One Deadly Sin (15 page)

H
olt had to drive halfway to Nashville to buy the wine he wanted for the evening. Redbud had plenty of beer for the asking but a good French red was hard to find. The drive gave him something to concentrate on besides Edie, and by the time he arrived at Red’s, parked the car, and walked around back to the alley stairs he’d reached a modicum of calm.

Which lasted until she opened the door.

The smile died on his face, the greeting expired on his tongue. After that dress at the concert, he should have been prepared. But he wasn’t.

Every man’s fantasy stood in the doorway. Scarlet draped her white shoulders, dipped low to reveal a tantalizing hint of soft breasts. Legs that went on forever were encased in tight black jeans that ended in heels like knife blades. He should tell her to change her shoes or bring along another pair, but he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. He wanted her just like she was. Hair tumbled and sexy, the swan sailing on her shoulder, the pinup girl dancing on her arm.

While he stood there speechless, a slow, wicked smile stretched across her face. “Well, hi there, lawman.”

He managed to find his voice, but it came out hoarse and he had to clear it before he could return her greeting. “Hi there yourself.”

“We gonna stand here all night?”

His face heated and he hoped to heaven it was dark enough to hide the stain. “Uh… you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He let her lead, enjoying the back view as much as he’d enjoyed the front.

She paused at the car door, and he closed in, his hands on either side of her shoulders trapping her. He nuzzled an ear, inhaled her scent. Spicy. Enticing.

“God, you smell great.”

Again, that sly smile. “Glad you approve.”

Oh, he approved all right.

“How about we unlock the door?” she said.

“Mmm, I don’t know. I’m having fun right here.”

“Not too public for you, Chief?” She emphasized the last word, an ironic reminder of his position in the town.

He smiled. Right now he didn’t care who he was. President, emperor, God himself. As long as he had Edie Swann to himself all night. But he stepped back, used the remote on his keys, and the doors clicked open.

Edie slid inside the car. So far, so good. Exactly why she’d done what she swore she wouldn’t—dress for success. Or, in this case, stupefaction. If she could keep it up for the rest of the night she might actually find out what he knew.

But when he slid behind the wheel and was sitting beside her and they were alone in the small space, it was her own stupefaction she had to worry about. His muscular legs stretched out to work the pedals and she found herself riveted. The shirt he wore—dazzling white against the tan of his skin—was rolled back at the wrist revealing the strength of his forearms. That hint of skin left her imagining what the rest of him looked like. Huge, brawny, powerful. The thought of those arms holding him up above her took her breath away.

Mentally, she shook herself. Get with the program, girl. She’d worked hard to make herself irresistible, better not let her own hormones blow it.

To distract herself, she asked, “Where are we going?”

He shot her a glance filled with amusement and heat. “You said you wanted secrets.”

A pulse leaped inside her. Could it be that easy? Quickly, she looked away, unable to concentrate under those penetrating green eyes. “About those black angels?”

He frowned. “No. Why?”

She backpedaled fast. “No reason. It’s just… well, that’s the secret everyone’s talking about. And going out with the police chief has to have some perks. No theories yet?”

“None I want to speculate on.”

“Come on, I have to give the boys down at Red’s something. Foul play?”

“I’ll tell you one thing, it’s not black magic.”

“But you must have some—”

“Look, Edie, it’s my day off. And I’m here with this gorgeous woman—”

That stopped her. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“Yeah, big surprise, I do.”

Her heart beat a little faster, poor foolish thing. “And you don’t want to talk about black magic or black angels.”

He sent her a hot glance so full of possibilities she shivered with anticipation. “Maybe I don’t want to talk at all.”

A few minutes later he turned off the highway. Wherever she imagined they’d go it had always involved lights and people, waiters, a building at least. But she saw none of that here.

They passed a sign that said “road closed” but Holt kept going.

“Uh… the sign…”

“Been up for years. No one pays attention to it.”

“Not even the police chief?”

“Especially the police chief. He might have to investigate.”

“That what we’re doing?”

“No, darlin’, not tonight.”

He parked the car, got out, and opened the trunk. She joined him and he handed her a folded blanket, then slung a canvas tote over his shoulder, grabbed a small cooler and a flashlight, which he turned on. “Come on.” He grinned at her.

He lit the way, and she followed him down a sloped gravel path. Her sharp heels sank into the pebbles, but she managed to stay upright until they got to a series of wide flat stones at the end. Holt set down the cooler, but when she began to spread out the blanket the uneven surface tripped her up, and she would have sprawled face-first if Holt hadn’t caught her.

“Hang in there, sweetheart.” His arms went around her, buttressing her body and sending a lightning bolt through her.

“I should take off my shoes,” she said hoarsely, not moving.

“Aw. They look so good, though.” He didn’t move either. Just looked down at her as if he was hungry and she was dinner.

Gazing up at him, she was happy to be gobbled up. “You don’t want me to break my neck, do you?”

His hand stroked her throat. “I can think of a lot better things to do with your neck.” His thumbs worked up her chin to the edges of her mouth.

An owl hooted in the thick dark, breaking the spell. She remembered who was supposed to be the hunter and who the pursued.

She stepped away, and his hands left her. Immediately, she wanted them back. But she felt around for the blanket, which she’d dropped, and Holt shone the flashlight on the ground until she found it.

He helped her spread out the cover, then took out a lantern from the canvas tote and turned it on. They sat, and the light made ghosts of their bodies against the rocks and cliffs surrounding them. Ahead lay a dark, black abyss.

She pulled her knees into her chest; something inside her chilled. “What is this place?”

“Redbud Quarry,” Holt said.

The chill congealed into horror, but Holt went on.

“Been abandoned for years. But it’s a favorite Redbud secret. Our own lovers lane. In good summers the rain fills the pit and the kids swim here. It’s been too dry the last few years for that, but it’s quiet, and I figured there wouldn’t be much action in the middle of the week.” He reached into the tote. “I’ve got wine, cheese, fruit. Chocolate. Everything a girl could ask—”

She jerked to her feet. Tottered forward.

“Edie?” She heard him scrambling behind her but she kept moving.

“Hey, wait a sec. Hold on.” He grabbed her arm, jolting her to a stop. “The pit’s only a few feet away. You want to fall over the edge? Here”—he shoved the flashlight at her—“take this.”

Her hand closed around the light’s metal barrel and it lit the air in front of her. She gaped into the darkness. Inched to the edge. Looked over. Even with the light she couldn’t see the bottom.

Is this what her father had seen? Had he jumped into the black, not knowing where his journey would end?

But no, he’d done it in the middle of the day. He knew exactly where he was going and how fast he’d get there.

“Edie?” Holt stood next to her. “What’s going on? You all right?”

No, not really. She hadn’t been all right in a long, long time. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“What the—” He turned her away from the edge to face him. His fingers traced her cheek. “You’re crying.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, Edie, you are.”

She swiped at her face. Found it was true. Muttered a swift curse.

“And shivering,” he said.

“It’s cold.” Another lie, but he didn’t correct her. “And I don’t like heights.”

He stared at her. Deep enough to scar her soul. “Okay,” he said at last. “Bad idea. We’ll go.” He turned to leave, and quick as a whip, she clutched his hand.

“Wait.” She took a breath. Running was what her parents did. She was stronger than that. “No. It’s… okay. I’m fine.” Face your fear and it can’t control you. Run, and it chases you the rest of your life. “Let’s stay.”

He hesitated, and she pulled him beside her again. Raised her chin. Faced the abyss. “Wonder what it’s like down there.”

“Hard. Rocky. No fun.”

She pictured it. The white-hot sun searing the cliffs. The leap into space, a liberation. The blistering blue of the sky disappearing into the jagged edges of the pit walls. The end that loomed closer and closer. The welcome relief of the rock, the moment of pain, then… nothing left. Nothing.

Nothing but a fragile wife and a young daughter.

Something touched her, and she jumped.

“Whoa there,” Holt said. He’d put his arm around her again, pulled her close. “Sure you want to stay?”

She turned in the circle of his embrace. Gazed up at him. Stars framed the blackness around his face, and this time she let herself sink into the heat of his gaze. Remembered the music and what it had led to. And, above all, why she was there. “Absolutely sure.”

And to erase all thought and all doubt, she pulled his head down. Merged into the velvet of his mouth. Pain faded against a flush of pleasure. He tightened his hold, deepened the kiss, his tongue caressing hers. And like before, everything disappeared but him. The image of the pit, the broken body, her own broken life, receded. And in its place was Holt, alive and strong, those powerful arms caging her, keeping the past at bay.

“So,” he said softly, his big hands cupping her face, “you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“How much time we got?”

“Long as you want, Edie.” He stroked her lips, and she shuddered. Tried to focus on him, on her mission, but it was all blurry and her heart was pounding and the core of her was needy and wanting.

She ran her hands along the magnificent plane of his chest. Up to his shoulders, wide enough to block out the night. To block out anything. She ground her hips against his, felt the hard length of him through the jeans, and…

She pulled away, breathing as if she’d finished a marathon. “I think… I think we should catch our breath.” She needed to keep her head, and when he was around her head kept exploding.

She led him back to the blanket, and he poured her a glass of wine in a paper cup. She sipped the wine, nibbled cheese, ate a strawberry. And before he could start on her again, she started on him.

“What’s Memphis like?”

“Big. Dark. Exciting.”

“No black angels there, I bet.”

“Plenty of dead, though.”

She thought of his wife, and pushed past his grief. She wasn’t here for comfort. “Think there’s a connection between the deaths and the angels?”

He reached over to cup the back of her head. Stroked the hair away from her face and shoulders. “Both men were over sixty. It could all be a coincidence. Maybe someone was giving black angels away as a promotion.”

She absorbed the jolt of his touch. Craned her neck back to press against his hand. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He ran a finger down her cheek and over her lips. “Know what?”

“Anything. About the black angels.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to know.”

“Maybe.” She took his finger in her mouth. Sucked it in then out. Then in again, her tongue and lips capturing him in a tight, wet embrace. She watched his breathing increase, the desire fill his face. Slowly she let his finger go, and he leaned over to kiss her.

“And like I said,” he whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

She accepted that as easily as she accepted his mouth. It was sweet and tasted like wine. Relief spread, melted into reprieve.
He doesn’t know.
The thought sang in her head, freed her from all obligation to her mission. She slid into his lap, letting the heat of him fill her. His tongue was thick and lush against her lips, and once again her body swelled with a rush of pleasure so intense it was a new feeling. Every inch of her crackled and spat, pulsed and beat in a hard rhythm. Her breasts tightened against his hard chest, and her hands fisted against his back.

Then, in a swift, heart-jolting movement that pulled her off the ground, he swooped, lifted her, and pressed her against the cliff wall. The pain on her spine felt good. Strong and hard. Like he was. A flip of his thumb, and her jeans were unsnapped, gone, panties, too. He put a hand between her legs, groaned when he felt her creamy and wet. He unzipped his jeans, freed himself, and she saw the thick, proud span of him jutting out from his body. He raised her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, and with a cry, embedded himself in her.

She shuddered, gripped his neck and shoulders, his length deep inside. Retracting, advancing. The heat and sweat like a blanket of ecstasy that nothing could penetrate. He reached the core of her, the sting of pleasure raw, ragged, a rocket trip to some other plane, some other universe. A galaxy where there was nothing but the thrust of his body against hers, the undulation of desire, the sweet, sweet kick of the coming explosion.

And when she did come, it was like that fall down the pit. A smashing of everything she’d ever felt or needed or wanted. He stopped moving, letting her feel the waves of pleasure pumping against him. His body quivered with tension, holding himself back until he couldn’t stand it, and with a single thrust, he came, too, joining her, bucking and groaning, and holding on to her body as if he’d break every bone if only she had any left.

And then, silence. Quiet. Return to earth.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“Ditto here, lawman.”

He slid down the cliff wall—somehow or other their positions had changed—and held her in his lap. Eyes closed, she drifted away, snuggling against the big shoulders and chest.