through him as powerful as any climax he’d ever experienced. Sex had never been easy for him. He’d never felt what he was supposed to feel—no tenderness, no sense of connection, no relief of tension, ever. Violence, on the other hand, came as naturally as breathing. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get his first boner since the shooting. That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? He’d punish Laurel for crippling him by tying her legs apart and raping her.
Nothing but the best for Virgil’s sister.
And if he couldn’t get an erection, he could be creative, use the most painful objects he could find. One way or another, he’d be satisfied, and she’d be sorry.
Sorry she ever met him.
Sorry she’d tried to defy him.
Sorry she’d ever been born.
Drawing a deep breath so he could handle the excitement, he gazed at the stillness of the lake gleaming like a mirror beneath the half-moon overhead. He’d tossed the electric can opener he’d used to bludgeon the old guy into the lake, but he didn’t let that bother him. He wouldn’t let anything ruin this moment. Not only did he finally have Laurel, she was the key to all the rest. The key to finding Virgil, who thought he was so damn great. And the key to finding Rex, who owed him more than any of the others.
“Come on, man, let’s get this over with,” L.J. muttered.
Ink nearly whirled on him. “Shut up! You’re not going to ruin this for me, you hear?”
Scowling, L.J. backed up a step. “What’s wrong with you? We’re in a hurry. She lives next door to a cop, man. Why else would that cruiser be there? We need to get this over with.”
“I don’t want to get it over with. I want to take my time.”
“Oh, my God, you’re loving every second.”
There was that disgust again. It infuriated Ink. L.J. had no right to make him feel inferior. L.J. was just a kid; he could never do all the things Ink had been able to accomplish.
But Laurel and her children came first. “Damn right,” he said from between gritted teeth, “and it only gets better from here.”
Whispering for L.J. to stand guard at the front door and to shoot anyone who came through it, he made his way around to the back of the house, where he used his elbow to break out the small square of glass closest to the door handle.
The noise reverberated around him like a symphony of promise but not loudly enough for anyone else to hear. He watched the cop’s house for a couple of minutes, searching for any response, any change, and there wasn’t one.
Then he stepped inside.
Too worked up to relax, Myles paced the hallway outside Marley’s room. He’d deposited Vivian on his daughter’s bed at least fifteen minutes ago. Despite her protests that he’d hurt his back if he didn’t put her down, he’d managed without so much as a twinge. She was tall but didn’t weigh much. Now she was tucked in and fast asleep.
But he couldn’t seem to forget about her and go to his own room. He wanted to slip under the covers with her, curve his body around hers. If he was being honest, he wanted to make love to her, too. But he was tired enough that sex was a secondary consideration, less important than just holding her against him. If he could feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed there’d be no question that she was okay and he could rest easier himself.
He doubted she’d kick him out if he tried to sleep with her. Still, considering how difficult it’d been not to touch her since he’d brought her home, he knew where it would lead. And he’d just decided that he’d play it safe, use some caution before giving his heart away. He’d taken an emotional beating when he lost Amber Rose. Why ask for more?
He didn’t want to get serious about anyone right now, not so soon and not so fast. Vivian least of all. Because he instinctively understood that a relationship with her would not only be intense, it would move at the speed of light. They’d been in a holding pattern too long already, first refusing to acknowledge the attraction, then refusing to let it take its normal course.
Which had left them waiting, watching and wanting. The way they felt about each other was kindling, just waiting for the lighted match, and he wasn’t going to be the one to throw it on.
So why was he standing here in the hall? Tempting himself to start that fire?
He needed a sleeping pill but couldn’t take one. He didn’t dare dull his mind. Ink and Lloyd were driving around in a truck that looked almost identical to the majority of trucks in Lincoln County, which meant they could pretty much come and go as they pleased despite the flyers posted in every establishment. He had to remain cautious and ready to act, just in case…?.
A cup of tea was about the strongest sleep aid he could use.
With another glance at the closed door that separated him from Vivian, he headed downstairs. He was haphazardly digging through the cupboard above the stove, looking for the box of tea he’d purchased on his last trip to the grocery store, when he suddenly felt that something was wrong.
His scalp prickled as he turned. Then he knew what the problem was. A light burned in Vivian’s house—a light that hadn’t been on when he’d made breakfast for her only thirty minutes earlier.
God, they were brazen. Fearless.
Feeling as if he had a knot in his windpipe, Myles crossed to the switch plate and turned off the light in his own kitchen so he could look out without being seen. He’d asked his deputies to drive by every hour or so, and he was sure they’d been doing that, but even if they’d made a pass recently, this couldn’t be spotted from the street. It was an upstairs back bedroom.
He was so afraid Ink and Lloyd would get away, he didn’t want to take the time to call for backup. But he didn’t want to be stupid, either. He had a daughter to raise. So he grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1 regardless of his desire to get over there as quickly as possible.
“Operator. What is your emergency?”
It was Kimberly Hannah. He knew all the people who worked dispatch.
He told her he’d found the suspects they’d been looking for and asked her to send two squad cars to the house next to his.
“Haney called in sick. Only Botha’s in the area and he just took off to deal with a brawl at the Kicking Horse, but I’ll get him over there as soon as possible,” she said. “Sit tight and wait for him, okay?”
She was scared for him. Their little county didn’t see many homicidal maniacs. But he couldn’t wait another second. If he let these men escape, it would endanger the whole community.
“Just tell him to hurry,” he said. “And call the others.” Then he hung up and dashed upstairs to get his gun.
Virgil’s eyelids felt like sandpaper against his eyeballs. The flight from Buffalo had been cramped and hot and sleepless. His head pounded as he managed to retrieve his carry-on from the overhead bin while wedged between all the other people standing in the aisle. That one bag was all he’d brought. He didn’t plan on staying in Los Angeles more than a day or two—just long enough to finish what he should’ve done four years ago.
With any luck, he’d be on a flight home by morning.
If he wasn’t lucky, he’d be going back in a box.
“Excuse me.”
A soft, female voice came from behind him. A woman wanted to get to the same bin he’d used. He stepped aside to accommodate her, but her bag was too heavy for her to lift, so he got it down for her.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him with enough appreciation to let him know she found him attractive, but he wasn’t interested. Since he’d found Peyton, he never was. His wife, son and his other loved ones were all that mattered to him.
