Unspeakable (37 page)
Sleeping?
Already? She started to move off the bed, but he caught her wrist.
“Lay back.” He tugged her against him, never opening his eyes.
She nestled her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, and for a while she just listened to his heart thudding and felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
She was in trouble here. She knew that. This wasn’t a one-night stand anymore, but it was a far cry from a committed relationship, and she’d fallen in love with him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. What was she doing? She shouldn’t trust this man. She shouldn’t trust any man, not even her own father. To Elaina’s horror, she started to cry.
He went rigid. She felt him lift his head to look at her and she squeezed her eyes shut, but her hot, wet tears leaked onto his chest.
“Hey,” he whispered.
She shook her head. She didn’t know what to say to him.
“You want to talk about it?”
She shook her head again.
He tucked her under his chin and kissed the top of her head, and somehow the utter sweetness of the gesture made her feel even worse. She had to stop. She had to get control of this.
He stroked his hand up and down her side, and Elaina
took a deep breath and just focused on that. After a few minutes, she’d regained her composure. Then his hand stilled, and for a long time neither of them moved, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioner down the hall.
Her father had betrayed her—the one person she’d always trusted in her life—and it felt strange and surreal and just
wrong.
Her world had been knocked off its axis. Her career was in jeopardy. And the work she cared about more than anything had been taken away from her.
And what had been her brilliant response to this predicament? She’d sought refuge in the bed of a man who would never love her. And then she’d cried all over him.
She needed to get out of here. She needed to go home to her drab, lonely apartment, where she could deal with it all in private.
But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to stay here with Troy, the one thing that felt real and solid and warm in her entire universe.
He squeezed her shoulders. “I’ve got an idea,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Let’s go swimming.”
She turned to look at him. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“You’ll like it better that way.”
Troy awoke in an empty bed with the seagulls screaming outside his window. He sat up and glanced at the clock. Almost eight. He glanced at the dresser, and a chill settled over him.
He spent a few moments clenching and unclenching
his teeth. Then he threw on some shorts and went in the kitchen, where a quick glance around confirmed that she was gone. Again.
Only this time she’d taken the trouble to leave coffee. Troy poured himself a mug. He took it out onto the deck and looked out over the beach where just a few hours ago he’d persuaded Elaina to break a couple laws with him. He took a sip of coffee. It was strong enough to wake the dead, and he took another sip.
He spotted her on the shoreline. She was all forward motion—none of that side-to-side arm shit so many women did when they ran. She’d learned how to run on the beach, too, and she moved barefoot across the wet, hard-packed sand. She was speed and intensity, and his heart lodged in his throat as he watched her eat up the beach with those powerful legs.
She sprinted past his house, then slowed and stopped. She wore only shorts and a running bra that fit her like a second skin, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she braced her hands against her waist and arched back to suck down big gulps of air.
He joined her on the sand. “How far’d you go?”
She glanced at him, still good and winded.
“Six miles,” she gasped.
“Not bad.”
She shrugged.
“Didn’t see your stuff inside.”
“It’s in the guest bathroom.” She wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm. “I didn’t want to be in your way.”
He looked at her and felt the overwhelming urge to do something very physical to her very soon.
“
You up for some more?” he asked.
“More what?”
“How ’bout we start with some sparring?”
“Defensive tactics?”
He thought about Mexico and Diggins and the psycho who was obsessed with her. “You can never be too prepared,” he said.
She nodded. “All right, you’re on.”
Troy was a boxer, evidently. As soon as she saw the weights and the punching bag in his garage, it made sense. He’d been fighting and scrapping all his life, and he was still doing it, only he’d turned it into exercise.
They stood on the mat between his weight bench and his car, and Elaina glanced around.
“How often do you work out here?” she asked.
“Every day.”
He lunged. She brought her knee up almost instantly, but he got her into a headlock.
“You hesitated,” he said. “Never do that. Didn’t they teach you that at—”
She dropped to her knees, jerked him off balance, and flipped him onto his back. She planted a knee on his chest and shoved her arm against his windpipe.
He smiled, and she eased back a fraction. “That’s good,” he said. “I like you on top.”
She started to get up, but he pulled her down and kissed her. She was sweaty, but he didn’t seem to care, and he held her there and kissed the hell out of her. There was something fierce about him this morning. An urgency. Or maybe she was the one feeling it because of all the tension coursing through her life. But wherever it
was coming from, she went with it, tangling her fingers in his hair and grinding her body against him and kissing the hell out of him, too.
Something creaked, and they both glanced up. Elaina stared in shock at the man looming in the doorway.
“Dad?”
She scrambled to her feet.
Her father’s familiar blue eyes raked over her. His icy gaze settled on Troy as he got to his feet beside her.
Her father took a few steps into the room, and Troy reached out to offer a handshake. “Mr. McCord? Troy Stockton.”
Her dad stood motionless, and Elaina’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After an excruciating pause, he shook Troy’s hand. “I know who you are.” He turned to her. “Elaina, I need a word.”
She stared at him. He’d flown more than a thousand miles for a
word
?
“About what?” she managed.
He gazed at her with that impenetrable look she’d known all her life, and she realized he wasn’t going to have this discussion in front of an outsider.
Troy seemed to realize it, too. He squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye. “I’ll let you guys talk,” he said, and left the room.
She watched the empty doorway as the sound of his footsteps receded up the stairs. She didn’t hear the door slide open, which meant he was on the deck, and she wondered if he could hear them.
She turned back to face her father. “How did you find me?”
He looked amused. “I’m retired, not brain dead.”
Elaina walked to the garage’s back door, which faced
the beach. Troy had propped a big box fan there, and she switched it off. The room went silent except for the distant sound of the surf. Elaina turned her back on the view and crossed her arms as she watched her father, and a bitter lump formed in the back of her throat.
“You look different,” he said, eyeing her stitches.
He didn’t look different at all. He wore a version of the same pinstripe suit she’d been seeing her entire life. His only acquiescence to the heat was the missing tie, which she guessed was in his pocket.
“I’ve been following your case,” he said.
The bitterness swelled. “It’s not my case anymore. Scarborough took me off.”
“I can’t say that I’m sorry.” His voice was measured. Even. And he’d carefully neglected to mention whether he’d had anything to do with Scarborough’s decision.
Elaina looked out at the water. She’d known her father hadn’t wanted her to become an agent. But she’d chalked it up to protectiveness and assumed he’d deal. Like anyone.
But he wasn’t anyone, he was John McCord—a man used to getting his way and bulldozing everyone who stood in his path. The Bureau was packed with people like her father. Smart, competent, confident people who were accustomed to being right all the time and who didn’t like hearing the word
no.
“If you came here to talk me into quitting my job, you can save your breath,” she said.
“That’s not why I came.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“I came to apologize. I should have let you go your own way.” He stepped closer to her until they were just
a few feet apart. “I didn’t realize you really had it in you, Lainey. I thought you’d take after your mother.”
His words were like a knife into her sternum. For a moment, she stopped breathing.
He stepped closer, tipped his head to the side, and studied her carefully, as if really
seeing
her for the very first time. “I’m beginning to think you’re more like me, though.”
She stared at him, not sure she could speak. She didn’t even try, and after a few seconds, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
“This is a plane ticket to D.C.,” he said. “For Wednesday morning. You have an interview at Quantico Wednesday afternoon with the head of BAU.”
She blinked at him.
“A spot opened up on his team, and he’d like to talk to you about it.”
She stared down at the envelope, as though looking at it might make it more real. “But I thought I needed more field experience—”
“You would, normally,” her dad said. “But this position’s designed for newer agents. They’re looking for fresh ideas, people who haven’t succumbed to groupthink.”
She glanced up at him warily. Was he being honest with her? She didn’t know anymore.
“I figured you might not want to stay with me, so I booked you at the Westin Hotel in Alexandria.” He stepped closer and put the envelope in her hand. “It’s a great opportunity.”
“It’s a
safe
opportunity,” she said.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and sighed. “You’re
my daughter, Elaina. Someday when you have kids of your own, you’ll understand.”
The words of Valerie Monroe’s father came back to her as she stood in Troy Stockton’s garage with waves from the Gulf of Mexico crashing against the sand behind her. It was the most bizarre conversation she could remember.
“Anyway, it’s up to you, of course.”
“Of course.”
He bent over and kissed her forehead, and she forced herself not to flinch, but John McCord, expert on body language and so many other things, caught it anyway.
He stepped back. He cast a look around Troy’s garage, lingering for a few disapproving moments on the black Ferrari. And Elaina knew if he uttered so much as a single syllable about Troy, she was going to snap.
Instead, he nodded and stepped toward the door. “Take care of yourself, Elaina. Let me know what you decide.”
Elaina sat in her nondescript apartment, leaning back against her nondescript sofa as she hunched over the papers spread out on her nondescript coffee table.
I thought you’d take after your mother.
All her life, she’d been desperate for any kind of honest, candid words from her father, and when he finally gave them to her, they sliced her to the bone.
He thought she was a quitter. He thought she was weak. Despite years and years and years of demonstrating otherwise, he thought she was incapable of committing herself to a goal and seeing it through.
Elaina reread the same paragraph in the same police report she’d read three times before.
No sign of forced entry. No sign of struggle. Officer noticed victim’s wallet sitting open on the kitchen counter…
She got up from the carpet and shook out her stiff legs. There was no concentrating today. Ever since Troy had dropped her off at the office this morning with a guarded look in his eyes and a halfhearted kiss, Elaina had been unable to keep her focus.
She had the interview.
She hadn’t landed it the way she’d expected—she hadn’t landed it at all, in fact; someone had landed it for her. But still, she had it. It was hers. And she’d be stupid to turn her back on the opportunity she’d always dreamed of, just to make a point with her dad.
BAU. The profiling unit. Some of the sharpest minds in the country, and
she
had a chance to work with them on the very toughest cases of her time.
Elaina’s gaze drifted to the Xerox-copied photograph of Valerie Monroe’s remains. Elaina didn’t need the photograph, because she’d seen the remains herself, and the image was engraved on her brain.
Elaina walked into her kitchen and glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven. Her pizza was late. She filled a glass with water, and the reflection in the window above the kitchen sink captured her attention.
Her hair was messy, her cheeks sunburned. Her snug-fitting sports bra revealed her muscular arms and—good God, was it
really
? Yes, it really was—a hickey Troy had given her last night when they’d gone skinny-dipping together. She remembered him nibbling on her shoulder and then her neck and then her mouth as both he and the waves had rocked her into oblivion.
