The Missing (25 page)

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Authors: Shiloh Walker

Tags: #Contemporary, #Romantic Suspense, #Romance Suspense

BOOK: The Missing
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Inside, she felt the rhythmic jerking of his cock and then the hot wash of his semen as he came. His back arched as he pressed deep, and for a moment, he remained just like that, unmoving, the power of the moment holding them both suspended.
Time slowed down, the moment crystallized, and for a few brief seconds, she felt happy. Almost at peace.
But then thought intruded, memory returned, and she wasn’t making love with him on a beach, she was only dreaming about it, and when she woke, she’d be alone again.
Alone.
Slowly, he guided her legs down, and then he collapsed against her with his head resting on her belly.
Taige felt her heart slamming away inside her chest, felt the heaving of Cullen’s chest as he struggled to breathe. He pushed up onto his elbow after a few minutes passed, and the sight of that smile on his face ate at her. Cullen was too damn beautiful for words, and that sleepy, sated smile reminded her of a time when she’d actually believed in his love for her. Believed in the promise of it.
“Let me up,” she whispered softly, pushing at his shoulders.
“Taige—”
I’m not going to cry over him again,
she told herself. Jerking her gaze upward, she stared at the flawless blue sky overhead. “I’m waking up now,” she said.
“Damn it, Taige—”
Deliberately, she closed her eyes. Digging deep, she found the iron will that got her through life no matter how hard it got, no matter how much it sucked. She hadn’t ever had much control of the dreams with Cullen. But she’d control them now. Knowing that he shared those dreams gave her a strength born of desperation, and she forced herself into wakefulness.
Her eyes opened, and she automatically squinted against the blinding glare of the sun, but the sun no longer shone overhead. It was late. She didn’t have a watch on, but she pegged the time at close to eleven, maybe a little later.
Which meant that she had probably been asleep a good four hours. She’d come out to the small private strip of beach around six, and she’d swum for a little while before flopping onto the towel to relax and read.
The vestiges of the dreams were falling away, but she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her body, the silken brush of his lips across her face and shoulders, and deep inside, slow, rhythmic pulses continued to ripple through her, aftershocks from the climax Cullen had given her in her dreams.
She blushed furiously, recalling how many times she’d come into wakefulness just like this, her body sated and the bed beside her empty. Or the sand. If he was actually with her, these dreams wouldn’t be the torture they were. But he wasn’t with her. Knowing that he’d shared all those dreams had her squirming with embarrassment.
Although Taige never really relaxed, in her dreams, she’d let her guard down with him a little. He always wore her down, and she’d figured since it was just some dream-Cullen and not the man, it wouldn’t hurt. But knowing that he actually shared those dreams, that it was him and not her lonely mind working overtime, she almost feared going to sleep.
With a groan, she sat up and went to bury her face in her hands. It hurt, though, and she jerked her hands away and looked down at herself. It was too dark to see, but she suspected when she looked in the mirror, her caramel-colored skin would have a rosy hint to it. Too rosy.
“That’s what you get, falling asleep on the beach in July,” she muttered. “And ain’t this just perfect?” Gingerly, she touched her skin.
It felt damn hot. It had been a while since she’d had a sunburn. Her skin wouldn’t burn as easily as some people’s did, but she could still burn, and oddly enough, it was a small relief. Her skin pulled uncomfortably as she gathered up her towel and bag. It was going to keep her from resting too well for one night, so that was one night where she wouldn’t have to worry about Cullen showing his face in her dreams.
It was a sad thing when a woman couldn’t even count on her dreams for escape.
THE moment Taige had looked into his eyes and said softly, “I’m waking up now,” the dream had fallen to pieces around him, and now he lay on the couch, the TV still on and in the middle of a
Law & Order
marathon. It was late, pushing midnight, and the last thing he remembered was flopping onto the couch a little after eight when he’d put Jillian to bed.
It was early for her to go to sleep, but ever since he’d brought her home, she hadn’t been able to go to sleep without a light on, and she’d seemed to sleep better when he was still moving around, and the house wasn’t terribly quiet.
His blood was still hot. Hell, he was hot, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was cool in the house. Both he and Jillian were hot-natured, and he kept the air-conditioning running cool. But his entire body was sweating, and it seemed as though his skin was warm from the sun. And from Taige—damn, it was like he could still feel the warm, wet caress of her sex as he rode her. Still hear those soft, sexy little moans as she climaxed.
Still see the pain in her eyes. He’d smiled up at her, half forgetting the twelve years of distance that he had put between them until he met her gaze and watched as gray ice formed in her eyes.
I’m waking up now.
And then she was just gone, and less than a heartbeat later, he was waking up.
Cullen rolled to a sitting position and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He stared at the polished hardwood floors under his bare feet and brooded. There was no way he was going to sleep for a while. Taige wouldn’t be asleep either. He gave the phone a considering glance and wondered what she would do if he called.
“Probably hang up on me,” he muttered.
One thing was certain, he had a damn hard road ahead of him. But even that knowledge wasn’t enough to deter him. He’d had twelve years without Taige, and those few hours they’d spent together as she led him to Jillian had convinced him of one sure and certain fact: he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life without her.
But it was going to be a while before he could even try to start smoothing things over with Taige, before he could start trying to convince her to give him another chance. Both he and Jillian were still trying to deal with the trauma of what had happened. Jilly would scream in her sleep, haunted by nightmares. Those screams would wake him from a dead sleep, and he’d go to her room to find her thrashing on the bed, held captive by the dreams.
She was going to a counselor, but it didn’t seem to help much. Cullen wasn’t going to quit it this time. It might take years for Jillian to move past that trauma, if she ever did.
No. Not if. She would. Jilly was strong. It was just going to take time. Cullen had his own demons to deal with. His guilt over not protecting her. The helplessness that plagued him. It wasn’t him that had saved Jilly, it had been Taige. Cullen had been all but useless, and it ate at him. It was a father’s job to protect his child, but he had failed at it.
As much as Cullen wanted to hear Taige’s voice, he looked away from the phone and shoved to his feet. He passed a long, sleepless night. Knowing that sleep would elude him for the most part, he didn’t bother going to bed. For a few hours, he worked in his office, knocking out another chapter on the book that was due at the end of the summer. Then he made a sandwich and ate it before watching TV and dozing through another
L & O
rerun.
By morning, he was bleary-eyed and damn thankful that it was Saturday. His dad was coming to get Jilly. It was going to be the first time she had left the house without Cullen since the kidnapping. It would be good for her—and him. By the time Robert Morgan showed up at the house at ten, Cullen was dragging. Still, he crouched by Jilly’s side and studied her face. “You sure you’re going to be okay? I can come with you.”
She gave him a smile. “No, Daddy. It’s just me and Grandpa this time.”
He nodded and then leaned, kissed her cheek. “You call me if you need me, okay?”
“She’s going to be fine, son,” Robert said as Cullen straightened up. “We’re going to get some pizza. See a movie. Maybe I’ll let her con me out of a toy or a book.”
“Or both,” Cullen said with a faint grin. He knew his dad, and he knew his daughter. Jillian had Robert so completely wrapped, if she asked for the Eiffel Tower, Robert would find a way to steal it for the girl.
On his way on the door, Robert paused. “You should get some rest, Cull. You look awful.”
Cullen just smiled, but after they left, he paused in the hallway and stared at the mirror hanging over the console table by the front door. Awful. Yeah. That about summed it up. He’d lost probably ten pounds in the past month, and the bags under his eyes were bordering on ridiculous. Last night’s sleeplessness hadn’t helped, but Cullen had been looking a little worse for wear for a month now.
It wasn’t going to get better for a while, he suspected.
He moved through the house, picking up toys, clothes, and shoes. The cleaning lady was due in Monday, but Cullen didn’t pay her to pick up after his daughter. Normally, he got after Jillian to do it herself, but he’d been coddling her. Logically, he knew he needed to quit doing it so much, but he couldn’t seem to control it.
He dumped clothes down the laundry chute, toys into a basket by the steps for the trip back to her room, and cleaned up toast crumbs, cereal, and spilled milk from the breakfast bar. That done, he headed for the stairs at the front of the house. He was going to get some sleep. Real sleep. Sleep that didn’t involve Taige, sleep that wouldn’t be interrupted when his daughter’s screams woke him.
But he hadn’t even cleared the landing when the doorbell rang. Cullen heaved out a sigh and headed downstairs. Whoever it was would just have to come back. But a peek through the Judas hole and the sigh turned into a flat-out, ugly swear.
“What in the hell do you want now?” Cullen demanded as he opened the door to Special Agent Taylor Jones. Using his body to bar the way, he kept the agent out on the porch. Part of him really wished he didn’t dislike this guy so much; Jones was busting his ass trying to find the man who had kidnapped Jillian, but he was so damned overbearing, and he didn’t seem to care that his questions would put Jilly through that trauma again. He came back to the house once a week, and the first week, he’d been there almost every day.
“Thought you might like to hear the progress we’ve made,” Jones said, showing off what Cullen thought of as the whitest, fakest smile in the South.
With a grunt, Cullen stepped aside. There probably wasn’t any progress, but now was as good a time as any to let the agent come inside. The man was not going to stop trying to bully Jillian, and with Jilly not being there, now was an excellent time to make that known.
“I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to what we discussed,” Jones said as he followed Cullen into the kitchen at the back of the house.
“Hell, no. I already gave you my answer on that.”
“You do know, I could take this before a judge. She’s the only surviving victim of a serial killer. We need to find out what she knows.”
Cullen said, as he’d said a hundred times already, “She doesn’t know anything. If she did, I’d be happy to let her help you. I want that bastard caught. But she doesn’t know anything.” He smirked and added, “And you’re welcome to try taking this before a judge. You ought to know by now that my lawyer is the best around, and she isn’t any more interested in letting you bully Jillian than I am.”
“Well, just keep it in mind,” Jones said. But his voice was preoccupied. They sat at the table, one on either side, and met each other’s stare levelly. Cullen knew that Jones had a job to do, and he could appreciate the man’s desire to find Jillian’s kidnapper. Jones probably knew that Cullen’s main concern was Jillian’s safety and happiness. The father would do whatever was necessary to protect his child.
“Is that all you wanted to say?” Cullen asked, making sure the man had nothing else.
Jones shook his head, a queer little smile on his face.
Cullen, already silently forming his thoughts so he could lay his cards on the table, didn’t like that smile. “Then why don’t you tell me the rest?”
“While we were here back in June, one of my agents found a sketchbook of Jillian’s.”
“She loves to draw. She has a lot of them.”
“Hmmm. Well, I was particularly interested in this one.” Jones reached into his briefcase and pulled one out.
“What in the hell were you doing, taking . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared at the sketch pad. He recognized it. The date on the front of it corresponded with the dates when they had been in Atlanta. For no particular reason, he remembered the sketch Jillian had shown him at the airport.

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