What Mattered Most (17 page)

From the dark, terror reached out for her with long, wet tentacles. Lanie tried to scream, but the tentacles covered her mouth and nose. Pressed into the darkness, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get away.

“Lanie! Wake up!”

Jerked into awareness, she stared into John’s pale face, his navy eyes burning with fear and concern. Sobs shook her body, and he brushed her hair away from her face. “Hush, baby. It’s just a dream. Just a nightmare, honey. Hush, now. I’m here.”

He spoke in the low, soothing tones he used with Sonny Buck, and Lanie reached for him, burying her face against his neck. He held her close, his hands soothing over her hair and back. “What did you dream about?”

She tried to find the dream again, but the images were gone, leaving only the terror behind. Breathing in his scent, she shook her head. “I don’t remember. Just darkness and being terrified.”

Her voice shuddered, and he pulled her closer, rocking her against him. Lanie clung to him, the strength of his arms beneath her fingers. How could he make her feel so safe and so threatened at the same time?

In his arms, she grew still, the intimacy of their position seeping into her brain. He’d pulled her onto his lap, and her nightshirt had ridden up, bare legs resting on his thighs. With their chests pressed together, her face fit into the curve of his neck. She took a deep breath, his scent overwhelming her, heat curling in her abdomen. A slight shift in position, a rearranging of clothes, and she could have him inside her, filling the emptiness as no one else had.

“John.” His name left her lips on a shaky whisper, and his muscles tightened under her hands.

For a moment, his mouth brushed against the incision scar on her scalp. He eased her off his lap and stood. “Think you can go back to sleep now?”

She stared at him, and he wouldn’t look at her. Didn’t he feel it at all? Of course not. Her teeth bit into her lip. He was here for the baby, not her. She pulled the covers to her chest. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Good night.”

For a long time after he left, she lay staring at the ceiling, missing the warmth of his arms and hating herself for being weak.

John rolled to his side, reciting radio codes. He’d already gone through his repertoire of sports trivia and statistics as well as the sections of Texas criminal code he knew by rote. Nothing worked. He still couldn’t get Lanie out of his mind.

The look on her face earlier, when she’d stared at the patched wall, stopped him from going into the other room, taking her into his arms and telling her what he felt. He’d put that look there by placing her in Mitchell’s path. If he’d known what would happen, he never would have touched her.

Yeah, right. Tell another one, O’Reilly. Like you could stay away from her.

She’d been a craving, an addiction, from that very first night. The first time, she’d come to him in a sequined black dress, her touch bold and daring on his body. He’d been lost, desperate for more. The passion, always wild between them, flared from a look, a touch, a kiss. And he couldn’t get enough—when the lovemaking was over, he still hungered for her. No other woman had made him feel the same way.

He loved her, and it didn’t matter. Staring at the silver fish dancing on the wall, he remembered the bargains he’d made with God while she lay comatose. If she got well, he’d walk away. He’d let her go and let her get on with her life.

His actions had done enough damage to her life. It was time he lived up to his end of the bargain.

Sometime during his mental wrestling, exhaustion claimed him. He surfaced from a fitful sleep, senses alert. Something wasn’t right. Moonlight filtered into the room, silvery light blending with the amber glow of the nightlight. The angle of light had him lifting his arm to check his watch.

Four A.M.

He bolted upright. Had he slept through Sonny Buck’s demand for a three o’clock feeding? Or had the baby even cried?

Horrific possibilities tumbled through his mind. SIDS. Parents who woke to find their babies dead in their cribs. Could Sonny have kicked his covers over his face and suffocated?

In his haste to get to his son, he tripped over his own blanket. The crib was empty. His exhaustion-fuzzed mind refused to take in the information—the duck-embroidered cap at the head of the crib, the soft blue blanket pushed aside. Oh God. Had someone gotten in the house? He’d locked the doors. He was sure of it, but had he set the alarm system?

Mitchell had gotten to Lanie despite the locks and alarm. John’s nerves shivered, fear an icy lump in his gut.
Where the hell was his son?
A muffled sound from the other bedroom raised the hair on his neck. Lanie.
Please, don’t let anything have happened to her.

He ran, skidding to a stop at her doorway. The bedside light cast a soft glow in the room. Lanie lay on her side, propped on an elbow, the covers pushed back, and in the shelter of her arm lay a kicking, gurgling Sonny Buck. An empty bottle sat on the nightstand. Relief weakened John’s knees, and he groped for the doorframe for support.

Lanie trailed a fingertip along the baby’s cheek, and a smile curved her generous mouth. Kicking harder, Sonny Buck chortled, his newest talent. The soft, warm sound of Lanie’s laugh filled the room, grabbing John’s heart in a vice.

“Look at you,” she murmured, a mother’s pride filling her voice. She skimmed a finger over the sole of his tiny foot. “You think you’re something, don’t you?”

Sonny Buck gurgled, his gaze locked on his mother’s face.

“You have your dad’s eyes, young man, but I do think that’s a Falconetti smile.” She stroked his head, ruffling his wispy, dark hair. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you. On a male Falconetti, that smile is lethal to a girl’s heart. We can’t let you turn into a Lothario, like Vince and Tony. You are going to have to grow up to be a one-woman man. A girl has to know she can trust you.”

The words landed like blows to John’s solar plexus. He took a silent step back, his gaze locked on the pair in the bed. Sonny Buck cooed, and Lanie pressed a kiss to his forehead. Absolute love suffused her face, and unexpected envy rolled through John’s chest. She wouldn’t look at him that way again.

He pushed the selfish jealousy aside. This was what he wanted—seeing her connected to their child, knowing Sonny Buck had claimed his place in her heart. The reality jolted through him, a sickening emptiness taking hold of his stomach. She didn’t need him around anymore. His time was up.

Caitlin answered on the third ring, her Bureau voice cool and professional. “Falconetti.”

“Hey, it’s Lanie.” A gull swooped over the water, and Lanie pulled her feet under her.

“Well, hey. How are you?” Affection warmed Caitlin’s voice.

“Great, according to my doctors. What are you doing?” Lanie leaned back, letting her cousin’s familiar voice settle her jangling nerves.

“Right this second? I’m looking at a set of crime scene photos.” A pause hissed over the line. “Lanie? Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not.” Lanie winced at her too-cheerful tone. “I’m fine.”

Caitlin chuckled. “Oh Lord. Now where have I heard that before?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m doing great; the baby’s wonderful. I call to chat because I’m at loose ends, and you assume something’s wrong. Can’t I just call because I miss you?”

Papers rustled. “Sure you can, but if I say you doth protest too much, are you going to bite my head off again?”

Lanie groaned, sinking lower in the chair. “Please don’t quote Shakespeare at me. You know I never could stand him.”

Caitlin’s soft laugh soothed the trembling in Lanie’s stomach. “Come on, Lane. It’s me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Lanie covered her eyes with one hand. “Cait, I’m so confused.”

“What’s wrong?” Another pause. “Are you still feeling distant from the baby?”

“No. He’s perfect.” With her eyes closed, Lanie could pull up the feel of him in her arms, his sweet just-bathed scent, the sound of his happy gurgle. A fierce wave of love washed over her. “I can’t explain how I feel about him. I’ve never loved anyone like this.”

“Oh, no, it’s O’Reilly, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t
want
to want him—”

“But you do.”

“It’s being in this house with him all the time. Watching him with the baby, sharing a bathroom with him so that all I smell is his soap… It’s driving me insane.” Just thinking about him had heat curling in her. What did that say about her—wanting a man she couldn’t trust?

“Isn’t his leave almost up? Y’all agreed he would move out then, right? Will that help—having him out of the house?”

He was out of the house today, and every thought she had focused on him. She’d started a load of laundry earlier, and each piece of clothing he owned triggered a memory of the two of them together. Being out of bodywash forced her to use his soap, and now his scent clung to her skin. Even Sonny Buck seemed part of the conspiracy, staring up at her during his feeding with navy eyes so like John’s that her heart ached.

“Lanie? Are you still there?” Concern lingered in Caitlin’s words.

“I’m here.” She sighed. “I don’t know if his moving out will help or not. I just… Part of me wants what we had, and part of me knows that wasn’t enough.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, but…” Caitlin’s voice trailed away, a deep male drawl an indistinct rumble in the background.

Lanie opened her eyes and glanced skyward. “Cait, am I interrupting?”

“No, that’s just Beecham, dropping off reports. Anyway, you have to decide, but I don’t want you to settle, Lanie. You deserve it all. Is O’Reilly the guy who can give you that?”

“I don’t know.” Lord help her, she still wanted him to be.

The day dragged as Lanie moved through Sonny Buck’s routine. With Caitlin’s questions running through her head, she was no closer to any answers when John returned home. When his key turned in the lock, she stood in the kitchen with Sonny in her arms, waiting for a bottle to warm, and suppressed a shiver of awareness.

He dropped a bundle of folders on the counter and crossed to pat Sonny’s back. The loose papers on top of the folders scattered across the countertop. “Hey. Did you have a good day?”

Lanie watched his fingers cup the baby’s head. “We did. He’s trying to hold his head up.”

“Yeah?” Grinning, John lifted their son from her arms. “You been working out, big guy?”

Holding his head away from John’s shoulder for a moment, Sonny Buck graced him with a wide grin. Lanie took the bottle from the warmer, and John reached for it. “He needs a diaper, too. You take a break.”

Carrying on an animated conversation with the baby, he went upstairs. Lanie spent a few minutes straightening the kitchen, listening to his voice drift down. Gathering John’s papers, she shuffled them into a pile and started to drop them on top of his folders. She paused after seeing her name and read the first few lines. Legal documents. Anger sizzled under her skin. Papers in hand, she stalked upstairs and into the nursery.

John had shed his suit and tie for a pair of sweatpants. A T-shirt hung over the end of Sonny Buck’s crib; the empty bottle sat on a small table by the rocker. On the floor, John did sit-ups, Sonny Buck resting against his up-drawn knees. Every time John came up, Sonny smiled and gurgled.

Lanie stopped at John’s feet and waved the papers at him. “What is this?”

He glanced at the sheaf of documents, not missing a beat. “Custody and visitation orders.”

Cold fear slithered around her spine, chilling the anger for a moment. “You saw a lawyer?”

Curling tighter, he bumped his nose against Sonny Buck’s, making the baby laugh harder. “I picked them up from Jeff today. He sent a copy to Troupe Cavanaugh’s office for you.”

How could he be so calm? Lanie swallowed a frustrated scream. “Damn it, John—”

On this curl, he brushed a kiss on the baby’s forehead. “I asked for more visitation time than the law lays out. I was hoping that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Visitation? She looked at the papers again, reading farther than the primary paragraph. The papers assigned her primary custody and an obscene amount of child support. She swallowed, feeling foolish. “John, I can’t take this money.”

His face hardened for a moment. “It’s not for you. It’s for him. And I can afford it. I get a raise with the sergeant’s rank.”

She glanced at the dollar amount again. “And what are you going to live on? Have you looked at rent amounts in Houston lately?”

“Got it covered. I’m moving in with Casey. His roommate is taking a job in Ft. Worth.” With a heavy sigh, he collapsed against the rug, one hand holding his ribs. Lanie averted her eyes from the perfect line of his pecs and the dark arrow of hair running between his rippled abs. He sighed. “Hell, I don’t think this was a good idea yet. Take him, would you?”

Dropping the papers on the changing table, she leaned down for Sonny Buck. John’s woodsy scent enveloped her, and he hissed in a breath when her hair brushed his stomach. She straightened, holding the baby like a shield. “Are you sure you want to move out? We’ve made it work so far.”

Rolling to his feet, he shot her a look. “I’m glad it works for one of us.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sonny Buck drooped against her shoulder.

“It means I’m not cut out to be your damned roommate,” he snapped. “Put him down. He needs to fall asleep in the crib.”

“Don’t start that perfect dad crap with me.” Hissing the words at him, she settled Sonny Buck in his crib. His eyes fluttered closed, and she pulled a white blanket over him. “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of him.”

John glared at her. “It kills you, doesn’t it? To have to admit I’m a good father.”

“Oh, please.” She tossed his T-shirt at him. “He’s six weeks old. You have plenty of time left to screw up once the new wears off.”

The color drained from his face, fury blazing in his eyes. “You little… It doesn’t matter, does it? None of what I’ve done, nothing I will do, is going to convince you, is it? I wasn’t sure I wanted him when you were pregnant, and you’re going to hold it over my head forever, aren’t you?”

If suspecting it was bad, having him say the words was worse. The pain took her breath. She closed her lips against the horrible words bubbling in her throat. Shaking her head, she pushed by him and went into the bathroom, headed for her room.

He followed, his breathing harsh in the small room, and closed a hand on her arm, pulling her against him. “Lanie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tears burned her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. “But you meant it, didn’t you?”

“I want him now.” His voice rasped against her ear, the breath hot. “Isn’t that what matters most?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, her temple brushing his jaw. Early-evening stubble rasped against the tender skin. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Her voice broke, and his groan rumbled through her, too. “Oh hell, Lanie, don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”

His fingers brushed at the wetness on her cheek, the other hand moving over her arm in a soothing caress. He rubbed his face against her hair, lips a butterfly touch against her incision scar. His chest was hot against her back, her tank top the thinnest of barriers.

He murmured, words she didn’t catch, but the rumble of his voice set off tremors low in her stomach. Desire quivered along her nerves, her body coming to life again. She
ached
for him.

Long fingers slid over her arms and shoulders in a gentle touch. She didn’t want him gentle. She wanted him rough, hard, wild, like always between them. Her head fell back, and her hands fluttered, seeking a spot to rest. They settled on his thighs, wringing a different groan from him.

“Lanie.” His mouth moving along her neck. Shivers tingled through her, and she pushed back, the sudden proof of his arousal pressed against her. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you.”

This…this she was sure of, his hands slipping from her arms to her hips and up over her stomach. She covered his fingers with hers and eased his hands up to cover her breasts. With the contact, a moan escaped her lips, hanging in the still air. Cupping her, thumbs teasing erect nipples, he rocked against her. Lanie let her eyes drift closed, lost in the sensations of being loved by him again.

Against her ear, his breath rasped hot and moist. One of his hands traveled over her stomach, delving beneath the elastic band of her yoga pants. Anticipating his touch, she trembled, a moist ache between her thighs. His long fingers cupped her through thin silk panties, and the simple pressure wrung another moan from her.

He pulled her closer. “Lanie.” His mouth slid up her neck, nipping. “Tell me you want me.”

One finger stroked over silk. “Oh, yes.”

“Say it,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, baby.”

Another maddening caress. “I…want you.”

He moved, spinning her in his embrace and lifting her to sit on the countertop. Arms braced on either side of her body, he stared at her, his face flushed, eyes dilated. “Touch me. I want your hands on me, Lanie.”

Head tilted back, eyes closed, she ran her hands over his shoulders and up his neck. He sighed. “Open your eyes.”

She lifted heavy lids. Her gaze locked on his, she let her hands move to his chest, the muscles hard under her fingers. His skin was hot and smooth, the dark hair fine and silky. It grew coarser as her fingers slid down his stomach to the waistband of his sweats. His lashed dipped; he cursed under his breath. She smiled. “Open your eyes, John.”

He did, staring at her again. “You make me crazy,” he muttered and pressed closer. She smiled, wanting him as out of control as she was. “Feel what you do to me, baby.”

She gasped, barely resisting the urge to rub against him like a cat. He eased her back, his hands covering hers where she braced herself on the counter. Trailing a caress up her arms, he traced her collarbone, drifted over her breasts, teasing but not quite touching her aching nipples. He covered her waist with his hands, then slid them to her hips. Lanie swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet dry lips.

His gaze, locked on her face, darkened. Supporting her with his hands, he pulled her closer. “Kiss me.”

Her hands tangled in his hair, she lifted her mouth to his. At the first touch of her lips, John’s tenuous control slipped. He groaned and took her mouth the way he wanted to take her body. Her hands traced his spine, molding, and he shuddered. He’d waited so long to have her touch him again. Desperate, he pulled her closer still. When her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, her nails scoring his buttocks, he bucked against her.

John reached for her tank top, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. The late afternoon sunlight filtered into the room, gleaming on her skin. He cupped her breasts again, lowering his head to worship her. “So beautiful.”

With a moan, she dug her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her body. His own scent lingered on her skin, making him wilder. She was
his
. He couldn’t lose her again.

The need to claim her beat through his veins, but he wanted more than possession. He wanted to be possessed, to have her claim him as well. His tongue circled her nipple, and she sighed, hands moving over his back again. She pushed at his sweats, hands stroking over his buttocks and thighs.

With her touch, joy shot through him. He’d ached for this, to have her with him this way again—the woman he loved, the mother of his child. Child. Oh hell.

He stilled with a groan, burying his face in her throat. Her hands continued to rove, fingers brushing his stomach. John caught her hands in his. “Wait.”

“What is it?” Her voice was a husky rasp, and he lifted his head, staring into golden eyes burning with unfulfilled desire.

“Baby, we can’t,” he whispered, brushing her damp hair away from her face. “You’re not protected, and I—”

Her eyes widened, realization dulling the flame. “Oh my God.” She pushed at him, grabbing her tank with the other. “What are we doing?”

Fear settling in his stomach, he reached for her. “Lanie, stop. Baby, listen, I need to tell you—”

She jerked the tank over her head. Tears trembled on her lashes. “What was I thinking?”

“Lanie—”

“Don’t touch me again.” She pushed his hands away. Tossing back her hair, she glared at him. “When did Casey say you could move in? I want you out.”