Point of Disappearance, page 15
“I have some work of my own to do.” He stood up and stretched, all his muscles on display.
Blanca tore her gaze away and shoved back from the kitchen table, grabbing her empty plate. “I’ll clean up.”
“No way.” He tugged the plate from her hand. “You suffered a concussion on top of a concussion. Find some place comfortable to work, or just go on up to bed and work there. I can grab you some of Astrid’s things, so you don’t have to go to bed in dirty clothes.”
She glanced down at her ripped jeans and sweater with debris still clinging to it and grinned. “Yeah, I’m a mess. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. It’s not like I’m not used to it. Astrid cooks, and Olly and I clean up. That’s the way it is.”
“Your sister is lucky.” Blanca picked up her laptop case from the floor by the sofa and hitched it over her shoulder.
As she planted a foot on the first step, Tate called after her. “Let me know if you need anything. That toothbrush you used is still in the bathroom.”
She made a quick decision before she could think about it too much. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I take a shower? After that tumble down the hill and slogging through the mud, my body is probably as dirty as my clothes.”
“Sure. In the hallway next to that bathroom there’s a closet with towels. There should be soap and stuff in the shower.”
“Thanks, Tate.”
She took the steps slowly, all her muscles beginning to scream at her. When she reached the upper level, she snagged a towel from the cupboard and went into the bathroom. She started the water to warm it up and shed her clothing. She peeked into the medicine cabinet and spotted exactly what she’d been looking for. She shook out two ibuprofen and downed them with a handful of water.
She stepped under the warm spray and closed her eyes. She’d never been on a case before where she’d been physically attacked. Was that a sign that she’d made it as an FBI agent or that she’d messed up the assignment? Had Manny ever gotten physically attacked on a case? He’d told enough stories, but he always came out the victor.
What an idiot she’d been not to see through his puffed-up hubris. Looking back, she’d realized Manny had been trying to get into her pants from day one. First, he’d started by telling her Latinos in the department had to stick together. Then after tooting his own horn to make sure she knew how wonderful he was, he’d offered to mentor her. It had worked. She got a lot of plum assignments from her association with Manny. She didn’t realize until the end that other agents had assumed she was sleeping her way into favor.
She turned up the temperature on the water and stood with her back to the spray, letting the hot water pummel her. If she got yanked off this case, she’d prove them right.
She grabbed the towel from the rack and dried off, the ibuprofen already doing its work. Not wanting to cover her clean body with her soiled clothing, she wrapped the towel around herself and tucked her clothes under one arm. She opened the door and peeked into the hallway. Hearing Tate downstairs on the phone, she scurried to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.
She tripped to a stop when she saw a filmy baby-blue nightgown draped across the foot of the bed. She placed her own clothes on top of the dresser and rubbed the material between her fingers. Felt expensive. Astrid would probably kill Tate for loaning it out.
She dropped the towel at her feet and slipped the frothy nightgown over her head. She smoothed her hands over her hips, the soft material lustrous beneath her touch. Baby blue wasn’t her color, but the nightgown made her feel like a sexy jungle cat.
Turning back the covers, she slipped between the sheets and pulled her computer into her lap. She had to finish that report to Crandall, and damn it, she could do it in a sexy nightie.
Her eyes felt heavy as she typed until her fingers refused to move across the keyboard. Seconds later, someone hovered over her, taking the laptop.
She jerked awake, and Tate froze, the laptop clutched in his hands. “I’m sorry. You looked uncomfortable. I just came in to check on you.”
“I’m fine.” Yawning, she twisted her head to check the time on her phone. She bolted upright against the pillows still stuffed behind her back. “I’ve been out for almost two hours.”
He brought his face close to hers. “Widen your eyes a bit. Let me see if your pupils are dilated.”
“I think it’s just overall exhaustion and not the concussion.” But she opened her eyes wide anyway, just to bring him in closer.
With his nose almost touching hers, his eyes shifted back and forth, studying hers. “They look okay. Did your shower help?”
“Helped me feel human, and the nightgown helped me feel—” Heat rushed to her cheeks. She’d been about to tell him she felt sexy. What an obvious, embarrassing line. But right about now, she could use it. She was desperate to make him stay.
His blue eyes shimmered like the bay surrounding this island. “I guess I’ll never know how it made you feel, but it makes you look sexy as hell.”
He still had one knee on the bed, leaning toward her. She grabbed the lapels of his flannel shirt and urged him closer. With the laptop still between them, clutched against his chest, she kissed his minty mouth.
She whispered, “It’s not the nightgown. You make me feel sexy and beautiful.”
“Because you are.” He guided the laptop to the floor and brushed back her curls from her face. He cupped her chin with one hand and touched his lips to hers.
“I’m not going to break.” Curling her arms around his neck, she pulled him onto the bed. “Kiss me hard.”
He took her face in his hands and angled his mouth over hers, slipping his tongue between her lips. She drew him in, and their tongues did a sweet tangle.
When he pulled away, she gasped at the loss. She flipped back the covers, and in her best husky voice, said, “Join me.”
He rubbed his chin. “Are you sure? You’re injured, tired.”
“And you’re just the medicine I need.” She patted the mattress. “Besides, I might be gone tomorrow.”
He blinked. “This isn’t... I’m not...”
She folded her arms over the low-cut nightgown, searching his face. “Did I read this wrong?”
“Maybe you did.” He clasped the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m not interested in some one-nighter with you. I’ve had enough of that. I didn’t ask you to spend the night to hit-and-run.”
His words stung. Is that what he thought she wanted? “I—I don’t fancy that, either, Tate, but what choice do we have? The agency might pull me off this case. I might be ordered home tomorrow. I want this with you before that happens. I want to feel what it’s like to be with a man who values me, even if it is for one night.”
He caressed her face, sending ripples of desire across her flesh. “It could never just be one night for us. I won’t allow that.”
She dragged his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss on his palm. “Let’s see where it leads us.”
Already barefoot, Tate pulled off his jeans quickly, as if worried his brain might veto his heart. Blanca unbuttoned his shirt, and he shrugged it off.
Running her fingers along the warm skin of his chiseled chest, she said, “You wear too many clothes on this island.”
“It adds to the mystery.” He slid his hands beneath the filmy nightgown and skimmed them over her hips. “You feel as good as you look. And I’m sure you taste as good as you feel.”
He pulled up the nightie and planted a row of kisses between her breasts and down her stomach as she wriggled beneath his attentions.
When he buried his head between her thighs, she curled her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself from floating off the bed. He brought her to climax, and as her body melted, she knew once would never be enough with this man. She’d need him over and over.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day, Tate scrambled out of bed before Blanca. If he stayed under the covers with her any longer, neither one of them would be able to leave. Even if this did end up being a one-night stand and Blanca took off today, it would be a night he’d never forget. He couldn’t regret that.
By the time Blanca made it downstairs, Tate had showered, dressed and made coffee. She entered the room in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, her hair scooped back in a ponytail, her face fresh and free of makeup.
She glanced at him from beneath her long lashes. “That was quite a night. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You didn’t exactly twist my arm.” He raised the coffee pot in her direction, and she nodded.
“I know that, but you did have some reservations.”
“The second my hand touched your skin I couldn’t remember one of them.”
“I do have reservations.” She hopped up on a stool at the island. “I have a lot of work ahead of me today, and all I can think about is you.”
“I can solve that. I’m off today.” He set a mug of coffee in front of her along with some milk and sugar. “I can help you out. Myra? You’re in luck. I know her mother. Dr. Summers? I sort of know him, too, although my mom knew him better. In fact, they both might be more open to talking with you if I’m by your side.”
“You’d do that?” She glanced at her phone, cupped in her hand. “I’m meeting Myra at about noonish. Just enough time for me to get cleaned up back at my hotel and find out what Hopkins wants to do about loaning me another car.”
He tapped his head. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, except for some sore muscles.” She quirked her eyebrows up and down. “But I don’t know if those are from the car wreck or those hijinks from last night.”
“Hijinks?”
She grinned and sipped her coffee. “Anyway, I could use an ibuprofen, if you have some.”
He opened a cupboard where Astrid kept an array of vitamins and snatched a bottle of Advil from the shelf. He shook it before handing it to Blanca. “Knock yourself out.”
Her cell phone rang, and she stared at it a second. “It’s the sheriff’s department. Hope the agency hasn’t given me my marching orders.”
She picked up the phone, and Tate left the room. If she were getting yanked off the case, he didn’t want to be there to witness it.
Minutes later, he peeked into the kitchen. “Good news?”
“Not sure if it’s good or bad. That was Sheriff Hopkins. He told me it looked as if someone had tampered with the electrical system in the sedan. So the crash last night was no accident.”
Folding his arms, Tate wedged a shoulder against the wall. “That’s good news and bad news. Good that our instincts were right, and bad that someone is definitely trying to get rid of you.”
* * *
LATER THAT MORNING, Blanca parked her new loaner in front of his cabin for their meeting with Myra. He’d decided that he should play chauffeur for her around the island.
She walked across his driveway with a stiff gait, and he helped her into his Jeep. He knew that wasn’t his fault. When he got behind the wheel, he asked, “Did you take more painkillers?”
“Just before I drove over here. They’ll start taking effect soon.” She smoothed back her hair, which she’d washed and styled to tone down her curls. “I didn’t get a chance to check the database at the station for crimes against children in 1996, but Amanda gave me a token to use to log-in from my laptop. I’m going to want to look into that, especially if Myra confirms our seven-year theory.”
“No news on Noah Fielding?”
“Nope.”
He shot a sideways glance at her tight expression, as he pulled away from his place. “What’s wrong?”
“I talked to my boss this morning, and he’s sending in two more agents to look at the Fielding case. He thinks I’m spending too much time on the cold cases, even though technically that’s why he sent me out here.” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth. “He assured me it’s not because he doesn’t believe in my investigation. In fact, he was on board with everything I told him about the Ruesler, Finnigan, and Whitecotton cases. He’s not convinced Noah’s disappearance is linked...but I am.”
He released a slow breath so she wouldn’t notice. “That’s a good thing, right? It doesn’t sound like the other agents are going to drive you off.”
“No, it doesn’t. They’ll be here in a few days, so I’m going to try to talk to the Fieldings again before the others arrive.”
“You’re meeting Myra at her house?”
“Yes, I got the feeling she didn’t want Mom listening in, but I’ll have to let her if she wants to.”
Tate patted his chest. “That’s why you have me. Felicity will feel more comfortable letting you talk to Myra with me there.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” She took her phone from the side pocket of her purse. “Do you know the way? I have directions.”
“I know my way all over this island, as long as she’s still in the same place.”
Blanca tapped her phone. “Riverbend Way. Does that sound right?”
“It does. I know exactly where she is.” As Tate navigated their way to Felicity’s house, Blanca hunched over her phone going through emails.
She finally looked up when he pulled into a housing tract with well-ordered homes, emerald green lawns and paved driveways. She blinked. “This is where the Wiccan lives?”
“Seventeen-year-old Wiccan. I doubt Felicity dabbles in the occult.” He parked in front of a neat house with garden gnomes stationed in the flower bed. “Although, I don’t know. Those little guys look creepy.”
“Oh, look, a welcoming committee.” She nodded her head at the windshield.
Myra, her black hair loose and hanging over her shoulders sat on the porch next to a young man, about Myra’s age, with similar black locks and a sullen expression. “I think we found the Satanists.”
“Stop calling them that.” She poked his thigh with two fingers. “I think it’s just witchcraft, not devil-worship.”
“The intricacies obviously escaped me. I’ll let you handle the conversation. I’ll just stand guard in case they unleash the demons, or whatever.”
She clicked her tongue before grabbing the handle of the door. “You’re not going to be any help at all.”
He followed her out of the car, and she raised her hand. “Hi, Myra? I’m Blanca.”
The screen door swung open behind the teens on the porch, and Felicity McKay stepped outside, one hand on her hip. “Oh, hey, Tate. The kids aren’t in any trouble, are they?”
Blanca tactfully allowed him to answer.
“Not at all. This is Blanca Lopez. She just has a few questions for...er, them. No wrong or bad answers, just information-gathering.”
Felicity circumvented Myra and her friend, hand outstretched, a worried look on her fine-boned face. “Nice to meet you, Blanca. I don’t have a problem with you questioning the kids, as long as this isn’t anything official. They’re just going through a phase.”
“Mom.” Myra rolled her eyes. “This is Jimmy Cervantes, by the way. He can help. He knows way more than me.”
Blanca shook Felicity’s hand and then nodded to Jimmy. “Good. Do you want to talk out here?”
Myra stood up, stomping her black Doc Marten boots. “You can go inside, Mom. We’ll be okay out here.”
“Tate, will you be here, too?” Felicity wound a strand of sandy blond hair around her finger, and he was pretty sure that had been the color of Myra’s hair before the severe dye job.
“As long as that’s okay with Myra and Jimmy. Blanca’s fine with it.”
“Let me know if you want coffee or anything. I’ll make myself scarce.” Felicity squeezed through the two teenagers on the porch and shut the door behind her.
Myra stretched and threw an arm at the chairs on the porch. “Do you wanna sit down?”
“Sure.” Blanca climbed the two steps to the porch and claimed one of three chairs.
Tate waited until Myra sat in the other one and then looked at Jimmy. “You want the other chair?”
“Go for it.” Jimmy shifted his skinny body, resting his back against the wood column to face the three chairs.
Tate took the last chair. He was finished talking for now. He’d done his part.
Blanca put her hands on her knees. “As you probably know, I’m here on Dead Falls Island to investigate the disappearance of Jeremy Ruesler about twenty years ago.”
“Before our time.” Jimmy smirked and stretched his legs across the steps.
Tate hoped like hell his sister and her kid weren’t still living with him when Olly hit this stage.
“I realize that.” Blanca pursed her lips. “But we’re seeing some connections between Jeremy’s disappearance and a few others on the island, and the number seven keeps coming up in weird ways.”
Myra and Jimmy exchanged looks between their black-lined eyes.
“It occurred to me—” Blanca’s gaze pinged between the two teens “—that seven is an important number in the occult, and it might have some significance to this case. When I mentioned that to your mom’s boyfriend, George, he told me you might be able to help.”
“Seven.” Jimmy ran a hand through his greasy hair. “It’s not just witchcraft and the occult, is it? Seven is important to a lot of religions, including Christianity, the seven deadly sins and all that. But for folklore, the seventh son of the seventh son possessed magical abilities. You get seven years of bad luck when you break a mirror.”
“I always wondered about that.” Blanca sat forward in her chair. “Why seven years?”
“Oh, oh!” Myra raised her hand, as if they were in class. “The Romans or someone believed that the human soul was renewed every seven years. So if you had seven years of bad luck, you could recover after the seven years.”
