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But the moment reminded him of Sans Souci, and the time he’d spotted movement there. Maybe that was a clue. He pulled out his phone and called Gina Moretti.
“Hey, it’s Billy Cooper. Are you still working with Dream Getaways?”
“No, but I’m still close to Sally. What’s up?”
“I need to find out who was at Sans Souci on the first Tuesday of December. I’m pretty sure it was before the Caldwells arrived, and I know their security systems are topnotch. It wasn’t a break-in.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. And Billy…hang in there.”
Obviously she’d seen the infamous photos. He gritted his teeth. “Thanks.”
Next he called Archie. “Hey man, remember when a girl came to the bar asking for me? I need to know everything you remember about her.”
He heard Jenna’s car drive up, and went out in the snow to greet her. Then he remembered that someone might be watching, and snapping photos.
Clearly, she had the same fear, since she hurried into the house and refused to talk about anything serious until the boys were asleep and the two of them were closed up in her bedroom, blinds down, curtains closed.
“Pete’s investigating,” he said immediately. “He texted me already with some info. He talked to a psychologist who thinks it’s someone with a fixation on baseball players.”
She let out a long breath. “So you heard.”
“Pete told me. He, uh, sent me some of the shots. I’m so sorry, Jenna.”
He braced himself for her anger, her hurt. Head up, shoulders back, no way around it.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. Her gray eyes were the color of doves, the color of mercy. “Some of those shots were faked. The others were…I mean, they’re us.”
“Yes, but—”
“Billy. It’s not your fault.” She came closer to him, put her arms around him. “I can tell you’re beating yourself up. Please don’t do that. I know you’re not doing anything wrong.”
With a groan of sheer relief, he clutched her to him and held her against his body. Her hair smelled of snow and lemons, and her body was warm and alive and she didn’t hate him, wasn’t angry at him…
She looked up at him, her face showing the stress from the day and all its revelations. If nothing else, maybe he could do something about that. “You’re so beautiful,” he said as he set her down on the bed.
Her lips curved in a soft breath of a smile. “I’m really glad you think so.”
“I want you to think so too. I want you to understand how incredible you are, and how much…” He wanted to tell her how much else was in his heart, how very connected he felt to her, how there was no one else in the world who would ever make him feel the way she did.
But words felt so insufficient. He decided to show her instead. He gently pushed her back until she was lying on the bed. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured as he pushed up her shirt.
He heard a sigh overhead; that was all he needed.
He swirled his tongue around the raised rim of her navel. The original scar, he thought, the one every human being experienced at the very beginning of life. We’re all scarred. How do we live with our scars?
He tugged down her pants and pushed aside the elastic of her underwear and slid his finger across her soft mound. She moaned as he zeroed in on her clit. The little bundle of flesh rose to meet the pad of his thumb. Her thighs trembled.
He murmured words against her clit, unsure if she could hear them. “It’s you and me, baby. Whatever, whenever.”
She tilted her head back and whimpered toward the ceiling. He pulled her clothes further down her legs so he could get unimpeded access to her juicy core. Using the flat of his tongue, he rasped friction across her pulsating clit. Her hips pumped, hot, needy.
She was about to come, but he didn’t want her to yet. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible.
Why. Was this it? The last time?
He dismissed that fear and tugged her to the edge of the bed, then pulled her onto his lap. Anchoring her against him with one arm, he used his legs to spread hers apart. Cool air flowed against her sex.
A tremor raced through her body.
