Page 150 of Executing Malice
Reed gives a curt nod and continues on. Just like that. Walks to his cruiser, and climbs in.
I don’t let out the air in my lungs until I see his taillights turn the corner and out of sight.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, clutching my chest.
“He’s gone,” is all the confirmation Dante gives before reaching down and scooping me up into his arms. “Shower.”
He’s very thorough rubbing me down. There isn’t a sense of urgency in sight as he scrubs pieces of human remains from my hair. He even shampoos my strands twice the way I like it before applying the conditioner. While it’s setting, he applies a generous amount of bodywash to his palms and starts the process of washing me down starting at my neck. He goes all the way to my feet, between my toes ... my butt cheeks. My pussy. He even gets behind my ears before nudging me under the spray.
I try to return the favor, but he feels so good under my fingers, I find myself against the wall with his mouth on mine.
No sexy stuff.
The kiss is slow and lingering. The kind that whispers of eternal promises and a love so deep, the ocean gets jealous.
But I love this man. I love him so completely that my heart aches at the knowledge that I hurt him. That I intentionally cut him deep just to save his life. No amount of apology will ever make up for the anguish I saw in his face. The crippling defeat that nearly had me crumpling. It was only the fact that I needed to keep him alive that shielded my heart from the pain of watching him hurt.
I grip him tighter.
Kiss him harder.
I try to put every drop of my regret back into him.
I stare up into his eyes — the same dark brown I love — and kiss his nose. His lips. I sip the droplets off his skin and nuzzle the side of his neck.
“Tell me about the bank,” he murmurs.
With my head nestled against his shoulder, I tell him of every time I ran into Everett without knowing. Everything he said. I leave nothing out.
“We need to find his car,” I say, prioritizing what’s important. “And we need to find your mask and the knife. I know we cleaned up the spot, but if they find even a drop, they might go searching.”
“They won’t.” He drops his head back against the wet tiles, eyes closed. “I’m going to make a paper trail of him leavingJefferson. A few months in, I’ll start a trail of him leaving Canada and moving to somewhere with no extradition treaty. I’ll start a bank account with his name and move the money around before dropping him off the grid permanently.”
I blink up at him through damp lashes.
Damn. Who would have guessed hiding a crime would sound so sexy? Hearing him go on about treaties and secret bank accounts like someJames Bondvillain has my chest fluttering. Heat coils in the pit of my stomach as I revel in the knowledge that this man is mine. All mine. Him, his gorgeous face and sexy brain ... mine.
“I’m going to need you to talk this dirty to me in bed later,” I tell him
Heavy lashes forming sharp, wet spikes lift and I find myself at the center of his dark amusement.
“Liked that, huh?”
I chuckle faintly. “Apparently, yeah.”
His head lowers and he kisses me. “Wait until I tell you how I plan on announcing his death.”
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Hemlock Island is an eerie place in the dark.
With only the subtle slap of water striking the shores, the wind whispering to the trees, it’s too silent to be natural. But it’s also a place people don’t frequent. Its isolation makes it the perfect place to hide a body, especially when the island itself seems complicit in swallowing secrets.
Dante pulls in the oars and drops them to the floor of our borrowed boat. He lets us drift the last few feet. The water ripples black around under the halo of pale moonlight.
He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares at the jagged silhouette of pine clawing at the sky.
