Playing Dead

It was as if they’d become one person, their hearts beating in rhythm, their bodies completely in tune with each other. She’d never had this sense of completeness with anyone. Lust was turning into something else, the more she both wanted and feared.

The slow tempo of their lovemaking increased. Bit by bit, together, by unspoken consent, their bodies moved faster. Sweat glistened on their skin as they held back in order to make the finale more powerful. Claire wrapped her legs around Mitch’s thighs, to urge him to go deeper, to be even closer to him. With every thrust, she shook. With every grunt deep in his chest, she gasped.

Mitch licked his lips as he watched the waves of pleasure on Claire’s flushed face. He loved how Claire gave herself so completely to him without holding back. She was as physical in bed as he, loved the foreplay, wasn’t afraid to touch him anywhere and everywhere. As if reading his mind, her hands pulled from his and wrapped around his neck, over his head, down to his shoulders where her nails cut erotically into his back when he adjusted his position to rub against her in just the way she liked.

Foreplay was the time for teasing and games; now was the time for focus. For love. To show Claire that this wasn’t an isolated moment in time. That they had something together that they didn’t have apart.

Her hands moved down to his ass and squeezed as her body tensed beneath him, her breathing quick, sounds escaping her throat that hit him deep in his cock. They were slick with sweat, their bodies raw and exposed, as Mitch positioned his hands under Claire’s beautiful ass and pushed her as far as she would go. Her orgasm came with several high-pitched moans, and he followed with a loud groan.

He lay on top of her for a minute, panting. Then he pulled her into an embrace, side by side. He kissed her all over her face and shoulders and neck, not wanting to pull out, but knowing he had to break the spell. He wanted this time, this raw exposure, between him and Claire. He brushed her hair off her face. She was looking at him, her blue eyes bright and satisfied and warm. Mitch drank in that content, blissful expression on Claire’s face. He wanted to make her happy, protect her from the pain she lived with day in and day out. They had found each other, and together they had something too powerful to ignore.

Even though half of it was built on a lie.

Mitch knew he’d fallen in love, and fallen hard.

FOURTEEN

Claire couldn’t sleep. Mitch’s even breathing was soothing, and she was lulled into a comfortable drowsiness, but she still couldn’t cross over to the other side.

She watched Mitch while he slept, sprawled comfortably across her bed on his stomach. Too good to be true, but here he was, in the flesh. Her body still remembered just how good he was, and he was in her bed, generating about a thousand watts of heat. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t sleep, she was too hot. He wore his boxers and had only the sheet draped over his legs. Neelix was curled between his feet. Mitch was a good sport about her cat.

The bullet wound he’d gotten while in the military hadn’t made it to his back. In the faint light she saw another scar, lower on his back, above his left kidney. And another scar on his arm. That one was new-it still bore a reddish appearance. She’d seen it many times before; it was on his forearm. He’d never told her what it was from, and she’d never asked.

Now, she wanted to know everything about him. They had time. She wanted to savor each moment and every revelation about Mitch.

Carefully, so she didn’t disturb him, Claire slid out of bed. Her hair was still damp from their midnight shower. After the intense first time, playful sex in the shower was a welcome diversion from her thoughts-her feelings-about Mitch. But now sleep wouldn’t come and those thoughts and fears came back.

Bill Kamanski used to brew her hot tea when she hadn’t been able to sleep after the trial. Sometimes it had worked.

She made the tea as quietly as possible using only the stove light for illumination.

She’d have preferred to stay in bed with Mitch and block out the real world, but Claire didn’t have the luxury of avoiding her responsibilities. She had to follow up on her contacts for the Holman arson investigation and check her office e-mail to see if she had a new assignment waiting.

But in all honesty, her job was the last thing on her mind. She had a trail to follow. Professor Don Collier hadn’t returned her call, but she didn’t know if he’d even received it. Maybe he hadn’t even been on campus yesterday.

Hot mug of tea in hand, Claire made a small detour into her makeshift office and turned on her screen, glancing through the doorway to her bed, where Mitch hadn’t moved. The screen didn’t shine on the bed, so she hoped she wouldn’t wake him. Gently, she tapped the keys and brought up the UCD website. A few clicks later she learned that Collier’s first Thursday class was criminal law at eight a.m., and lasted ninety minutes. If she rushed out by seven in the morning, she’d make it to Davis in time, even with traffic. She glanced at the clock. 2:30. Now that she had a set plan, she might be able to get a couple hours’ sleep.

She looked for her notepad to jot down the time and location of Collier’s class. She picked it up and saw a folded piece of paper protruding from underneath her keyboard with a bright green sticky note with CLAIRE written in large block letters.

Someone had been in her house.

Blood rushed to her head as she unfolded the note with shaking hands. An overwhelming sense of violation hit her.

In the odd light of the computer monitor, she read the letter.

Dad. He hadn’t signed it, but she immediately knew her father had been here. Not only from the small block letters he used, but from the way he addressed her.

Claire Beth, it began.

Short for Claire Elizabeth. Her dad was the only one who sometimes called her Claire Beth.

She glanced at the narrow wall where she’d hung a picture of her and her dad. She blinked, at first seeing it, then realizing it was missing.

She stared at the letter, her ears ringing. Her father had been here.

Claire Beth,

I wish I had approached you at another time and place, but my opportunity was limited. I understand why you don’t believe me. If I had been in your shoes then, at fourteen, walking in on what you did, I would probably feel the same way. And please believe me, I would have done anything to have spared you sitting through the trial.

The pain you’ve endured all these years tears my heart. It shows in your eyes. You once enjoyed every moment of the day. Now, all I see are barriers and skepticism. How I wish I could change the past, change everything that happened.

I did not kill Lydia or Chase Taverton. I am not a killer, Claire, and I will prove it to you. Somewhere a killer walks free and he is the proof of my innocence. I believe the way to find him is through Chase Taverton.

I didn’t want to get you involved. I only wanted to find Oliver because he has the information about Taverton that could exonerate me.

Oliver believes that Taverton was the target, not your mother. I don’t know exactly what he found, but it was big. He called me the week before I was transferred to Section B and said as soon as he tracked down a man named Frank Lowe, he’d have the evidence he needed. All Oliver told me about Lowe was that Taverton had cut a plea with him and he disappeared right after Taverton was murdered. I have no idea who Lowe is, but Oliver believes he can clear my name.

Find Oliver or find Frank Lowe.

I can face death if I know, in my heart, that you believe in my innocence. Until then, I’m in hiding. The police aren’t going to reopen this case without clear evidence I’m innocent. Even then, I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I have to fight. This is my last chance. This is my stand.