Shades of Desire (16 page)

Carter knew the truth.

He was a warrior with an agenda, a very selfish one. He didn’t act for the church based solely out of religious fervor but desperation. It was what had made Alex, like so many like him, so biddable—his need for redemption. For assurance that all the sins he’d committed in the past wouldn’t result in a fiery eternity in hell.

And of course, Carter didn’t mind giving him that. He, after all, was a sinner, as well. Weak and flawed. Yet in the end he’d been forgiven, too. It was all quite beautiful when you really stopped to think about it.

Still, hesitation seized him as he stared at Alex’s car. He’d never met the man alone before. There’d never been a reason to, and besides, Carter wasn’t the fool Shannon thought he was. The man was biddable, but he wasn’t quite stable, either. Clemmons had been crystal clear about that, warning Carter that they couldn’t push Alex too far. He was extremely protective of the younger brother he’d only recently learned existed. In turn, Alex adored Clemmons. But because of his position in the church, because of who and what he
was
, Alex adored Carter more.

Days ago, he’d come to Carter and shown him the pictures that had been printed in the
Post
, the picture that showed Lindsay attending a small town farmers’ market, the same farmers’ market that Carter had attended with her. He’d been on edge ever since. The photos hadn’t shown Carter. They also hadn’t shown Lindsay was pregnant.

Both omissions were a blessing, of course. All he’d wanted was some reassurance that none of the woman’s remaining photos—she’d taken hundreds according to the newspaper article—had captured him or Lindsay’s pregnancy, either. Once he got that reassurance, he’d truly be able to enjoy his victory when the Grand Reverend passed the torch and anointed him with that title.

But Alex had messed up. Failed to copy all of the woman’s photos. So perhaps he was here to tell him he’d completed the job.

Wonderful.

He pulled into a spot just behind and to the right of Alex’s car. As he stepped out of his own vehicle, the air immediately fluttered and cut through his clothes, the sharp chill catching him unawares. He called out, “Alex?”

He didn’t answer. Impatiently, he walked closer. “I told you if you ever needed to talk to call me and I’d meet you. How you can expect anyone to be—”

He’d just rounded the driver’s side of the car when he saw Alex through the open window.

He was alive but just barely. His breathing was slow and labored, his lips blue and his open mouth framing his discolored tongue. His eyes were that familiar cocoa brown, but his pupils were barely visible, as small as the head of a pin. He was sweating and twitching, and when Carter gingerly peered inside through the open window, he saw that Alex’s fingernails were also blue. In his right arm protruded the syringe he’d used to inject heroin into his veins.

The same heroin he was currently overdosing on.

He stared for several minutes as Alex’s body continued to twitch. Surprise morphed into hesitation. Should he call 911? Drive him to the hospital himself?

Don’t be a fool, Carter. He told you himself the police are involved. Be a man for once in your life.

The familiar voice, haranguing and disdainful, pricked his anger.

He
wasn’t a fool! Alex was the damn fool. Pulling a stunt like this at Carter’s church when what he should have been doing was keeping attention away from it. But there was no help for it now. The cleaners were going to arrive any minute, and he doubted he could successfully bribe all of them to move Alex’s body and keep it a secret. Things had become far too unwieldy as it was.

Maybe that’s why this had happened. Alex knew things. Things that could destroy the church right along with Carter and his family.

He was careful not to touch anything, and he couldn’t tell if Alex knew he was there or not. His own breathing was harsh and his heart was thumping uncontrollably, but he forced himself to act, walking past his car and toward the building. He grew calmer the farther away from Alex he got.

His fingers were shaking, but only slightly, when he unlocked the back door and hurried to his office. Immediately, he spotted Matthew’s blanket. Taking the blanket with him, he left the same way he’d come in. When he got into his car, started the engine and drove away, he did so without once looking back at Alex’s car or the dying man inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

D
ESPITE
THE
PASSING
hours, Natalie still lay on her bed, drained in body and spirit by her trips to the park and down memory lane. She supposed it was evening now, and wouldn’t you know it? Mac hadn’t called or stopped by. Despite the promises he’d made after their kiss, he’d obviously had second thoughts about getting more involved with the sexually frustrated blind lady. Who could blame him? He now had the photos that were the real key behind the attack on her. Why would he spend time with her when he didn’t need to?

And when had she gotten so pathetic? First her mother and now this. While she’d managed to stop torturing herself with memories of her childhood, Mac appeared to be her new favorite subject of choice.

Even when she deliberately tried to excise him and instead think about her favorite trips or her plans for the future, Mac muscled his way into her thoughts without mercy. Big and overwhelming and impossible to ignore. Without knowing anything about him except what she’d learned online, she knew everything. To her, he’d come to represent life in all its true glory. Everything she could never have.

How was it possible for someone to make such a huge impact after so little time? She’d asked herself that question over and over again since meeting him. But in the end it was perfectly understandable. Mac was just one of those people, a rarity, who emanated vitality and sexuality without even trying. He wasn’t so much a sleek panther, strong yet elegant and sophisticated. That animal seemed more reminiscent of Jase. Mac reminded her of a lion. The king of the jungle. She had no idea what he truly looked like, but what she did know had her imagining him in animal form.

He moved sinuously. Seductively. Muscles bunching beneath his short tawny coat. From the black tip of his tufted tail to his thick heavy mane, he beckoned her to stroke him. To tickle his soft, white underbelly. Roared loud and long to let her know what he wanted. That he wanted her.

Licking her lips, her head moved restlessly on the pillows and her hands fluttered beside her, unsure what to do. A memory soon had her fingers clenching. She’d once spent a week in the savanna taking pictures of lions, and she’d seen for herself how aggressively male lions took their females, straddling their prone bodies on all fours from behind.

She’d never allowed herself to be taken that way. Had always thought it was too submissive. But suddenly the lions she was imagining shifted and morphed. She was on her knees in the grass, her torso lowered and her elbows resting on the ground. A man who looked a little like Natalie’s favorite cop show detective a few seasons back, only blessed with Mac’s broader shoulders and squarer jaw, knelt behind her. His fingers gripped her hips, caressing them as he worked his enormous shaft into her from behind.

Her breaths quickened, and her legs shifted restlessly. Her thoughts had distracted her enough that her trembling had stopped. Warmth suffused her body, embracing her so thoroughly that her muscles loosened. She turned onto her back, her limbs stretching lazily. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion and wanted to close completely. Before she knew what was happening, they did. Reality fell away. She lay there, listening to her breaths and feeling her heart pounding fast in her chest. Gradually, she felt the same beating pulse getting stronger and stronger between her legs.

He pumped aggressively and steadily, relentless, holding her even tighter when the pleasure became too intense, and she tried to pull away. In response, she shoved her hips backward, meeting his thrusts with slapping sounds that kept time with her moans. God, she felt good. Alive. Feminine.

And best of all…

Oh.
She grimaced as the throbbing between her legs intensified, and her entire body quivered again, this time with the overpowering pleasure.

Best of all, he was talking to her with that lush, dark voice of his. His hair fell into his face. He bent down to kiss her back, and she felt the smooth, silky strands caressing her skin.

“You’re mine. To take when I want, as many times as I want, Natalie. Feel how hard I am for you.”

Ahhh.
A breathy moan escaped her before she could stop it, but she didn’t even try to stop the next one. He was picking up speed, and because she was dreaming, because she was both observer and participant, she could not only feel his shaft penetrating her, she could
see
it, slick with her juices as he squeezed himself out of her, then swiftly shoved himself back inside, past the clenching tight muscles that both hindered and hugged him.

“You’re beautiful. Strong. A lioness. I want you. I’ll always want you. You’ll never be alone, Natalie. Never again.”

His hands left her hips. He licked his fingers before he cupped her breasts and found his rhythm there, too. He pinched her nipples when he took her. Released them when he retreated. The hard milking motions pulled at something inside her, tightening all that pleasure he was giving her into a pressurized ball that built and built and built until it had nowhere to go but…

She exploded. Pleasure ripped through her like a fireball designed not to incinerate but to light her up for an eternity. Her soul ignited, rejoicing in the power and heat that had revived it from its quiet slumber. Sensation kept going and going, and heightening and heightening, pulling screams from her that she didn’t even realize she was making until…

“Natalie!”

At Liz’s voice, Natalie’s eyes popped open, and starbursts of light echoed the throbbing pulse still going between her legs. Breaths heaving in and out of her, she realized with horror that her hand was between her legs, caressing herself through her pants.

She’d brought herself off, coming so hard that she’d screamed, loud enough for the police officer working outside her door to hear. She whipped her hand away and jerked to a sitting position. “Liz—” she croaked out, even though she had no idea what she’d say. How she could ever face her again.

“Shit, Natalie. I’m sorry. I thought—I’m sorry,” she muttered before backing out of the room and shutting the door.

Natalie could do nothing but listen to her own panting breaths, bury her face in her hands and do exactly what she’d been trying so hard not to do—fall apart.

She allowed it for approximately ten minutes. Then she locked her door and took a shower. Then she changed into her nightgown, climbed into bed and pretended she’d actually be able to fall asleep.

Some time later, when a soft knock came through her door, she closed her eyes but didn’t respond.

“Natalie, I’m so sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. It’s just, you called out and I… Well, I wasn’t sure… .”

Liz’s misery finally got through to her. Raising a hand to her heated forehead, she said, “It’s not your fault. I…I was dreaming.” And chances were Liz knew exactly who she’d been dreaming about.

“Yeah. I just want you to know… It’s okay. And I won’t say anything. To anyone. I swear it.”

Natalie bit her lip and choked out, “Thank you.” She believed Liz meant what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. She’d never felt so humiliated.

“One more thing. I called Mac and told him about what happened in the park. I’m sorry, but I had to. He wants to talk to you.”

She turned over and pulled a pillow and then the covers over her head.

“Natalie. Did you hear me?”

She still refused to answer.

Finally, Liz gave up and left.

Natalie lay in bed feeling the same type of dread someone facing a firing squad would feel. It had been another lesson for her.

Letting her guard down, inviting pleasure into her life, always came with a price. No matter what promise thoughts of Mac brought to her, she had to remember that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

E
ARLY
THE
NEXT
MORNING
, as Mac spoke to Clive Henry, the owner of Amber House, he barely stopped himself from punching a wall. “So when I was asking you when you last saw Alex Hanes and whether he’d mentioned traveling anywhere in particular, you didn’t think that, maybe, just maybe, you should have told me he had a brother? One who arranged for him to check into your establishment in the first place?”

“Uh, no. I didn’t.”

“And why was that?”

“Because he didn’t tell me he was going to visit his brother. And his brother had already paid for his rent, three months up front, so as far as I was concerned, his brother already knew where he was supposed to be, and it wasn’t with him.”

The man’s logic had Mac shaking his head in disbelief, but he simply said, “Do you have a record of this man’s payments to you?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

When he said nothing else, Mac said very slowly, “Please get those records and tell me the man’s name and any other information you have on him.”

“Uh. Okay.”

As Mac waited, his thoughts immediately focused on Natalie. He’d been beyond pissed when Officer Lafayette had told him what had happened in the park, even more pissed when he’d realized it was the same park where the Plainville farmers’ market was held. “Damn it, what the hell is wrong with you?” he’d snapped before he could stop himself. “You’re supposed to be protecting her and that means never letting her out of your sight, especially in a public place. I don’t care how close by you are!”

“I know. I’m sorry, sir. I take full responsibility.”

“Damn straight,” he said, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He had to take his fair share of the blame, as did Natalie. She deliberately hadn’t told him which park she was going to, and he hadn’t asked her. It hadn’t dawned on him that she’d be so foolish to go back to the scene of a crime—well, not really, not as far as they knew, but pretty damn close—but she’d obviously known he wouldn’t like it. Why else hadn’t she told him?

“I want to talk to her. Now,” he’d said.

Only Natalie hadn’t wanted to talk. She’d gone to bed and wouldn’t respond to Liz’s calls. She might be asleep, Liz had said, even though, yes, she’d just talked to her. Or more likely, she was probably upset because of what had happened in the park. But something in Liz’s voice had made Mac wonder if there was something she wasn’t telling him.

He’d been tempted to go straight over there. To check on her himself. But he’d been right in the middle of an appointment, an important one, and one he was hoping could help Natalie in the end. One that might help him understand her better. She seemed hell-bent on flaunting her independence and abilities no matter the danger it might put her in. She was trying so hard to prove she didn’t need anyone that her independent nature was giving him hives. Given his stance on needy women, how was that for irony?

He understood her recklessness revealed a different kind of neediness. One that still caused him strife. One that still interfered with his focus, so he couldn’t give his full attention to the job. But oddly enough, Natalie’s need wasn’t pushing him away the way that Nancy’s had. Instead, it kept drawing him in. He wanted to meet her needs for some odd reason.

But then he reminded himself that he’d wanted to meet Nancy’s needs in the beginning, too.

“Hello. Are you there?”

Mac scowled at hearing Henry come back on the line. “Go ahead,” Mac said.

“His name is Arthur Clemmons. He paid with a personal check.”

“What’s the address?”

“245 Morning Glory Lane, Sacramento.”

“Do you have a fax?”

“A copy machine that doubles as one.”

“Great. Fax a copy of the check to the Plainville Police Department.” He gave the man the fax number, then took out his laptop and proceeded to search for information on Arthur Clemmons through police channels. No prior record. In fact, the guy was squeaky clean, with no information about siblings noted, let alone one like Alex Hanes. It didn’t take him long to bring up the man’s employment history. “Bingo.”

He was a youth leader at the Crystal Haven Church in Sacramento.

So he’d been right. Religion had to be the key to how Alex had met Lindsay. It might be how she met her friend, “M,” as well.

He glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. Early yet, but it was possible Clemmons was there, so he called the number he’d jotted down.

“Crystal Haven Church.”

“I need to speak to Arthur Clemmons.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Clemmons isn’t available. He’s on a week-long retreat with his youth group.”

Shit, Mac thought, before responding. “His youth group. Do you know if a girl named Lindsay Monroe was ever part of it?”

“Lindsay Monroe? Nope, I don’t think so.”

Didn’t matter, Mac thought, since Lindsay might not have used her real name. He couldn’t be sure until he visited the church himself and showed the staff, Clemmons in particular, her picture.

“My name is Special Agent Mac McKenzie and I’m with the California Department of Justice. I—”

“Is this about Alex Hanes?”

Mac’s brows rose in shock while his adrenaline spiked. This is it, he thought. The break they’d been looking for. “Yes. Is Hanes there now?”

“Well, yes. I mean, sort of.”

“I don’t understand. Is he there or isn’t he?”

“They took him away last night. After the cleaners arrived and found him. But the police came by this morning. They’re here asking questions.”

“Wait a second. What do you mean by ‘they found him’?”

“He was dead.” The woman lowered her voice. “They say he overdosed on drugs. I guess he hadn’t really changed in prison, after all.”

“I guess not,” he echoed. “Listen, if the cops are still there, please get one on the line for me. Now.” The cops must have been close because it was less than a minute before one came on the line.

“Detective Quinton Brass,” a deep voice intoned.

“Detective, this is Special Agent Mac McKenzie with California DOJ’s SIG unit.”

“Agent McKenzie. We were just about to give you a call. Our patrol officers took the call of a DOA last night, and we just finished processing the scene about an hour ago. Our vic came up as a person of interest in one of your murder investigations.”

“That’s right. I just received information that his brother, Arthur Clemmons, is an employee of the church. The receptionist said he’s out of town.”

“We’ve confirmed that, and confirmed he’s been at a remote campsite in the Yosemite Valley for a few days now.”

“And Hanes?”

“Overdosed on heroin. No immediate signs of foul play. We asked for security tapes, but the church doesn’t have a system.”

“That’s damn inconvenient,” Mac muttered.

Brass chuckled. “Yeah. But we spoke to the cleaning crew that found him, and then to some of the employees here. They said Hanes was part of the church’s inmate rehabilitation program. That he appeared affable and devoted. No sign of alcohol or drug use. Someone who’d really turned his life around. He’d been gone for a while, but had recently returned to the church.”

“How recently?”

“About two months.”

Two months. Right around the time that Lindsay had been murdered. “And how long was he gone?”

“Let me check my notes. Let’s see. Looks like it was about seven months.”

“Shit,” Mac breathed. “He was with her.”

“You talking about your vic?”

“Yeah. A runaway. Disappeared around the same time that Hanes did. Only she didn’t make it back.”

“You thinking he killed her? That this might have been a suicide?”

“I don’t know what to think. But he was my prime suspect, and I’m betting his DNA is going to prove he was up in Plainville before he died.”

And that’s exactly what turned out to be the case. After getting the full story from Detective Brass, he called Littlefield and Tanzina. Tanzina was still in the process of tracking down IP addresses, but Littlefield had struck gold.

“Hey, Big Mac. I was just about to give you a call.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the refrain of the day.”

“We finished the DNA tests. Your ex-felon rubbed the hell out of that cross, enough to leave skin cells. And his DNA was on the cup you found inside that abandoned house, as well. I confirmed with the criminalist at Plainville PD that his fingerprints were all over the place, too, as well as in an abandoned cab they found early this morning.”

“Lock, stock and barrel,” Mac said.

“What?”

“They just found him DOA of a heroin overdose in Sacramento. Sac PD is there now.”

“And this is a problem why?”

“No problem,” Mac said. “Thanks for the info, Tanzina.”

“Sure thing, man.”

Nope, no problem, Mac thought. In fact, on the surface, Hanes’s death meant that Natalie wasn’t in danger anymore. But there were still too many unanswered questions for Mac to feel comfortable with the way things were resolving.

What had Hanes thought he’d find in Natalie’s photos? Why had he killed Lindsay? And had Clemmons known where his brother had been before he’d returned to the church? Had he even bothered to ask? He couldn’t see a man of God not questioning where his ex-felon brother had disappeared to for seven months before letting him back into the fold.

No, it didn’t matter that Alex Hanes was dead. This case wasn’t closed yet. Not by a long shot. Still, Hanes’s death likely meant Natalie was safer, at least in theory. He wanted to tell her that, visit her as he’d been wanting to do all of yesterday. And he would. Despite the agreement he and Jase had reached, he’d known the instant he’d called Carmen Delgado, Jase’s sister’s friend, that his resolve with respect to Natalie had weakened. After he’d met Carmen and verified how unusual it was for Natalie to be so independent given her recent vision loss, his weakness for Natalie had amplified.

He couldn’t be with her. Not in the biblical sense. He couldn’t be the man she relied on for the rest of her life. Fine. But he could be her friend. Help her through a rough time in her life. And he would. Right after he drove down to Sacramento and checked out Alex Hanes and his church for himself.

* * *

N
ATALIE
WAS
ALREADY
awake when the sun rose. As she did every morning, she turned on her side so that she faced her window. Warmth filtered through glass and cotton, but it didn’t soothe her the way it usually did. For the first time in weeks, the idea of getting out of bed seemed too much for her to handle. Then she heard the muted jingle of the wind chimes hanging just outside her window. Thought of the little shop in the Philippines where she’d bought it. Remembered what she’d survived in her childhood, how much her life had changed, and how far she’d come.

She wasn’t like her mother. She was stronger.

Yes, she’d gone to bed humiliated last night, and yes, she’d freely opened herself to the bitterness and self-pity that had coated her like a tub of hot tar. But honestly, it wasn’t as if she could just hide in her room all day.

Pity time is over, Natalie. Now, ask yourself the questions.

Taking a deep breath, she did. Out loud, she asked the same two questions she’d asked herself every morning for the past year.

“Am I a quitter? And would that be such a bad thing?”

Head hanging down, she gripped the edge of her mattress, her answer not coming immediately to mind. Once again, she turned toward the window and tried to picture the view of the garden she’d once loved to tend. Somehow, her mind recalled with excruciating detail its nooks and crannies, including the detailed iron bench tucked into a corner and surrounded by passion vines and camellia trees.

Was she a quitter?

Maybe, she finally concluded. But not today.

She sat up, swung her legs to the side, got up and dressed in the ugliest sweats she had. After tying her hair into a ponytail, she walked to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Natalie.”

She jerked at the sound of Liz’s voice behind her, her cheeks automatically flushing. “G-Good morning. Have you eaten?”

“I sure have.”

The woman’s voice was, as always, calm and friendly. To Natalie’s eternal gratitude, she didn’t betray by word or inflection what had happened last night.

“I’m just doing some paperwork at the dining room table. Call out if you need me.”

“Thank you. I will. And Liz…” She paused, but then decided that ignoring it wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t think I’ve told you that yet, but I appreciate you staying here with me.”

“You’re welcome, Natalie. And for the record, I think you’re an amazing woman. I hope when this is all over, we can get to know each other better personally.”

Natalie felt the tightness in her chest loosen. Liz was down-to-earth, smart and good company. The idea that she would want to keep in touch when there was no longer a professional reason made her feel almost…normal. “I’d like that.” When she heard Liz walk away, she retrieved a banana and some yogurt from the fridge and ate her breakfast while standing at the counter.

She negotiated the twenty steps that would take her to her living room and the treadmill. One, two, three, four, five—she passed the doorway to her bedroom. Six, seven, eight—she passed the painting on the wall, the one she’d bought in Russia from the woman who’d watched her children play with empty eyes. Natalie hadn’t been able to coax a smile from her, not until she’d returned the next day and given her a picture of her children. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—Natalie’s hand rested on the dark green chenille sofa that was piled with colorful pillows, including the one she’d bought in Thailand with the intricate basket weave pattern in gold and red silk. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—she touched the curved arm, steel covered with nubby plastic, that afforded a handhold when she used the treadmill.

Slowly, she bent down, made sure her shoelaces were tied tightly, then stepped up onto the machine. She hadn’t been on it since she’d fallen and Mac had come crashing through her door. She hated the fact that she was a little reluctant to get back on it now. She’d had a bad moment last night and it had bled into the morning. But she was determined not to let fear stop her from doing what she loved. From living, whatever that life looked like. She took a deep breath, programmed in her usual workout, completed the five-minute warm-up, then started running.