Epiphany: Part Two Page 3

  And then he touched me, and my heartbeat started galloping all over again.

  His hand rested on my thigh, radiating warmth through the thick denim of my jeans. As the road rushed underneath us, reality trickled in, like a slow invading force I couldn’t stop. The first hint of doubt pricked at me, threatening to ruin everything, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I hadn’t been intimate with anyone…in a while. Kissing, fully clothed, was one thing, but what if…

  What if I couldn’t handle it?

  “Shit!”

  I jumped, and my gaze flew to his face. His attention was riveted to the rearview mirror. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  “What? Why do you think that?”

  “Looks like the same headlights from earlier.” He withdrew his hand and gripped the steering wheel.

  “Wait a second…you thought someone was tailing us?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything? I figured you were angry and needed to let loose on the open road or something.”

  “I was angry, but I didn’t want to alarm you.”

  He was alarming me now. The car flew over the road, increasing speed by the second. I turned around in my seat and squinted at the headlights behind us. Whoever he was, he kept a safe distance. “Do you think it’s him?” I shivered at the thought of the Hangman stalking us.

  “No,” Aidan said, pausing to focus on the rearview mirror again, “it’s not his style. I don’t know who this idiot is, but I’m gonna find out.” He reached across my legs, opened the glove compartment, and my jaw dropped at the sight of the gun. He handled the weapon as if he knew how to use it.

  “Aidan…don’t!” I stared at the gun in horror. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. What if you get hurt?” Or worse.

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Was he serious? “When you stop worrying about me, we’ve got a deal.”

  “Point taken.” He pulled onto the side of the road and calmly watched as the other vehicle slowed for a few breath-stalling seconds then passed. Wondering how he could be so calm, I jumped as he jerked the car back onto the highway.

  “What are you doing?” I cried, grabbing the “oh shit” handle above my window.

  “Trying to see the license plate.”

  “You need a gun for that?”

  “Hopefully not.”

  Oh, Lord.

  We gained on the black sedan, and Aidan pulled up until the front fender of his car almost touched the bumper.

  “Oregon plates.” He focused on the letters and numbers for a few seconds, and I figured he was committing them to memory.

  The black car sped up, lengthening the distance by a few feet. Aidan let off the gas pedal and wheeled the vehicle around. I loosened my grip on the handle as we headed in the opposite direction. His gaze darted between the road and the rearview mirror every so often, but the road behind us remained empty.

  “Who do you think it was?” I asked as he put the gun back inside the glove compartment.

  “I don’t have a clue, but I know someone who’ll run the plate for me. We should be able to find out in a couple of days.” He enfolded my hand in his. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Now that you’ve put the gun away, I’m great.”

  He squeezed my fingers. The remainder of the drive to his house passed in silence, which gave the nervous flutters in my stomach plenty of time to resurface. He pulled into the garage and shut off the ignition, but neither of us moved.

  “I’m sorry I scared you. The gun…it’s a precaution.”

  “Is that all it is?”

  His fingers flexed around mine. “You want the honest answer?”

  “Always.”

  “I never planned to shoot him. I’d planned much worse.”

  I envisioned all sorts of scenarios. Chopped limbs, pools of blood, amputation of…a certain male organ. The sicko deserved that and more. Still, the thought made me ill.

  “I can only imagine what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’m not a violent person. Except when I think of him, or like tonight, when I saw Brad…” His hand slid from mine and the click of his door handle sounded. I squinted against the sudden brightness of the dome light. He rounded the car and helped me from the passenger side, and moments later we entered the blackened hallway. He brushed against me, so lightly I might have imagined his touch. All my senses were amplified as I sensed him reaching for the light switch.

  “Leave the light off.” I didn’t second-guess myself, didn’t allow the reality of the moment to intrude. I reached for his face, thumbs grazing the roughness of his cheeks, and sought his mouth in the darkness.

  Aidan’s fingers tangled in my hair, a grip of desperation that mirrored my own. He expelled a soft sigh against my lips but didn’t grant me what I wanted—his mouth on mine. “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “Scared?”

  Terrified, but I’d never wanted anyone more. “Aidan…kiss me.”

  And he did. Good Lord, did he kiss me. My mouth opened under the press of his lips, and we stumbled a few steps until my back hit the wall. A groan strangled free of his throat, and his hands slid down my body, gripped my ass, and lifted. I wrapped my legs around him, and we became one, locking together perfectly like two connecting pieces of the same puzzle.

  He carried me down the hall, wedged open a door, and our frenzied fingers peeled away jackets and shirts. The first touch of his bare chest on mine knocked the breath from my lungs. He laid me on the bed and settled over me, his hands twisting in my hair, elbows depressing the mattress on either side of my head.

  His heavy breathing blasted me, tore through me like a memory waging war in my veins. Instantly, my vision filled with nothing but static as the shadow of his face distorted into a monster. Panic clawed to the surface, and though his hands caressed, thumbs swiping the sensitive skin underneath my ears, I could only remember violence.

  Wrists restrained in a large fist.

  Face pushed into the mattress.

  Legs forced apart, and the burn of dry intrusion…

  Oh God. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, but I must have made some pathetic, pleading sound because he sprang away and turned on the light.

  I got up on shaky limbs and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry,” I said, hugging myself, ashamed of my half-naked state.

  Averting his gaze, he crouched in front of me and held out my shirt. I quickly pulled it on, thankful for his discretion. Choppy breathing filled the room. His. Mine. The sound nearly drowned out the thunderous roar in my head, the baritone voice that had taunted me for so long. The one I thought I’d chased away by sheer force of will.

  Not even a new town could do that.

  I screwed my eyes shut and let the memories liquefy down my cheeks.

  “Mackenzie, please…look at me.”

  “I didn’t…I mean…I haven’t been with anyone since…” I choked out the disjointed words, and when I finally brought my eyes to his, the intensity of his expression leveled me. I didn’t deserve his empathy, not after leading him on and freaking out on him. “It happened months ago. I thought I’d moved past it. I’m so sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” He settled next to me at the foot of the bed, and his arm brushed mine. “You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here for you. I’m here in any way you need me.”

  I reached for his hand, and he silently laced our fingers together. “I was okay until we got to the bed.” I stared at our hands for the longest time, amazed how something as simple as handholding had the power to bring such comfort. I felt connected to him in a way I’d never experienced with anyone, not even Joe. The quiet stretched out, and I sensed him waiting, giving me the space, the freedom, to unload on him when I was ready.

  “He was waiting for me when I got home.” Each word wanted to stick in my aching throat, but I forced
them out anyway. I’d never talked about it, had never wanted to until now. “I don’t even know how he got in. It was dark and I was tipsy. I never drink…why did I do it that night? Why did I go out that night?” I relaxed my fingers, only realizing now that I was crushing his in a vise grip. “He reeked of tequila—” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to continue.

  He squeezed my hand. “You’re safe with me.”

  “I know.” I hesitated, thinking of the one thing I wanted. The only thing I needed. “Will you hold me?”

  He let out a breath. “God yes. C’mere.” He folded me in his arms, and I buried my face in the crook of his shoulder. His skin was warm against my cheek, his scent calmingly familiar. I’d breathed him in countless times in my dreams, but now he just smelled like home.

  “For months I tried to forget. When I moved here, I stopped thinking about it all the time.” I didn’t think about it at all anymore.

  “Something like that is never completely forgotten.” He combed his fingers through my hair. “Who hurt you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  But he didn’t press the issue. We sat in that position for a long time, his chest moving in rhythm with mine. I welcomed the silence, interrupted only by the soft showering of rain against the bedroom window.

  There was no kissing, no shedding of clothes—it was just the two of us holding on as if the alternative was unthinkable. Time ceased to exist. We could have stayed frozen like that forever and it still wouldn’t have been long enough.

  My eyes drifted shut eventually. I vaguely remembered him carrying me to bed, recalled reaching for him when he tried to leave. He settled behind me, wrapping me in the safety of his arms, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, the dreams were absent. And I slept.

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed awaking in someone’s arms. The room was chilly, but there was only warmth where our bodies touched, chest to chest. I didn’t want to wake up yet, didn’t want the mortification of last night to encroach upon this perfectly serene moment.

  “Sleep well?” Aidan’s voice, thick with sleep, sent shivers through me. Nothing had ever sounded so sexy.

  Stretching my legs, I nodded. I wasn’t brave enough to meet his eyes yet. “I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.”

  He trailed a hand down my spine and splayed his fingers across my lower back. “You talked in your sleep once.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said ‘Joe.’”

  After all these months, hurt still ricocheted at the mention of his name. “I don’t remember.”

  “Is he the one…?”

  “It wasn’t Joe.”

  Aidan’s silence bothered me. I lifted my head and didn’t like what I saw. It was the same look he got when he talked about finding the Hangman.

  “You can’t rid the world of every monster, Aidan.”

  “Not all of them. Maybe just a couple.”

  “It won’t bring her back.” I lowered my gaze, horrified by what I’d said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You spend too much time apologizing.” He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. “If anything, I’m the one who needs to apologize. I shouldn’t have let things go so far last night.”

  I never thought an apology could hurt so much. “I understand. It was a crazy night, with you getting arrested and being followed”—oh God, was that my voice cracking?—“just a heat of the moment thing.”

  He let out a heavy sigh and rolled us until we faced each other. “There’s heat all right, but it was more than a ‘thing.’ I’m glad we stopped because I don’t have any protection.”

  “Oh.” This was beyond awkward.

  “Yeah…” He trailed off, and I guessed the conversation was just as awkward for him. “There hasn’t been anyone since Deb. Sex hasn’t…really been an issue.”

  Until now, or it would have been if I hadn’t freaked out on him. How I wished I could go back and change the outcome of last night.

  “I’m on birth control.” So much for avoiding mortification. “Not for that reason.”

  “I’m not sure you want to tell me that,” he said, his hand on my back pulling me a little closer, “considering where we are right now.”

  “What if I do want to tell you that?”

  He opened his mouth, but then he shook his head, seemingly at war with himself. “We did the right thing. You barely know me.”

  And yet here we lie…in bed together talking about sex. The irony didn’t escape me. How could I explain something to him that I barely understood myself? That I felt as if I’d known him for years. The way he’d held me all night, with no expectations or ulterior motives, cemented what my heart had already figured out. I could trust him.

  “I know you, Aidan.” I placed my palm on his chest, over the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat. “I’ve dreamed about you more than I want to admit.”

  He grabbed my hand and threaded our fingers together. “Are you saying you saw me in your dreams before we met?”

  “That drawing—the one showing a lot of skin?” I bowed my head to hide my embarrassment. “I sketched it over two years ago.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” He sounded stunned. “Wait. How much of me did you see?” A hint of mischief entered his tone, and I peeked up to find his mouth creeping into a smile.

  “A lot.” I ached to taste his mouth again. It would be so easy, just a few inches closer and my lips would be on his.

  “I think there’s an unbalance in fairness here.” He arched a brow. “I’ve only seen half of you.”

  “We can fix that.”

  He shook his head, his expression hardening. “Getting involved is the last thing we should do right now. Last night, I let what I feel for you take over, but we don’t need to rush this.”

  I gave him a teasing grin. “You feel something for me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do you really have to ask?”

  I suppose a part of me did. Although I’d seen plenty of him in my dreams, so much about him still remained a mystery. “What does the necklace mean to you?”

  He flinched, and I thought he was about to withdraw, so his next words surprised me. “Deb gave it to me on our first anniversary, the night we decided to start a family.”

  No words would lessen his grief, so I said nothing.

  “I buried it with her.” He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, and for several seconds we watched a spider crawl above our heads.

  “I’ll destroy the drawing. I’m sorry I drew it.”

  “No, keep it.” He flexed his fingers around mine. “I’ve learned the hard way that memories can’t be buried.”

  We had that in common. I slid my hand from his and sat up, figuring we both needed a little space. “Mind if I take a shower?”

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “Of course not. We need to stop by your apartment today. You’re gonna need clothes.”

  “I shouldn’t stay here.” I stood, and my bare feet sank into the plush carpet as I padded to the door.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, but staying with you…it’s not a good idea.” Not when all I could think about was how amazing it felt to kiss him. How, despite everything, I wanted to crawl back into bed with him and finish what we’d started last night.

  But I couldn’t do that.

  I was too conflicted, too confused, to know what the hell I wanted. One minute I wanted to be as close as humanly possible, and the next I was panicking when I got my wish.

  No wonder he’d put on the brakes.

  “He broke into your apartment, Mackenzie. You can’t go back home, and you refuse to leave town, so that leaves you staying with me.” I heard his sigh from across the room. “This is my fault. He’s targeting you because of me.”

  And there it was—the one thing that bothered me most. I didn’t want to be an obligation to him. He said he had feelings for
me, but I couldn’t help but wonder how much of what he felt stemmed from guilt.

  “I’ll think about it.” I grabbed the doorknob and hesitated. “I know you better than you think.” I left the room, wondering how he’d react if he knew how close I was to giving him what was left of my heart.

  Despite my misgivings, I temporarily moved into Aidan’s guest bedroom. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay with him, and I didn’t lack common sense either—I understood the danger I faced. No, the part I hated was how he considered protecting me his duty, as if keeping me alive would assuage his misplaced guilt. I wanted him to want me around because he just…did.

  “What am I missing?” He crossed his arms and perused the mess of newspapers, records, and printouts arranged in slapdash fashion on the table. He’d turned the dining room into what I called “Operation Find Psychopath.”

  “No luck?” I slid a pile of tax records out of the way and made room for his cup of coffee.

  He absently picked up the mug and gestured to the table. “Real estate records turned up zilch. No one else has come here from Boise in the past few months.”

  “What about family members?” I fiddled with a notepad, the kind important people like lawyers used. Details of my dreams barely filled the first sheet, and my drawings—more useless sketches of the same cabin, of images that didn’t make sense—mocked me from underneath. “Maybe he has family here. If he’s staying with someone, I doubt you’d find any real estate records.”

  “I thought about that.” He picked up the morning’s newspaper, which claimed the sheriff’s department was following all leads, blah, blah, blah. The only good thing about the front page was the absence of another murder headline. “It’s more than just the lack of evidence. There’s no logic. Why come here? Why kill in Watcher’s Point? My mother is the only connection I have to this town.”

  “You think the murders might have something to do with her?”

  He threw the paper on the table. “I have no idea. I’m at a loss. This makes no fucking sense.” He sipped from his mug, and as I watched the steam snake upward, an idea occurred to me.