’d lied. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my certification and my career, all three months of it.”

None of this had come up when he’d checked her references—everything he’d been told was glowingly positive. Obviously, she’d moved beyond it, at least professionally. “Why didn’t you?”

Her eyes lifted to his again. “Because Cook fought for me. He was convinced I’d make a good cop, that I’d simply made an error in personal judgment. He went to bat for me with the chief, the GBI, the review board. I owe him everything.”

That explained a lot, including Cook’s extreme reaction to learning about their relationship. “He thinks you’re making the same mistake with me.”

A sad smile touched her mouth. “Yes.”

Tom frowned. “You don’t agree.”

“I never questioned Turello’s culpability. I simply accepted on blind faith what he told me. If I’d thought about it…well, maybe I’d have seen what he was capable of.” She shrugged, a soft roll of her shoulders. “I’ve considered what I know about you, McMillian. I’ve questioned your culpability.”

He sifted his hands through the soft fall of her hair. “And?”

“And I know you’re not capable of what I saw at Jessica Grady’s home this morning.” She glanced away. “I know if you’d known about that baby, that it might be yours, that you’d never have done anything to put it at risk.”

Peace spread through him at her words. Exerting tender pressure, he pulled her toward him.

“What happened with Turello was a long time ago. You’re not the same person you were. Just like I’m not the same man who married Kathleen, who lost Everett. Turello doesn’t matter anymore. Neither does Kathleen.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, his mouth brushing hers. “This is what matters.”

He kissed her, soft caresses that were more about connection than desire. She wound her arms around him, pressing nearer, so he felt the slight trembling of her body. He tugged her closer. He drew her bottom lip between his and her fingers shaped the line of his jaw.

She pulled back, tracing his mouth with her shaking index finger. “We have a lot of work to do.”

She was right. The emotions developing between them mattered, but Jessica’s case, her baby, had to take priority.

They had plenty of time for them later. A vista of new opportunities opened before him.

Opportunities that would be well worth waiting for.

He leaned in, brushed his mouth across hers once more. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Celia frowned at the bank records in front of her. “McMillian, does this look normal to you?”

Setting his chopsticks and carton of fried rice aside, he moved to look over her shoulder. The lingering clean scent of his faded aftershave tickled her senses. “What?”

“She was moving a lot of money through her account.” Celia highlighted a line of deposits and withdrawals. “A
lot
of money.”

“Let me see that.” He picked up the paper and settled into his chair. “Which account is this?”

Celia consulted the list. “The law firm. There’s some activity in the one for the real estate company she’s invested in, but not nearly as much.”

“These are cash deposits.” He blew out a breath and rubbed at his chin. “It looks like normal money laundering.”

“I thought so too. See?” She pointed out another sheet. “She was transferring part of each deposit to the real estate company and part to an offshore account.”

“Which we don’t have records for.”

“Right.”

“What the hell was she doing?”

“I don’t know, but look…for the last few months, she’d been making regular deposits to the account, deposits which
weren’t
withdrawn or transferred. More cash deposits. They’re smaller, but if you add them up, it’s over fifty thousand dollars.”

“Since July.” McMillian rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Around the time she got pregnant.”

Celia looked at him. “Someone paying her for the baby?”

“Maybe. Fifty thousand for an infant.” McMillian shook his head. “Damn. Who’s that desperate?”

“Probably lots of people. I wonder…” She frowned, pawing through the files laid across the table in McMillian’s office. She picked up the preliminary autopsy report and flipped through it. “I thought I read that.”

“What?”

“Ford won’t know until she’s done the complete autopsy, but she doesn’t think this was Jessica’s first pregnancy.”

McMillian blinked, then laughed. “That can’t be right.”

Celia glanced up from the report. “Why?”

He shook his head. “You’d have to know Jessie. She was very vocal about never having children. Said it ruined a woman’s body.”

Cynicism trickled through Celia. “Amazing how enough money can change someone’s mind, isn’t it? So if this isn’t the first baby, how many times has she done this?”

“You two look busy.” Rhett High’s deep voice at the door drew their attention away from the files. Celia smiled, instinctively easing away from McMillian by sitting up straighter in her chair. Casually dressed in jeans and a thin sweater, Rhett moved farther into the office and glanced at the paperwork on the table. “Which case?”

McMillian leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “Jessica Grady.”

An apologetic grimace twisted Rhett’s face. “I heard about that while I was over at the clubhouse. I’m sorry, Tom. I know you two were close.”

“Thanks.”

Rhett waved a hand at the paperwork littering the table. “So are you assisting the sheriff’s department?”

“Something like that.” Celia and McMillian exchanged a look. McMillian straightened, exhaling hard. “Cook would love to pin this one on me.”

“You?” Rhett laughed. When no one smiled, he sobered. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. And if it were anyone but me, I’d think he was onto something.”

Rhett lifted his eyebrows. “What’s he got?”

“My prints in the bedroom.” McMillian glanced at Celia again. “A fucking sex tape of the two of us last summer. The fact she tried to call me the night she was killed.”

“Man.”

Celia looked between the two men. McMillian hadn’t mentioned the baby. It wasn’t a secret; the local news had been running an Amber Alert for the missing child every thirty minutes. He and Rhett were close friends, and he discussed his feelings about fathering the baby with her rather than bring it up with Rhett. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Rhett jerked his chin at the table. “So what angle are you working?”

“Right now?” McMillian rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’re taking a look at her finances.”

Mild interest flared in Rhett’s dark gaze. “Finding anything?”

McMillian shrugged. “What might be some money laundering. Other than that? Not much.”

Rhett shook his head. “Maybe it was random. Burglary gone wrong, you know?”

Celia’s phone pinged and she pulled it from her waistband. The screen read “private caller” and she sighed. “I’m going to step outside and take this.”

Tom watched her disappear into the hall, disquiet creeping down his spine. His nerves had started jumping as soon as her phone rang. Sensations of darkness and cold flashed in his head, an overall impression of looming threat. He tossed his reading glasses aside and pinched his nose, fighting the ache at his temples and the pictures in his head.

Damn it all, not this. Not now. He needed his focus.

“Tom?” Rhett’s quiet voice brought him back to reality.

He shook himself free of the images and directed his attention to Rhett. “Does Mariah know about Jessie?”

“Yeah.” Regret flashed over Rhett’s expression. “She was upset.”

Tom could imagine. The two women had been long-time friends, and Rhett’s wife had been the one to introduce him to Jessie in the first place.

Eyes narrowed, Rhett regarded him with friendly concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tom rubbed his hands down his thighs. The movement didn’t ease the unpleasant sensations prickling over him. “Just tired.”

“And a little stressed.” Rhett chuckled and dropped into Celia’s vacated chair.

“The cops turned up a fucking sex video of me. Yeah, I’m a little tense.” He tried to breathe through heavier flashes of foreboding. “And then there’s the baby.”

“The baby?”

“Jessie was pregnant. It looks like she was killed for the baby.” He sucked in a harsh inhale. “It’s possible I might be the father.”

“Shit. Like you needed that.” He paused and looked toward the door. “You and Celia here together…it’s about more than just this case, isn’t it?”

The idea of lying crossed Tom’s mind. If Rhett had noticed something, what sense was there in denying it? Rhett knew him too well and respected Celia enough not to gossip outside the office. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, it is. A lot more.”

Rhett frowned. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Living. He was actually fucking living for the first time in…for the first time since he’d buried his son. The memories were still there, but their painful power to hold him prisoner had weakened. He had Celia to thank for that.

And damn if he would let her go. Damn if he would let anything screw this up.

He laughed, despite the lingering stress of the day. “Yeah, I do, Rhett. I honest to God do.”

“All right, man, if you’re sure. Because the DA getting involved with a subordinate? That’s some major shit to hit the fan. Might even be bigger than that tape you’re worried about.”

“It’s not like that, Rhett. It’s different.” Hell, he didn’t know how to explain it to his friend. How to explain the way Celia was freeing him from the past? He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here on a Saturday night, anyway? I thought it was your date night with Mariah.”

“She’s packing.” Rhett passed a hand over his bald head. “I came by to pick up some files. We’re taking Amarie up to Emory in the morning and I’m going to work from there for a few days.”

Apprehension made its way over Tom again. Local doctors had been treating Rhett’s daughter for aplastic anemia for nearly a year, with little success. A trip to Emory Hospital couldn’t be a good thing. “What’s going on?”

A wide grin split Rhett’s face. “We have a possible bone-marrow donor. A distant cousin of Mariah’s. The docs are going to do the preliminary blood work tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” Laughter rumbled in his chest and Tom pounded the other man’s shoulder. As Amarie was adopted, they’d struggled with locating a suitable donor. This was good news. “That’s really great, Rhett.”

“Yeah, we’re really excited. We’ve still got a long road—chemo, antibiotics, all that jazz—but this is what we’ve prayed for, man.” He pushed out of his chair. “I’d better get going. Mariah wants to leave out before daylight.”

“Drive safely.” Tom rose to offer a hand. They shook and Tom pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back. Rhett returned the slap and both men laughed. “Listen, anything you need, you call, okay?”

“You got it, my man. I’ll be in touch.” He passed by Celia at the door as he exited. “Take care of him, Celia. Keep him out of trouble.”

“Will do.” Her smile died as Rhett walked away.

Tom frowned, watching her fidget with her chain. “What’s up?”

She held up her cell phone. “That was Sheriff Reed. He’d like to meet with us, first thing Monday morning. And he didn’t sound happy.”

Tom nodded. “You know my philosophy on that, right, Cee?”

She smiled, although her eyes remained serious. “Always make them come to you.”

She ran a finger over her house key. “Do you want to come in?”

A half-smile quirked at his mouth. “If I come in, I’m not going to want to leave.”

Pushing away from the railing, she stepped close to him. A slight wind rustled through the trees, casting moving shadows on his face. Even in the dimness of the porch, his eyes gleamed down at her. She curled a finger into the open placket of his shirt. “Maybe I won’t want you to leave.”

She lifted her face and he closed the distance, mouth covering hers. She drank him in, the kiss going on and on, soothing away the awful tension of the day, leaving healing warmth in its wake. The wanting remained, lurking beneath the surface, but the need, the growing emotional connection, was stronger.

When he finally lifted his head, she touched the strong jut of his chin, stubbled under her fingertip. “Stay with me, McMillian.”

In silent answer he took the keys from her and unlocked the door. She wrapped her fingers around his and drew him through the downstairs rooms and up to her bedroom. Once there, she turned into his arms, accepting the soft ravishment of his kiss with avaricious eagerness. His tie had disappeared earlier in the day, the top two buttons on his dress shirt undone.

Mouth open, tongue twirling around his, she rubbed his arms, biceps hard and hot under her palms. Excited desire speared through her, setting off a low ache in her belly, between her thighs, but blended with the sexual need was a different emotion, something deeper, truer. Not a need for his body, the pleasure he could bring her, but a need for this man, for the fledgling connection unfolding between them and slowly drawing her to him with thin threads of steel.

“You don’t know what it meant,” he murmured, pressing damp kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, to her sternum. His lips brushed against her necklace. “This evening, to have you stay with me.”

She smoothed her fingers over his short hair. “I couldn’t leave you alone with that.”

“I’m glad.” He spread his hand over her back, supporting her while his lips moved even lower, to where her blouse gaped at the curve of her cleavage. She let her eyes slide closed, hot breath and the warm wet glide of his tongue heating her skin, sending more liquid desire pooling deep within her.

Urgency driving her, she stepped back and unbuttoned her blouse, letting it fall away under his hungry gaze. She stepped out of her slacks and kicked them aside, watching as he peeled away his own shirt and reached for his belt. She caught his hands, easing them aside, dispatching buckle, button and zipper herself. She slipped the gray pants and navy boxers off together, freeing his erection to her greedy touch.

She folded her fingers around the hard length of him, his skin smooth and soft. Eyes closing on hissed inhale, he fumbled with her bra, letting it hang on her arms while his hands covered each breast, stroking, squeezing, stoking the flames licking between her thighs. He caught her mouth again and she mimicked the rhythm of his tongue with the slide of her hand on him.

“I want you, Cee,” he muttered into her mouth, his voice rough and raw with passion and something deeper, something she was afraid to define.

“I think you have me, McMillian.” She pushed him toward the bed. “So take me.”

His eyes flared and he spun, pinning her beneath him with an agile pounce. He hooked two fingers in her panties and yanked, tossing them away while she did the same with her lacy bra. With one hand tangled in her hair, holding her gaze beneath his, he dipped a hand between her thighs, sliding two fingers inside her, thumb rubbing across her clit. The combined sensation sent her arching off the bed with a raw moan. God, how could it be so powerful, so good with him, with just the simplest of caresses?

“You’re wet for me,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hair. His hand pulsed between her legs, a steady rhythm that still wasn’t enough. She bit her lip and opened further to him.

“Yes, for you.” She wrapped a hand around him again, slipping her palm up and down, passing her thumb over the head until he groaned. “Take me. Make me yours.”

He pulled his fingers from her body and left her long enough to extract a condom from his wallet. He sank between her thighs and slid inside, withdrew, thrust deeper. She arched into him, taking him further, harder. Reality narrowed to the joining of their bodies, the wet skate of skin and tongues and moans. Nothing existed but him, the pleasure he created within her, growing, billowing, burning until an intense climax stabbed through her, until he braced against her with two deep thrusts, a groan seeming to rip from his throat.

He slumped in her arms and she wrapped them about him, his skin damp and hot beneath her fingertips. She buried her face against his throat, blinking back a rush of tears she couldn’t explain.

With an audible exhale, McMillian rolled to his back, taking her with him. Celia ran a finger down his stomach, tracing the line of his abs. Muscles jumped beneath her touch and she smiled against his ribcage.

“What are you doing?” His voice, lazy and drowsy, rumbled at her ear.

She pressed a kiss to the small scar below his nipple. “You’ll laugh.”

His hand ran up her back, sifting through her hair. “What?”

“Nothing important.” Satiated and flushed with contentment, she levered up on an elbow to study him. Eyes closed, he rested against her pillows, her decidedly feminine floral sheets making him appear even more masculine, more virile. She was happy, here with him like this, and she squashed the tiny tremor of fear the realization aroused.

Being happy frightened her, because it never lasted.

He opened his eyes and smiled. The dark depths of his blue eyes were clear and warm, and the flutter kicked off in her chest by that expression took her breath. She swallowed and averted her gaze, her heart thudding a heavy beat. This was scary. This felt
real
, because she could see a line of nights like these—filled with laughter and lovemaking, sharing secrets and kisses—stretching into the future.

She gnawed at her bottom lip. He’d said he wanted to get to know her, that he wanted more. They weren’t all about the sex any longer.

And she found herself wanting all those things too.

He smoothed a finger up her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear. “That’s a contemplative expression if I ever saw one.”

She smiled, smothering the doubts, not wanting them to intrude on this interlude with him. She trailed a finger along the line of his ribs. “Just making a memory.”

“About?” He stroked her throat, danced a fingertip along her clavicle.

“You. This.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Us.”

A hand at her nape, he pulled her down, feathering his lips across hers. She curved a hand along his jaw and kissed him back. Afterward, she subsided onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling, hugging the warmth of their connection to her.

He rolled to his side, resting his weight on an elbow. Above the sheet, he traced the length of her chain, rolled the button onto the pad of his finger. She closed her eyes, knowing what he saw—a button from an Air Force dress uniform, the silver surface worn from being constantly touched for more than thirty years, traces of tarnish along the design. A sigh worked through her.

“It was my father’s,” she said, her voice quiet in the still room. “He went to Vietnam before I was born. He was killed when I was four months old.”

“I’m sorry.” Sincerity colored his tone.

When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her with that same intensely clear gaze. She shook her head, ignoring the sudden tightness of her throat. “Don’t be. I never knew him.”

“Bullshit, Cee.” He replaced the button carefully against her skin. “Or this wouldn’t be around your neck every day.”

She shifted to rest against the headboard. His hair brushed her shoulder, and she threaded her fingers in her lap. “When I was little, I used to pretend it was all a mistake, that he’d come home, and I’d have a real daddy, you know? We’d be a real family—not that we weren’t, Mama and Cis and I—but we’d be more of a family. There were a lot of men in Mama’s life, men who didn’t stay.”

“Like your sister’s father?”

“Yeah.” Her attempt at a smile hurt. “Like him. He wasn’t around long enough for Mama to tell him she was pregnant. I was older before I figured out she wanted it that way. She pushed them away before they had a chance to hurt her.”

His thumb rubbed her upper arm. “You don’t have to push me away, Cee.”

“I don’t want to. That’s what scares the hell out of me, McMillian.”

He moved, leaning over her, his face close to hers, the warm strength of his hands holding her shoulders. “If it’s any consolation, I’m scared shitless too.”

Shaky laughter bubbled to her lips. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged him down, their mouths meeting, clinging, meshing.

She traced her hands up his spine and whispered against his mouth. “I really like being with you, McMillian.”

He chuckled and rolled to lie against the pillows, keeping her against his side. “It’s mutual, baby.”

Her eyes burning from weariness, but still feeling too keyed up to sleep, she curved a hand around his rib cage. “What will you do? If you are the father?”

Tension tightened the line of his body, but he slowly relaxed under her touch. “I don’t know. Deal with it, the best I can.”

Sliding her hand down his arms, she tangled her fingers with his. “I’ll be there, if you want me to.”

“I want you to.” Turning his head, he brushed his mouth across her forehead. She settled more firmly into his side and let the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothe her into an uneasy sleep.