Page 30 of Missing Justice
Taylor may have spent her days bullying witnesses, but he wasn’t having it. Any of it. Instead, he met her stare and the room filled with hot tension that could have sparked a fire.
The two of them sat locked in a battle of wills until, finally, she broke eye contact. She leaned forward, slapped her hands over her face then pushed them back through her hair. “I’m sorry. This case. It has me all twisted up. And the baby. My God. Where is he? Is he still alive?”
She was churned up all right. He could see it in the tautness of her cheeks, the stiff, iron grip she held onto her hair with. Taylor, as much as she liked to play the in-control federal agent, was at war. And it was something down deep.
Something ugly.
Matt knew all about that. The buried anger, the soul-evicting sorrow that bore into bones and held on. The unrelenting mental pounding.
This woman? She had it in spades, and after some digging, he suspected why.
“Is this about the baby?” he asked. “Or something else?”
She looked over at him, her hands now gripping the cushion, her eyes direct and maybe…what?…moist? “Of course it’s about the baby.”
He switched to the seat next to her and set his hand on her back, gently stroking. After a second, she met his gaze and he sensed the change. That crackle of lust sparking between them. Her pupils dilated and she lay one hand on his thigh, inched it higher, closer to his crotch.
All while he kept his eyes on hers, watching her battle demons.
He enjoyed sex as much as the next guy. Easy sex? Even better. Not from Taylor though. He didn’t want her this way. No chance. He’d spent months thinking about her and, for once, he wasn’t satisfied with a meaningless, easy lay.
He set his hand on hers. “Sweetheart, we have time for that.”
She gave him a sexy little smile, but nothing about it moved him. Nope. This Taylor, this facade, left him cold. Even when she kissed him, that wicked mouth hungry on his, soul-kissing him and stealing his air.
Nothing.
He backed away and pressed the tips of his fingers against her lips. “Stop. What’s got you worked up?”
Angling back from his touch, she rolled her eyes. “I told you. Bad day.” She squeezed his thigh. “You’re here to make it go away.”
Looking down at her hand, dangerously close to his dick, he shook his head. What kind of idiot was he? Sex on a platter. Right in front of him. And he didn’t want it.
No. He wanted it. Just not like this. “Talk to me, Taylor, and I’ll fuck you until I split you in two. Is that what you want?”
That got her attention. Her gaze burned into his. Whether it was anticipation or her need to rid herself of the hell churning inside, she got hot and moved closer to him, her hand sliding from his thigh, over his belly to his chest. She tangled his shirt in her fist.
“I keep picturing that infant,” her voice shattered like glass against stone. “Buried. In wet, cold dirt. That innocent baby, alone out there, away from his mother and father. Can you imagine? All alone, crying, waiting for someone to help him.”
“There are no bones. He didn’t die there. Don’t torture yourself about something that never happened.”
“But he might have died somewhere else, in the exact same way, or…or…”
“Shh.” He cupped her chin, kissed her softly. She tasted like scotch and gut-rotting grief. “You can’t do this to yourself. If the baby is alive, we’ll find him. If he’s not, we’ll still find him and bring him home, just like Felicity.”
In a heartbeat, she was on him. Swinging her leg over his lap, straddling him and kissing him with lip locking desperation and he started to get it. Taylor needed to lose her mind for a while. Cradling her face in his hands, he pushed her back half an inch. “Honey,” he said, “this isn’t about that baby. This is about your missing sister.”
“Oh, God. Not that. Not you too. Just…just shut up, Matt.”
“No. Hate to tell you, sweetheart, but I understand you.”
“Fuck you. You’ve known me all of a few days.”
She hopped off him, grabbed the glass from the tray, and headed for the kitchen.
“What you don’t get,” he said, “is that we have the same monster inside. Eleven years ago my sixteen-year-old sister was walking home from school and got snatched off the street. Just gone.”
Midway to the kitchen, Taylor stopped and spun back, empty glass in hand. “Oh, my God. No.”
