Native Cowboy (16 page)

His eyes darkened with passion and stirred her lust. Then he gently eased her down on the bed.

She felt clumsy and awkward as he stretched out beside her. But his hand fell across her abdomen and a wonderful sweetness flickered in his eyes, followed by the protective, masculine gleam that had stolen her heart the first time she’d met him.

“Mason—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “Let me hold you and take care of you all night.”

Emotions nearly choked her, and she nodded, too moved to trust herself to speak. Then he shucked his clothes down to his boxers, and gestured to her gown.

“Please,” he said on a sigh.

“Mason, you may not like what you see now.”

A sliver of anger flashed briefly on his face. “Trust me, Cara. I just want us to be close. I won’t push you for anything more.”

Except God help her, she wanted more. She wanted all of him.

She wanted his hands all over her, touching her, kissing her.

Making love to her.

But the baby kicked and another contraction seized her stomach, and she had to settle for what he offered.

He hadn’t said forever or that he loved her.

Just that he wanted to hold her tonight.

She would ask nothing more.

Then the pain wouldn’t be so intense when he left.

He reached for the buttons on her gown, and she blushed again, then allowed him to peel the fabric away. Still, she was vastly out of shape, so she closed her eyes, unable to bear his reaction the first time he saw her pregnant form.

Her breasts were heavy and achy, her belly button had popped out, and in spite of all those creams that everyone spouted prevented stretch marks, the faint line of one darkened her middle.

“Cara.” His whispered word brushed her ear, then his kiss followed, a stream of them trailing down her neck to her breasts. Her eyes flew open, and she swallowed hard, her breathing erratic as he tilted her face toward his.

“You are beautiful.” He laid one hand on her abdomen, and her throat thickened with the words that she had to hold back.

Then he kissed her tenderly, dragged her into his arms and cradled her against his bare chest. Her heart pounded with the tenderness in his embrace, yet her blood sizzled from the need to make love to him.

But he didn’t push or ask. Instead, he treated her with reverence, as if she was a precious gift in his arms. And in spite of her raging need to be with him, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep in his arms.

Sated and safe tonight because Mason was beside her.

* * *

H
OURS LATER,
M
ASON WOKE
to the sight of sunshine streaming through the window. For the first time in ages, he had a warm body next to him.

He smiled as he glanced down at Cara. She had turned on her side with her back to him, her butt pressed into his groin.

Titillating sensations pulsed through him, the desire he’d denied himself for the past months pooling in his sex. His body hardened, need growing in tandem to the thickening of his length which ached to be inside her.

She sighed softly, and he pulled her closer, then pressed a kiss to her ear while he trailed his other hand over her abdomen. A movement caught him off guard, and he startled, then realized his son was kicking.

A well of emotions mushroomed inside him. His heart churned with instantaneous love. He imagined the little guy’s small hands and feet, his face looking up at him and Cara, trusting that they would take care of him.

Lord be with him, he would never let him down. He’d be the father to his son that he’d never had.

Affection for Cara overwhelmed him, and he dropped another kiss into her hair. She stirred in his arms, a slow smile gracing her mouth, reminding him how beautiful she was.

“Good morning,” he murmured, because having her in his bed and arms made his heart pound with happiness.

“Good morning to you.” She blushed again as she glanced down at her naked belly, and he gently kissed her cheek.

“I felt him kick,” he murmured.

She laughed softly. “He’s very active in the morning. I think he might be a soccer player.”

If he was, he would be there to watch his games.

“Does it hurt when he kicks?”

An expression akin to awe flickered in her eyes. “No, not really. It...reminds me he’s alive, that he’s a real little man just waiting to come out.”

Her tenderly spoken words were so full of love that his heart squeezed. Then her gaze met his, her nipples stiffening as his hand brushed over her heavy breasts, and hunger surged inside him.

He dipped his head and claimed her mouth again, kissing her with all the pent-up hunger he’d lived with since he’d walked out of her life. She kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his, her hands urging him closer.

He wanted to take her there, to have all of her, to promise her that he wouldn’t leave her this time.

But how could he do that?

He was a lawman. His job took him across the state, to dangerous places, and forced him to deal with the worst of the worst.

He couldn’t expose his son to that kind of danger.

Tension warred with his need for her, and he ordered himself to stop. But his heart and his raging body needed her, and he refused to listen to rational thought.

She moved against him and he cupped her breasts, then lowered his mouth to trace his tongue over one turgid point. She moaned and clung to him, threading her hands into his hair.

He laved one breast, then the other, then suckled one nipple into his mouth. Her leg wound through his, one hand sliding down to cup his backside. His muscles clenched with arousal, his sex throbbing and seeking out her warm center.

But his cell phone jangled, a reminder that he was in the middle of a multiple homicide case.

He wanted to ignore the phone, stall answering that call. Finish what he and Cara had begun.

But his son kicked again, and he couldn’t
not
answer it.

Cara and his baby’s life depended on him doing his job.

So he gently kissed her again, then reached for his phone. “Detective Blackpaw.”

“Detective, it’s Reverend Parch.”

Mason frowned. “Reverend?”

“Yes...” His voice sounded odd. Troubled. “You need to come out to my church.”

Had the reverend decided to spill what he knew? “What’s going on?”

“There’s a cemetery behind our church. This morning when I arrived, a new grave had been dug.”

Mason reached for his shirt. “I take it you didn’t have a funeral there yesterday?”

“No,” Reverend Parch said. “This one just turned up. And it’s different.”

“What do you mean?”

“The grave is covered in stones.”

Mason cursed. The killer had struck again.

Chapter Fifteen

Something was wrong. When Mason ended the call, he grabbed his jeans and yanked them on, and she reached for her robe.

Disappointment flitted through Cara—she missed the intimacy they had just shared. “What is it?”

“Reverend Parch found a new grave behind the church this morning.”

Anger and grief suffused Cara. “Let me get dressed. I’m going with you.”

Mason gave a clipped nod and fastened his belt. “I’ll make coffee.”

“I only have decaf,” she said. “I had to give up caffeine during the pregnancy.”

He disappeared into the kitchen while she hurried to the bathroom, washed her face and ran a brush through her hair. She threw on slacks and a maternity blouse, then brushed her teeth. Her eyes looked puffy, so she dusted her face with powder, then headed to the kitchen.

Mason was sipping coffee and handed her a cup. He also had made toast and insisted she eat a slice before they left. Ten minutes later, they were in the car driving toward the church. Mason had brought the bag of evidence the killer had left in her room the night before with him to send to the lab.

Early morning traffic thickened as they entered town, the parking lot of the diner full with the breakfast crowd.

“I phoned Sheriff McRae and Special Agent Whitehead and told them to meet us there,” he said. “And I asked Brody to post someone to watch your cabin. If the killer sticks with his pattern, he’ll leave another amulet at your place.”

Cara shivered at the thought. But if he did show up, maybe Brody’s security guard would catch him in the act. “The other burial sites were more deserted areas. It was risky for him to bring the body into town and bury her behind the church.”

“Yeah,” Mason said, anger lacing his tone. “It’s like he’s throwing this kill in our faces.” Mason quirked his head to the side in thought. “He saw the press conference and it ticked him off.”

Cara considered the possibility. “You’re right. He’s taunting us. He wants us to know he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.”

“But he doesn’t know we’re on to him.” Mason pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Cara?”

She made a sarcastic sound. “No, but I have to do it. I can’t let him hurt any more of my patients.”

* * *

M
ASON BRACED HIMSELF
as he and Cara headed to the front of the church. Cara’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the number, then sighed.

“I need to take this.” She connected the call, and he went to greet the sheriff who pulled up behind them. Agent Whitehead arrived on his heels. They discussed the situation for a moment, the mood somber.

Cara joined them. “One of my patients is in labor. I need to go as soon as we’re finished here.”

Mason nodded, and they entered the building. Reverend Parch greeted them at the door, his expression troubled. “The grave is out back.”

“You’re the one who found it?” Mason asked.

“Yes. I always stroll through the cemetery early in the morning,” Reverend Parch said, earning a questioning look from Cara and making the agent’s eyebrows raise.

“Sounds morbid,” Mason commented.

The reverend shrugged. “Not at all. I find it peaceful.”

“Just show us the grave,” Sheriff McRae said in a tone indicating he was less concerned about the preacher’s rituals than the fact that another murder had been committed in his town.

Reverend Parch led them through a side door to the cemetery, the morning sun glinting off the headstones. Mason immediately spotted the grave.

It was set apart from the others, the stones marking the fresh mound of dirt.

Cara donned latex gloves while he did the same. Just as before, he took photographs of the stones and their arrangement.

Then he knelt and used a tool from his kit to dig away the dirt. The sheriff helped while Cara and Agent Whitehead watched.

Mason swallowed back revulsion as the young woman’s terrified eyes appeared. Then he glanced at Cara. “Was she one of your patients?”

Cara bit down on her lip. “Yes, her name is Angelica
Mansfield.” She knelt and touched the young woman’s face with her hand. “But I don’t understand. Angel didn’t give her baby up for adoption. She had a miscarriage last month.” Her teary eyes met Mason’s. “She was devastated over the loss.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he blames her for losing the child?”

“Or maybe he’s escalating and spiraling out of control,” Agent Whitehead said. “That means he’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch him.”

Cara stood, her emotions raging. “The question is—how many women have to die first?”

* * *

“
D
OES SHE HAVE FAMILY
to notify?” Mason asked.

“A sister, but she lives in Georgia.” Cara rubbed her forehead. “I hate to think how that poor woman is going to feel knowing her sister was brutalized like this.”

“I’ll take care of notifications,” Sheriff McRae offered.

“What about the baby’s father?” Agent Whitehead asked.

Cara shook her head. “He was separated from his wife at the time and they’d planned to marry. But when Angel lost the baby he went back to his wife.”

Mason muttered an oath beneath his breath. “We need the autopsy to verify cause of death and compare the wounds to the other victims.” He turned to the preacher. “Reverend Parch, did you see anyone out here this morning?”

He wrapped his hand around the Bible. “No. I’m afraid not.”

Mason folded his arms across his chest. “So you just stumbled on the grave?”

“I told you that I found it during my morning meditation.”

“You were alone?”

“Yes.” The man stroked the edge of the Bible. “Whoever buried her probably did so during the night.”

“What time did you arrive?” Agent Whitehead asked.

“About six a.m. I like to get here early in case some of my parishioners stop by to talk before they go to work.”

Mason gave him a skeptical look. Granted they had pegged Morningside as their main suspect, but there was still something fishy about the reverend. Something fake in his eyes.

Secrets.

“Do you know a man named Lapu Morningside?” Mason asked.

Reverend Parch cut his eyes toward the book in his hand. “He has visited our church.”

“Did you give him counsel?” Cara asked.

The reverend slanted her a cold look. “You know I can’t divulge that any more than you could.”

Mason wondered what else he hid behind his religious jargon and the good book.

“If you’re covering up a criminal act or if you know where Morningside is and you’re not telling us, then I’ll arrest you for harboring a criminal and as an accessory to murder.”

“Those charges would never stick,” Reverend Parch said matter-of-factly.

Agent Whitehead’s phone buzzed, and she stepped aside to answer it.

Sheriff McRae cleared his throat. “If Reverend Parch knows something regarding the murder and doesn’t report it, he’ll have to live with his own conscience.”

Mason gestured toward the grave. “Are you going to hide behind your Bible and allow another woman to die?”

For a brief second, pain and grief flickered across the
reverend’s face. “No. I pray that you find the lost soul who’s hurting these women, Detective.”

Agent Whitehead returned, her body tense. “We have a lead on Morningside.”

Adrenaline surged through Mason. “Then we need to go.” He glanced at Cara. “Cara?”