So, Glen had asked where she’d gone. Uncle Sean had come through for her. Good news. The bad, though, was that now she had to either confess that she’d gone back to Philly for personal reasons, or lie about the interviews. Neither was a good option.
Split-second decision. “The interviews ran longer than I thought they would. Actually, tracking down the boys took longer than I thought. Found out Derek’s mother committed suicide when he was a kid. Father’s a little distant, as far as his relationship with his son.” All true. She just hadn’t gotten the information directly through an interview. Fia’s guilt gland swelled. She’d never lied to another agent about a case before.
“All three boys have a record,” she continued, leaning over to remove her boots, avoiding making eye contact with Glen as long as she possibly could. “Nothing serious. Boys-will-be-boys stuff.”
“Got a tidbit from the lab this afternoon. Preliminary, of course.”
She turned, not just eager for information on Shannon’s case, but relieved to shift the conversation. If she could just get out of this, she swore to herself, she’d never lie to Glen again. “What’d they come up with?”
“Soil on the shoes Shannon left inside the door matched the soil on scrapings from Mahon’s shoes. She was in the woods within a few hours of leaving those shoes at the door. Lab says there’s no way to know if the soil came specifically from the game preserve because it matches the soil in a pretty large area of the county, but I think the game preserve is worth revisiting.”
Fia fought her disappointment. Of course Glen didn’t know it, but everyone in the town had soil from that game preserve on their shoes.
But the soil was fresh. Had Shannon really been foolish enough to go hunting alone, even after the council had warned against it?
Or had she been there for another reason? Was there a connection to the game preserve Fia was overlooking? Like that old adage about not being able to see the forest for the trees?
She thought about the altar Shannon claimed she had seen. Had Shannon been hunting alone, or had she even more foolishly been out looking for the altar again? Shannon had seemed annoyed that no one had believed it was there, but as many people as they had traipsing through the forest after Mahon was killed, Fia would have thought they would have found it if it was still there.
Glen reached out and massaged her shoulder. “I think you and I need to go back to where Mahon was killed and have a look around,” he said. “I can’t shake the feeling this means something.”
If she and Glen were going back into the forest tomorrow, she’d have to give everyone a heads-up. Sept members almost never hunted during daylight hours, but she couldn’t take any chances if Glen was going to be knocking around out there.
“You okay?” he asked.
She rolled her shoulders, tipping her head back, closing her eyes. “Yeah, fine. Just beat.” His fingers felt so good. The taut muscles in her neck and shoulders began to loosen up.
Glen sat up, wrapping his legs around her, and began to rub her shoulders in earnest.
She moaned. “That feels good.”
He kissed the back of her neck.
“That too,” she whispered, eyes still closed.
The pressure of his mouth against her neck sent shivers of anticipation through her. Tiny, electric pulses ignited nerve endings in every region of her body. It fascinated Fia that Glen could touch her ear lobe with the tip of his tongue and she could feel it in the crooks of her elbows, on her nipples, above her navel…lower.
As Glen kissed the nape of her neck, he teased at the hem of her silk T-shirt, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of her abdomen. He slipped his hand under the shirt and brought it up to cup her breast. “Missed you today,” he whispered.
“Mmmm.” She leaned back against him.
He slipped his fingers beneath the underwire of her bra and she reached back and unfastened it. He cupped her breast with his hand and squeezed gently.
It felt good to be in Glen’s arms. To feel the security of his entire body wrapped around hers.
He kissed his way along her jaw and she turned her head to meet his lips. Tonight he had the smoky taste of scotch on his breath. Uncle Mungo’s influence, no doubt.
She kissed him hungrily, wanting to possess, be possessed at the same time.
Glen pulled her shirt over her head, tossed it to the floor with her bra. He drew his hand across her abdomen, his fingers lingering just below her navel. Teasing.
She lifted her arms above her head, caught the fabric of his white V-necked Hanes, and pulled it over his head, adding it to the growing pile on her mother’s latch-hook rug. When she leaned against him again, the soft mat of dark hair between his pecs tickled her back. She rubbed harder, stimulating his nipples.
His husky groan in her ear sent her pulse up a notch. She caught his hand and drew it down over the fabric of her dress slacks, between her thighs.
“Here?” he whispered.
“Right there.” Her words came out breathy.
Using both hands, his arms still around her waist, he unfastened the hook at her waistband. Eased down the zipper. He took his time, his fingers applying light pressure to her sensitive skin, skin that was becoming more sensitive by the moment.
When he slipped two fingers into her panties, her breath caught in her throat.
“And how about here?”
“There…” Past breathy now. Practically panting. “There’s good, too,” she whispered.
He kissed her cheek and she could feel him smiling.
Maybe she could handle this. Her thoughts floated somewhere above her. Maybe she could make it work. He was in no danger. Right now, blood
