She Can Run (23 page)

“Beth. Wake up. It’s Jack.” The deep voice sliced through her pain and terror as she fought her way back to the surface.

“Come on, Beth. It’s a nightmare.”

She gasped for air in a chest still constricted by the weight of a larger body. Lungs heaving, Beth opened her eyes.

Jack sat on an ottoman in front of her, fists clenched on his thighs as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

She lay unmoving. Her heart rammed against her rib cage like it was trying to break free. Perspiration coated her skin and soaked through her gray cotton T-shirt. She raised her eyes.

Jack was staring, and the pity in his eyes made her look away. Rain pattered against the black living room window.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up and swung her feet to the floor. A chill passed over her clammy skin and she shivered. Jack shifted next to her on the sofa and touched her arm. Instinctively, she flinched from his touch. Her fear and shock from the dream were still so fresh that it felt as if the fight with Richard had just happened. Jack let his hand drop.

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

“It’s OK.” He pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over her shoulders. Then before she could react, he moved one arm around her shoulders and scooped under her knees with the other, drawing her onto his lap. Her body stiffened. Jack tucked her head under his chin. As her muscles relaxed, she rested against his chest and listened to the thud of his heart. He was warm and solid. Gradually her trembling ceased.

When she’d recovered enough to speak, she pulled her head back. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Lowering his head, he gently put his lips to hers. They were warm and dry. Heat spread through her body. The kiss was tender and gentle, and she was startled at how cold she felt when his mouth left hers. Jack lifted his head, searching her face for a reaction.

She felt no fear, no recoil through her body. In fact, it took her a few seconds to realize that his hands were slowly running up and down her back. Instead of flinching or pulling away, she arched under his touch like a cat. The hard bulge under her thigh left no question as to whether Jack was attracted to her. She felt safe sitting on his lap, even with his arousal evident against the backs of her legs, or ironically, because of it. Her body curled against the warmth of his flesh.

Jack’s hand slipped around her waist to caress her back through the worn cotton of her T-shirt. She closed her eyes. Her entire world was reduced to the skin on her back. Nerve endings stood at attention, tingling as his fingers stroked. Each square inch of skin yearned for his touch. His lips brushed her ear on their way down the side of her neck.

“Beth.” He breathed her name and took her mouth again. More demanding this time, his tongue urged her lips to part and swept into her mouth. Hot and possessive, it claimed her, licking deep into her mouth. She welcomed it. As her mouth opened to the invasion, her thighs loosened, wanting to open for the rest of him. Her body responded to his urgency, arching toward him, encouraging him to take more. Desire drugged her, flowed over her, hummed through her veins like an electric current. Heat bloomed beneath the surface of her skin. Her brain went numb. She couldn’t think. She could only
feel
.

His tongue slipped from her mouth to move hungrily over her jaw and neck. Teeth scraped her collarbone. The strong hand that had slipped down to clench her hip trembled ever so slightly, as if he teetered on the brink of losing control. His hand slid around, and when he cupped between her legs through the fabric of her shorts, pleasure shot from her center straight through to the base of her skull.

Jack lifted his head as her body bowed, pressing harder against his palm. A strangled sound emanated from his throat. His brown eyes, hooded with desire, went dark.

His lack of restraint spurred her on. She needed to touch him, to render him equally helpless. Her hands sought and found his chest, slipped under his shirt, and splayed across the firm muscles of his chest. Blood pulsed thickly through her veins in time with the beat of Jack’s heart. A moan escaped her mouth as she explored his hard body, and Jack’s muscles tensed under her hand. His hips surged under her legs.

He breathed into her ear. “I want to feel your skin, Beth. Can I touch your skin?”

Her answer was a moan, and his hand slipped beneath the hem of her T-shirt. He groaned, chest heaving between gasps. “My God. You’re soft. So soft.”

He drew his fingertips across her rib cage to caress her stomach. His palm pressed against her belly. His long fingers splayed across her small frame from hipbone to hipbone. He began to stroke upward, over her ribs and toward her aching breasts.

Stopping short, freezing when his fingers encountered the thick scar on her side.

The mood cracked like thin ice, plunging her back into ice-cold reality.

Richard’s face and James’s fate flashed into Beth’s mind.

“Jack. Don’t.” She pushed his hand away and jerked her legs off his lap, falling to the floor with a thud onto her tailbone. White pain shot up her spine.

My God, what was she thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been feeling. For the first time in years, she’d let her tight rein of control slip. But she couldn’t allow anyone to get close. Richard would find them again. With his unlimited resources, it was only a matter of time. And when that happened, her only option would be to find a new hiding place. The less Jack knew about her the better—for everyone.

She glanced sideways. Next to her, Jack’s face flushed and his chest heaved like he’d just sprinted a full mile. All because of his desire for her. Feminine power threatened to renew her lust, but he didn’t deserve to be treated the way she’d treated him. What was between them could never be. She couldn’t take what he offered. No matter how much she wanted to.

She tried to say she was sorry, but her throat choked off the words. She was filled with a brand-new sense of loss, a shock considering she’d thought she didn’t have any feelings left to risk. She’d thought Richard had depleted her, but apparently her ability to experience pain was infinite. Unable to speak, she simply shook her head. Who was she kidding? “Sorry” could never be enough to explain what had just transpired between them.

Disappointment and frustration darkened Jack’s face. His jaw clenched. “Beth, you can trust me.”

How the hell could she explain to Jack that trusting him wasn’t the issue? She couldn’t. She buried her face in her hands. He wouldn’t mean to put her at risk. He’d think he was doing what was best, but any action on his part would bring disaster. Richard only had to get word of one inquiry, and he’d have men tracking her like sharks on a chum trail.

Jack rubbed between her shoulder blades. “I want to help. Let me.”

“I can’t.” She felt too much for him to let him get involved. If she had anywhere else to go, she’d leave before he was hurt, before his kindness and her emotions got the better of her. But she was stuck in limbo. She’d put her kids at risk if she left the estate. But if she told him everything, how long, as a former cop, could he resist taking action?

Despite all this, she felt her resolve eroding. She couldn’t stay in the room with him any longer, or she’d cave to the yearnings of her heart and body.

Without a word of explanation, she scrambled to her feet and walked out of the room. Jack didn’t follow her, and she didn’t allow herself so much as a glance back as she headed up the stairs.

She checked on the kids before taking a quick shower, slipping into an oversized T-shirt and climbing into bed. She hardly expected to fall asleep, but it was worth a shot. Lying in the dark, she contemplated her options. Stay or go? Tell Jack or keep him in the dark? Her chest ached with the magnitude of her questions. No matter how many times she tried to assess the situation, the answers eluded her.

Frustration rose in Jack’s chest as Beth bolted from the room. She’d been on the brink of letting him in; then he’d mauled her like an over-sexed teen. Shit. Why couldn’t he have stopped at holding her? What the hell was wrong with him? His instincts were screaming that she was in big trouble. And that he should do something useful about it, not try to get her into his bed.

How badly had he bungled things this time? At this rate, would he
ever
get her to confide in him?

And what was up with that scar? The way she’d reacted to his touch told him the story behind it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Through the open door, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three times. He sighed. At least he’d gotten a couple hours’ sleep before the throbbing in his knee woke him. He’d heard Beth thrashing around on his way to the kitchen for some aspirin. His heart had clenched as he envisioned her trapped in her mysterious but obviously terrifying nightmare.

Jack drew a deep breath into his lungs. His heart beat staccato against his ribs. There was no way he’d be able to relax enough to fall back to sleep tonight. Not after that disturbing interlude. His nerves were on edge, his dick was hard as stone, and yeah, his feelings were hurt.

The veteran detective was sulking because a frightened woman wouldn’t spill her guts to him after he’d tried to paw her clothes off.

He was such an idiot. This was why he’d never opened himself up to a serious relationship. Emotions complicated everything. His feelings for Beth made him question everything she did until he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

She’d been traumatized. Someone was after her. Of course she didn’t trust him. The fact that she didn’t trust anyone didn’t make it any easier to accept.

For a moment he contemplating going after her to apologize for acting like an animal. He could have sworn, when he was kissing her and touching her, that she was just as into it as he was. Could he have misinterpreted her reactions that much? Her hand had been on his chest,
under
his shirt. His skin quivered as he recalled the caress of her fingers on his bare flesh, the pressure of her mound against his palm. Sure hadn’t felt like she’d been pushing him away. His erection twitched against his zipper.

He was in no condition to talk to her tonight. He’d leave her alone. Apologize in the morning. He’d wrought enough damage for one evening.

Jack flexed his knee. The joint cracked, but the pain had receded to a dull ache.

On the bright side, Beth’s scarred psyche had taken his mind off his pain until the aspirin had kicked in. He limped into the hall and turned into the study, heading straight for the credenza. He poured two fingers of scotch into a tumbler, then sat down, reached under the desk, and depressed the power switch on the computer tower.

The screen blinked to life and a message box popped up. Windows hadn’t been shut down properly. He had two choices: restore the current session or start a new one. Hmm. Beth was using this computer right before she’d retreated to the living room to read that appalling tome on tax law. Jack clicked the restore button. He’d take any opportunity to see what Beth was up to. Was it an invasion of privacy? Maybe. But hell, it was his computer.

As the computer whirred, he sipped his drink, letting the smooth oak flavor sit on his tongue before swallowing. The whisky slid down his throat and warmed his belly. His gaze lit on the humidor on the corner of the huge desk. He lifted the lid, letting the aroma of tobacco escape. Wait. Shit. He had kids living with him. He couldn’t smoke in the house. With a resigned sigh, he lowered the top.

The exciting life of a millionaire bachelor. Not.

The tower chugged for a few seconds before the browser window appeared on the screen, revealing an archive page for the
Richmond Gazette
. Jack read the article about the fire that destroyed a local tavern, the body found in the rubble, and the subsequent disappearance of the proprietor, James Dieter. The piece was dated just a couple of days after Beth arrived.

Ben had told him that before they came to stay at the estate, they’d lived with their “Uncle James.” It had to be the same man. But what had happened to him? And who had killed Anthony Cardone? Jack didn’t believe for a minute the journalist’s asinine theory that the arson had been an attempt to cover up a robbery gone wrong.

James Dieter was in his early seventies. Jack stared at the head shot alongside the column, taken the previous summer when Dieter had won the senior division of a local triathlon. The blue eyes that peered out from under Dieter’s white buzz cut were sharp. Aging hadn’t softened the hard lines of his lean, tanned face. Still, it was unlikely that a senior citizen had knifed a professional thug in the back. Had someone rescued him and helped him get away? If so, then Dieter was on the run, too.

Another possibility was that there had been more than one “robber” and that Cardone’s associates had turned on him. Again, Dieter could have gotten away, but it wasn’t likely. If these guys had been after Beth, they likely took Dieter in case the old guy knew where Beth was hiding. Several weeks had passed since the fire. Dieter was probably dead. Had he known where Beth was? And had he told his abductors?

Jack’s chest tightened as he pictured Beth reading about her uncle, alone and upset. Beth was intelligent enough to come to the same conclusions as he had. Hence the nightmare.