Uncovered: A Hearts of the South story Page 8

  “Oh, that’s nice too,” she murmured. She moved, shimmying out of jeans, until she was naked and pressed against him, belly nudging his erection while he toyed and played with the stiff peaks, tugging, kneading, pulling.

  One arm wrapped around her waist, he caught a reddened nipple between his lips, nibbling, sucking. She arched, rubbing against him. “Yes, like that. Just like that.”

  With a groan of approval, he lifted her against him and took the two long steps to the bed, stretching her across it, never taking his mouth from her breast. She dug her hands into his hair and shifted beneath him, panting.

  “You’re strong. I like that.” She bowed into him, damp curls sliding along his belly. “Fuck me.”

  Yeah, she was bossy. He liked that too. But she probably needed to know up front that he’d followed all the orders he was going to back during his military days. “Not yet.”

  “Ash—”

  “I said not yet.” He pressed open kisses down her belly, holding her hips and ignoring the throbbing at his stitches.

  “I mean it.” Her thighs fell open and she gripped his hair, trying to pull him back up. “Fuck me now, hard.”

  “Not…” he nipped the inside of her thigh, spreading her vulva and sliding his thumb along her wet folds, “…yet.”

  He dropped his head, tasting her, and she moaned, twisting beneath him. He held her hips, keeping her still while he toyed with her clit with his teeth, sank his tongue inside her, savoring her. She pulled his hair, and he winced, tapped her hip.

  “Not so hard, honey.”

  “Very hard.” She pulled again, gasping and pushing into him. “Get up here. I want you inside me.”

  He fumbled in the nightstand and readied himself in record time. She watched, the hunger in her face making his hands shake. He leaned over her, and she pulled her knees higher, spreading herself, opening herself further for him.

  “Goddamn, that’s sexy.” Positioning himself, he drove forward. Slick flesh enveloped him, hot even through the thin latex, and he groaned, gritting his teeth against the intensity.

  “Oh, yes.” She bucked up to meet his next thrust. “Do it harder. Do me harder.”

  “Happy to oblige.” He pushed the words out, slamming into her. Strong muscles pulled at him, tightening, stroking. His arm buckled, and he rested on his elbow, sweat breaking on his brow. Good Lord, he hoped she was close because after her little oral performance on him earlier, he wasn’t sure how long he’d hold out.

  Four thrusts later, the heat intensified, and she tightened around him, a raw scream breaking from her throat. The rapid spasm of her body around his shoved him over the edge, the force of sudden orgasm rushing through him. He drove deeper, holding himself still as the intensity drained him.

  He slumped, forehead on her shoulder. She rubbed at his arms, tiny puffs of laughter escaping her. “Very, very nice.”

  Chuckling, he rolled his brow against her skin and tried to gather his strength to move. The woman wasn’t dangerous. She was downright lethal. But at least he’d die a happy man.

  She nudged him. “Have you lost the power of speech, Hardison?”

  “One word for you, honey.” He was so out of breath that the laugh she dragged from him hurt. He lifted his head to grin down at her. “Yee-ha.”

  Madeline rolled over and flung an arm across the bed where Ash should be. Her questing palm met cool sheets instead of warm male chest. She opened her eyes. The room lay shrouded in shadows, the kitchen light filtering down the hall but only alleviating the darkness so much.

  She sat up, pushing her hair back and glancing at his bedside clock. Just after five. She’d stayed longer than she’d intended. Actually, she’d tried to slip away after the second time, when she’d shoved him back against the pillows and rode him in sweet retaliation of that whole “yee-ha” business of his.

  An evil smile pulled at her mouth. She’d made him yell, too, and it hadn’t been “yee-ha”. Actually, she’d rather enjoyed hearing him call her name there at the end. None of the “baby” or “honey” mess, either. Simply two people who clicked in bed.

  Which made his whole insistence that she stay a while afterward silly. Yes, she’d fallen asleep despite her best intentions, but he’d made it damn hard not to, with his big hands stroking her back while he held her and whispered in the dark.

  She buried her face in her hands and blew out a long breath. Her mama was going to have a fit, even though Madeline had specifically told her she wasn’t sure when she’d be in. Living at home with those expectations again was even harder than she’d thought it would be.

  Naked, she slid from the bed, the wood floor a chilly shock to her bare feet. She flicked on the lamp and prepared to gather her clothes.

  Instead, she found them neatly folded and waiting on a straightback chair by the door. His small thoughtfulness brought a smile to her lips. He was decent. She liked that.

  The warm smells of coffee and biscuits drifted from the kitchen. Dressed, she headed that way, only to find the room empty, save for a pan of buttermilk biscuits covered in foil and warming on the stove. Unable to resist, she grabbed one of the flaky delights and scavenged in a spotless refrigerator for a glass of milk.

  A copy of Farmer’s Report lay on the counter next to a small stack of mail, and she flipped it open idly. He was obviously already up and working. She’d forgotten how early a farm day could begin. Silly of her to hover on disappointed because he wasn’t there to wake up with her. And if she was disappointed? It was only because the man was damn good in bed. The pulsing ache between her legs was testament to that.

  Male voices flowed from the yard near the back porch. Glass halfway to her lips, Madeline stilled. Ash’s voice. And Tick’s.

  Ah, shit.

  Bet she could just imagine Tick’s reaction to her being here and there was no way he could miss her car with its Florida tags in Ash’s driveway. She steeled herself, putting on the bitch like a cloak.

  One set of footsteps thudded on the stoop. “You just don’t get it, Tick.”

  “I don’t want to get it.”

  Oh yeah, they were talking about last night for sure. Anger curled through Madeline with poisonous tendrils. Just like Tick to be pissed off because she wasn’t good enough for his friend—

  “It’s a simple system.” Annoyance tinged Ash’s voice.

  “It’s simple to you. No one else can begin to comprehend it.” Tick laughed. “Ash, man, our accountant quit because he didn’t get your system. We’ve got to redo it, or it’s going to end up costing us money.”

  They were talking about the farm’s books? Madeline cringed. Her anger drained, leaving the familiar shame and embarrassment. At least they hadn’t been present this time. She should be grateful for that much, that she hadn’t had the opportunity to jump down Tick’s throat like she had yesterday.

  She dumped out her milk and rinsed the glass, her appetite gone, swamped in the curdling self-disgust. Why couldn’t she just apply the same critical thinking and reasoning she used in her job to her personal life?

  Except she didn’t always apply it professionally, did she?

  But you already know that, don’t you?

  Tick’s voice, those damning words, pounding in her head.

  Goddamn, she didn’t want him to be right. If he was right, then that meant she really was the horrible person he’d always believed her to be.

  A truck rumbled to life outside, and boots thumped across the porch. She glanced around. Where was her purse? She needed to be out of here. The back door opened, a gust of icy wind coming with it, and Ash stepped inside, rubbing his gloved hands together, his sock-clad feet quiet on the floor.

  “Damn, it’s cold out there.” He flashed that great grin at her. “Good morning.”

  “Hey.” She looked everywhere but his face. “Thanks for putting my clothes together. Where’s my purse?”

  “In the living room.” He was staring at her, she could feel it. “What’s wrong?”


  “Nothing.” She walked through the dining room to the living area. “I need to go.”

  “Madeline.” His large hand closed on her shoulder, and he turned her to face him. Concern and confusion glinted in his pale eyes.

  “Don’t.” She held up her hands and backed up a step. She shook her head, trying to put all the conflicting thoughts jumbling around in her head together. “I shouldn’t have…this was not a good idea.”

  Still eyeing her, still frowning, he rested his hands at his hips. “Do I get to disagree?”

  “I told you I wasn’t looking for…” She waved between them. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? Be my friend?”

  “That”—she pointed down the hallway—“wasn’t friendship.”

  “Madeline.” His voice firmed. “Stop prevaricating and tell me why you’re so ready to run this morning. This is not the same woman who blew my mind last night.”

  Because that woman wasn’t real. That woman was nothing more than the confident façade she’d been putting on for years, the one who was good at fucking and used it as a shield. No way would he want the one who lived underneath that front. That one was a mess, and she didn’t make anyone a good friend.

  That one didn’t make a good anything for anyone.

  “Mad.”

  The diminutive hit her, hard. She stepped farther backward. “Don’t call me that, please.”

  “Okay.” His hands were up now, his voice quiet, his eyes watchful. The posture was familiar. She’d seen it on dozens of cops over the years, had even used it herself. That was the dealing-with-the-crazy-unpredictable-person stance. “Can you calm down and tell me what’s up?”

  “I am calm.” She was, icily so, a shiver moving over her cold skin. “And I need to get out of here. I have to get ready for work.”

  “All right.” He nodded, a slow, even movement. “So how about dinner tonight and we’ll talk then?”

  Dinner tonight and she’d fuck him again, he meant. She’d let enough men use her over the years to not get that implication. She threw back her shoulders. “I don’t think so.”

  “Madeline—”

  “I said no. You’ve had your one free ride, Hardison.”

  His face went white, eyes burning at the insult. His mouth tightened, and she could literally feel the way he was biting back words. She narrowed her eyes, willing him to spit them out, to give her a reason to leave in anger and not look back.

  She was good at that.

  “Okay.” His curt tone didn’t quite cover the sizzling anger underneath. “Call me if you change your mind.”

  “Yeah.” She snagged her purse and moved toward the door. “Goodbye, Hardison.”

  The woman was crazy.

  From the back of his truck, Ash tossed another bag of fertilizer on the stack in the barn. Absolutely-fucking-insane. Awful close to ex-wife nuts, except he’d never met anyone who really approached Suzanne’s level of sheer malevolent lunacy.

  He paused and pushed his cap back, rubbed his wrist over his forehead. As wild as Madeline’s behavior and mood swings were, he couldn’t call her crazy, not really.

  Hurting and desperate, maybe.

  Hell, he knew what that felt like, when everything, including his actions and emotions, had been scarily out of control. Thank God for Stanton, who’d been steady and on-hand, pulling him back from the edge of self-destruction.

  Who was going to pull Madeline back?

  “Not you.” He spoke aloud. His hand pulsed with needles of pain, and he shook it lightly. “You’re not in the fixing-people business, remember?”

  The barn cat looked up from her lazy self-bathing and eyed him like he’d gone over the deep end. He jumped down from the truck bed and pulled the last bag, hefted it to his shoulder, carried it to the neat stack. Along the way, he addressed the cat again.

  “That’s right. I’m not getting involved, or I’ll be crazy too.”

  The cat yawned and held up one paw for a good lick.

  “Exactly. Like the lady said, she doesn’t want a man in her life right now. Not even as a friend.”

  Which was probably what she needed more than anything. Hadn’t he sensed the loneliness that hung around her?

  The cat extended in a drowsy motion and curled around to groom her back.

  “I’m done.” Ash tucked his gloves in his pocket and propped his hands on his hips. The cat ignored him. “She doesn’t want to tell me what’s going on, that’s fine. I don’t need to know anyway, right? Because there’s nothing between us.”

  Rising into an arched stretch, the car meowed once and slinked off into the shadows.

  “Right.” Ash sighed, defeat heavy in him. He reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt. Maybe Tick was free for lunch.

  Madeline gnawed the inside of her bottom lip until it hurt. Nearly twenty years later, she could still navigate the back roads to Moultrie with her eyes closed. The thirty-minute drive to the crime lab gave her too much time to think and she really wished Tick would pick a fight, so she’d have an excuse not to reflect. Instead, he sat silent in the passenger seat, reading through a fat file of ancient missing-person reports.

  She flicked a sideways glance at him. “Reading in the car doesn’t make you carsick?”

  He didn’t look up. “No.”

  Nerves jumping in her gut, she rubbed her palm along the steering wheel. “Find anything?”

  “No.”

  “Did you contact the rental company yet?”

  “No.” On a harsh sigh, he lifted his head and smacked the folder shut.

  Slowing as they came into Doerun and the speed limit dropped, she slanted a look at him. He regarded her with barely concealed annoyance, and she shrugged. “What?”

  “I’m trying to read but you obviously want to have a conversation. You tell me what.”

  “What makes you think I want to have a conversation with you, of all people?” She braked for a stop sign.

  “Experience.” Irony lurked in his tone, a private joke she didn’t get. Irritation spiked in her.

  “All I did was ask questions about a shared case, Calvert.” She waited for a semi to rumble past before turning right onto the Moultrie highway.

  “Sure and—” A Gary Allan tune rent the air, and he tugged his cell from his belt. “Calvert. On my way to Moultrie, why? Um, yeah—” He rotated his wrist to look at his watch. “I can probably do that. Call me first before you head out though. Later, man.”

  An indefinable surety that Ash was on the other end of the connection shivered over her. She blinked, hard. She’d made a mess of that this morning, as well.

  What a surprise.

  “I’ll call the real estate office when we get back.” Tick clipped his phone into place. “I’m really hoping Ford can narrow the timeline down for us.”

  “You said that yesterday.”

  He glowered, mouth closed in a taut line. Just like Ash. What was it with them? They couldn’t call a bitch a bitch when she was right in front of them?

  His audible exhale filled the tense space. “You know, when I was at the Miller Court house last night, I was thinking it would be strange for that body to be decomposing and nobody smell anything. If Ford can’t give us a timeline, talking to the people who live around there, or who have lived there in the past, might turn up a lead.”

  The semi slowed for a left-hand turn and she braked. “You went back last night? What for?”

  “Allison called. She needed some of her kid’s stuff.”

  Yeah. Sure she did. Madeline shook her head. Men were so dense.

  The two-lane rural highway opened up into four lanes as they approached the Moultrie bypass. Gosh, now this area had changed for real. Where there’d been one lone gas station and a couple of fast food joints, there were now hotels and swankier, trendy restaurants, joined by a small technical college.

  The small brick building that housed the GBI crime lab sat next to the sprawling Colquitt County Jail. A brisk
wind tossed stray leaves across the parking lot, and as they exited the car, Madeline pulled her blazer tighter. Hell, she hated cold weather, especially the damp chill of a southwest Georgia winter. She should have brought her scarf and gloves.

  Inside the cool autopsy lab, two medical examiners—one male, one female—worked over stainless steel tables. Tick jerked his chin at the male agent bent over an elderly man’s nude body and crossed to the second table, where the female agent had their skeletal remains laid out.

  “Morning, Ford.” He motioned in Madeline’s direction and made quick introductions. Ford was petite, her small frame swamped in green scrubs, her mask and head cover leaving only her vivid blue eyes visible, sparkling with intelligence and good humor. “Can you tell us anything yet?”

  His voice sounded funny, emerging strained and hoarse. Madeline glanced at him, curious. He’d covered his nose and mouth with one hand, and his skin had taken on a definite pasty tone. Humor spurted through her. The high and mighty Tick Calvert couldn’t handle an autopsy lab. It was too good to believe.

  Ford gestured at the bones. “Caucasian female, fifteen to eighteen. Never had a child.”

  Madeline jotted a note in her pocket pad. “What about the cause of death?”

  Behind her a saw whirred to life, followed by the crunching of bone. If anything, Tick paled further. Ford looked at him. “Are you okay?”

  “Shit, no.” Hand still over his face, he bolted. The door swished closed behind him. Madeline smothered a laugh.

  Ford pinned the other tech with a frown. “You know he can’t handle that, Young. You did that on purpose.”

  Young continued to cut. “Hey, I’m just clearing the backlog.”

  Madeline suppressed her humor and caught Ford’s gaze. “Cause of death?”

  She didn’t hold out much hope for an answer. They hadn’t found any bullets in the dirt under the house, so Madeline was pretty sure she hadn’t been a shooting victim. If the girl had been strangled or beaten, the evidence of that would have been lost as the flesh decayed.