Severed Threads (29 page)

He pumped her breastbone with thirty compressions and repeated the cycle over and over again.
Live, damn it, live!
Nothing was going to stop him from saving her life. Nothing.

Ten minutes ticked by, then fifteen. And still he persisted, gauging each rise and fall of her chest. It seemed an eternity before the dispatched paramedics finally arrived. Before one of them checked her vitals, looked up and officially pronounced her dead on the scene.

“
I’m sorry, sir,” the ambulance driver had said.

Devon’s mind dulled with his words. Faces around him blurred into hideous kaleidoscopes, leaving him detached and oddly fascinated.

“
Got everything you need?” Novak asked the coroner. With a nod of the old man’s head, the sea of white uniforms parted. They exited one by one through the open doorway.

Devon suddenly came to his senses. “Wait!” He approached the gurney and gazed down at Selena’s flawless face framed by her auburn hair. The sleeping angel he had dreamt about night after night. Shared his bed with…counted his blessings for. The woman who had spoiled the sight of every other woman for him.

He touched the bullet hole in her chest, affirming it was real. He clenched his teeth, struggling to control his emotions.
This can’t be happening
, he told himself.
It’s just a bad dream.
But there was no denying the truth. Not when his eyes were wide open. The woman he had loved with all his heart, who had him beaten repeatedly, was dead. She was the gang’s mastermind, the manipulator behind the scenes. She had made it clear that she’d intended to kill him and his sister. So why in hell was he feeling such remorse? How was it possible he still loved someone who was never the person he believed them to be?

The air in the room was perfectly still. No one approached him, comforted him or assured him that the woman he had loved was in a far better place. They were busy snapping photos, making notes. Removing the small bottle of Dilaudid and bag of weed from the bathroom.

“
Sorry, man.” An enormous hand fell on his shoulder. He lifted his chin and met Bo Novak’s soulful eyes. “Gotta let her go,” he said.

Devon noticed the team of DEA agents standing in the open doorway, talking to the silver-haired medical examiner. All the while, federal agents and state troopers streamed in and out of the hotel room with no apparent purpose. Even though his body quaked from frayed nerves and residual drugs, he wasn’t about to let her go. Not yet.

“
Heard the craziest story yesterday,” came from Matt Brennan – the short, boxy detective he remembered from his childhood. “Some pissed-off guy in Wisconsin called 9-1-1 to report that he’d been ripped off. Turns out a pair of strippers promised him freebies in his hotel room after he spent a thousand bucks on lap dances at a gentleman’s club. When they didn’t show, this wacko calls the cops at 1 A.M. to file a complaint.”

The M.E. sniffed a laugh. “You know they might have turned up when the police were there and decided not to stay. Now that would’ve been funny.”

Devon half-listened, amazed by the pair’s callous exchange.
Where are their hearts?
Did they forget there was a dead woman in the room?

“
Yeah…which reminds me,” Brennan continued, “where’s the DOA’s brother? Probably skipped town after he heard we were on to him.”

“
The Forty-Second got a 3 A.M. call,” Novak answered over his shoulder. “Turns out his body washed up in Oceanside. The county coroner confirmed it.”

“
No kidding?” Brennan said with a smile. “Wow…somebody did us a
real
favor.”

“
It seems.”

Brennan pulled his sunglasses from his breast pocket and covered his eyes. “By the way, Novak, make sure you get your story straight before you file your report.”

Devon watched the two men with detached interest. From the information he had gathered in the room, Novak would need his corroborating statement in order to clear himself, but Devon had a self-defense matter of his own to worry about. He swallowed the lump in his throat. It would only be a matter of time before his part in Gabe Pollero’s death came out.

Brennan blew out an audible breath. “Lyons, I know this is tough, but we need your cooperation. Pollero’s guys are still on the loose and on top of that you’ve got your sister’s safety to think about. You
do
care about her, don’t ya?”

Devon sniffed. “Of course, I do.” He wiped his face with the back of his bloody sleeve.

“
Then how bout getting that hand looked after? Novak!”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Escort this gentleman to the hospital. When you’re done, bring him by the station to answer a few questions. I want this case wrapped up as soon as possible.”

The coroner slipped Selena’s body into a black bag and hid her face with the pull of a zipper. He pushed the rolling gurney through the hallway and into the waiting elevator.

Devon accompanied them then silently watched as Selena’s body was loaded into the coroner’s parked van – as the red headlights retreated. Like a stone statue, he remained fixed in place, as the world enveloped itself in darkness. After a short while, he noticed a dark figure skulking under a glowing lamppost.

Novak.

The DEA agent grounded his thin cigar beneath his heel before joining him. “Are you ready to go yet?” he asked.

Devon averted his stare. What was he expecting to hear? Accolades for a job well done?

“
You know...this isn’t easy for any of us,” he insisted.

Devon’s attention remained embedded in the cracked pavement at his feet – broken, crumbling, uneven. A reflection of his disintegrating life. He ventured a sidelong glance and asked, “Did you really have to kill her?”

Novak’s black nostrils flared. “Don’t you get it? I had no choice. I don’t know what kind of delusion you’re under, man, but that chick was out to get you all along. You obviously had feelings for her but she’s gone and you’re not. Now why don’t you do the right thing and let me get you to the hospital?”

Devon rubbed his pulsing hand. The dope he’d been given had finally worn off. Blood was seeping through his bandages once again. But he didn’t care.
Pain is good,
he told himself. The sting of severed skin, the throb of ruptured vessels, the burning ache of open flesh. In some kind of weird maniacal way, it reminded him that he was still alive when everything inside was dead.

Twenty-Five

Rachel shut off the faucet and stared up at the dripping showerhead. The thought of stealing from anyone, especially the hard-working men on board, left a bitter taste in her mouth. It had been her plan to treat this experience as a business venture – to avoid becoming personally involved. But after five long days and nights, she’d become a valued member of
Stargazer’s
crew. Everyone aboard sought her advice, applauded her accomplishments. Issued her respect. Their jibes left her laughing. Their endless stories captured her imagination. The only salvation on this expedition had been her ability to maintain a cool demeanor when it came to Chase Cohen. However, even that had become increasingly difficult. Every smile, every passing glance left her stomach churning, her pulse quickening. She had to get off this ship fast, before her resistance completely gave out.

A sudden knock at the door arrested her thoughts.

"Just a minute," she called out. She grabbed her white robe from the hook and secured it around her waist before cracking the door open. Chase stood in the hallway in his usual snug-fitting jeans and unbuttoned white shirt, a stern expression blanketing his face.

Now what?

"So, I hear you're leaving first thing in the morning," he said.

"That’s right. A.J. offered to take me back."

"But we’ve still got two days to go. I thought you wanted to stick around and finish your job.”

"Of course, I do. It’s just that I’ve got some pressing matters at home needing my attention.”

“
Oh, I see.” He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Anything I can help you with?”

“
No…I don’t think so.”

Rachel followed Chase’s gaze to the opening in her robe. She gathered her collar in one hand, blocking her exposed cleavage. "Was there something else?" she asked.

He averted her stare and muttered something about ‘hot’.

"What did you say?"

He looked her straight in the eyes, and the steadfastness with which he held them left her stomach fluttering. He spoke clearly this time. "I said you look hot."

She swallowed hard, not sure how to react to his words. She felt the blush on her skin, her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to distance herself from him as quickly as possible. "It was the shower. The water’s warmer than usual. If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed now."

She watched him take a step back, allowing her the space needed to close the door. Believing him gone, she moved to the alcove where her pajama bottoms and t-shirt were waiting. As she bent to pick them up, she heard Chase walk up behind her. She straightened abruptly, turned, and found him inches away.

How did he get in?

With Chase nearly a foot taller, she suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. "I need to get dressed and…" Her voice was breathless, uncertain.

The residual heat from the shower caused new sweat beads to form on her skin. He reached out and touched one, trailing his finger along her throat. She shivered.

Chase, no
. Her clothes were in hands. But he just stood there, considering her face. He shifted, slowly bending his head towards hers.

"Don’t do this…" she said with uncertainty.

He paused, but still she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, the moisture between her thighs collecting. This was the moment of decision. He was close, too close. All she had to do was say ‘leave’ and it would end forever.

"You’re so
…
beautiful," he said with wonder. "Just one kiss, then I’ll go."

He gave her no chance to answer as he closed the space between their lips, touching his softly to hers. His lips were warm and moist as they covered hers, and she shuddered as his tongue pushed its way into her mouth. The taste was unexpected. Warm bourbon, strong but not unpleasant. His tongue tentatively touched hers then began making a hungry exploration. First tasting then practically drinking.

Her clothes fell from her hands. She moaned softly, her mind and body at war with each other. Her anger, her convictions, her sense of everything that was right told her that she couldn’t let this happen. But then he touched a thumb to her left breast, pushing away the terrycloth fabric until it found the fleshy nipple beneath, and all sensible thoughts ceased. His finger moved over the sensitive peak, circling and stroking, causing her nerve endings to scream. He moved his body into hers, their shapes molding effortlessly into one. She could feel his tumescence, his desire. His thighs hard as they pressed into hers. His free arm slipped around her waist. He moaned in her mouth as his exploring hand kneaded her ass. He backed up just enough to pull her garment free and the cool draft lifted tiny hairs on her skin, restoring some of her common sense.

No!
She pushed him away. "We can’t…do this." Her voice was breathless, as though she’d been running in a three-mile race.

His blue eyes were glazed and hooded, and for a moment, she thought she’d never seen anything so sensuous. He was practically panting.

"You don’t want me to go. You know you don’t." He tried to close the space between them again, but she held out her hands, keeping him at bay.

She shook her head. "We’ve already gone too far.”

"You won’t feel that way when I’m inside you."

"Don’t say that," she pleaded.