Chapter Six

 

Jessica stepped into Adam's arms. He held her for a long moment, his warmth seeping into her cold bones as he caressed her back. She looked up at him, not sure what to say, how to express how much she needed him and how he made her feel. She wasn't used to needing people, had never wanted to. But she had to admit, it did feel good. He touched her chin, lightly lifting it, and then his lips fell over hers and he kissed her long and hard, his passion feeding her own, until her chills seeped away and left her feeling quite warm.

He leaned down, took her nipple in his mouth, and lashed the sensitive nub with his tongue. She moaned and grabbed his shoulders for support as he rolled it between his teeth, lapping the soft skin with his tongue. He couldn't get enough of her, and her awareness of that fact was overwhelming. He made her feel desired, sexy, empowered.

He dropped his hands down the curves of her waist and pushed her dress down over her hips to fall to the floor. She wondered if she should stop him, or at least slow him down, but she didn't. She couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this, and she wasn't about to stop.

He pulled her up against him. She loved his force, his strength, his…maleness. In this moment, she believed nothing could get to her. She was safe, as long as Adam was there. As long as he was holding her.

In a quick movement, he slipped his hands under her and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his bulge snuggling into the heat of her core. She wiggled against him, liking the feel of him there as he carried her down the hall to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He stared down at her, his eyes burning with need. Slowly, he undid the buttons of his shirt and unclasped his belt, the top button of his pants. She watched him, anticipation building with each breath, as he took it all off. He was gorgeous. Toned and tanned, muscular, and oh so male.

He climbed onto the bed on top of her, kissing her slowly, passionately. She loved the feel of his skin against hers—so warm, from her head to her toes. She could lie there and kiss him all day. But the warmth spreading through her quickly escalated as his fingertips rolled up and down her skin, moving down her arms, her stomach, playing with her breasts, as he lay next to her, kissing her. She felt as if she might crawl right out of her skin if he didn't touch her where she wanted—no, where she needed to be touched.

She reached for his erection and wasn't disappointed. It was thick and firm. She ran a tentative finger along the shaft, fantasizing about what it would feel like inside her, filling her with its silky smoothness. He drew in a breath and groaned a little. He liked that. She rolled on her stomach and moved down his body, leaving a trail of kisses along her path as she hovered over him, drawing her tongue lower and lower until she took him fully into her mouth. He sucked in a breath as she rolled her tongue up over the tip.

"Oh, baby. That's nice," he said.

It was nice. Warm. Soft skin over a hard inner core. She moved her mouth up and down, taking him fully into her mouth, then back out again until he couldn't take it anymore.

"My turn," he growled, and grabbed her by the waist. He pulled her up his body until she was hovering over his mouth. She sucked in an excited breath as he settled her on top of him, drawing her bud between his lip and sucking. She almost collapsed on him, the sensation was so great. She writhed over him, struggling to gasp a breath. Her heart was pounding hard as heat and pressure pooled between her legs. She wanted him, wanted to feel him inside her. Now.

With a quick movement, she pulled her hips away from his face and dropped down on top of him, the head of his cock sliding easily inside her wet core. He gasped as she sat up, taking him fully inside her body and squeezing his hardness with her muscular walls. Then she leaned down and kissed him, giving her body a moment to adjust to his size.

He speared his fingers through her hair, holding her captive as his tongue swept through her mouth, and she groaned, grinding against him as his cock filled her completely. She broke the kiss and sat up as he grabbed her hips and started to move. He bucked his hips as he reached for her sweet spot and hit it with each thrust, leaving her crying out for more.

Her palms slid across his rock-hard chest and she leaned forward, the tips of her breasts brushing his smooth skin as she moved with him. He let loose a loud groan, and then, in a swift movement, rolled her onto her back. Her legs pulled up as he drove in even deeper. His eyes met hers, and she saw the passion there, the desire. She cried out at the kaleidoscope of sensations rolling through her—hunger, fire, and a pulsing need. His cock pulsed within her, pounding her insides as she soared higher and higher. Finally, she crested then, crying out, crashed down in a wave of pleasure that was overwhelming and all-encompassing.

A heartbeat later, Adam stiffened, looking pained as he gave a quick thrust then fell into his own release. He collapsed on top of her, catching his breath as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

After a few minutes of holding him, her breathing and thoughts returned to normal. She looked up at him. He was staring at her, his eyes filled with some deep emotion she couldn't read.

"What?" she asked.

"I feel like I should apologize."

She almost laughed. "I feel like I should be thanking you."

They both smiled.

"No, seriously. I'm here to do a job. To protect you and keep you safe, not take you to bed."

She ran a finger down his chin. "I'm not complaining. Are you?"

"Not on your life."

"Then don't worry about it. I feel safe with you. I know we just met, and it's really fast for me, too. But I feel closer to you than I do most people I've known for years."

He pulled her close and held her. She let herself relax, and even though it was only late afternoon, she drifted into a dreamless, well-satisfied sleep.

***

Adam dreamed of his sister. She wasn't talking to him—it wasn't a memory, more like images flipping through his mind, snapshots of his past, her past: the two of them together at the breakfast table, the pizza parlor, playing with Buck, the family dog. And in the dream, he saw her wearing a rectangular locket. Inside were pictures of Buck and their cat, Kitty. He'd teased her about that over Coke and pizza, but she'd just glared at him, the way sisters who have no use for their older brothers do. A glare he hadn't seen in a long time.

Adam's eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly.

He looked around the room, the pain of her loss a knot in his chest that never quite loosened.

"What is it?" Jessica asked, looking at him with sleepy eyes.

"I think we're going to have to call McCloskey."

"Why? He's the last person I want to see."

"I'm almost positive that necklace in the Praline bag belonged to my sister."

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, her eyes wide. "Your sister?"

There was no getting around it now. He'd have to tell her. "She was a student at Tulane. Wanted to be a nurse. She would have made a great nurse if…" He took a deep breath. "She just had a way of making people feel good. She was the best part of all of us. All heart."

Jessica's gaze softened and she touched his arm—just a small touch, but the warmth in her fingers moved him more than he would have thought possible.

"How did she…?"

"Die?" He looked at her. "She was murdered."

"I'm sorry."

"I think our guy killed her."

She pulled herself away and stood, walking to the dresser, stepping into a clean pair of panties, and slipping on a bra.

"Were you even in New Orleans in 2011?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but already knowing she had been.

"Yes."

"Then there's a chance that you saw her death then?"

She was silent for a moment as she walked to the closet and slipped on another white sleeveless dress. White. Always white.

"A student at Tulane?" she repeated.

He nodded, unable to speak over the lump in his throat.

"Blond shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, easy to smile?"

His eyes closed as a fresh bout of pain seared him.

"I remember her," she whispered, stepping toward him.

His heart jolted.

"She wasn't afraid of him," she said. "She knew him."

"How?" His voice cracked.

"I don't know. But I remember she looked pleased to see him. She even called him Jim."

"Jim? You think that's his name?" Hope rose within him. Could he really be getting this close? After all this time?

"No." She shook her head and played with the sheet, pulling it to make the bed.

He wanted to press her, to demand she leave the bed and tell him everything. But he held back, waiting for her to tell what she knew. To shed a light into the dark.

"There have been other times, other women, who called him by a name. It was always different."

"Do you think he knew?" he asked.

She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

"Knew you were watching him."

She didn't speak at first, and when she did, when she finally stopped and turned to him, her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

He pulled her into his arms and held her, not only for her, but for him. He needed to hold on to her, to let her sweet, flowery scent, her warmth, chase away the darkness.

After a few moments, she looked up at him. "Adam. I painted your sister's last moments."

He caught his breath. He'd wondered, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to see.

"It's not going to be easy to look at. The hardest ones to forget are the ones I paint. An exorcism of sorts."

He nodded, knowing he'd have to see it, but wishing he didn't have to.

"Would you like me to show it to you?"

"Yes," he said. She took his hand and he followed her out of the bedroom, focusing on the curve of her back as she walked, on the gleam of light on her midnight-black hair, on the creamy softness of the skin on her shoulders, and not on the room down the hall filled with horrors frozen in black ink.

He followed her into the room of paintings. She flipped on the light and he tried not to flinch at all those faces, some screaming, some peaceful, all in death. Some stared back at him; some showed a glimmer of what was to come in their black eyes; others were filled with horror. He shook off the chill threatening to overtake him and stepped into the center of the room.

"Do you mind if I take some pictures for Mia?" Adam asked. "She wants her people to dig into the cold cases and see if there is something, when linked together, they can find."

"No. Not at all."

"Are these all different women?"

"No, some are the same ones. Some were harder to forget than others."

As he started taking photographs, she walked over to the corner and dug through the stacks. She finally picked one up and brought it to him. The picture was of a woman, her hair curling in front of her face, her lips pulled back in a confused smile, as her eyes filled with a sliver of fear—just a hint of knowledge of what was about to happen. Jessica had captured that moment with an uncanny authenticity that stole his breath. He tore his gaze from Sara's face and stared at the locket hanging from her neck—the same one he remembered, the same one in the bag of pralines.

Overcome with emotion, he dropped to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, and he had to bite back a cry. This was his sister—his baby sister in her last moments of life.

"I'm so sorry," Jessica said, tears swimming in her eyes, anguish filling her face. "This is why I won't let anyone see them."

She reached for the painting, but he held it close to his chest, refusing to let it go.

"No." He couldn't let go of it, let go of Sara. "Not yet."

Jessica nodded and left the room, and he sat there for a long moment, looking at his sister's sweet young face and weeping.