He would come again.
Force her to drink the disgusting-tasting tea and she would slip into that dreamlike state between wakefulness and slumber and be grateful for the relief.
On her knees, her eyes closed, she began to pray. Dear Father, save me ... Have mercy on me ...
But in this semidark tomb with the whisper of “Winter Wonderland” slipping through these caverns, she knew that she was alone and she feared that God couldn’t hear her prayers.
Of course he can. He’s omnipresent. Have faith.
Her grandmother’s words echoed through her mind and she remembered learning the twenty-third Psalm as Nana had read it from the old family Bible.
Out loud, she whispered, “The Lord is my shepherd ...”
Why had she trusted the man at the side of the road?
Why did she believe that his car was stranded, that she was playing the part of the Good Samaritan?
Why did she trust him to reach into her car to use her cell phone?
The attack, the minute she rolled down the window and turned to reach for the phone, extracting it from her purse, had happened swiftly. Viciously. One second she was holding the phone, the next she was experiencing the jolting pain of a stun gun.
It had all happened so fast and so close to her house.
Now, thinking about it, tears ran down her face as she mumbled the words her Nana had insisted she memorize.
“I shall not want ...”
The words rattled through her mind and she tried to find her faith, but deep in her heart, she knew she was doomed.
Chapter 9
O’Keefe threw his keys on the scarred night table situated between the two beds at the dive of a motel he’d called home for the past twenty-four hours. After kicking off his boots, he placed his Glock into the drawer, the butt nuzzling up against Gideon’s Bible, made certain the door was locked and bolted, then stripped and headed for the bathroom, which was small enough that he could touch both walls. The tub/shower was clean enough, aside from a rust stain near the drain that looked as if it had been with the unit since before the Berlin Wall came down.
He didn’t care, was just thankful for the harsh spray of hot water against his skin. He was still reeling from coming across Selena Alvarez again. Then there was the fact that she wasn’t telling everything she knew about Gabriel Reeve; O’Keefe sensed it.
He doused his head under the spray, lathered up and tried not to think about another shower in another time and place. God, that had turned out to be a mess. He and Alvarez were wedged into his tight stall, wet tiles at his back, her warm tongue in his mouth, water cascading over both their naked, slick bodies. Her waist had been tiny, her abdomen flat, her mouth suggesting the deepest of erotic pleasures. They’d gone to dinner to discuss the case that was about to break, had a couple of drinks and one thing had led to another, so they’d ended up there, their clothes strung through the adjoining bedroom.
His blood had been pounding through his head. Hot. Hungry. The ache within him huge as he’d sudsed her smooth skin. Her breasts had been full and large, with big, dark nipples against bronzed skin with only the hint of a tan line showing where she’d once worn a bikini bra in the sun.
He’d suckled one of those incredible breasts, then the other, feeling her spine arch against his splayed fingers as he’d held her close, taking more of her into his mouth, the heat throbbing between them.
She’d moaned in sheer ecstasy, her fingernails digging into his hair, one smooth, slim leg coiling around his. It had been the singular most erotic moment of his life, and when her mouth—wet, luscious, lips a deep coral, white teeth flashing—had moved against his, he couldn’t help pressing his erection hard against her.
Never had he wanted a woman so desperately; he, who had always been in charge, who had held back when he’d wanted to, had felt, with this woman, as if he’d had no will. Still kissing her, the steam of the shower billowing around him, he’d lifted her up, his hands cupping her buttocks, his intent to settle her onto his engorged cock, but she’d snapped. As quickly as if he’d poured a bucket of cold water over her, she’d lifted her head, looked deep into his eyes and said, “No! I—I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so, so sorry!” and she’d slipped away from him, scrambling out of the stall, pushing the glass door so hard it had banged against the surrounding tiles. Snagging a towel from the bar, she’d raced into his bedroom, leaving a puddling trail of water behind her.
“Selena? Wait!”
“I can’t ... I just can’t,” she was still saying as he walked into the bedroom and she was struggling into a pair of jeans.
“Don’t go.”
“Why? So we can ‘talk’ about this?” she’d flung back at him, pausing to make air quotes with her fingers. “There’s ... nothing to say. I just can’t do this, okay?” She’d pulled on her yellow T-shirt, her nipples hard against the thin fabric. Tears had been filling her dark eyes, and he noticed, oddly, that one of her hoop earrings had caught the light from a bedside lamp, glittering seductively from within the black, wet strands of her hair. “I’m ...” She looked at him, one tear tracking, and said, “... really sorry.” Then she’d angrily swiped the tear away, zipped up her jeans and, carrying her shoes, bra and panties, ran out of the bedroom, her bare feet slapping on the tiled stairs.
He’d been standing in the bedroom, so he crossed to the arched window with its small deck overlooking the parking area. Just after he heard the front door slam, she appeared, racing to her car, not so much as casting a glance up at him before climbing into the Honda and screeching out of the lot. He’d watched as her taillights disappeared into the stream of traffic of the main road cutting through this section of San Bernardino and then, speechless, he’d walked into the bathroom again, stepped into the still-running shower and turned the temperature dial far to the right, intent on taking the coldest shower of his life.
Now, under the needle-sharp spray of the dive of a motel, he realized just thinking about that night and Selena Alvarez had again caused an erection.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered and, bracing himself, turned the water mixer from warm to cold.