the street and walk through a media gauntlet to their own front door.
“The mother was so grief-stricken she could barely walk. And the reporters—they didn’t seem to care. They kept shouting questions. ‘When did you realize you’d run over your daughter?’ ‘Where were you in the house when you heard that your husband had run over your daughter?’ ‘Did your little girl scream or cry out?’ ‘Was she alive when you discovered her under your vehicle?’
“I was so sick to my stomach, so disgusted, that I didn’t ask a single question. I got back to the station with nothing. I almost got fired that day, but I didn’t care. I made up my mind that night never to accept an assignment that I felt compromised my integrity.”
He ran his knuckles over her cheek, wondering what he’d done to deserve this time with her. “I’ve never known anyone like you,
His cell phone buzzed.
“Hey, McBride, what’s up?”
“Tower has regained consciousness. You said you wanted to be there when we questioned him. I can have Childers there in ten to watch over Laura if you want to come along.”
“I’ll be ready.”
LIGHT, PAIN, AND noise seemed to crash in on Derek all at once—a steady beep, a mechanical sound like breathing, and voices.
A sea of women’s faces. Were they nurses?
“Is your pain under control?”
“This IV has started to infiltrate. We’re going to insert a new one in your other arm, okay? You’ll feel a little prick.”
“If you don’t stop thrashing, we’re going to have to sedate you!”
He was in the hospital, but he had no idea why. He couldn’t speak, could barely open his eyes. He drifted in and out, lost somewhere between oblivion and a world of clashing sounds and bright, blazing lights.
And then there were other voices, men’s voices.
“I’m Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Zach MacBride, and I need to ask you a few questions about the shooting that put you in this bed. Can you understand me?”
So Derek had been shot. That explained a few things. It must have been bad for him to be in this kind of shape.
He nodded.
“Can you write your name for us?”
He felt a pencil in his hand. He spelled it out—
He opened his eyes, men’s faces swimming in and out of focus. He thought he recognized them, but he couldn’t remember.
“Can you remember who shot you?”
So he had been shot. Yes, he’d been shot. They’d just told him that.
What was the last thing he remembered before this place?
He’d been waiting. Yes, he’d been waiting in his car. He’d been waiting for someone . . . He’d waited for a long time. He’d had to get there early because he’d wanted to be in position in case anyone showed up.
“Mr. Tower, can you remember who shot you? It’s very important that you try.”
Images slid through his mind. A parking garage. The sky. A building down below. The weapon in his hand.
“Why were you at the parking garage, Mr. Tower?”
A parking garage. Yes, he’d been at a parking garage. He’d been waiting.
“He’s completely out of it. We’re not going to get a damned thing from him.”
“We’ve got to try. In a few minutes, they’re going to send us away. Try to remember, Tower. Remember who shot you, and spell his name.”
Spell his name?
“Hey, Tower.” This one sounded angry. “Who tried to kill Laura Nilsson?”
He felt a spark of adrenaline, his eyes coming open.
The little bitch had refused to meet with him. He’d needed to speak with her about her abduction, to find out whom she’d had contact with in the weeks prior. But she’d gotten a restraining order. She’d thought he was trying to kill her, but it wasn’t him. He needed her. He needed her alive, and so he’d gone to the parking garage.
One second it seemed to make sense, and the next . . .
A man with short, dark hair and angry brown eyes was leaning over him, his hand giving Derek’s an impatient squeeze. “Who tried to kill Laura Nilsson? Spell his name. That same person shot you, man.”
But Derek didn’t know the shooter’s name. He couldn’t even remember his face. So he spelled the first thing that came into his mind.
CHAPTER
26
LAURA KNEW THINGS hadn’t gone well with Derek the moment she saw Javier’s face. “He wouldn’t tell you anything.”
Javier shook his head. “Either he’s still too out of it, or he doesn’t want to cooperate. He managed to write his own name twice and then spelled
The little bubble of hope that Laura had carried inside her since Zach’s call popped. She wanted so much for this to be over. By answering their questions, Tower could have made that happen. “Maybe he’ll be more alert tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Javier tossed his jacket onto the chair and drew her into his arms. “Come here. I think it’s bedtime.”
She glanced at the clock and saw it was nine. “It’s too early for me to go to sleep.”
He lowered his voice. “Oh,
All it took was one look from him, and her blood began to heat. “I think we were at twelve.”
“That’s right. A dirty dozen. Now for lucky thirteen.” He grinned, planted a kiss on her mouth. “Follow me.”
Soon the two of them were sharing a tub filled with steaming hot water. He reached for her shaving gel and her razor.
Her pulse spiked. “What do you think you’re doing with those?”
“Just watch.” He filled his palm with lather, then rose to his knees and began to shave himself, slowly and carefully removing the hair around the base of his penis and on his testicles, leaving himself smooth.
Laura watched, both fascinated and more than a little aroused. She’d never watched this process before, never had a lover who’d gone all the way with manscaping, never watched a man handle himself so casually. And it turned her on.
He rinsed the foamy gel away to reveal his half-hard cock. She never would have asked him or any other man to do this, but now that he had, she kind of liked it. Somehow it made him seem . . . bigger. The skin of his pubic area and testicles was darker than the rest of his body, the sight of his bare package deeply erotic.
He tossed the razor cartridge and put on a new one. “Now I’m going to take care of you.”
“Me?” Her belly clenched.
He had her stand with first one leg raised on the side of the tub and then the other, his shaving her becoming an act of foreplay. The stroke of the razor over sensitive skin. The pressure of his fingers as he held her skin taut. Hot water as he rinsed her again and again. And what he was saying to her . . .
