Wicked Release (6 page)

When she dared to sneak a glance in his direction, his eyes were locked onto her. As though he knew she was powerless to resist a peek at him. Hunger and pure sexuality swirled in his eyes and had her nipples pebbling beneath her shirt. Her sex pulsed and she squeezed her thighs together, feeling a dampness in her panties that wasn't there a moment earlier.

“Jessie . . .”
That rasp . . . that damn rasp of his.

It was suddenly too damn hot in that hospital lobby. Jess tugged at the scarf around her neck, clawing to get it off. She was hysterical, light-headed as the walls grew nearer, closing in with each passing second. She dove for the elevator button again, pressing it like someone with OCD needing her fix.

To the left was a doorway to the stairwell and as Jess eyed it, ready to make a break away from Sam, he closed the space between them, pressing his lips to hers.

Jess moaned into his mouth as the tears welled hot behind her closed eyes. Sweet, blissful silence echoed in her mind as all the thoughts that had been racing there receded into the erotic euphoria of Sam's tongue against hers. His strong hand scooped up her back until his firm grip cupped behind her neck, the tips of his fingers tugging the base of her hair.

His other hand weighed heavily on her hip. His circling thumb pushed at the hem of her shirt, revealing an open strip of soft skin. A sharp hiccup echoed in the quiet hall as Jess gasped to catch her breath between kisses. Desire had daggered her to the wall, rendering her completely useless, unable to move beneath Sam's capable hands. His two thick thighs flanked either side of her leg, pressing against the burning area between her legs. Dampness flooded her panties and she moved her pelvis against him; anything to ease that throbbing ache that grew heavier with every passing moment.

His erection pushed into her thigh, a promise and a reminder of all the things they'd shared a mere few days earlier. Without thinking, Jess gripped him through his pants, squeezing and running her palm along the outline of his shaft while grinding against his thigh.

It wasn't enough. She needed more. More of Sam. With fewer layers of clothing. Jess bit his bottom lip, sucking his tongue into her mouth and tasting all he had to give.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his, wide and glistening. As though he hadn't taken his gaze off her from the moment they started.

“Not here,” Sam said, his voice heavier than before. He didn't let her go and instead moved the hand that rested on her hip around her waist and pulled her into the nearby stairwell. The door slammed behind them, the sharp sound reverberating, and then they were surrounded by cold, echoing silence once more.

“Sam, we can't—” It was a cry, a plea. Having him right here and now was everything she shouldn't be doing. He was everything she shouldn't want and couldn't have, but her body wanted him even when her mind screamed no.

He ran his tongue over his wide, full lips—his stare holding as much passion as his kiss had. “We absolutely can. Whether we should or not is a different story.” His curse was muffled as he ran a hand down his face, pausing to scratch at the stubble on his jaw. “Why are you still here, Jessie? You should be far away from Portland. That's all they care about. That's all they want. If I had known you wouldn't have left I wouldn't have—”

“Wouldn't have what? Been honest with me?” she finished for him.

Silence. Again. Except for that alarm blaring in her head.

Jess stepped back, pressing her palms against the cool, painted cement wall behind her. It was a reminder of where she was, of what she was doing here and what the end goal was. None of which involved Sam. Not anymore. Not now that she knew the truth about this man. This man she thought she knew who had turned out to be her enemy.

9

S
am's heart slammed against his rib cage, his blood rushing between his thighs, torturing his cock. And it was all Jess's fault. But it was more than just the animal urge to fuck. He cared for her. Worried about her. Maybe even . . . loved her. He studied her as she pressed her hands against the wall behind her. Yeah, she was beautiful, but it was so much more than that. She made him laugh. She was tougher than nails and that was something he could respect in a woman. And she was smart; smarter than she ever let on in high school. The girl had gotten straight As but partied like a kid who was failing. He
loved
her. Holy shit . . . he, Sam McCloskey was in love. And if he didn't get to tell her soon, he thought he might burst.

But no. He couldn't. She needed space. For her own safety—emotional safety as well as physical safety—the last thing she needed right now was for him to profess his love. It would only serve himself. And he had no desire to further break her heart or watch as her soft brown eyes filled with tears. Right now, Jess's safety took priority and after they found this fucker, he could work on repairing the damage he'd created.

Sam's phone went off, echoing through the cement staircase, and he struggled to grab it from his pocket. “Hello,” he said.

“Sam, how ya feeling?”

“Matt. I'm feeling a lot better. What's up?”

“I finally had a chance to review that security footage from the rest stop outside of Boston today. Don't know why I even bothered now that we've got Zooey, but you asked and I had time on my lunch break . . .”

Sam froze, eyeing Jess. “Oh, yeah?” He tried to keep his voice even, but it felt tight, like his throat.

“Yeah. I don't know what's going on, man, but I watched that video really closely. From what I can tell, Dane's truck pulled into the rest stop as he claimed. And a man wearing a hat entered the building. I didn't see any specific close-ups, but . . . I dunno. Something felt off. The guy . . . he didn't look like Dane. He was shorter and I could have sworn younger. With blonder, longer hair. I mean, to someone not really paying attention, it could look like Dane, but I don't think it was him.”

Check fucking mate.
He knew that man was hiding more than he let on. He knew it before Jessie had told him about his lie in not knowing Cass was dead. That whole story about the job he had in Boston and his stop at the service area . . . it was all too damn convenient. It wasn't until Sam met Dane's assistant at the masquerade, “Mr. Fix-It,” that he had confirmation. And the video footage would prove it. Dane had given the kid his truck to go down to Boston without him. So then where the hell was Dane when Cass was murdered? As though Jess could read his thoughts—or maybe she could overhear the phone call—she glared at Sam. He cleared his throat, leaning against the wall in an effort to appear casual. “That's . . . interesting.”

“Interesting? Sam, what the hell is going on? I know you don't believe Zooey is guilty here, but you've been looking into Cass's death as more than just a robbery gone wrong long before you were attacked. Well, now we know it
wasn't
a robbery gone wrong—it was a crime of passion. A love triangle. And yet, you're still digging.” His partner paused. “And I'll admit, the more I help you look into the details, the more I'm inclined to think something more is going on, too. I feel like a damn conspiracy theorist.”

God, he hated keeping these sorts of secrets from his partner. Especially since he knew Matt could be a huge asset in a case like this. “Matt, we need to talk about this another time. Soon, but another time. I'll call you back.”

“But—”

Sam hung up before Matt could say anything else.

“What was that about?” Jess sounded cold. Bitter. Untrusting. Not that he could blame her.

“Work.”

“We both know better than to think I'll accept that answer.”

Sam bit his cheek to stop himself from smiling. She was too smart for her own good. And though he loved that about her, it also made her a huge pain in the ass. “I don't want to lie to you, Jess. Never again.”

“Then don't.”

“You realize that I am not supposed to share case details with you?”

“I think we're well beyond that. For God's sake, I found my dead sister's cell phone outside of a secret tunnel from my house the other night. I'm involved in this whether you want me to be or not.”

He took a step toward her and she backed up so quickly that she hit the doorknob with her lower back, wincing.

“Jessie,” he said.

“Never mind, I'll find out myself. Whatever it is you and Matt know, I'll find out. Besides, I know things, too.”

That gave him pause. “You do?”

“Oh,
now
you want to converse about my sister? Tough shit. That ship sailed.”

Why did she have to be so difficult all the time? Why couldn't she recognize that this was his way—only way—of keeping her safe? They had tried doing it together and they both nearly got killed. But she didn't let him get another word out. Turning the doorknob, she shoved her way out the door and back over to the elevators.

He followed her, rushing out the door, and nearly slammed into her petite shoulder.

“Matt,” she said as the elevator doors slid open and Sam's partner walked out.

Matt's eyes flashed with an emotion Sam couldn't quite read as they slid from Jess to Sam and back again. A grin spread slowly across his face. “Well, hey, you two. Jess, twice in one day . . . hell, twice in the course of an hour. Impressive.”

“What are you doing here?” Jess asked.

“I got a call that Zooey was awake. I need to Mirandize her.”

Sam slid a look to Jess as she fidgeted with the strap of her purse.

“You two didn't talk to her, did you?” When neither of them answered, Matt looked to the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

“It wasn't anything,” Sam began. “I didn't say anything—Zooey called Jess in as a friend and I stood by to chaperone.”

“Dammit, Sam. You
can't
be the chaperone. You're not even on active duty yet. What the hell were you guys thinking?”

“We were thinking that Zooey is not a murderer. And she didn't try to kill herself. She just—she didn't do this, Matt.”

“Maybe not,” Matt said, scratching his goatee. “But you can't pull that shit again. Jessie, you can't even be on these cases anymore. Not with your link to—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I know that. And officially, I'm not on the case. But Captain Straimer has yet to pull me off, so I can only assume that I'll be called in for other cases that are unrelated.”

Matt sighed, looking to Sam. “And you? What's your excuse? You of all people should have known better.”

Sam grinned at his buddy. “You're the good cop, remember? I'm the bad cop.”

Matt's scowl softened at that and he rolled his eyes, reluctantly fist-bumping him. “Tango and Cash. You okay? Should you even be out of bed?”

“I feel okay. I'll probably be put back on active duty soon.” Though based on the way his head throbbed, it wasn't likely. Not unless they got hit with a heavy caseload and Straimer had no choice but to call him in.

“You guys better hope to hell that Zooey doesn't tell anyone you were in there. I'll do my best to sweep it under the rug, too.” He paused, giving them each a small smile. “I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing. By the way,” he said to Jess, “Your lipstick's smudged.” Then he winked at Sam. “Yours is, too.”

He walked in the direction of Zooey's room, then paused and spun around to face them. “Oh, Jess, I didn't get to tell you at your house. We swept the area outside of that tunnel. There was nothing. I mean,
nothing
we could use. Anyone can access that wharf from the dock. But thank you . . . for, uh, marking where you found Cass's phone.”

A splash of red fanned across Jess's cheeks. “Please tell me it was just you who found it . . .”

“What's going on?” Sam demanded.

Jess cringed. “I needed something to show where I had found her phone and . . . and . . . the only thing I had on me to leave there was the um, gift you gave me that night.”

The gift?
Sam stiffened as he remembered the vibrating panties he had given her the night of the party.

“Wipe that knowing grin off your face, Matt, or I'll do it for you,” he growled.

“Sure thing, partner.” Matt tipped an invisible hat and took off in the direction of Zooey's room once more.

Sam watched him walk away for a second before turning to Jess. “I should probably go with him.”

“But you're not clear—”

“I know, I'm not cleared for work. Even still . . . I heal through my job. It's just how I am.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding and hitting the elevator call button once more. “Okay.”

“But we're not done here.”

“Sam . . .” she said, shaking her head. “We
are
done. Officially.”

That familiar tightness squeezed his chest, but he walked over, cupping a hand around her jaw and tilting her chin up to him. Her eyes were glossy and goddamn did it wrench his insides. “When it comes to you and me, we're never done. And if you're staying in Portland, then you need me.”

The elevator dinged, the doors creaking open. Jess slid away from his touch and got on the elevator, pushing the button for the lobby. “That's where you're wrong. I don't need you. I wanted you . . . before I knew the truth. Before you lied to me. But I don't
need
you.”

And with that, the doors slid closed.

10

J
ess walked numbly down the street, limbs tingling like she had slept on them wrong. Pins and needles cascaded down her arms and legs as the chill in the air cut through her lightly layered clothes. With each passing day, the weather was becoming crisper. More like autumn.

What she needed was a stiff drink.
Or maybe a stiff something else,
she thought, her mind wandering back to Sam and the nights they had recently shared.
Sex is therapeutic, right?

No
. When it came to her and Sam, sex was disastrous. Downright self-destructive. Alcohol was safer. She headed down the block toward her house. Normally, she'd just pop into a little hole-in-the-wall bar . . . something with peanut shells on the ground that was completely unassuming. But today she needed something to clear her mind. Somewhere Sam would never go . . . and likewise never suspect
her
to go.

Towering over Portland's skyline, she saw the outline of Top of the East, a swanky bar that overlooked the city at the top of the Westin hotel. It was a bit out of her league, but as long as it had alcohol, she was game.

A brisk walk and a few minutes later, she was riding the elevator up to the bar, feeling slightly underdressed, but on a Tuesday afternoon, she hoped she was a little ahead of the crowd. It was quiet and the sherbet-colored sun, sitting low in the sky, peeked in the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow throughout the room.

The bartender greeted Jess with a warm smile as a couple of waitresses wandered around taking care of the few guests who were there.

“What can I get for you?”

“B&B on the rocks, please?”

He nodded and grabbed a clean glass from the stack beside him. A few minutes later, he handed her a full tumbler. Though the drink was cold, the brandy warmed her as she sipped it. A shiver began at her neck and tumbled down her spine as she felt that unnerving feeling of someone watching her. She wasn't about to take that feeling lightly anymore. Not after those photos were left on her car earlier.

Slowly Jess pivoted, scanning the bar. Her lips parted in shock at the sight of the darkly handsome man sitting in the opposite corner. He wasn't just any man . . . but Elliot.
Master.
His e-mails to Cass had been haunting Jess for the better part of a week and now it seemed he was everywhere Jess was. He had a glass of something in hand and was sitting in a club chair near the window, staring at her. Was he stalking her? Tracking her? Didn't he say he needed to run to a work thing? Then what the hell was he doing sitting at a bar during happy hour?

Even though she had been looking right at him for the better part of a minute, it wasn't until that moment that triumph flickered in his expression. She could feel his amusement in every part of her body.

The last thing Jess wanted to do was to sit and be social with a man who held some weird power over both her and her dead sister. But could she really just ignore him right now? Not likely.

Despite every little voice screaming in her head to run in the other direction, she gathered her courage and walked over to the chair across from him.

His eyes were steady on her every movement until she settled.

“Are you following me?” he asked her calmly.

“I was about to ask you that same question.”

“If you were my sub, you'd absolutely be on the right track asking that.”

“But . . . ?”

“But, no. I'm not following you. You're not my submissive. You're hardly even a friend at this point.”

Wow. That was blunt.
Then again, after the week she'd had, Jess appreciated the honesty.

“That's not to say we won't become friends or that I don't want to be.”

“Hey, you don't have to backpedal on my account. I can call a spade a spade.” After a pause, she forced herself to relax into her chair . . . or at least look relaxed. “So, if my sister was your submissive, did you have
her
followed regularly?”

“In the beginning, yes.” He answered so simply. As if that
wasn't
psychopathic behavior.

“Wow. Just . . . wow. I can't imagine that she was okay with that,” Jess said.

He chuckled to himself, swirling something clear and bubbly in his tumbler before taking a sip. “Yes . . . she made it very clear that she would walk out on me if I continued to have her followed. Even when I tried to explain to her that as a dominant, it was normal behavior.”

Jess couldn't help the bitter laugh as it traveled up her throat. “
Normal
. Nothing about the way you live is normal.”

His eyes shot up, as alert as if she had slapped him. He studied her for a long moment before he spoke. “Your sister said that exact same thing to me when we first met.”

“Great minds.”

“How much did she tell you about me?” His voice was sharp, demanding an answer that Jess wasn't quite ready to divulge.

Tension coiled in her gut and her spine stiffened as she distracted herself from the question with another sip of her drink. A server, dressed in a tight, black cocktail dress, approached them. “Can I get you something else, Mr. Warner?” She batted her webbed eyelashes over her large brown eyes and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Subtle, lady. Real subtle.

“Not for me, thanks. Jessica?”

The waitress blinked as though it was the first time she had seen Jess sitting there and though she turned in her direction, Jess couldn't help but think it was for the sole purpose of giving Elliot a better view of her butt.

But even as this supermodel waitress flaunted her assets in front of him, Elliot's eyes didn't leave Jess. He rested his elbows on his knees. When she didn't answer immediately, he lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want another . . . what is that, brandy?”

“With Bénédictine. And no, thanks.”

“No problem. I'll check on you later,” said the waitress, and she brushed her hand along Elliot's shoulder as she backed away from their table.

After she left, Jess's mouth turned up in a smile. “Does that happen to you often?”

“Hm?”

“The women. The flirting . . .” But as soon as the words left her mouth, she immediately regretted it. Heat spread across her cheeks and she dropped her head down, staring at the plush carpet beneath her feet.

“I don't know what you mean.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Play coy. Makes no difference to me one way or another.”

His eyes flashed. “Or maybe I'll answer your question if you answer mine. How much did Cass tell you about me?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

His eyebrows shot up, almost hitting the base of his hairline. “And yet, you found me? Even knew me by the name she called me.”

“ ‘Master,' ” Jess scoffed. “Not like that's a tough nickname to figure out in BDSM circles.”

“Alias,” Elliot corrected. “And keep your voice down.” His words were stern, but there was a touch of playfulness in the banter. In his authority. As though he enjoyed every second of the challenge. “And even still . . . you knew enough to realize she was in the lifestyle.”

“I found Cass's e-mail account.” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady with the admission. “Eventually it led me to you.”

“A fact that I'm glad of. I think I can keep you safe, Jessica. If you let me.”

A burning sizzled behind Jess's eyes and she crossed her legs. “Did Cass let you?” She didn't mean it to be a hurtful question. She was truly curious. How much had her sister let this guy into her life . . . into her heart?

“No, she didn't. And it was my fault for not pressing harder. Because I could have . . . kept her safe. But instead I honored her demands for independence, however misguided they were.”

His expression was incomprehensible. This man was a walking contradiction. One moment, he was whispering to Jess proof of how much her sister trusted him with passwords and knowledge that she divulged. And the next, he was regretful—alluding to Cass not fully putting faith in his abilities. A burst of anger flared deep inside Jess. Anger not necessarily directed at Elliot. Hell, what could she possible have to be mad at him about? And yet, the darkness reared its bitter head inside of her.

“Excuse me a moment,” Jess said, setting her glass down and standing up. “I'll be right back.”

Elliot jerked to his feet as well, his eyes darkening. “Don't run from me, Jessica.” It was almost as though he knew he had hit a hot spot within her.

She was taken aback when he gently wrapped his fingers around her elbow. “I'm not running. I'm using the restroom.”

He nodded, but didn't seem to believe her.

“I promise,” she added, dropping her jacket to the seat. “See? I'll be back in a minute.”

Jess walked back to where the ladies' room was. Once inside, she shut the door and pressed her hands onto the cool, marbled edge of the sink. Turning the faucet on, she wet her hands, the chilly water refreshing her as it streamed over her heated skin. What was it about that man that unnerved her so much? It wasn't his money. She couldn't care less about that. It was
him
. His very essence and existence. He exuded authority and power . . . something Jess had struggled to claim from others her entire life. From her parents, from Cass . . . hell, even from Sam.

After drying her hands with a paper towel, she opened the door and stopped dead in her tracks as she turned the corner.

A tingling sensation danced in her belly as she recognized the broad shoulders sitting across from Elliot in her seat. She recognized that dark, messy hair. Across from her sister's lover—a man who she suspected knew all of Cass's secrets, or at least most of them—was Sam.