She gulped. Or not.
“He’s smart enough to set up Matthews.”
“No,” she protested. “I realize that you think my attraction to him is getting in the way of the investigation, but I know he’s not a killer.”
“How? Because he has a cute smile and a hot bod?”
Sonny flushed. “Mitchell has a cute smile and a hot bod.”
“So it’s more than that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “But sexual chemistry doesn’t make him innocent. Guys like Fortune are experts at playing women.”
She shook her head, wishing she could make him understand.
“What about Lisette Bruebaker? You know he was messing around with her, Sonny. And she was just a kid.”
“A kid with a crush who crawled into his bed while he was sleeping. Nothing happened between them.”
The corner of Grant’s mouth tipped up, but the expression did not convey even an inkling of amusement. “Surely you must realize how deluded you sound.” His eyes roved over her face. “Was he that good?”
Shame washed over her, and she looked away, her gaze landing on the narrow strip of wall between the couch and the entrance to the hallway. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt were still there, tangled in a pathetic little heap on the ground, because she’d never bothered to put them back on. Like a crazed sex fiend, savoring her sweet fix, she’d stayed naked in the dark for a long while after Ben left, her back against the wall and her hand between her legs, replaying the memory of their heated sexual encounter.
As if the outline of their entwined bodies had been burned into the wall, Grant leapt to his feet, gesturing angrily at her discarded clothes. “You were with him again last night? Have you lost your fucking mind?”
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. This was so humiliating.
Grant ranted and raved for a few minutes, which was so out of character for him that she couldn’t help but stare. “I have to go back to Quantico,” he said finally. “My daughter’s been getting into trouble at school, partying instead of going to her classes, and my wife keeps complaining about how I’m never home.” He turned and glared at her. “You’re lucky this shit is happening during the holidays. If I could spare another agent, your ass would be on administrative suspension so goddamned fast.”
Sonny gaped at him in amazement. He was actually going to let her stay on the case. “You won’t regret this, Grant,” she promised, giving him an impulsive hug.
His body stiffened in her arms. She didn’t think he was uncomfortable with physical contact, or that he considered the display of affection inappropriate. He was merely surprised, because in the years they’d known each other, she’d always avoided his touch. She’d confided in him about her past and he’d been very conscientious about giving her the space she needed.
Only, now she didn’t need it anymore.
Sonny smiled against his shoulder when he gave her back a few awkward pats. Although the embrace warmed a cold, lost place inside her, she took pity on him and let him go. The way he studied her, bewildered and concerned and stern all at once, reminded her of the way Ben looked at Carly.
Her eyes moistened with tears, and she had to laugh at her sudden sentimentality.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” he said, shaking his head. “And don’t think I’m giving you a free pass to play house with Ben Fortune. When this case wraps, you’ll be up for review, and you’ll be damned lucky if the board lets you keep your badge.”
After driving him to get stitched up in the ER, and paying cash for the visit, despite James’ protests, Ben took James to the medical examiner’s office downtown.
James signed for the release of his parents’ bodies, under Paula DeGrassi’s express consent, and they referred him to a local funeral home that did low-cost cremations for the families of victims of violent crimes.
Arlen Matthews’ remains would be “respectfully disposed of.” James wasn’t sure what that meant, and he didn’t really care. Just as long as no iota of his father lingered behind on this planet, he was satisfied.
His mother’s ashes would be ready for pickup tomorrow. He and Stephen planned to take out the boat and spread her remains at sea.
That chore completed, James was left with another, more daunting task: cleaning up the home his dad had mistreated for decades. He and Stephen were going to go cut a swath through the place with bleach and heavy- duty trash bags, throwing away anything that couldn’t be sanitized. Despite the bad memories the house imbued, James decided he would sleep there tonight, away from Stephen and Rhoda and Carly and Ben, avoiding everyone who felt sorry for him or wanted to smother him or get rid of him or take a piece of him.
When Ben dropped him at Stephen’s duplex, he jumped out of the SUV with a terse thanks, intent on a quick and painless escape.
Carly wouldn’t let him off so easy. “Hang on a minute, James,” she said, getting out and following him.
Summoning an insolent stance, he stopped at the front step to wait for her, noting that Ben had turned off the engine and covered his eyes with one hand, as if unable to watch his daughter’s eminent destruction.
“What do you want?” James asked, annoyed with Ben for making him feel predictable, and with himself for needing Carly so badly it terrified him.
She crossed her arms under her breasts, a gesture that was both tentative and irresistible. “Just to say good- bye, I guess.”
Her face was pinched with sadness. For the first time ever, she didn’t look beautiful. And he loved her so much he was drowning in it.
“Do you mean good-bye for now, or good-bye forever?” he asked.
“Is that what you want?” she said, studying him from beneath sooty lashes. “Good-bye forever?”
Because he couldn’t speak, he nodded, despair closing around him like commercial-grade netting.
“My mom’s name was Olivia,” she whispered. “I never got a chance to say good-bye.”
Inside the Navigator, Ben rested his forehead against the steering wheel. James focused on that image, instead of her words.
“What was your mom’s name?”
He dragged his gaze back to Carly. “Gabrielle,” he said, feeling the sudden rush of tears, hot and inevitable. His eyes filled and overflowed, but he was too proud to blink or brush the wetness away from his face.
She lifted a hand, as if to touch his cheek, but when he turned his head to the side, she let her arm drop, thinking better of it.
He didn’t say anything else, just stared at her through burning, watery eyes, trying to memorize every detail of her appearance.
She’d thrown a hooded sweatshirt on before leaving the house. Unzipped, it hung open, revealing the edge of one red handprint, a visual representation of their ill-fated relationship. Born in blood. Doomed to fail.
Carly slipped the ring he’d given her off her finger, pressed it into his left palm, and closed his fist around it. Torturing him further, she lifted his knuckles to her lips and kissed them gently, her touch as innocent and sexual and exquisite as ever.
“I don’t want this,” he managed.
“Then throw it away,” she said. “Like everything else.”
Ben knew it was her before he opened the door. Before he disengaged the lock and turned off the security system. Before he looked through the peephole.
His body told him she was near.
He let the door fall open and leaned his shoulder against the jamb, having no intention of allowing her entrance. “I guess I should have been more direct last night. When I said ‘Give Grant my best,’ I actually meant, ‘Tell Grant to fuck off.’”
Her pretty mouth twisted with annoyance. He still thought of her as Summer, but she didn’t look the same to him anymore. Gone were the youthful attitude and softer, less severe expressions. Summer Moore had a certain vulnerability that the woman before him lacked. Special Agent Vasquez was like a block of ice.
Some of the black dye had washed out of her hair, leaving an odd mix of colors that resembled the remnants of a campfire.
Cold ashes and charred wood.
He still wanted to have sex with her. More than ever, strangely enough. He wanted to have her melting against him again, her eyes smoky and her mouth hot. He wouldn’t mind playing out a few fantasies with the hard-as-nails
