One Night in Weaver... Page 14

  He waited a beat. “I was nearby.”

  Her stomach hollowed out a little. “I can’t decide what’s more disturbing. Thinking that I was imagining you there or knowing that I wasn’t. Have you been following me all this time? Watching me?”

  “I’ve been watching him.” His voice was flat. “Yes. I could see you in the park yesterday. I was prepared to take him out if he made a move against you.”

  She trembled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I was there with a sniper’s rifle, Doc. And I don’t miss.”

  The image that hurtled into her mind stole her breath. “Jason’s not a danger to me,” she whispered.

  “I know you think that. But I’m still not willing to take that on faith. I’m not going to rest until he’s gone from here once and for all.”

  “Then you should be glad my time with him is running out,” she said huskily. “So why warn me at all?”

  “Because you’re his shrink. You deserve to know.”

  “So you’ll tell me the truth, even though you’re prepared to shoot him?”

  “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. If I could stop you from ever getting within five feet of him, I would. But I know that’s not going to happen. So, instead...I...watch.” His voice went hoarse. “And hope to hell I don’t miss if it comes down to that.”

  She shuddered wildly. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Then that makes two of us.” He stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t try to tell her that everything was fine when it was so patently obvious that it wasn’t. He just held her. Until her shaking stopped and her resistance ebbed and she simply leaned into him. Into this man whose basic need was to protect.

  And then he drew her upstairs and into the guest bathroom. Wordlessly, he turned on the shower, letting the water heat up while he unzipped her skirt and pushed it to her feet, and then worked the buttons down the front of her blouse free and slid it from her shoulders. When he turned to check the water, she stepped out of her flats as well as the skirt around her feet and pulled her bedraggled ponytail loose. He stepped behind her and she felt his wet fingers undoing the hooks of her bra. He tugged her panties down and without looking at her, pulled back the clear shower glass door and urged her beneath the hot, soothing spray.

  But when he went to close the shower door again she stopped him. “You, too.”

  His jaw canted slightly. “You need—”

  “—you,” she cut him off. “I need you.” The admission flowed out of her as surely as the water flowed over her shoulders, with no hope of being shut off as easily. “You don’t have to make love to me. I just don’t want you to go.”

  In answer, he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Unlaced his combat boots and pulled them off. Then came his socks. Then the camouflage pants, which on him were part of his history and not some macho fashion choice. When his clothes were piled among hers, he stepped into the shower with her and closed the door.

  “You looked like a soldier,” she murmured.

  “I was a soldier. Now I’m just a man.” His arm brushed hers as he reached for her bottle of shampoo and moved around her until his broad back blunted most of the shower spray. “Turn around.”

  She turned, swiping her hand over her wet face, and went still when she felt his hands on her head.

  He wasn’t washing his own hair. He was washing hers.

  She blinked hard against a sudden rush of tears. “You were young when you enlisted.”

  “Eighteen.” His fingertips massaged her scalp.

  He’d told her he’d served for fifteen years and been out for five. “So you’re thirty-eight?”

  “Yep.”

  He worked his way lower, around her occipital, and she let out a long breath of pleasure.

  “After the past week,” he murmured, “I feel a helluva lot older.”

  Her head fell back a little. “When you were a ranger did you—” She broke off, not sure she should even ask. “Travel a lot?” she finished instead.

  His hands moved to her shoulders, and he switched spots with her to rinse the suds from her hair. Which also left them facing one another. “Ask what you really want to ask, Doc.”

  She stared up into his face. His eyelashes were spiked with water, making them seem even darker. “How do you know that’s not what I was going to ask?”

  His fingers finally slid away from her hair. “I traveled a lot.” He reached for the bar of soap and began working up a lather, but his eyes stayed on hers. “And yesterday wasn’t the first time I’ve been prepared to put a bullet in somebody. It wasn’t the first time I didn’t have to. Unfortunately, more often than not, I did have to.”

  “How did you cope?”

  He slid his sudsy hands over her shoulders. Down her arms, up the insides of her elbows. “You’re the shrink. How does a soldier cope when they’ve killed another?”

  “You weren’t just a soldier. You’re a person. I want to know how you coped.”

  “By knowing I did what needed to be done to keep somebody else from dying. By completing the mission.” He slid the bar of soap over her hips. Worked it down the outsides of her thighs. Her calves. Then he turned her again to face the water and worked his way up again.

  When he reached the small of her back, his hands slowed. “Move your hair.”

  She pulled her wet hair in front of her shoulder and his soapy hands slid slowly up her back. Steam was rising around them, curling up the glass enclosure and sneaking out above the top. Even though his touch was gentle, as carefully unprovocative as it could ever be, she still felt steam rising inside her.

  “Didn’t matter how many missions there were, though.” His fingers slid over her waist, slowing as they glided upward beneath her arms, along her ribs and brushed the outer curves of her breasts. He stepped closer and his head dropped as he kissed the top of her shoulder. “Never got to rid the world of the man who got away with killing my old man when I was eighteen.”

  She inhaled, sliding her arms over his when they circled her waist, keeping her still when she would have turned to face him again. “What happened?”

  “He was a partner in an outfitter company, and they were down in Corpus Christi to meet with a guy who wanted to buy them out.” His voice was low, rumbling against her shoulder. “Dad didn’t want to sell. Marcus, his partner, did. They’d been arguing about it for months. Bad arguments. The two of ’em went out on a boat while they were down there. Only one came back.”

  She rubbed her palm over his arm, feeling the hard tendons beneath the water-slick hair and flesh. “I’m sorry.” No wonder he was so adamant about Jason’s guilt. It wasn’t suspicion that ruled him. It was personal history. “What happened?”

  “The DA wouldn’t prosecute a case he considered unwinnable and Marcus walked, with a minor fortune in his pocket thanks to the store my pop loved. I tried to get a copy of the investigation. To see for myself. But the records were lost.”

  “What about your mother? Where was she?”

  “She didn’t want a kid. Especially one from a working-class guy like my old man. It was okay to mess around with somebody she considered low class, but beyond that?” He shook his head. “She dumped me with him when I was a baby and never looked back. It’s surprising she bothered having me at all.”

  “Any other family?” But Hayley was afraid she already knew the answer.

  “None that mattered.”

  Her chest squeezed. “Seth.”

  He ran the soap up between her breasts, stepping closer until there was no space left between her back and his front and she shivered despite the steaming water.

  “Marcus was like a second father to me. But the second he could, he sold the business.” His voice was short. “I enlisted. Never saw him aga
in.”

  His empty hand covered her breast. “And that’s the short history of Seth Banyon,” he murmured and kissed the side of her neck. “Psychology one-oh-one, probably.” His thumb roved her over tight nipple, sending heat straight to her core.

  “You’re not even close to a textbook.” Her voice was faint and she let out a low moan when his other hand slid over her abdomen, gliding down between her thighs. “I said you didn’t have to...” Her voice trailed off as his long fingers replaced the soap that fell unheeded to the shower floor.

  “There’s ‘have to,’” his voice deepened as his slick fingers moved, “and there’s ‘need to.’” The hard length of him prodded against her. “Of all people, you should understand the difference.”

  She shuddered, melting around his fingers. “Take what you need,” she whispered, tilting her head back and pulling his mouth to hers.

  And he did. He took, and took, until she convulsed around his long, clever fingers, and then he turned her around, lifted her shaking legs around his hips and took some more, pressing her back against the glossy tile wall until she cried out his name.

  And then, he gave.

  * * *

  She almost didn’t hear the call when it came hours later. And even then, she might not have if it weren’t for Moose’s barking.

  Seth was already sitting up in bed, his bare shoulders visible in the gleam of moonlight through the blinds. “I’ll let him out.”

  She rolled out of bed. There was never any happy reason for her phone to ring in the middle of the night. Usually, it meant the sheriff was dealing with some official crisis that necessitated a counselor. “My cell phone is ringing, too. I left it downstairs.” She nudged his hard shoulder. He’d admitted how little sleep he’d gotten over the past week. She was still shocked at the lengths he’d gone to. “Go back to sleep.” She scooped up her robe from the chair and pulled it on as she hurried out of the room.

  The ringing stopped before she made it down the stairs, though Moose’s barking didn’t. She let him out into the backyard and was just retrieving her phone from her briefcase pocket when Seth came down the stairs, too. “I told you to sleep,” she said.

  He gave her a look and finished zipping up his cargo pants.

  She dragged her eyes away from his bare chest and focused on her phone.

  Dread sank through her. Not the sheriff at all. “It was Tristan.” She recognized the number. “He didn’t leave a message.”

  “If it’s about McGregor, he wouldn’t.”

  “Who else would it be about but Jason?” She sat down on the bottom tread of the staircase and redialed the number.

  Tristan picked up on the second ring. “Put Banyon on.”

  She winced and held out the phone to Seth. “He wants you.”

  Without expression, he took the phone and held it to his ear. “Yeah.”

  Hayley rubbed her hands up and down her arms, watching Seth’s face. She couldn’t hear what Tristan was saying, but considering the man knew Seth was with her when he wasn’t supposed to be, she could imagine.

  And a few moments later, without having spoken another word, the call was done. Seth held out the phone.

  “Please don’t tell me that he’s fired you because of me.”

  “He turned in Jason to the sheriff two hours ago.”

  “What? You told me I had a week!”

  When she didn’t take the phone, he set it on the table next to her briefcase.

  She grabbed the wooden banister and pulled herself to her feet. Not once had she heard Seth refer to her patient by his first name. “Turned him in to the sheriff,” she said. Not the federal government. “You mean voluntarily?”

  He thrust his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Jason asked him to.”

  “Why?”

  “He remembered having the gun. Remembered where the bodies were.”

  She pressed her tongue hard against her teeth, absorbing that. “Anything else? Like actually using the gun?”

  “He turned himself in for murder, Hayley.”

  “And that doesn’t strike you as odd for a man you say is trying to get away with it?”

  He shoved his hands through his hair again. “Hell yes, it strikes me as odd!” He paced to the door and back again. “But no more odd than his leading us straight to him in the first place by using a known alias!”

  “I want to talk to him. To Jason.”

  His jaw clenched. “He doesn’t want to see you. That’s why Tristan told me. So I’d keep you from going to the sheriff’s station.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d ever had a patient turn away from her. But it was the first time in such a critical situation. “I want to hear that from Jason.”

  “Doc—”

  “He didn’t try to hurt me when we spent hours alone together during our sessions,” she interrupted. “He’s certainly not going to do anything locked in a jail cell! Whether you like it or not, the man is still my patient.”

  He watched her from beneath hooded eyes. “And when he tells you he did it? He killed his partners?”

  “Then you’ll be secure in the knowledge that you were right all along.”

  His lips twisted. “I didn’t want to be right. I wanted you to be safe.”

  She held out her arms at her sides. “Do I not look safe?” Because he couldn’t possibly say otherwise, she turned and started up the stairs. “How’d Tristan know you were here, anyway?”

  “Because as good at disappearing and surveillance as I am, he’s got others even better.”

  She stopped and looked down at him. “That does not make me feel better. This is tiny little Weaver. Stuff like that doesn’t belong here.” She flexed her fingers around the banister. Her heart was suddenly thumping hard in her chest. “Will you be here when I get back?”

  He started up the stairs. “I’ll go with you.”

  Her breath slid out of her. Her mind was swirling, but the only thing that came to her lips was a faint “okay.”

  He reached her and unpeeled her clenched fingers from the banister. “Better move, Doc. This is a federal case. The sheriff will only have him for a short while.”

  And you?

  The words hung in her mind, but she couldn’t make herself ask them. Without Jason’s case hanging between her and Seth, would she have him only for a short while, too?

  Chapter Eleven

  Only two officers were inside the sheriff’s station when they arrived. The dark-haired sheriff, Max Scalise, personally escorted Hayley back to the holding cells while Seth cooled his heels in Max’s office.

  “Tristan warned me you might come,” Max said as they went.

  “I’m surprised he’s not here, too.”

  “He was. He’ll be back.”

  She knew the urge to warn Seth was childish. He was a grown man who didn’t want or need protection from her, even if she was in a position to offer it. Which she wasn’t.

  Still, she had to concentrate harder than she should have to keep moving forward instead of back. Their footsteps sounded hollow in the empty, tiled corridor. “I appreciate you not trying to stop me from seeing Jason.”

  “Known you long enough now to know that would be pointless.” Max stopped outside the door sectioning off the holding cells without opening it. “I’m allowing it only because you’ve always helped whenever my department’s needed you,” he said quietly. “McGregor hasn’t asked to see you. In fact, he’s stated pretty plainly that he doesn’t want to.”

  “I heard. But I’m also concerned about his state of mind.”

  “So am I,” Max said frankly.

  “Has he asked for a lawyer?”

  The sheriff shook his head.

  She sighed. Even if Jason made a
full confession, he should still have legal representation. “None of this would be happening in the first place if Hollins-Winword didn’t exist,” she murmured.

  “Pretty sure Tristan has had a few thoughts along those lines himself,” the sheriff answered. “They’ve done a lot of good, though, too.”

  “I know your wife is involved—”

  “Occasionally,” he allowed. “Sarah has been involved. In the past. But my point is only to say that there’s a lot of history where Hollins-Winword is concerned. Some of it’s not pretty. But when you put things on a scale, the good has always outweighed the bad. Not even the agency can save him from murder charges. You ready to go in?” At her nod, Max pushed open the door leading to the holding cells and gestured her through.

  Sam, wearing her uniform, was sitting in a chair outside the cells. She was obviously babysitting their only occupant.

  Jason.

  “You can head on home, Officer Dawson,” Max told her.

  Sam nodded. Her gaze met Hayley’s for a moment before she left.

  Jason was lying on the metal bunk affixed to the wall and didn’t budge even when Hayley spoke his name.

  “I told them to keep you away,” he said.

  She glanced at the sheriff and then at the door.

  Max’s lips tightened, but he retreated after Sam, leaving her alone with Jason.

  Once the door was closed again, she stepped up to the cell and studied the gaunt man through the bars. “You need to ask for a lawyer, Jason.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “A noose.”

  “Suicide’s no answer.”

  “I killed my friends.”

  She curled her fingers around one of the thick, cold bars. “You remembered?”

  “I remember the gun. I remember the blood. Their bodies.” He threw his arm over his eyes. “Go away, Doc. You did your job.”

  “A job I haven’t finished unless you remember more details than that.” She looked at the closed door behind her and then back at Jason. “One of my sisters is a public defender.”