11:00 P.M.
Jake was waiting in his truck for her when she got home. When Miranda pulled into her driveway, he climbed out and came to meet her.
Before she could speak, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. His hands were cold but his lips were warm and she melted into him, bringing her own hands from his chest to his neck.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Hey.”
She smiled. “Hey back.”
“I missed you.”
The simply stated words hit her like a wrecking ball. “I missed you, too.”
“Can I come in?”
She replied by catching his hand and leading him into the house. They didn’t bother with lights or flipping on the furnace—they had enough heat between them to burn the house down.
And start a fire they did, tugging at buttons and zippers, yanking away clinging fabric, cursing denim that resisted, impatient, greedy and unashamed of it.
Naked, they toppled together to the bed. Miranda took the role of aggressor, then he did, anchoring her arms above her head, ravaging her mouth. And she allowed it until she didn’t, flipping him onto his back, pinning him to the mattress.
This was angry need. Nothing tender or soft at the edges here. Sharp, white heat. Furious desire.
She felt it in him, too. Refusal to relinquish control. Anger. Or was that frustration?
With a primal sound he had her on her back and was atop her, thrusting into her. She cried out in both fury and pleasure, digging her fingers into his back, urging him to go deeper. Harder.
And then, with a joint cry of release, it was over. They lay panting, side by side but not touching. Seconds of silence became minutes.
He broke the silence first. “What was that?” he asked, voice raspy.
“You tell me.”
They both knew. The investigation. Details shared. Trust broken.
“I had to tell him about us, Miranda. It was going to come out.”
If she became a suspect, everything would be exposed. She could hear her nearest neighbor saying, “I saw Officer Billings leaving her place real early in the morning,” and retired social-studies teacher Tula Guidry who lived at the very end of the road sharing that “Officer Billings used to come by and visit at night … didn’t notice him leave until morning … figured it wasn’t any of my business.”
“And the button?” she asked, a pinch in her chest.
“It’s evidence, Miranda. You know that.”
She did. But it pissed her off anyway. It hurt. Because that was hers. Her truth. Her history.
“What about you, Jake? Who was that man just now?”
“Buddy suspended me. This afternoon.”
“Oh.” She processed the news a moment. “For how long?”
“One week, without pay. Pending further investigation.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m a big boy. I made my own decisions.”
“But you’re angry. You think I couldn’t feel it?”
“I didn’t try to hide it. Besides, ever consider maybe I’m angry at myself?”
She wanted to ask him why. But she didn’t want to know the answer—she was afraid he would tell her he was angry at himself for wanting her.
Instead, she sat up, pushing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ears. “I’m hungry,” she said. “How about you?”
He looked at her then, for the first time since they’d finished making love. “This doesn’t resolve anything.”
“Yeah it does.” She grinned. “I won’t be hungry anymore.”
“True that.”
He rolled out of bed. She watched as he crossed to his jeans, lying in a heap on the floor, watched the subtle play of his muscles as he bent to pick them up, as he slipped one leg in, then the other.
“Jake?” He glanced over his shoulder at her in question. “You’re gorgeous.”
Why hadn’t she noticed before? Why hadn’t she lingered over the place where his pecs met the ridge of his abs, or admired how his abs narrowed, leading her gaze lower. Tempting her to follow with her hands.
He flashed her a quick, surprised smile. “Thanks, Rader. Can’t say I’ve ever thought of myself that way before.”
“Maybe you should start? But don’t let it go to your head.”
He laughed, plucked up his T-shirt, and tossed it at her. And just like that, the mood between them changed, becoming light and easy.
They laughed and chatted, raiding the refrigerator and freezer. He downed a leftover slice of pizza; she attacked a pint of Rocky Road ice cream.
From there he rummaged in her pantry, coming out with a box of Captain Crunch cereal. “Seriously?” he asked, holding up the box in mock horror.
She snatched the box from him. “This happens to make a delicious topping.”
“For what? An ice-cream sundae?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. But it’s even better on a peanut butter sandwich.”
He grimaced. “That sounds … disgusting.”
“You, sit.” Miranda pointed to one of the chairs at the table, then marched across to the pantry for the peanut butter and bread. She slathered the nut butter on the bread, sprinkled on the cereal, then added the top slice of bread to both sandwiches. She poured them each a glass of milk—double checking the expiration date first—then brought it all to the table.
She took the chair across from him. “Take a bite of the sandwich, then a swallow of milk.”
He didn’t look convinced, but did it anyway. “Not bad,” he said, munching, expression thoughtful. “You invent this?”
“Nope. My brother Robby did.” As the words passed her lips, an image filled her head. She must have been five, maybe six, sitting around the table munching on the amazing delicacy her brother had whipped up.
“Mom had left Robby in charge,” she said. “I think she had to go into work, and daddy hadn’t come like he was supposed to. I remember being scared, and hungry. Real hungry.” She smiled at the memory. “That sandwich made everything better. At least that afternoon.”
Jake took his last bite, then chugged his milk.
“We made up,” she said softly. “Robby and I did.”
He reached across the table and she caught his hand. “I’m happy for you.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Met his wife and little girl. Her name’s Chrissy. She looks like me.” Her throat closed and she cleared it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know them better. Hopefully it won’t be through prison mail.”
“Not funny.”
She finished her sandwich and milk. “Not in the least.”
He stood, collected their plates and glasses, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher.
“You get a lawyer?”
“I did. Daniel Stanley.”
“Good choice.”
“He said something to me, as I was leaving. That I needed to figure out why all this was happening to me.”
He held out his hand. She took it and he helped her up. “I think that sounds like a good idea. But I have a better idea.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“Come here—” He tugged and she landed against his chest. “And I’ll show you.”
He lifted her and carried her back to the bed. They made love again, this time slowly, savoring each kiss, nip, and caress, each reveling in bringing the other pleasure.
How could everything change so quickly? Miranda wondered. How could it go from so wrong to so right or from so right to so wrong? Her and Jake, her feelings about her family, her job, reputation, and relationship with Buddy?
In the next moment, thoughts of anything but Jake and the waves of pleasure crashing over her fled her mind.
Afterward, they lay entwined, arms and legs, damp skin pressed to damp skin. This time in comfortable silence. Two people lost in their own thoughts, but connected by something deep and strong.
And totally unexpected.
“You awake?” he asked softly.
“Mmm hmm.”
“He thinks you did it.”
“What?” She tipped her head so she could see his face. “Who?”
“Buddy. He thinks you killed them both.”
For a moment she wondered if she’d ever breathe again. When she did, it was with a terrible, choked sound. “He said that?”
“Not to me. To Ian Stark and his wife. I heard him.”
She fought the urge to curl into a ball and sob. Buddy thought her a murderer. Her mentor and friend, a man she had believed in and trusted. She had thought he felt the same way about her.
“I’m sorry I told you.”
“I’m glad you did.” She drew in a deep, strengthening breath. “I need to know what I’m up against.”
“I think Buddy suspended me yesterday because something’s going down this week. Maybe even in the morning. And they don’t want me involved or connected in any way.”
“Afraid you’re going to feed me information?”
“Probably. And they’d be right.”
“You don’t think—” She stopped, the words sticking in her throat. But she had to ask, so she forced them out. “You don’t think that do you? That I killed them?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
Miranda let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Deep down she had known his answer, but she’d needed to hear it from his lips.
“Buddy’s next move…” She thought a moment. “Search warrant, it’s got to be.”
“Or an arrest.”
“Stanley didn’t think they had enough.”
“Yet.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Search warrant it is. Which means you have to go.”
He started to argue; she cut him off. “I’ve gotten you in deep enough. And if Buddy is so obsessed to think I could do this, he might be crazy enough to try to tie you up in it.”
“I’ll leave in the morning,” he promised. “Before it’s light. But not now, not this way.”
She could have argued, but the truth was, she didn’t want to. She didn’t know what tomorrow might bring, but she knew what she had tonight. And she wasn’t ready to let go.