Chapter Twenty-One #2
"I don't know," I said. "My grandmother always said she thought the police were afraid to push too hard, that they were scared of what they'd find and they just wanted it to go away.
But Vance, if she's right—and my grandmother is not the only person I've heard talk about this—you probably would've been killed too if you'd been home any earlier.
Your parents loved you. They would not have wanted that.
Would you? If it was the same situation, would you want Rosie to come in and try to save your life at risk to her own? "
"No. No, of course not," he said immediately.
The words settled into the quiet room, and Vance's muscles relaxed.
"I wish I could take those memories away," I said. "I wish you hadn't seen that. And if I ever find out who’s sending those pictures . . ." I trailed off.
"You have to get in line for that," Vance said. "If we ever find out who’s behind the pictures . . . probably better if the Sinclairs find them first."
"I just don't understand why they're sending them in the first place," I said. "Is it about your family? Is someone just trying to make you miserable?"
Vance shook his head, his eyes tired and frustrated.
"If that's their plan, it's fucking twisted.
When I saw Jacob's picture, the way they'd colored in the tie, I thought it might be a clue.
But none of us could figure out what it meant, and if somebody knows who killed my parents, why send us the pictures?
Why not just tell the police? It doesn't make any goddamn sense. "
"Was there anything weird about this picture?" I hadn't wanted to look closely enough to find out.
"Yeah," Vance said, "My father's cufflinks weren't his cufflinks.
We're trying to figure out what it means.
Aiden thought they looked familiar, but he couldn't place them.
The whole thing is just fucked up, and I don't like the idea that someone is watching us closely enough to know that I'm living with you and felt safe enough to come to your house. "
I hadn't even thought about that part of it. I'd been so worried about Vance that it hadn't occurred to me that a stranger who possibly meant us harm had been at the front door. I opened my mouth to ask Vance about it when he said,
"Evers is setting up all new security on the house. Please don't argue with me about it. Your grandmother barely has workable locks, the wiring for the old system is shot, and you never use it anyway. It's not safe. You're too isolated from your neighbors here."
"I'm right in the middle of Buckhead," I protested.
The second the words left my mouth, I realized how stupid they were. This was one of the safest neighborhoods in the country. And Vance had lost his parents and his aunt and uncle less than a mile from where we were sleeping.
A stranger had been at the front door earlier today, someone who possibly had a grudge against the Winters family. If Vance wanted to update the security, if it would help him sleep at night, I wasn't going to fight him.
"I'm sorry, "I said. "Whatever you want to do is fine. Just have Evers send me the bill."
Vance's finger pressed to my lips, stopping my words. "Shut it, Magnolia. I'm not sending you the fucking bill."
"Whatever you want, Vance," I said against his finger, just before I bit him. He yanked his finger back and sucked on it, giving me an exaggerated wounded look. "Do you have a lot of nightmares?" I asked carefully.
"More often in the last year," he said, his eyes avoiding mine, fixed on my mouth.
Since he'd stopped drinking, he meant. I guessed that when he'd been drinking, there'd been no dreams.
"What do you do when you have a nightmare?" I asked.
"Usually, I go for a run or up on the roof to work out, sweat it out of my system."
"You already went for a run today," I said.
"Twice," he agreed, skimming his hand down my side and over my ass to hook behind my knee. He pulled my leg up over his hip.
I was wearing a stretchy, spaghetti strap nightgown—more online shopping—but I hadn't worn any underwear to bed.
Vance's fingers dipped between my legs, stroking me, lingering on my clit before sliding back up to pull the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder and down my arm.
"I don't want to go running again."
"No, I don't think you should," I said, trying not to smile as he traced a circle around my nipple, the flesh tightening into a point at his touch. I reached between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around his erection. He was mostly hard, and he surged in my grip.
"You might pull a muscle if you get too much more exercise today," I said seriously. "You should let me do all the work."
"You did all the work last time," he said, flipping me onto my back and rising over me after grabbing a condom.
"That's not how I remember it," I said, wrapping my legs around his hips. He kissed me, his mouth gentle, seeking, the kiss so much more than a prelude to sex.
I hooked my feet behind his ass and tightened my legs, pulling him into me, urging his cock against my pussy. He rocked into me, spreading the gathering moisture until we were both slick with it and he could press inside with slow, delicious pressure.
So slow. He filled me with deep, deliberate thrusts, kissing me the same way. Deliberately. Carefully.
Dragging out the pleasure of it until I was shaking, tears spilling down my cheeks, the intensity of our connection overwhelming.
The orgasm took me in one long wave, pulling me under until I was gasping with pleasure, my arms wound around his shoulders holding him tightly.
I couldn't tell Vance what was in my heart. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I held him to me, my body trembling beneath his, hoping that he knew, hoping that some hidden part of him knew how much he was loved.