Ace of Spades, page 18
“I’m allowed to fuss over you.” He put his finger on her lips when she opened her mouth. “And no arguing about that.” The shy smile she gave him sent a strange flutter through his heart, but he quelled it. His heart wasn’t allowed to flutter.
“Well, I can’t hide in here all day. Let’s go see if Alex found out where the flowers came from. I didn’t even check to see if there was a card.”
“There was.” He reluctantly let go of her, and straightened, taking his phone out of his back pocket. “I took a picture before Rand sent them to the lab.” After pulling the photo up, he handed her his cell.
“‘Such a pretty girl,’” she read aloud. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Other than it’s creepy? No.” She handed him back the phone.
He tucked a damp length of hair behind her ear. “I was on my way in to talk to you when Alex called. A psychologist who practices hypnotherapy can see you this afternoon. Dr. Gleason. He’d supposedly one of the best in his field. You still game?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. What he’d like to do was take her home with him and make love to her until the light was back in her eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that.” When he raised a brow, she said, “Like you want to eat me up.”
He grinned. “Can’t deny that. How about this? You keep that appointment, and then we’ll go back to my place, where I’ll cater to your wishes all night long.”
“Now, there’s an offer I can’t refuse.” She trailed a finger down his arm. “Be warned, though. I can be very demanding.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
The man sat at the bus stop, sandwiched between a teenaged girl wearing earbuds—her head bopping to the music she was listening to even as her thumbs furiously typed out a text—and a woman and her fussy young boy. He guessed the little brat was around three or four years old, and the man would very much like to have wrapped his hands around the boy’s neck until he shut up.
The FBI building was across the street from the bus stop, the people on the bench with him serving as camouflage as he waited for his angel to appear. Would she have his flowers with her, maybe even let him see her touch her nose to them as she smelled them? Would she smile?
Although he wished he could use his camera to take a close-up photo of her when she came out, that would be too obvious. Instead, he had his phone’s camera open, ready to capture a picture to add to his collection.
How long would she make him wait to see her? He glanced down the street. The bus was about four blocks away, with one stop to make before it reached his bench. Once the people giving him camouflage got on, he would be sitting here alone, making him too noticeable.
His gaze darted between the approaching bus and the FBI’s front door. One block to go now. He would have to fade into the background and wait for new people to come and sit. The building’s door swung open, and he jerked his head to the right, exhaling a loud breath when his angel walked out with the man he was going to kill for touching her. He just had to figure out when and how.
The man wore his usual jeans and black T-shirt, and like always, his long hair was in a ponytail. He’d been coming and going out of the fed’s building lately, so he must be an FBI agent. But didn’t they all wear suits and ties, like the other men who walked in and out that door? Had she possibly hired a bodyguard? Or was he her boyfriend, one who couldn’t seem to let her out of his sight?
His questions were forgotten when he realized she wasn’t carrying his flowers. Rage colored his vision when the man in the black shirt put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned her head against him. He brought his camera up, but before he could snap a picture, the bus arrived, its airbrakes making their whooshing sound as it stopped, blocking his view.
By the time the new passengers had boarded and taken their seats and the bus moved on, his angel and the walking dead man had disappeared.
He slammed his phone against the bench, then, after seeing he’d cracked the screen, he did it again and again, until little pieces of glass were scattered over the wood seat.
“I want him to come in with me,” Taylor said after Dr. Gleason introduced himself. “He’ll know what questions you need to ask me.”
“I’ll bring him in once you’re in a hypnotic state,” Dr. Gleason said. “Until then, he’ll be a distraction.”
Nate would have insisted on it, but it was better that it was her idea. She’d been nervous on the drive over, worried that it wouldn’t work. Or that it would, and that she might learn things better left alone. Nate had briefed the doctor when he’d called, and Dr. Gleason had spent a few minutes explaining to her what would happen, his easy manner seeming to calm her.
After Dr. Gleason took her away, Nate paced the confines of the waiting room. Was this the right thing for her to do? She had no memory of her mother’s murder, but according to Rosie, Taylor had witnessed it. What if she couldn’t deal with remembering that night? If that happened, he would help her get through it.
“You can come in now,” Dr. Gleason said.
Nate glanced at his watch. He’d expected it to take longer than fifteen minutes. He followed the doctor into the room, his gaze going straight to Taylor. She was sitting in a chair, which surprised him. He’d expected to see her reclining on a couch.
“She’s in a deep state of trance,” Dr. Gleason said. “I’ve taken her back to the night her mother was killed. Right now, she thinks she’s sleeping. You’ll also be able to ask her questions.”
“Will she remember what we talk about?”
“If I tell her to, she will. I asked if she wanted to remember, and she said that she does.” He gestured to a chair a little off to the side of Taylor. “You can sit there.”
Dr. Gleason took the seat in front of Taylor. “Taylor, if I say the word blue, you will go to sleep again. And if I say yellow, you will wake up and tell me what you see. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh. Blue sleep, yellow talk.”
Nate had researched hypnosis after Taylor had agreed to it and had read that hypnosis subjects sometimes reverted to the age in question, but he was not prepared for the change in her voice. It was disconcerting.
“Yellow, Taylor. I’m waking you up so I can ask you some questions. I have a friend here, too. His name is Nate, and he’s a very nice man. He’s also going to ask you some questions.”
“Is he one of my mommy’s friends?”
“No, he’s my friend. If he asks you something, you can answer.”
“Okay,” Taylor said in her little-girl voice.
At hearing Taylor’s question about her mother’s friends, Nate wondered how much she’d understood at that age about her mother’s life.
“What woke you up that night, Taylor?” Dr. Gleason asked.
“Yelling. My mommy was yelling. She never does that.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Get out.’ I think the man is hurting Mommy.”
Nate moved his chair a few inches closer. “Ask her if she knows him.”
“Do you know the man, Taylor?”
“No, but Mommy has lots of men friends.”
“Ask for a description,” Nate said.
Dr. Gleason nodded. “What does he look like?”
“He’s mad.”
Nate wanted to growl in frustration. “We need a description.”
Dr. Gleason shook his head. “She’ll get to that in her own time.” He turned his attention back to Taylor. “Taylor, why was he mad?”
“He gave my mommy pink tulips. She loves pink tulips, but she doesn’t want them. She threw them at him. He didn’t like that.”
Damn. The pink tulips had been a real trigger for Taylor. Nate barely resisted dragging her onto his lap and putting a stop to this.
“What did he do when he got mad?” Dr. Gleason asked.
Taylor started rocking. “He’s hurting Mommy.” She rocked harder. “Make him stop.”
Dr. Gleason glanced at Nate before saying, “What is he doing to your mother, Taylor?”
“He’s choking her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You’re hurting my mommy,” she screamed.
“Blue. Taylor, blue.” Dr. Gleason sat back in his chair, his gaze on Nate once Taylor stopped rocking. “I don’t see any reason to let her see her mother die, so I’m going to skip ahead.”
“Agreed,” Nate said, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat. Although Rosie had said that Taylor had witnessed the murder, hearing it in her little-girl voice was chilling. “I’d like to put a stop to this. If we can get a name or a description from her, that’s all we need.”
Dr. Gleason nodded. “Yellow, Taylor. Where are you?”
“In the bed. I’m scared.”
“Can I talk to her?” Nate quietly said.
“Taylor, remember I told you my friend Nate wanted to talk to you?”
“Uh-huh. You said he was nice.”
“He is. He wants to ask you some questions.”
“Okay.”
“Hello, Taylor. This is Nate.”
“I like your voice.”
“Thank you.” Nate wondered if her subconscious recognized his voice. He hoped so, and that it made her feel safe. “You’re in your bed. Are you by yourself?”
“He’s coming,” she whispered.
Nate hesitated, the urge to stop this almost overwhelming.
“Can you make him go away, Nate?”
“Sweetheart, listen to me. I won’t let him hurt you, I promise. But I need you to tell me what he looks like. Can you do that?”
“Can he hear me talk?”
“No, Taylor,” Dr. Gleason said. “Only Nate and I can hear you.”
“Okay. He has glasses. You know, like wire ones.”
“That’s good, Taylor. This is Nate again. Can you see what color his eyes or hair are?”
“His hair is yellow.”
Was yellow how a six-year-old would describe blond? “What about his eyes? What color are they?”
“Brown. He’s sitting on the bed, Nate. I don’t want him to look at me.”
“Is he talking to you, sweetheart?”
“He said . . . He said that I’m such a pretty girl.”
Christ. Nate took a deep breath, willing the rage away. He could be angry later, but right now wasn’t the time for it. “Remember that I won’t let him hurt you, Taylor.” At least he could promise her that much. “What’s he doing now?
“He’s rubbing my neck with his fingers. He said I shouldn’t cry for my mommy. That she’s now an angel in heaven. He said he saved her and he’ll save me.” She started crying. “I want my mommy.”
“Let’s stop this,” Nate said, unable to handle listening to her cry. “Can you make her remember without feeling like she’s living through it again?”
“I’ll plant the suggestion, but I can’t guarantee exactly how she’ll remember the event.”
“Just bring her out of it.”
“Rosie!” Taylor yelled.
“Do it now,” Nate said, knowing what was coming. He’d learned all Taylor knew, and now Rosie had arrived with her bat in hand. The next time he saw the tiny woman, he was going to give her a crushing hug for saving Taylor.
“Blue, Taylor,” Dr. Gleason said. She immediately stopped crying. “You will listen to me now. When I wake you up, you will remember everything, but you will be at peace knowing your mother is in a better place. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you understand.”
“That Mommy’s in a better place, and I’m at peace.”
“Very good. Now, I’m going to slowly count to ten. With each number, you will feel yourself growing older as you gently begin to wake up. With each number, you will feel more at peace. When I get to ten, you will open your eyes, and you will remember that you are at peace because your mother is in a better place. Do you understand, Taylor?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. One. You are starting to gently awake. Two. You are beginning to feel the energy returning to your body. Three . . .”
Nate kept his gaze on Taylor as Dr. Gleason brought her out of her trance. He didn’t understand how any of this worked, but he hoped that the suggestion to be at peace took hold. They hadn’t gotten a name, but at least they had a partial description to work with.
“Ten,” Dr. Gleason said. “Wake up, Taylor, and open your eyes.”
Nate put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
She blinked, her eyes focusing on him. “I remember everything, but I’m . . .” She paused, her gaze going distant, as if taking a mental inventory. After a few seconds, she nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
Nate let out a sigh of relief. He’d been afraid that she’d wake up and be sad or distressed. “I know it was hard to go back to that night, but you did good.”
“I can describe him.”
“Excellent. I’ll make arrangements for you to sit down with the police department’s sketch artist—tomorrow, if she’s available.”
“Yeah, the sooner the better.” Taylor nodded at Dr. Gleason. “Thank you. It’s always bothered me that I couldn’t remember that night. Even though it was the worst night of my life, I do feel at peace now in a way I haven’t before.”
The doctor smiled. “I’m glad for that, Taylor. If you have any problem dealing with what you’ve learned, call me and we’ll work through it.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Nate shook hands with the man. “You have my appreciation, too.”
Once they were in the car, he said, “Are you really okay?”
“I think I really am.”
“Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere for an early dinner.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might be more upset by her session than she was.
“You know what I really need?”
“What’s that?”
She put her hand on his thigh, circling her index finger over his jeans. “You. Inside me.”
Nate almost ran off the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Taylor hadn’t taken two steps inside Nate’s condo when he had her up against the wall, his body pressed hard on hers.
“Is this what you want?” he said, staring down at her.
“Yes, but I don’t want to think. About anything.” She brushed her thumb over his bottom lip. “Tonight, I’m at your mercy. I want it down and dirty, hot and hard.”
“Mother of God, woman, you’re killing me.”
His mouth took hers in a crushing kiss. It was impossible to think when he was devouring her as if she were the air he needed to breathe. A kiss so demanding that there wasn’t room in her mind for anything else but him and his mouth. He put his hand on her neck, splaying his fingers, holding her in place. His other hand drifted down to her hip, and he splayed his fingers there, too. All too soon, he stepped back, leaving her gasping for air.
“Take off your jacket, Taylor.”
She slipped it over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
His gaze went to her shoulder holster. “I never did get to see you wearing your gun on your thigh. That’s on my bucket list.” He unstrapped the holster, then set it on the kitchen counter. Facing her again, he said, “Blouse next.”
That rough voice, full of command, sent heat spiraling through her. She reached for the top button, her gaze locked on his. His eyes followed her progress as she made her way down her top. With each button undone, his eyes grew darker, smokier.
“Drop it.”
She let the blouse slide to the floor.
“Pants next.”
There was something about undressing to his orders while he stayed fully clothed that she found surprisingly erotic. Surprising because she was a woman who liked to be in control, so turning that over to a man shouldn’t excite her. Maybe it was only because it was Nate giving those orders. And because of the heat simmering in his eyes. Or the way his hands flexed at his sides, as if he were dying to touch her.
She toed off her shoes before stepping out of her pants. There was a moment when she wished she had on a pretty dress and sexy shoes instead of what Nate had always called her FBI uniform. But by the way he was looking at her—as if he were about to eat her alive—it didn’t appear her clothes were a problem for him.
“Damn, tiger. You in those pink panties and bra is my new wet dream.” His gaze roamed over her body, then he lifted his eyes to hers. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”
“Blush,” she said. “The color is blush, not pink.” Every nerve ending in her body hummed with need as she obeyed. How had he brought her to this state with nothing more than a few commands and scorching looks? When her palms were flattened on the wall, she glanced over her shoulder, waiting for his next command.
He stepped up behind her and put his hands over hers, trapping her to the wall. “Blush. Pink. Doesn’t matter the color. It’s you in them. Do you even have an inkling of how hot you are?” he rumbled into her ear. He stroked his finger over hers. “When I tell you to come for me, you’re going to obey.”
She whimpered when he pressed hard against her back, the pressure of his erection and the friction of the material of his jeans rubbing over her skin, sending desire spiraling through her.
He scraped his teeth over her bare shoulder, and when she trembled, he said, “You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Keep your hands on the wall.” He slid his palms down her arms, raising goosebumps as his hands moved over her, finally reaching her breasts. He cupped them, one in each hand. When he slid his thumbs inside her bra, teasing her nipples, she moaned.
“Please, Nate.”
“Hush. Don’t think. Don’t talk. Just feel.”
White-hot pleasure was what she was feeling. Noises she’d never made before sounded in her ears when his fingers found their way down to her core, tangling in her curls. Already on the edge, she jerked when he stroked a finger inside her.
He stilled. “I didn’t say you could come yet.”
At another deep stroke, she bit down on her bottom lip.
“Beg me to let you come, Taylor,” he whispered into her ear.
