Page 51 of In the Dead of Night

But for the first time in her life, Sara didn’t care about logic. She didn’t care about doing the right thing. Or playing it safe.

Banking the little voice telling her to stop, she kissed him back with an abandon that shocked and thrilled. Slow and easy turned fast and ravenous. His mouth moved over hers as if he wanted to devour her. Sara felt that same hunger rising inside her. The urgent need to feel his hands on her body. The equally powerful need to touch him and explore every hard male inch of him.

He kissed her until she was dizzy with pleasure. Drunk on the electric hum of desire. Until bells clanged in her ears and her heart thrummed like thunder.

“The door,” he growled as his mouth moved over hers.

Only then did she realize the sound of bells ringing in her ears was the doorbell. “Might be important.”

The bell rang again. Groaning, Nick pulled away. He glanced down at himself, and Sara realized he couldn’t answer the door without revealing more than either of them wanted revealed.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he grabbed a wind-breaker off a coat rack, tied it around his waist and checked the peephole. Sara saw him pause, draw a breath, then open the door.

“Mom,” he said.

Laurel Tyson walked into the living room without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes swept the room, her expression going cold and hard when she spotted Sara. Her smile fell. She stood as rigid as an ice sculpture, her eyes moving to her son.

“I didn’t know you had company,” she said.

“Had you called before dropping in,” Nick replied levelly, “I would have told you.”

“What is she doing here?” As if realizing the question was superfluous, Laurel raised her hands. “Never mind. I think it’s obvious.”

Nick stared at his mother, his expression stony. “Is there something I can do for you, Mom?”

“I can’t believe you let her get to you.”

“You’re out of line,” he said.

“And you’re just like your father,” she snarled.

Realizing the situation was about to spiral out of control, Sara stepped forward. “Mrs. Tyson, don’t be angry. Please. We have something to tell you.”

Laurel’s attention snapped to Sara. “I have no interest in hearing anything you have to say.”

Undaunted, Sara continued. “Nick and I have been looking into what happened twenty years ago.”

“I’ll bet.”

“We believe things didn’t happen the way the police said they did.”

“Or maybe my son is drawn to you the same way my husband was drawn to your mother.”

Sara nearly winced at the loathing that seethed in the woman’s eyes. “Your husband and my mother were not involved. And my father didn’t kill anyone.”

“How dare you dredge up all that pain in a desperate attempt to clear your father’s name?”

“There was someone else in that room,” Sara shot back. “A man with a gun. He shot them because they were working on a tell-all book. A book that would have ruined a wealthy Hollywood director and sent him to prison.”

“That’s absurd. A wild story fabricated because you can’t deal with the truth.”

Nick turned to his mother. “It’s true. We think Blaine Stocker was involved in the making of snuff films. Dad was collaborating on a book with Richard and Alexandra Douglas. Stocker went after them, murdered them, planted evidence to make it look like a murder-suicide. The local media was all too happy to accommodate him.”

He motioned toward Sara. “Yesterday, someone tried to push her off the cliffs behind the house. They almost succeeded.”

The older woman’s gaze went to Sara, but there was no concern, no sympathy in their depths. “I don’t believe you.” Her eyes went to Nick. “Either of you.” Her gaze flicked to the jacket tied around his waist and she shook her head. “Nick, I thought you were too smart to fall for a pretty face. Then again your father evidently had the same weakness, didn’t he?”

“That’s enough,” Nick snapped.