Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The low rumble of voices pulled me from sleep, my brain struggling to surface from the depths of exhaustion. I blinked at the digital clock on Graham's nightstand. Nine-seventeen. I'd only been asleep for an hour, but my body felt like I'd been unconscious for days.
The voices grew louder, filtering through the closed bedroom door. I recognized Graham's deep baritone, but there were others. Multiple others.
I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The oversized t-shirt I'd stolen from Graham's dresser hung to my mid-thighs as I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the cool wood.
“We're done playing defense.” That was Roan, his voice tight with controlled anger. “This bastard escalated today. Time we escalated back.”
“Roan is right.” Jase's voice carried the same barely leashed fury. “Sitting around waiting for this psycho to make his next move isn't working.”
My stomach clenched. They sounded like they were planning something dangerous.
“What are you suggesting?” Graham's tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the underlying tension.
“We draw him out.” That was Simon, his voice cold and professional. “Force his hand instead of reacting to his moves.”
“How?” Graham asked.
“We use Joy as bait.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.
“Absolutely not.” Graham's voice turned deadly quiet. “That's off the table.”
“Graham, listen,” Simon's calm voice cut through the tension. “We set up a controlled situation. Somewhere we can monitor every angle, every approach. Joy appears vulnerable, but she's actually surrounded by protection.”
“No.” Graham’s voice came out like a gunshot. “I won't put her at risk.”
“She's already at risk,” Roan shot back. “This maniac knows where she works, where she lives, where she goes. He's been taking pictures of her for weeks. How is that safer than a controlled operation?”
My legs felt weak. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, still listening through the door.
“Because in a controlled operation, there are variables we can't account for,” Graham said. “This guy's proven he's willing to escalate to violence. What happens if something goes wrong?”
“There’s no way I’m letting you stake my sister out like some goddamn goat,” Randy roared.
“What happens if we don't act?” Seth's voice cracked with emotion. “What happens when he decides to grab her like he did that woman in Dublin?”
The silence stretched so long I wondered if they'd left.
Then Simon's voice, steady and authoritative, filled the void. “Hart and I are going through all the video from the vaccination day. We’re cross-referencing it with the sketch we got from the sketch artist in Dublin that the victim helped with.”
“He could have paid someone to put the flyer on Ava’s car, and there’s no video where I parked,” Graham said.
“Still, it has to be done,” Roan said.
“Meanwhile, this guy's getting bolder.” Jase pointed out. “Hart, you pulled anything useful from the clinic's exterior cameras?”
“You shouldn't have to ask.”
“I know. Sorry. This case is getting to me.”
“Unfortunately, the way Roxie had the cameras set up, it doesn't show faces. She was more concerned about watching the drug cabinets and the doors, not the actual people. I've already corrected that,” Hart explained.
“I like the way you’re handling this; it’s better than using my woman as bait,” Graham growled.
“Your woman?” Seth's voice turned sharp. “She's our sister.”
“And she's the woman I love,” Graham shot back. “Which means I get a say in what risks we take with her life. Anyway, why are we fighting on this? We’re on the same page.”
The conversation continued, voices overlapping as they debated surveillance techniques, background checks, and something called “digital forensics” and how they could flush out my stalker so they could take him down. But all I could think about was Hart mentioning the woman in Dublin.
Ten days. That woman had been held for ten days.
I wrapped my arms around my knees even tighter, making myself as small as possible. There was no two ways about it. I was scared. I was scared for them, too. Especially Graham. He’d take stupid risks if he thought it would keep me safe.
The front door opened and closed several times. Car engines started. The deep rumble of big trucks roared to life. The sounds of departure echoed through the house until finally, silence settled like a blanket.
Footsteps approached the bedroom door. I scrambled back into bed, pulled the covers up to my chin, and closed my eyes. I didn't want Graham to know I'd been listening. Didn't want him to see the fear that had to be written all over my face.
The door opened with a soft click. Graham's weight settled on the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking under him.
“I know you're awake.”
I opened one eye. “How could you tell?”
“Your breathing.” His fingers found my hair, stroking the tangled mess. “You were listening.”
It wasn't a question. I nodded anyway.
“I'm scared for you,” I whispered. “All of you. But mostly you.”
Graham stretched out beside me, pulling me into his arms. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You don't know that.” I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “This is my mess, Graham. My stalker. Maybe I should be the one taking the risks. Maybe Simon’s right and we should use me as bait.”
“Like hell.” His arms tightened around me. “You're not expendable. You're everything.”
The emotion in his voice made my chest ache. I pulled back to look at him in the dim light filtering through the blinds. His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
“You're exhausted.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not.” I traced the line of tension between his eyebrows. “When was the last time you really slept?”
He caught my hand, pressing it flat against his chest. “Hard to sleep when someone's threatening the woman I love.”
The simple words shattered something inside me. All the fear, all the worry, all the desperate need to show him how much he meant to me bubbled to the surface.
I kissed him.
It started soft, tentative, but when he responded, when his hand fisted in my hair and pulled me closer, something ignited between us. This wasn't about desire or need. This was about claiming each other, about proving we were alive and together and nothing could tear us apart.
“Joy.” My name was a prayer on his lips.
“I need you,” I whispered against his mouth. “I need to feel you, to know you're here with me.”
His response was immediate and overwhelming.
He rolled me beneath him, his weight settling between my thighs as his mouth found the sensitive spot below my ear.
I arched into him, pushing my hands under his shirt to map the familiar landscape of his back.
The scars that told the story of battles fought and survived.
His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending fire straight through my core. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His hands trembled as they found the hem of my stolen t-shirt. Graham Wallace, the man who'd faced down terrorists and survived explosions, was shaking because of me. Because of what we meant to each other.
He lifted the shirt over my head with reverent care, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin. When his thumb traced the scar below my breast, I tensed for just a moment before melting into his touch.
“You're so damn beautiful.” His voice was rough with want.
I pulled his shirt over his head, needing the contact of skin against skin. My fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle that flexed under my touch. When I found his nipple and scraped my nail across it, he groaned low in his throat.
“That's not fair.” He captured my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand.
“What are you going to do about it?”
His answer was to lower his head and capture my breast in his mouth, his tongue circling the sensitive peak until I was writhing beneath him. The wet heat of his mouth contrasted with the cool air against my skin, making me gasp and arch into him.
“Graham.” His name came out breathless. Needy.
He switched to my other breast, lavishing the same attention while his free hand skimmed down my ribs, over my hip, to the waistband of my panties. His fingers dipped beneath the lace, finding me already slick with want.
“God, you're wet.” He lifted his head to look at me, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Is this for me?”
I could only nod, lost in the sensation of his fingers stroking through my folds, teasing but not quite giving me what I needed.
“I want to hear you say it.” His thumb found my clit, then circled with just enough pressure to make me crazy.
“Yes.” The word came out as a moan. “All for you.”
He rewarded me by sliding one finger inside me, then two, curling them in a way that almost got me to where I wanted to be. My hips bucked against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything.
“That's it, baby. Take what you need.”
I was close, so close, when he withdrew his hand. I whimpered at the loss, but he was already hooking his fingers in my panties, dragging them down my legs with impatient movements.
His jeans followed along with his boxers, and then he was settling between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my entrance. We stayed like that for a heartbeat, foreheads touching, breathing each other's air.
“Are you sure?” His voice was strained with the effort of holding back.
I nodded, and then he got protection.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him to me. We both groaned as he slid home, filling me completely, perfectly.
For a moment, we didn't move. The sensation of being joined so completely, so intimately, was overwhelming. I could feel every inch of him inside me, stretching me, completing me.
Then he began to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and measured. I met him stroke for stroke, our bodies finding that perfect rhythm that belonged only to us.
His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans as the pressure built between us. I could taste the desperation in his kiss, the need to prove we were here, alive, together.
“Harder.” The word slipped out without my permission.
He complied immediately, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming more demanding. The headboard hit the wall with each movement, but neither of us cared. All that mattered was this connection, this claiming, this perfect storm of sensation.
I felt the first flutter of my climax building low in my belly, spreading outward like ripples on water. Graham must have sensed it too because his hand slipped between us, finding my clit and circling it with the perfect amount of pressure.
“Come for me,” he growled against my throat. “Let me feel you.”
The combination of his touch, his words, and the angle of his thrusts sent me over the edge. I cried out his name as pleasure crashed over me in waves, my body clenching around him.
He followed me over, his own release tearing through him with a force that left us both shaking. For long moments, we lay entwined, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat.
When he finally moved to collapse beside me, I immediately missed his weight, his warmth. But then he pulled me against his chest, and I listened to the rapid beating of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.
“We're going to get through this,” he murmured into my hair. “Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Together.”