Chapter Two

Because my boss is throwing my ass to the wolves.

Valentine sounded more tired than angry. That wasn’t going to last long as soon as she found out he wasn’t leaving.

“My name is still on the lease and the officer who answered the call let me know you’d had a break-in,” he said as he stepped aside so she could wipe her feet on the rug he’d placed at the door. Not that a few more footprints were going to matter.

The crime-scene boys had already collected their evidence by the time they’d called him. They’d taken pictures of the spray-painted messages—Fucking. Cunt. Bitch. And the rest of the damage.

She was shaking her head as he followed her into the small living room. Thankfully there wasn’t that much wall space. But there was a new recliner. They’d been looking for one to replace his ratty old thrift-store treasure before he’d left.

He usually didn’t care what furniture looked like as long as it was comfortable and he could put his feet on it but he had to admit the orange looked stranger against the chair’s dark red leather than it did the small gray couch.

Her gaze lingered on the recliner for a few moments before she clenched her jaw and walked through the arch and into the dining room where the drapes and small oak table had taken the brunt of the damage. The spiral notebooks, where she insisted on keeping her sensitive information, were scattered over the table and mirrored, on a smaller scale, the same message as the walls.

“Anything missing?” he asked when she bent to pick up a notebook that had fallen on the floor.

“These are old files that I was cleaning out. All of these women have moved on. There’s nothing worth a second glance.”

“You know all you’d have to do is hit the delete key if you kept all this on your laptop.”

“You process your way, I’ll process mine. Besides, every time I’m updated I feel as if someone’s had their sticky fingers in my underwear drawer.”

And you don’t want any angry exes hacking into information about where their wives or girlfriends are hiding.

Valentine shivered when the breeze blew in from the adjoining kitchen and he followed her gaze as she glanced over at his handiwork and frowned.

“I couldn’t find any plywood,” he explained, “so duct tape and trash bags are going to have to do until we can get to a Home Depot and buy a new door.”

“I’ll call the landlord,” she said, raising an eyebrow and stepping away from him.

He didn’t kid himself. It was his use of we that had gotten him the raised brow. Tough. “Yeah, he’s going to be real thrilled about fixing this door again, which incidentally needs to be replaced. I mentioned that the last time. Hate to break it to you but your safety doesn’t seem to be his first concern.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she bit off.

He sighed and silently counted to ten. “Are you going to strap a door to the roof of the Escort? It can’t make it up the hill,” he scoffed. “We’ll take the truck. We can stop and pick up some cat food while we’re out.”

“I don’t have a cat,” she deadpanned. “Well, not really. The cat was here? Little gray striped thing—no tail to speak of?”

He nodded at the cat prints tracked through a spritz of orange paint. “How do you not really have a cat?”

Valentine screwed up her face and he thought, Here it comes. “She started coming around when the weather turned frigid. I’d open a can of tuna or give her some scraps at the back door. The last couple of weeks I think she’s divided her time between me and Mrs. Hennessey. Sometimes she sleeps under the stove when I’m at work but I couldn’t find her last night so I just assumed…”

He looked under the old-fashioned gas stove that sat at least a foot off the floor and he knew was rarely used and sure enough there was a tattered rag rug. He decided not to mention that it might be a fire hazard—just pulled it out and laid it along the bottom of the door to plug the draft.

“When did you start adopting animals?” he asked.

“She just needed me to get through a bad patch,” she said but the catch in her voice told another story and made him want to punch whoever had done this.

“Now that I know she wasn’t inside I think maybe she took advantage of the open door and was headed for her regular place and he tried to get her,” he said, nodding at the burst of fluorescent orange at the bottom of the stove.

“Who the hell spray paints a cat?” Val sputtered.

“My first guess was maybe one of Jubal’s friends. He might not be as antisocial as we once thought, plus I heard he called tonight.”

“Great, an adolescent feral artist with a posse. Who could ask for more?”

“Or it’s someone taking advantage of Jubal’s set-up. Think about it. Jubal broke a window to get in and all he did was spray paint a Madonna on your living room wall. This guy busted down a door—we’re talking knocked it off its hinges. I’m betting he’s pissed about something.”

And that’s what scared him.

He’d already called Daniels about looking into possible leads. With any luck at all they’d figure out who trashed her house before he had to tell her about the Evie Masterson investigation.

And she showed him the door. Yeah, he could use some luck.

* * * * *

Their first stop had been the Home Depot. She’d charged the new door to her credit card and he’d loaded it in the back of his truck. Afterward she’d managed to fall asleep and he was parking in front of the house before she woke up and zeroed in on the transparent bag of groceries and the box of kitty litter that he’d stopped for while she slept.

She shrugged, almost to herself. “I’ve been calling her Minnie the Moocher because I imagine she’ll answer to anything if there’s food attached,” she commented wryly. “But she does spend more time at Mrs. Hennessy’s. I don’t know what she calls her.”

“Maybe she likes cat food instead of canned tuna. Maybe that’s why she keeps visiting Mrs. H.”

“That’s her choice,” she said, shooting him a tired grimace. “At my place, she gets canned tuna.”

Because buying cat food would mean you expected her to stay. Then you’d have to pretend that it didn’t bother you if she left.

He frowned. “We can discuss what that means later. I need to get this door on before your pipes freeze or we croak from carbon monoxide poisoning because the pilot light on the stove blows out.”

“There you go with that ‘we’ again.”

“Don’t give me grief over this, Cross. This is the second time that your house has been trashed. Now, can you think of anyone you’ve pissed off lately?”

“I’m going with the Jubal’s-posse theory.”

“Yeah, Daniels seems to agree. He’s supposed to call me back,” he said, and slid out of the truck cab before she could protest so he could get down to the business of unloading the door and trying to figure out how he was going to convince her she needed to let him stick around at least until he figured out what was going on. Because there was something about that busted door that made the back of his neck crawl.

Of course he could always be an underhanded, devious bastard and use sex to convince her. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t worked before. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been trying to think of a way to convince her that whether or not she married him, he didn’t want to be anywhere but with her.

So why haven’t you made a move before now? Stupid goddamn macho bullshit. He’d wanted her to make the first move.

He didn’t protest when she came around and lifted one end of the door. Her stubborn gaze dared him but he was smart enough to say “Thank you” and let her.

“What happened to the job in Tucson?” he asked because not even Pete would tell him why she hadn’t jumped on the cable gig she’d been offered right before they’d broken up.

“Pete offered me more money to stay,” she said, and her voice was as flat as her expression.

Sure he did. Pete treated the station’s money as if it were his own and the man would rather part with a limb than an extra dollar. Valentine seemed way too relieved that he didn’t call her on the obvious lie.

The sun had triggered the ice-melt but they were still careful getting the heavy door up the steps and into the house. He actually had more grief trying to get it to hang right. The damn thing was so solid it nearly ripped the doorjamb away from the wall.

She was making herself pretty scarce and he figured she’d either fallen asleep on her feet or was quietly planning how she was going to get rid of him. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up and it wasn’t because of the breeze coming in under the door he hadn’t finished sealing.

He turned around and nearly dropped his hammer. She’d fluffed out her hair and it flipped around her pale heart-shaped face in little weed-whacked, red-gold wisps. She’d scrubbed her face and he could just make out the freckles across the bridge of her nose but she’d left on her mascara. She’d sworn she hadn’t removed it since she was fourteen and he almost chuckled at the memory. A pair of loose gray sweats, old enough to be comfortable and thin enough to cling to her plump breasts and peaked nipples, made his mouth water. When she crossed her arms over her chest, he knew he’d been caught staring.

“You think that door will keep him out?” she asked, doing the familiar, skeptical eyebrow thing he’d missed.

He shrugged. “After I’m finished, the door will keep out the wind. If he’s determined all he has to do is punch a hole in the wall next to it.”

“Lucky for me I decided to take a self-defense class after Jubal broke in,” she said wryly.

He dropped the hammer and rushed her, pinning her against the wall and snugging both arms behind her back. He swore he could feel her nipples through his tee shirt but this wasn’t about sex. Except that he’d been hard since she’d walked through the door and now she could feel his erection through his jeans.

“Do you know what your first mistake was?” he whispered raggedly.

“That I didn’t knee you in the balls when I had the chance?” she rasped, struggling against him, sliding against his denim-covered cock.

“You never had that chance,” he said and shook his head. “You didn’t scream. I’ll never understand why women don’t scream.”

The corner of her mouth, which had been crooking into a tentative smirk, flattened. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Do you know how many women are raped or worse by people they think would never hurt them?” He was shaking now and he didn’t care if she knew how scared he was. “You should have screamed, Valentine.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, loosened his grip as he lowered her arms.

He flinched when she tunneled her cold fingers beneath his tee shirt but grabbed her hands before she could pull them back. Pressed them against the heated flesh of his stomach and opened his eyes.

She didn’t pull away when he lowered his head and he waited a fraction of an instant for her to rise up on her toes and open her mouth.

Six months ago they would have had wall-banging make-up sex that bordered on angry because neither would admit to anything except that they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

His sigh was harsh, as if he’d been holding his breath, and his hands were shaking. This wasn’t the Jack Sutton that she knew, the macho take-charge cop who always managed to make her feel as if she couldn’t take care of herself.

“Did you lose your place?” she asked, afraid that he’d start remembering all of the reasons that this was a bad idea.

“About six months ago but I’m taking it back now,” he whispered right before she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his head down. His lips were chapped, rough against her own as he slid them across her mouth. His tentative kiss a tender, bittersweet reminder of what had been—of what they’d lost. And for one brief moment she could have sworn she tasted regret.

This was the part they always got right and she wanted every soul-shaking minute of it back. They could figure out the rest of it later.

He was here now and that was all that mattered. When he lifted her, she smiled and wrapped her legs around him and was surprised when instead of taking her right there against the wall, he walked them into the bedroom.

He unhooked her legs from around his hips and shuddered when she slid into a shaky stance. He didn’t let go and still managed to slide her sweatshirt over her head. Her nipples puckered in the cold room but he drew each one into his warm mouth, palming whichever breast he wasn’t mouthing while she pushed down her pants.

It had been so long and she was hot and eager, kicking away the sweats when they tangled around her ankles. She waited a heartbeat for him to chuckle at her impatience and was surprised when it didn’t come.

He looked as if he wanted to say something but he only groaned and bent his head against her breast and suckled, drawing on her nipples until they peaked and her pussy dampened. She grabbed onto his shoulders as he descended and slowly trailed kisses down her stomach and over her abdomen as he tumbled her, naked, onto the bed.

She reached for him but he was unbuttoning his shirt, watching her as if he were afraid she might suddenly come to her senses. She smiled when he forgot to unbutton the cuffs of his flannel shirt and ripped it off, the buttons flying across the room and pinging against the battered dresser that he’d left when he’d moved out.

She saw his own flash of remembrance before he jerked his thermal undershirt off and unbuckled his pants, fumbling the five buttons it took to set his cock free at last. Well, almost free. She didn’t laugh at his tighty whities. She’d leave that for another time, when they might need to laugh and remember that once upon a time sex had been fun.

His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the dark head already damp and shiny with pre-cum. She licked her lips and his dark eyes narrowed.

“Later,” he promised, climbing onto the bed.

He opened the drawer of the nightstand and fished a condom out of the box he’d put there six months ago and she hadn’t moved.

She spread her legs and he smiled, crawling into the space and lowering until he settled his shoulders under her thighs. He slid his hands under her ass and blew a warm puff of air against her pussy and slowly parted her inner folds with the tip of his tongue.

She could have come just from that single touch but she fisted the sheets and opened herself wider, welcoming the broad strokes and nimble thrusts as he flicked and explored. She quivered and felt her muscles gather but he backed off, trailing gentle kisses over her labia.

She wanted to come but she didn’t want this to end. She didn’t want him to talk about why this was such a bad idea and he couldn’t stay. She’d hold off coming forever if he just wouldn’t talk.

He didn’t have any intention of letting her come but he wasn’t telling her that. He just pressed his lips to her quivering pussy and kissed a path back to her breasts. He settled his cock on her stomach and she curled her hips, trying to get him to brush against her clit, but he wasn’t through showing her how much he wanted her.

How much he needed her. And why he wasn’t spending another six months stupidly waiting for her to invite him back into her life. She writhed against his erection and bit her lip but a smile lit her cat-green eyes right before she slid her arms over her head and grabbed the headboard.

Her nipples were the same pink color as her lips and they were already drawn up like pearls when he gently flicked them with his tongue.

Her whimper went straight to his cock and he was forced to take a deep breath so he wouldn’t come before he was inside her. He groaned and scooted back down between her legs and slipped a long finger inside her pussy. She was so wet. Her flesh clamped around the digit and he added another. Her hard little clit protruded from soft, puffy lips and he couldn’t resist sucking it into his mouth, pumping the hard little knob of flesh with the same rhythm he finger-fucked her.

Her hips came off the bed as he speeded up and added a swivel. Her inner muscles clamped around his fingers and she wailed as she came, grinding against his mouth so hard he could feel her spasms.

She was still coming when he flipped her over and pushed a pillow beneath her stomach while she whimpered and pushed her ass back at him. He wanted to see her face but she’d admitted once that she felt everything more when he fucked her from behind and this was for her. He tore the condom packet open with his teeth and rolled it on, opened her pussy and pressed inside her warm, wet flesh. The faint tremors of her orgasm rippled over his cock and it was almost enough to send him over but he stilled until they faded and smiled while she clenched the sheet with both fists.

When he didn’t move she tucked her hips and slid away until his cock head just kissed her opening then slid her pussy back over him. He let her use him, treating him like the big purple dildo she’d let him watch her play with once upon a time when they’d been lovers who’d enjoyed shocking one another.

When love had been play.

She was up on all fours now, sliding over his cock with her furious rhythm, and it wasn’t play anymore. Her desperation reminded him of their last time together.

She doesn’t expect you to stay.

He gripped her hips and cradled her ass against his groin until the faint fluttering of her pussy slowed. She turned her head and even in profile he could tell she was surprised. Wary.

“It’s not like you to torture,” she whispered.

He leaned over her and cupped her breast with one hand. “I’m not in a hurry for this to end,” he whispered. Sliding his free hand between her legs, he tapped her clit with a rhythm she followed until the pleasure built to an almost unbearable crescendo.

He had to quell a shudder when she flexed her inner muscles and he knew neither of them was going to last much longer. He grudgingly released her breast and clit before he stroked his hands over her hips and slid home, fast and deep and hard. Her guttural cry as she came ripped through him and sent him spiraling into his own orgasm and he had to catch himself on his elbows so he didn’t collapse. He shuddered, waiting for the tremors to recede.

He pulled the pillow from beneath them and gently lowered her before getting up to dispose of the condom. He slipped back into bed and dragged the covers over them. Spooned around her, tucking her ass into his groin, and was warm for the first time in six months.

“Jack…” Her tentative whisper was vulnerable and uncertain.

He slid a leg over her hip and scooted closer. “I know. Just go to sleep, Valentine. We’ll talk later,” he promised. And this time he wouldn’t be issuing any ultimatums. And he wouldn’t be leaving until they’d worked out whatever they’d left unfinished six months ago.

He tucked her closer, skin to skin, and fell asleep to the sound of sleet pelting the windows and her soft breath whispering across his arm, still chastising himself for not being brave enough to walk through her door until now.