Unseen (22 page)

And then they were on the floor, grappling for each other. “This is insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with both passion and amusement.

“Upstairs,” she gasped, and he pulled her to her feet.

Half-dressed, they stumbled together through the dark, still laughing. Gemma felt free and out of control. She led Will up the steps to her bedroom and they tumbled onto the bed. The blinds were open but there was sheer blackness outside the window.

Gemma didn’t waste time. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders. There wasn’t the faintest bit of illumination; everything was done by touch. Will’s hands swept over her body as he pulled off the rest of her clothes. Her stomach sucked in as his hands kneaded her flesh, his hard, naked body coming down atop hers on the bed.

She ran her hands through his hair and kissed him with abandon.
So long
, she thought.
So long since anyone had loved her.

His tongue rimmed her ear and her whole body shuddered. It was excruciating, the time he took. She wanted to grab him and pull him inside her, and with that thought in mind her hand closed over him, stroking him as he murmured something unintelligible in her ear. Her heart pounded in her ears and her blood ran hot.
I want you!
she thought, or maybe she screamed it.

And then he thrust himself inside her, claiming her, and Gemma’s hands raked over his back. He moved rhythmically and she met each crest. Her throat arched and she felt herself reaching, reaching, desperately wanting. She tried to say something. Let him know what she needed, but he was pushing her to the brink. Thrusting, touching, his breath in her ears harsh with desire.

One hand dragged across her breast and her nipple hardened. He bent down and captured it with his mouth, sucking hard. Gemma moaned and twisted, her hands dragging his head to her breast. Quickly he shifted position, turning her atop him so she was straddling him. She moved against him and he held her hips in place, thrusting hard until she was writhing. Faster and faster, to a dark, sensual place.

And then the wave hit her and she cried out, moving frantically. She held one of his hands to her breast as she moved on him, her body finding a rhythm of its own. He arched suddenly and groaned, holding her hard, one hand at her hip, anchoring her down to him as if she were about to fly away.

Then she collapsed against him, gasping. Beneath her breasts his heart was thundering. She fought to get her breath under control and the effort was wasted. She nuzzled his cheek with her lips and he turned and kissed her. Then his lips curved beneath hers.

“What?” she whispered against his skin.

A limb slammed against her window, making them both jump. The rustle of leaves and wind sounded furious.

“The gods are angry,” he said.

“Are they?”

“Maybe just jealous.”

She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. She felt so possessive of him. Didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want time to pass and take her from him. She hadn’t realized how alone she felt, completely alone, until this moment.

“What am I feeling?” he teased.

Gemma’s emotions were raw and though she wanted to banter with him, she didn’t trust herself to be that strong. “You’re thinking that you want a repeat,” she said.

“Maybe you are psychic,” he murmured, then wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his again.

Chapter Eighteen

Kevin Dunleavy thought of himself as a good guy. He only drank as much liquor as he could hold, which was quite a bit ’cause he had a large frame, large bones. He never beat his ex-wife, except for those times she’d really, really deserved it, and that had only been about three times, maybe four. He didn’t cheat at cards, much, and though people thought he had a mean mouth he really was just kidding when he said those kinds of things. As his buddy Burl liked to say,
Pardon my French.

So, it was with a feeling of persecution and injustice that he listened to his brother Rome’s wife, Patsy, whine about how he’d treated the LaPorte whore. “You don’t want her cryin’ all over town about how bad you were to her,” Patsy was saying in that nasal twang that just about sent him out of his mind. “Bad for business. We can’t afford to lose more customers. You gotta be nicer, Kev. You just gotta.”

Shut the fuck up, Patsy.

Through a fixed smile, he said, “I don’t think your name’s on the loan, cupcake. This ain’t your place. It’s mine and Rome’s. So mind your own beeswax.”

He walked away before he could say something else, something Rome wouldn’t approve of. Sometimes his brother was such a tight-ass.

He weaved around tables in the candlelit room, heading toward the bar. The storm had knocked out the power and they weren’t even really open, so he figured he might as well drink. Dragging out a bottle of so-so scotch, he poured himself a hefty dose and found Patsy at his elbow, disapproving as ever.

“Get away from me,” he growled. Women were a pain in the ass. Always. Kids were a pain in the ass most times. He should know. He and Amy had popped out Brant and he was weak and asthmatic and teary when he should have been strong and healthy. Sometimes Kevin wondered if Amy hadn’t done the bangity-bang with some other schlump. He just knew that kid couldn’t be his.

“Maybe we should close the doors,” Patsy said, nervously looking around.

“Where’s Rome?”

“Upstairs.”

Upstairs was a sharply sloped attic used for storage, but both Rome and Kevin sometimes headed there for a bit of well-deserved peace and quiet. But it truly churned his guts that his brother had retreated there tonight and left him with his pain-in-the-ass wife.

Kevin stomped up the stairs, groping in the dark, swearing, his eyes narrowing on the faint candlelight emanating from above. As his head popped up and he looked around the attic space he saw Rome sitting in the chair in a circle of light from one of the cheap votive candles they put out on the tables, a bottle of expensive scotch beside him on the table, sipping away.

“You fucker,” Kevin growled. “You can’t drink the good stuff.”

“You gonna stop me?”

Kevin tossed back the drink in his hand and poured himself a hefty dose from Rome’s bottle. He glared down at his brother, whose hair was still thick while his was marching toward the back of his head.

Rome said dreamily, “I’d sure like to give Gemma what she’s looking for. Did you see her? She’s just dying for it.”

“Only if you give her more of our property,” Kevin sneered. “LaPortes don’t want somethin’ for nothin’.”

“She does,” Rome said positively. “I’ve been thinking about going over there. Knock on her door. Talk to her nice and get her to let me in. Then we’d go at it hard. Down on the floor. Buckin’ away.” He smacked his lips several times and thrust his hips.

Kevin was infuriated. He had no interest in fucking any LaPorte whore ever. What they needed was to have their mouths slapped and their heads banged into the walls ’till their skulls cracked.

“You’re sick,” he told his brother.

Rome gazed at him blearily. He’d had a lot of scotch. “She liked me. Had a real thing for me. Still does, I’ll bet.”

The thought of his brother having sex with Gemma LaPorte made Kevin want to slam his fist into the attic wall. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. He had to stop it before Rome did anything to try and get in her pants because Rome was an idiot. He would fall for her! It was just like him. And then she would look at Kevin and laugh triumphantly.

Touch me and you die.

She’d threatened him, the reckless bitch. And she was going to pay for that.

He’d never killed anyone, though he’d put a few fellows in the hospital, assholes who really deserved it. But the only good LaPorte was a dead LaPorte, and Kevin Dunleavy was just the man for the job.

Grabbing the bottle, he drained the last inch into his glass, then threw it back, feeling its burn sear his throat.

Gemma LaPorte had to die. He just had to figure out how to make it look like an accident…or maybe his brother’s fault.

Just before morning the lights shot on. Gemma awoke to the overhead lamp shining cold and bright down on her, illuminating the red walls, and then she heard the furnace kick on. It was after that she remembered the male body beside her in bed. For half a beat she was embarrassed, but then, as she watched Will’s eyes open, she said somewhat shyly, “We’ve got power again.”

His hair was tousled and she could see the smooth muscles of his chest. “It’s Halloween.”

“You’re right. It is.”

“And the storm’s over.”

Gemma would have liked to turn off the light but wasn’t sure she wanted to jump naked out of bed. Will saw her dilemma and grinned. “I’ll get it,” he said, then slid out of bed, unembarrassed, and walked to the light, switching it off, plunging them into darkness once more.

“The lights are on downstairs,” Gemma realized, seeing a strip of illumination below her bedroom door as Will slid into bed beside her once more, his warmth enveloping her.

“Mmmm,” he said, his hand traveling over her skin, bringing goosebumps to her flesh. His face pressed into her neck and she felt her senses swim a bit. When his hand moved more possessively, dipping between her legs, she melted open, her tongue caressing the edge of his jawline.

He climbed atop her, his hands on her hips, his body fitting itself between them. His right hand smoothed the scar that ran down her hip and leg, noticed the missing flare of bone. “What happened?” he asked into her mouth.

Her nerve endings tingled. She pulled his hand away and shivered. “I’ve always had it.”

“Sensitive?”

“Very.”

“How about here?” he asked gruffly, and his hands found the cleft between her legs.

Gemma sucked in a breath and smiled, and Will’s lips crashed down on hers, also smiling. “Yes,” she whispered, and they both chuckled until other emotions took over.

Charlotte scowled through the school bus window, watching the sun send weak rays through the clouds. The roadside was littered with branches and dirt and leaves and the asphalt looked like someone had laid a carpet of fir needles. The bus managed to travel right over most of it.

Why couldn’t the storm have lasted longer? Maybe take a power pole or two down. She’d been gleeful all night until she fell asleep, certain that Halloween would be a holiday.

But then the power came on and her mother got up and started getting ready to go to the diner. Charlotte had taken that as a bad sign. “There’s no school today,” she’d declared.

“Turn on the TV,” Macie answered with a yawn. “Only school closed is North Creekside and that’s because the furnace went out.”

“That’s not fair!”

Her mother had ignored her and here she was, on her way to school, her Halloween story still missing a good ending, forced to go to school on the best holiday of the year.

Well, at least the weather looked okay for trick-or-treating, she determined, but a day off from school would have been way better.

Will’s cell phone rang as he and Gemma were in the shower. They both heard it and Will kissed Gemma hard, then stepped out, grabbed a towel and walked quickly to where the phone had landed: Gemma’s bedroom floor.

“Tanninger,” he said.

“It’s nine-thirty,” Barb said. “Where are you?”

“Taking a shower.”

“I’ve got some kind of odd information for you. You know that gray van that went over the ridge? The dead guy’s name is Spencer Bereth.”

“Spencer Bereth supposed to mean anything to me?” Will had tucked the towel around his waist and now sensed Gemma coming in the room behind him. He reached his free hand back for her and she took it, her own hand surprisingly cold.

“Only that he’s from Quarry. Been picked up a few times for suspected abuse, but the wife won’t admit he beats her, or her kids.”

“I take it you think his history has something to do with the accident.” Gemma released his hand and headed toward her closet. He could hear her rooting around inside and looked over to see her grab some clothes and head back toward the bathroom. A sudden wave of modesty?

“He was playing duck and weave with another driver. Possibly a woman. The witness doesn’t know. But I wrestled Ralph for the partial license plate. He’s crying like a baby to Nunce, but I’m checking on it.”

“Okay.” He heard Gemma shut the bathroom door with surprising finality.

“And get this. Spencer Bereth? Somewhere along the way, he got in a tussle with a gun. He was shot in the ass with a .22.”

“Shot?”

“I think this woman driver is our avenger, that’s what I think.” Barb’s voice grew sterner. “She shot Bereth but he got away, so she ran him down.”

“That’s a leap.”

“Same MO.”

“Not the gun,” Will said.

“And doesn’t the LaPorte woman drive a truck? White, or whitish? That’s the description we’ve got. Fits for me.”

“Witness said there was only one headlight.”

“She coulda had it fixed by now.”

Will felt himself tighten up. “We don’t even know for sure the driver was a woman.”

“It will be. When we chase down the license plate.”

“What’s that number?” Will grated. He wanted to shout at her that it wasn’t Gemma, but he managed to keep himself in check.

“I’ll give it to you when you show up here. You just can’t bear to believe your damsel in distress could be a killer,” Barb declared, thoroughly pissed. “Fine. I’ll work the case without you.” She hung up with a sharp click.

Will quickly grabbed his clothes and dressed, as pissed at Barb as she was at him. Maybe he was working too hard to absolve Gemma, defending her at every turn, but Barb was working just as hard to nail her. Hell, she really was getting as bad as Burl.

He was just about to rap on the bathroom door when it opened and Gemma stood in the aperture. Her hair was wet and combed away from her face. Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the shower, but she looked pale in a pair of jeans and a loose, tan sweatshirt.

“I’ve got to go to work. See you later?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m going to check with Macie and see if she needs some help this afternoon. I’m not on, but it’s Halloween and people might want off early.”

“I guess we know what our costumes are: a cop and a waitress.”

As he headed for the door she came halfway down the stairs, then hesitated. “Will?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Why did you mention Spencer Bereth?”

It felt like Will’s blood slowed inside him. “You know him?”

“If he’s who I think he is, I may have met his family.”

“Tell me what you know about him,” he said flatly.

“Why? What’s happened to him?”

Will’s emotions were at war inside him. He shouldn’t talk to her about Bereth. Barb thought she was a suspect in his death. But then, this was his opportunity to learn what she knew. “He was the victim of a fatal accident.”

She seemed to lose all strength, collapsing on the step, her hands still on the stairway rail. “Macie’s daughter, Charlotte, is classmates with Robbie Bereth. She and I—returned—Robbie’s bike, and I met the mother. Charlotte seems to think Robbie’s father beats her. I never heard his name.”

“So you’ve never met him,” Will said slowly.

She shook her head, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Not that I know of. When…when was this accident? Last night?” She lifted hopeful eyes.

“The night before. His van went over a ridge. He was the only occupant and he’d been dead for hours before he was found.”

She could feel him watching her closely, almost with fascination, as she would watch a poisonous snake. She’d been home the night before. Home alone. It shouldn’t matter. She had nothing to do with Spencer Bereth. It was Charlotte who’d had a run-in with him.

“It was a single-car accident?” Gemma asked.

“A witness saw another vehicle. A truck. But when Bereth’s van went over the ridge the truck sped off west.”

“Did the truck driver know the van went over the ridge?”

“We haven’t found the driver of the white truck yet.”

“White truck?” The color drained from her face.

It was damning. Will had said it deliberately but he didn’t like her response.

But I have a partial license number
, Will reminded himself. And now finding out whom it belonged to had just jumped to the top of his to-do list.

The wolf knew where to find her. He’d been there, seen her there before. But he’d been too eager. She’d chased out of the diner and he’d chased after her and he’d gotten too close and she’d ended up in the ditch. There was a car approaching the opposite direction so he’d had to drive away. His frustration had made him throw back his head and howl. He’d tried several other times to go back for her but there had been too much traffic, too much activity. Drivers flying by, unaware there was anyone inside the mangled silver car.

And then a young man had finally stopped and realized she was there. Wolf had cruised slowly along and then, when her savior had gotten her safely into his car, Wolf had followed them to the hospital. She’d stepped out of the vehicle, teetering, and the man had driven away. There’d been a moment when Wolf could have grabbed her. Almost. But her unsteady steps were faster than he’d reckoned on, and she made it inside the building.

These thoughts ran clearly through Wolf’s mind. They were a relief, because things had been getting kind of wavy. Sometimes he wasn’t sure what day it was. Sometimes his dreams were more real than what he knew to be reality. Sometimes the mother-witch was
right there
!