Chapter Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
MAVEN
I don’t know what kind of drug this man uses as mouthwash, but it’s powerful. The moment our lips touch, my logical brain blinks offline in a sudden fit of narcolepsy, and all my nerve endings wake up and burst into flames.
I kiss him back with total abandon, wrapping my arms around his waist. He grinds his erection into my pelvis. We’re lost in each other until someone tries to open the door, then we break apart abruptly, breathing hard.
The sound of knocking echoes through the room, then a tentative male voice says, “Hello? Is someone in there?”
Ronan turns his head and thunders, “Go the fuck away!”
Gratified by the startled silence, he turns back to me. “Where were we?”
“Pretending we like each other. I should leave now.”
He lowers his head and nibbles at the corner of my mouth as he flexes his hips against mine. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“Yes, I should, or we’ll wind up defiling this desk.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Are you wearing panties under this dress?”
He slides a hand up my thigh, bunching up my skirt. When his fingers encounter the narrow strip of cotton around my hip, he tsks in disappointment.
“I don’t run errands without underwear.”
“Too bad,” he says in a husky whisper, nuzzling my neck. “Not that it matters.”
He slides his fingers under the fabric and starts to stroke me.
I should stop him. I know I should. This is foolish and reckless and has disaster written all over it, but my brain has abdicated the throne and my hormones are in charge, and those suckers are taking no prisoners.
When he slides a finger deep inside me, I sink my nails into his back, open my legs wider, and moan.
He bites my throat and works his finger in and out of me. I reach between our legs and squeeze his erection through his trousers.
As soon as I touch him, it’s as if I flipped a switch. Our kisses turn frantic and greedy. Our bodies strain against each other. Our hearts pound together through our chests. I can’t get enough of him, nor he of me, and logic be damned.
We’re doing this.
I fumble with his belt and zipper as he devours my mouth and finger fucks me. The moment his erection springs free of his clothing, I wrap my hand around the thick shaft and look into his eyes.
“One last time,” I say breathlessly. “Just for old time’s sake.”
His laugh is soft and mocking. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”
He pulls his finger out of me and grasps my ass in both hands, then, as I hold my panties to one side, he shoves inside me, burying himself in a single, powerful thrust.
His guttural groan of pleasure rises from deep in his chest. Then he kisses me deeply, his tongue possessively delving into my mouth as his hips set a rhythm of deep, hard strokes.
He fucks me on the desk as I cling to his shoulders and pretend this doesn’t mean anything.
It’s fast and frantic. I climax first, arching and gasping against him, chanting his name in a ragged whisper. The motion of his hips falters, then he groans into my mouth and empties himself inside me.
We’re quiet for a long moment. The only sounds in the room are the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights and our labored breathing. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against his body and holds me tightly, burying his face into my hair.
I wonder if he feels like I do, like gravity has malfunctioned, and we’re floating alone somewhere off in space.
Then, because he’s Ronan Croft, he shatters the lovely spell we’re under by saying something awful.
“If you don’t let me into Bea’s life, I’ll take you to court.”
I shove him away, slide off the desk, and pull down my dress. As he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up, my heart clads itself with scales of steel.
I can’t remember the last time I was this disappointed in myself. Straightening my shoulders, I try and look as dignified as someone who was just fucked on a rickety desk in a grocery store’s employee lounge can possibly look.
“I’m leaving now. Don’t call me again. And don’t stand outside the front gate anymore. You’re becoming a nuisance. Goodbye, Ronan.” With my nose in the air, I walk out of the room.
Five seconds later, a text comes through on my phone.
Like it or not, she’s mine. And so are you.
I speed walk back to the house, jacked up with frustration and brimming with questions that have no answers. I consider going to the police, but they’re probably as prejudiced against us as everybody else is in this town.
What we need is an outsider’s help. Someone I can show all the evidence to and get an expert opinion from in return.
As soon as I walk in the door, I run up the stairs to my room to avoid seeing anyone. I splash my face with cold water, change my soaked underwear, and sit at the desk with my laptop.
A search for private investigators in Vermont provides millions of hits, so I refine the search for the largest city in the state, Burlington.
I find a few promising firms in the results.
The best one is staffed by former military intelligence personnel from government agencies like the CIA and the FBI.
They sound like people who could find a missing corpse, so I call the number.
The woman who answers asks for my name and a brief description of my needs, then tells me to hold. When the line is picked up again, it’s by a man with a gruff voice and a no-nonsense manner.
“Hello, Ms. Blackthorn. This is Cole Walker. I understand you could use my help.”
I already have confidence in this guy. He sounds like he could run entire countries without breaking a sweat.
“Hi, Mr. Walker. Yes, I need your assistance finding my grandmother.”
“I see. How long has she been missing?”
“Since the day she was supposed to be buried.”
His pause is brief but potent. “Your grandma’s dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought this was a missing person case.”
“It is. Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean she’s not a person.”
Another pause. I imagine him wondering why he didn’t retire years ago like his wife told him to.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s happening, Ms. Blackthorn, and I’ll see if I can be of help to you.”
I launch into a long and detailed description of not only the mystery of Granny’s whereabouts, but also the strange history of my ancestors’ accidental deaths, the questionable circumstances of my mother’s death, and my recent brush with death via a falling cement facade.
When I’m done, there’s a long silence.
“Let’s rewind a moment to your grandmother. You say her body was taken out a window of the funeral home?”
“Yes. Oh, and she was naked. I forgot that part.”
“She was … naked.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it, either. There are some really sick people in this world.”
His pauses are getting longer and longer. “Someone stole your grandmother’s naked corpse through a window.”
“And left all her clothes folded neatly on the ground outside. That’s right.”
“Have you seen the security feed from the funeral home?”
“According to the undertaker, there was nothing unusual on the tapes, except that the camera on the side of the building where my grandmother’s viewing room was wasn’t functional, so nothing in that direction was recorded.”
He chuckles. “Isn’t that convenient.”
“That’s exactly what I said!”
“All right, Ms. Blackthorn. This is an interesting case.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“I’ll be glad to help you.”
He gives me an overview of how his process works, then names an hourly price that seems reasonable. I agree to it, and he says he’ll send me an electronic contract to sign and start work as soon as he receives a retainer.
We talk for a while longer until I mention the name of my town. That brings the conversation to a screeching halt.
“Solstice?” He repeats it reluctantly, as if simply giving voice to the word will conjure evil spirits.
“Yes. Why?”
“Home of the Croft family of Croft Pharmaceuticals, that Solstice?”
I close my eyes and exhale in defeat. “Don’t tell me. You were frat pledges with Elijah.”
“No, ma’am, I was not, but that family has a bad reputation. Most law enforcement folks I know would rather wrestle a grizzly than go up against a Croft.”
I don’t have to ask why. The Crofts are more powerful than the president.
“So you’re scared of them like everybody else, huh?”
It’s the right thing to say. I can almost hear his ego rising to the occasion like a peacock shaking out its tail feathers.
He says loudly, “Cole Walker isn’t scared of anybody, ma’am, especially a bunch of crooked rich folks who ain’t done an honest day’s work in their whole entitled lives.”
“Amen! Does this mean you’re still on the job?”
“I’m on the job.”
“I’m so relieved. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll put Nancy back on to get your email. Watch for that contract to come through this afternoon. Oh, and Ms. Blackthorn?”
“Yes?”
He lowers his voice. “You be careful. Whatever’s going on in that town, the Crofts know about it. Probably have a hand in it, too. What you said about your family dying in odd ways…”
“No more dramatic pauses. You’re making me nervous.”
“All I’m saying is that if I were you, I’d seriously consider exhuming one or two of your relatives and conducting a postmortem. Two or three accidents, that could be coincidence. An entire family tree? You’re dealing with something else.”
I knew it. My hypothesis isn’t that far-fetched.
I thank him and hang up, then take the bag with the hair dye in it that someone brought up and left on the dresser into the bathroom. I mix it and apply it carefully to my roots. Thirty minutes later, I hop into the shower to rinse it out.
When I towel dry and comb my hair, I’ve still got a quarter inch of red showing at my scalp. The color didn’t take.
Nothing in this godforsaken town works the way it’s supposed to.