The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

“My house.”

He was bringing her to his home, which for a guy like him meant a new level of commitment. There were so many logical reasons to say no.

Out of the car, Julia shook her head. “Never figured you for a yard guy.”

He opened the front door and clicked on the lights. “I can thank my dad for the green thumb. I hated yard work as a kid, but now I find it peaceful.”

“Hard to escape genetics.”

“But not impossible.”

Like the yard, the inside of the house was neat and organized. Everything in its place, unlike the clothes she’d tossed over the chair in the corner of her bedroom, the shoes scattered on the floor next to a pile of laundry looking for some care. The only item out of place was the framed citation he’d received at the awards banquet. It leaned against the wall.

“Why haven’t you hung your award?”

“I’ll get around to it.”

“I never asked why they gave it to you.”

“For doing my job.”

She laughed. “Novak, spill.”

“Last year there was a little girl who went missing for seventy-two hours. Evidence suggested it was a homicide, so I was called in.”

She snapped her fingers as some of the events came to mind. “I was working undercover but heard rumblings about that. You found her in an odd place.”

“Under the floor.”

Now she remembered. The lead detective had narrowed down the address where the girl was found. He and several uniforms, with the suspect in tow, had gone to investigate. They couldn’t find the child. The detective had asked for a few minutes of privacy with the suspect. No one argued or asked questions. Five minutes later the detective left the rattled suspect in the squad car and charged back into the house. He pried up the floors and found the little girl bound and gagged. That detective had been Novak.

Well, damn, Mr. Clean was a badass. “How’d you get the guy to talk? I heard there wasn’t a mark on him.”

“I can be convincing.”

She followed him toward the kitchen. Bright and clean, of course, it looked out onto a backyard. On the stainless-steel refrigerator were pictures of a young girl. First grade, no teeth, middle school braces, and cap and gown.

“This must be Bella,” she said.

“That’s my girl.” His tone was full of pride and love.

“She doesn’t look like you.”

“No.” An edge sharpened the word. He leaned against the counter, arms folded as he regarded her. “No, she looks like her mother.”

“How did her mother die?”

He pushed off the counter and turned to set up the coffee machine. “Suicide. She drove her car into a lake. Bella was strapped in her car seat. It’s a miracle someone saw it happen and was able to save Bella.”

The news surprised her, but the anger and fear lurking behind his words didn’t. She understood the feelings so tightly linked to her own father’s death. His frustration over her tendency to hide feelings, especially in light of what he knew about her father, made sense now. “Does Bella remember any of this?”

“I don’t think she has direct memories. But she’s not fond of water. It was such a chore to get her to take swimming lessons when she was a kid that I backed off.”

“She ever learn?”

“She did. I taught her myself.”

She let her purse slide off her shoulder onto the polished counter. “For me it’s apples. I can’t stand apples.”

“Why apples?”

“It’s the memory I associate with my father’s death. Apparently I used to love them, and he’d filled a bowl with them because Mom and I were coming home. All I remember is his blood on the apples.”

“Ken mentioned the note your father supposedly left was lying in the bowl of apples.”

“He said it was in the bowl of apples?” She shook her head. “As many times as I’ve remembered that moment and those apples, I never remembered a note.”

“A traumatic event like that can do things to a person’s memory.”

“I suppose.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “And for the record, no matter how bad it’s gotten for me, I’ve never considered Jim’s option. Not for a second. What about Bella?”

“Never,” he said.

“Good.”

He filled a filter with coffee, then poured water into the back of the machine and hit “Brew.” “So Jim’s excited about your return home. Buys apples. Writes a note. And then shoots himself with a hollow point?”

She was silent.

“Doesn’t make sense. A guy who loved his kid, but then sticks a suicide note in the gift he bought especially for her?”

She pressed her fingers against her eyes. “I don’t want to think about it anymore today.”

He poured her a cup of coffee. She reached out to accept it, and their fingers brushed. Tension and energy snapped like a live wire. Her gaze lifted, and his expression derailed her train of thought. Desire sparked.

She set the coffee cup on the counter. She was here now, standing close to a man who looked ready to devour her.

His body looked relaxed as he leaned against the counter. What gave him away besides his face was the white-knuckle grip he had on the counter.

“Looks like you could snap that countertop,” she said.

He glanced at his fingers and slowly released his grip. “I’m not good at waiting, but I’m trying not to rush you.”

“Again treating me with kid gloves. Look, something bad happened to me, but I’m not broken.”

He brushed her hair from her face. “You’re definitely not broken.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He pushed off the counter and gently cupped her face. The calluses on his fingertips made her skin tingle. “Very.”

She pressed her lips against his. Tension rippled through his body as he leaned into the kiss. Her desire growing, she pressed her breasts to his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands slid to her waist. His erection pressed against her. She knew it took all his discipline for him to hold back. And she loved him for it.

Julia deepened the kiss, her desire for him fanning the flames. “I’m not delicate, Novak.”

“I’m very aware of that,” he growled.

She kissed him again, and this time she felt his fingers fist around the folds of her shirt.

“Do you have a bedroom?” she asked breathlessly. “Or are you a kitchen-counter kind of guy?”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’m an anywhere-you-want-it guy.”

“Bedroom, now.”

He leaned in, his hands on her hips, and kissed her again. Then, taking her by the hand, he pulled her up the stairs to the master bedroom.

He didn’t turn on the light, allowing the waning afternoon sunshine trickling in through the blinds to guide him. “You sure about this?”

“I am.” She unhooked her weapon and badge from her belt and set them on the dresser. He did the same. She kicked off her shoes, unfastened her pants, and stepped out of them. He watched her undress down to her bra and underwear before he closed the distance and cupped her breast. He kissed the hollow of her neck.

“This feels so good,” she said.

“I’m only getting started.” He tugged his tie and then quickly pulled it free. Her long fingers unfastened his buttons, and he shrugged off his shirt. She ran her hands over his T-shirt. “Please tell me you don’t iron your undershirts.”

While kicking off his shoes, he pulled the T-shirt over his head, revealing the flat belly that she still couldn’t resist touching. He slid the strap of her bra off her shoulder and kissed the top of her breast. With him, she never felt the anger and fury that Benny had unleashed when he’d touched her.

She slipped off her panties and stood naked before him.

He tugged her toward the bed, sitting on the edge. His erection pulsed against her, and the overwhelming desire she’d thought had died elbowed asi

de all her fears as she took control.

She knelt in front of him and ran her hand across his pants zipper. He reached to unfasten his belt buckle, but she brushed his hand aside. She was in charge. She unfastened the buckle and slid the zipper slowly down while looking into Novak’s eyes. She pulled his pants down and freed his erection. Slowly, she sucked. He moaned with pleasure as she slid her mouth along the shaft. He ran his fingers through her hair. When he groaned as if he might release, she playfully pushed him back on the bed.

“In the nightstand,” he said.

She opened the drawer and found the packet of condoms. She tore open the wrapper, and with trembling hands, slid it over him.

He lay back on the bed and moved to the center. She climbed on top of him and slowly lowered herself onto him. He hissed in a breath but didn’t rush her as she adjusted to the sensations bombarding her body. This was good. This was so good.

His hands slid up her flat belly to her breasts and then her shoulders. He pulled her toward him and kissed her. One hand gripped her buttocks, and then he banded a hand around her waist and rolled her on her back.

She stilled, wondering if she could handle this. His erection pulsed against her clitoris.

Sensing her stillness, he raised his face and studied her closely. “You okay?”

“Let’s take it slow this time.”

He rose up on his elbow, then slowly pressed back inside her. The sensation was different but good. He pressed in to the hilt and held steady. His fingers brushed her center, and she hissed in a breath as a bolt of desire rushed her senses.

“You’re pretty good at this, Novak.” Her voice was so breathless she barely recognized it.

A smile curved the edge of his lips. “I like to think so.” He drew circles and moved in and out of her. Involuntarily she arched into his touch and gripped his buttocks. She lost track of how long he touched and caressed her. He brought her to the brink several times, but each time backed off. By the time he pushed into her, she was throbbing with need. Cupping his face, she kissed him, tilting her hips up so she could take all of him.

When her release came, she arched and moaned, letting loose tension and fears that had been building for years.

“Good?” he whispered close to her ear.