A Trick of the Light Page 11

  The massages came after dessert. More moaning ensued, more than Dylan’s psyche or libido could stand. Everyone in the kitchen came out to rub shoulders and necks.

  “Where are you going?” Gerri said, tugging his arm. “You haven’t gotten the best part yet.”

  “You’d better do him first,” Gerri said to someone standing behind him. “He’s gettin’ antsy.”

  Dylan turned to find Chloe standing behind him, something akin to a startled deer’s look on her face. “You don’t have to —”

  “It’s part of the dinner,” she said softly, then laid her hands on his shoulders.

  “But I didn’t come —”

  Then she started stroking, slowly at first, then harder, kneading his muscles. He could feel her breath on the back of his head, long, deep breaths growing deeper. Throughout dinner and dessert, the music had returned to that strange, new-age mix, and Chloe massaged him to the rhythm, light for the flutes, deeper for the bass. Her fingers were surprisingly strong for their delicate appearance. His muscles melted beneath her touch, and he resisted the urge to lean back and feel her softness against him. He could feel the heat from her hands right through his shirt. God, had anyone ever touched him like this, to solely give pleasure?

  The essence of Chloe wrapped around his senses, her sweet perfume, spices, and the soft puff of her breath against his neck. Her fingers worked right up to the base of his skull with hypnotically slow strokes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until they snapped open again. Gerri and Trish were smiling, enjoying their own mini-show. Oh, brother.

  He turned to look at Chloe. Her head was tilted to the side, eyes closed, mouth turned slightly upward. He had the strangest urge to pull her down onto his lap and bury his tongue in her mouth.

  Which was not what he’d come here to do.

  He shook his head, trying to dispel the crazy thought. Chloe blinked, opening her eyes as though she’d drifted off. Now her eyes were definitely dreamy, the way they’d been after their kiss. Which stirred his insides and made him want to kiss her again. She looked away as though that would keep him from seeing the smoke in her eyes or the flush on her creamy complexion. She cleared her throat and moved on to Gerri.

  The front door opened, and the aunt he recognized as Stella came sneaking in. She waved at Chloe and headed to the kitchen.

  “I can leave after the bills are tallied,” Chloe said in a thick voice behind him.

  Dylan went to the restroom and splashed his face with water. No more falling under that woman’s spell. All of these women who said Chloe didn’t have any special abilities were wrong. She had plenty of them, and they were all aimed at making him crazy.

  Crazy for her.

  Tonight he had to stop it. No matter what she had done for him, he had to put an end to her involvement in the case and his life. And he was going to have to be firm about it. Maybe even a little mean. Because he couldn’t have her distracting him like this. It was wrong, and it made him feel guiltier than hell.

  “You cut your hair,” he said when they returned to her house. “You didn’t really decide to go butch, did you?” Thank goodness she’d changed out of that gown and into a white top and jeans.

  She led him around the side of her house to the lit courtyard. “No. I just wanted something … different. I don’t know why I cut it exactly. Hey, Shakespeare!” The black and white dog put its paws on Chloe’s stomach and nuzzled her while she scratched his head. “How’s my buddy, huh? Miss me?”

  Dylan cleared his throat, and she looked up, then disengaged the dog. “We can sit here.”

  She sat on the stone bench in front of an enormous sea grape tree. “Thanks for coming here. I just didn’t want everyone …”

  He sat on the other end of the bench. “Watching?” he offered with a smile. Reminding himself he shouldn’t be smiling at all.

  “Exactly. So … what did you come to see me about? The newspaper article?”

  “Yes.” He stood, because it seemed too cozy sitting there on the bench with her. “Why do you have a bat hanging on your house?”

  She was making him crazy, because that’s not what he wanted to say at all.

  “That’s to keep the birds from hitting the glass. During the day it reflects and looks like more sky. Every time one would hit the glass, I’d feel terrible. I have a mini graveyard of the victims of my window. Sometimes I’d find a dead bird on the ground. So I hung that ugly thing there. It was Halloween; that’s all I could find.”

  A nut with a heart of gold. He didn’t want to look at her, because he’d see all that compassion in her eyes and then he’d want to kiss her again and that was a really bad idea, considering he’d come here to tell her to butt out of his life. So he focused on those strange flowerpots that circled the back half of the pond.

  “I call them potheads,” she said, coming up beside him. Still smelling good and sweet and edible.

  “I saw them outside the supper club. Odd things.”

  “Thank you.” When he turned to her, she said, “I make them. In my workshop.” She nodded toward a door on the ground floor. With a smile, she said, “Just because I’m an accountant doesn’t mean I’m all left-brained. Except that I’m not any good at it. Grandma only puts them in the patio area because she feels sorry for me, not that she’d ever admit it.”

  There he was, smiling again. “Chloe, about the newspaper article … because of you — because you came to see me last night — people are calling with their visions and insights, and the paper is making me out to be some fruitcake who believes in all this nonsense. I want you to stay out of this whole situation. I saw the posters, and I appreciate that. But I can’t have people thinking I’m buying into this crazy stuff. I’m already crazy enough with everything that’s going on. Do you know what I’m saying? Can you understand?”

  She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and stepped closer. “I’m sorry about the article. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  “I know. But it happened because you were at my house, because you’re involved. Now these nutcases are calling me and the police, sending them on wild goose chases and wasting valuable time while my son is sitting somewhere out there by himself …” His voice started breaking. He cleared his throat, shocked to hear the emotion in his voice. “Stay out of it, Chloe. Just stay out of it. I need to find my son, but I keep thinking about you, and that mouth, and the way the corners turn up when you’re just thinking and the way your mouth feels, and geez, Chloe you’re driving me crazy …”

  “Do you mean a bad kind of driving you crazy —”

  He pushed her against the tree trunk and kissed her. Her surprised intake of breath quickly became deep breaths that fueled his desire even more. She had opened her mouth to his and joined him in oral lovemaking. His own breath came faster as her response ignited his body. It was crazy, it was inappropriate, and he still couldn’t take his mouth off hers. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and his pelvis was pressed against hers, pinning her to the tree. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling it, digging into his neck, trying to pull closer.

  She made little sounds deep in her throat, whimpering, groaning sounds that were far more powerful than a whole roomful of women moaning over chocolate. He wanted her. All his primal instincts kicked in … instincts long denied. He didn’t know he could want a woman with his whole body, didn’t know the ache inside she both fueled and assuaged. He wanted to strip off her clothes and take her right there against the tree. He wanted to hear more of those sounds, make her breathless … he wanted her to scream. All the desire he’d restrained over the years came to life with a terrifying voracity.

  He pulled her white cotton shirt from the waistband of her jeans and pressed his hand against the warm flesh of her stomach. And then a little higher. Her breath caught again, and his mouth slid down her throat and ravished her neck, and then the spot just beneath her ear. She shivered, head tilted back and mouth slack. Total surrender. And
then she whispered his name, soft and low and throaty, and just the sound of it slithered through his body.

  He unsnapped her bra in the front. His hand slid between the valley of her breasts, up to her collarbone. She arched, responding to his teasing touch, and then he cupped her flesh, running his thumb across the raised nub.

  “I think you’re a witch,” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver again. “And I think you’ve cast some kind of spell on me. I can’t get you out of my head, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I shouldn’t be thinking about you.”

  And then he met her gaze, and she looked just as spellbound as he felt. They were both caught up in a vortex. Those blue eyes were full of desire. How could he tell her to stay away from him when he had her pinned against the tree? How could he tell her to stay away when he wanted her so damned bad?

  First he heard the dog panting loudly. And then the male voice a short distance away: “I see I’ve come at an inopportune time.”

  Dylan was sure he hadn’t said anything, which must mean someone else had said it, someone standing there watching them. He pushed back and covered Chloe so she could arrange herself. He spun around to find Detective Yochem looking smug and interested.

  CHAPTER 10

  Dylan spit out an expletive and ran his hand through his hair. Yochem was watching them with that speculative TV-detective look. Dylan made a point to stand in front of Chloe as he walked toward Yochem.

  What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, that’s what. Nothing new when it came to Chloe.

  “Do you have any news? Is that why you’re here?” Dylan asked, surprised to find his voice hoarse.

  “No, nothing. I spoke with your housekeeper, who told me you’d probably come out here. So I wanted to see for myself.”

  “See what?” Dylan hated the defensive sound in his voice.

  “He was telling me to butt out of his life,” Chloe said, trying to inconspicuously tuck in her shirt.

  “Oh, yeah, I could tell. Listen, McKain, you gotta understand something. In child disappearance cases, the parents are always suspect until they’re cleared. In so many of these cases it turns out that one or both parents killed their child. Am I saying I suspect you? Don’t know yet. Have I ruled you out? No.”

  “You’re still wasting time investigating me?”

  “I have to look at all the angles. I had a case several years ago, before I came to Naples. Same kind of thing, the parents were all weepy ‘cause the kid was gone, taken right out of their home. They appealed to the public, played the whole thing, and complained to me because I was looking into their stories and not looking for their kid. Their little girl was an angel, cutest thing I ever did see …” He looked away for a moment, then refocused. “I spent three weeks solid, no sleep, looking for her.”

  “They killed their own child?” Chloe asked, obviously outraged by the look on her face.

  “He did. He was jealous of the attention the wife gave the kid.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  Yochem looked at both of them and paused. “A lot of people are crazy. Some are crazy on the outside.” He looked at Chloe when he said that. “Some hide it deep inside.” With those words he looked at Dylan. “I know your wife was the last person seen with Teddy, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t see him sometime that morning. You were chasing your wife when she lost control of the car. Maybe you wanted her out of the way too. Maybe you were both in on it, but things turned ugly. Then you don’t even know your kid has autism. And from what I know about you, you’re into having everything fit the norm. Everything’s gotta look good. Then we got the note.”

  Dylan tried his best to stay calm and not to focus on the fact that they were still wasting time investigating him. “What note?”

  “Wanda McKain sent us a note the day she died. I just got it; it wasn’t addressed to anyone, so it got tossed around for a day. She told us she was taking the kid because you wouldn’t accept him. She was afraid you might send him away or something.”

  “That’s crazy. I wouldn’t send my own son away.”

  “Maybe you did something to him because he didn’t fit into your scheme of things.”

  Hold your anger in, don’t kill the man because then even when they find Teddy you won’t get to see him. “I love my son. You’ll know the truth when I find him. What about the North Carolina story?”

  “Probably nothing but a cover.” Yochem rubbed his nose. “What I can’t figure out is how the cookie fits into this whole thing. Were you two seeing each other before this happened?”

  “No,” she said, stepping forward. “And we’re not seeing each other now.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Look, I was just trying to help him find Teddy.”

  “I know, the near-death tunnel thing.” At her questioning look, he added, “Dylan had me check into you when you went to him with the story.”

  He hated the betrayed look on her face. And that was nothing compared to how she’d react when she saw his comments in the papers tomorrow.

  “What I find strange,” Yochem continued, looking at Chloe “is that you seem to be replaying your mother’s final act.”

  She smoothed down her hair and stepped closer. “What does my mother have to do with this?”

  “I did some checking into your background. You were born in Sarasota to Amelia and Fred Samms. Your dad was a loser, never played a part in your life. Your aunt Lena Stone was a well-known psychic, and your other aunt, Stella Maguire, talks to animals. Apparently your mother felt left out because she had no powers. After all the publicity the Martins girl produced for Lena, Amelia must have really felt left out.” He recited the facts in a blasé manner, yet each word tore into Chloe so visibly, Dylan actually felt it.

  “A month or so later a little boy was taken from a Tampa mall. Amelia went to the press with her so-called visions. Lena downplayed her talent or whatever you want to call it, but your mother went overboard. She had these hopeful parents running all over the place, giving them false hope. Worse, she wasted the police force’s energy on false leads while the kidnapper walked right to the parents’ house and left their boy’s body on their doorstep. Your mother led these people to believe that their son was still alive, and they came home to find him dead.”

  Yochem’s face suddenly looked very old and tired. “Do you know what false hope does to people? It builds them up only to leave nothing beneath their feet when the truth comes out. People were mad, real mad. They wrote nasty letters and called her with threats. She hurt a lot of people. Even the psychics were angry at her. Maybe that’s why she killed herself.”

  Dylan watched confusion, outrage, and hurt play across her features, but the blood drained completely on those last words.

  “You’re wrong, you are way wrong.” Her words sounded strong, but her gesture of wrapping her arms around herself gave away her insecurity. “My mother died of breast cancer. She didn’t kill herself, she didn’t.”

  Yochem’s expression softened slightly. “You didn’t know, did you? Well, I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I thought you knew, and I thought you were playing at the same game.”

  “How? How did she die?”

  “She slashed her wrists. Your Aunt Lena found her in the bathtub.”

  “No.” The word crackled in her throat, making Dylan want to pull her against him and protect her from the truth. She looked small and fragile, as delicate as the owl pendant she wore. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, repeating, “It isn’t true.” And then she walked down that long shell road toward town.

  Dylan watched her go, fighting an urge to go after her. But he didn’t know what he’d say. So he faced Yochem. “Good job.”

  “Hey, I thought she knew.”

  He tried to put away thoughts of Chloe and focus on his immediate problem: the man’s accusations. “How much of your manpower is going into investigating me?”

  “We’re still looking for your son. I’m sorry, but
it’s the way we gotta play it. The odds always lean toward the parents. And I gotta tell you, you being involved with the cookie isn’t helping your case.”

  “I’m not involved with her.” At Yochem’s raised eyebrow, he added, “It was a kiss, no big deal.” But it had been, that’s what his body told him. It had been a big, big deal. “And she’s not a cookie.” Focus, Dylan. “The letter Wanda sent you …”

  Yochem shrugged. “Could be she just wanted to justify her actions. She’d have to figure that if she took the kid, the police would be all over her. She maybe didn’t want the press or anyone else making her out as the bad guy. So she turned the tables on you.”

  That sounded like something Wanda would do. Blame everyone else. She’d gotten good at that over the years, blaming the world for everything. He wondered who she’d blamed for Teddy’s autism.

  “So what do you think, Detective?”

  He shrugged again. “Not for me to speculate. It’s my job to look at all the angles before I make a decision. And right now, the angle I’m seeing doesn’t look too good for you.” He nodded toward the tree where Dylan had pinned Chloe. “I’d steer clear of that one if I were you. I give you that advice for your own reputation. You don’t want to lose the press’ sympathy. As for me, well, if you’re involved with her, and were before your son’s disappearance, I’m going to find out anyway. Good night.”

  Dylan stood there for a while, listening to the sound of Yochem’s car fade away, then to the crickets and the wind chimes. His chest hurt, and his body felt tense and stiff.

  Chloe had obviously gone to confirm the story. A part of him wanted to be here when she returned. The sensible part urged him to get in his car and leave. He made himself go, fighting every step and wondering why he should even care. God knew he had enough to worry about besides her feelings.

  Chloe wished she could forget about it. There were times when she and her aunts had gotten into fights, arguments, really, and they’d all agreed to forget about it. But not this time.