Mate’s Harvest: Bear Sheriff III Page 8

“Let’s go,” Nixon said. When Marcus made to grab Angie’s hand, he shook his head and said, “Not her. Just you. She can come in later if we need her.”

  “Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. Anyone,” Marcus said, kissing her on the forehead. “It’ll be okay.”

  But even his words sounded hollow to her. She nodded, eyes wet, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. Marcus wanted nothing more than to stay with her.

  He followed Nixon down the hallway, feeling like a prisoner already.

  I can’t go back. I won’t go back.

  But you will, if you have to. You’ll do anything to keep Angie safe, and to keep her safe, you need to be out of prison. Do as they say. It’ll all blow over.

  Marcus climbed into the back of the police cruiser. The doors locked behind him. He sat in silence as Nixon drove them back into town.

  “Why’d you do it, Marcus?” Nixon asked, his voice suddenly softer than it ever had been. “You in league with this guy? You have an accomplice? We can help, Marcus. Truly. All you have to do is admit why you’re killing these folk.

  “Did it start with Copeland? Was it some kind of rush? Before that, with your wife?” he asked, his eyes looking in the mirror back at Marcus. Marcus did his best to ignore the eyes and the questions. He wasn’t going to rise to Nixon’s bait.

  Instead of pulling up in front of the Sheriff’s Department, though, Nixon led them out of town and Marcus’s heart fell in his chest. He’d only been out to the Rivers’s house once before when he was looking to help Joanna with her kidnapped brother. He never expected he would be going back – especially for something like this.

  Why? Why did the killer target Joanna? What did she have to do with any of this? She wasn’t a Shifter. I wouldn’t even call us friends.

  And now she’s dead. Because of me. Because of something I did, and yet I have no idea what any of it means.

  Joanna’s house would normally have taken Marcus’s breath away. This time, though, all he could feel was a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

  Nixon parked the car. There were others there. The two reporters – Julie Busch and Jacob, the cameraman, Joanna Rivers’s little brother, who was crying, a number of sheriffs and police officers over from Haven.

  “I wasn’t going to cuff you,” Nixon said, a smirk on his face. “But with such a crowd…”

  Marcus inserted his hands through the hole in the gate, feeling the all too familiar feeling of cold metal against his skin. Nixon tightened them just a bit too tight for comfort, then tightened them even more, and stepped out of the vehicle. He opened Marcus’s door and hauled him to his feet.

  Immediately, Julie Busch was in his face, asking, “Why did you do it, Marcus? What drove you to commit these murders?”

  He ignored her. He could tell that Nixon was loving every second of what was going on. He lifted the caution tape and pushed Marcus through. Marcus stumbled for a moment, wincing at his broken rib. If Nixon noticed, he didn’t seem to care – and for once, that was good. Marcus knew if Nixon knew he was in any pain, he would be sure to make it worse.

  Marcus was led upstairs to a bedroom. He felt sick to his stomach just imagining what he was walking into.

  But Joanna Rivers was laying in her bed, almost pristine in her appearance. She wasn’t naked and skinned like most of the other victims. She wasn’t full of huge, dark slashes like Art Fields. She was lying in bed, clothed. She looked almost as if she was sleeping.

  “Why’d you kill her and dress her up like this, Marcus?” Nixon asked from behind him. Marcus had found he’d stopped in the doorway. Nixon pushed him in the small of the back and Marcus found himself walking into the room, unable to stop himself. He walked over towards the bed and the body.

  “She was holding this,” Nixon said, gesturing Marcus over to a desk. Marcus felt strangely wrong being in her bedroom, her body lying next to him.

  I’m sorry, Joanna.

  They’d always had a tumultuous relationship. He had liked her well enough, though she’d caused him problems. She’d been there through some of the worst times he and Angie had managed to make it through.

  And now she was dead.

  Marcus looked down at a piece of paper on the desk, written in the now familiar script of the killer. All it said was, ‘STONE’.

  There were hands at his wrists and he was being led back to the police car, the reporters recording him or taking pictures. More people were there. Jimmy Rivers was there, yelling, then he was yelling at Marcus. Her little brother was crying, looking at Marcus was accusatory eyes. Marcus felt a flash of anger. He’d done so much for the family and all they could see was anger towards him.

  Things were a blur until they wound up in the Sheriff’s Department. Marcus was thrown into a cell.

  “Am I under arrest?” Marcus asked as Nixon walked away, laughing. “Am I under arrest?!?”

  But the door closed. Marcus sat down on the uncomfortable cot, realizing with disgust that he was in the same cell where Mayor Copeland had murdered his own son.

  An hour passed before Nixon came back, unlocking the door and gesturing for Marcus to come out. He led him to his desk, where Marcus sat down in front of it – a place that felt so wrong to him.

  “Did you kill them, Marcus?”

  “You know I didn’t,” Marcus answered, anger threatening to spill over again.

  “Did you kill them?”

  “No,” Marcus said. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

  Nixon leaned back in the chair and crossed his fingers. “We know that was a lie. You’ve killed before.”

  “But I didn’t kill Joanna Rivers. I didn’t kill Art Fields. I didn’t kill the FBI agents.”

  “Did you kill this man?” Nixon asked, grabbing a folder and sliding it across the desk. He opened it to show Marcus a picture of Branson.

  “No,” Marcus asked, doing his best to look aghast. “He’s dead?”

  “I understand you know him.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Not real well. He moved to town when I was in prison.”

  “Angie know him?”

  “Some.”

  “What was he like?”

  “I didn’t know him real well. I met him once.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What’d you guys talk about?”

  “I told him I appreciated him watching out for Angie while I was away.”

  “That it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nothing else?” Nixon asked, leaning forward. “Because I think there might have been a little jealousy there. You were away, a good looking man shows up out of town and takes care of your girlfriend. You see where I’m going with this, Marcus? It does look awfully suspicious.”

  “I didn’t feel any ill will towards the man,” Marcus said, also leaning forward. “In fact, I’m glad he was there to look out for her. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a serial killer on the loose and he doesn’t seem to be too picky about who he goes after. I’m glad he was there. I’m glad he took care of her and protected her while I was wrongfully locked up.

  “Now, am I under arrest or not? While you guys are messing with me, the serial killer is out there – and if you won’t put in the time and effort to find him, I will. I’m going to do what I have to do to protect Angie and I’m going to do what I have to do to protect Charming. So either lock me up for good or let me the hell out of here.”

  “Just a few more questions. Where’d you go after that?”

  “Went to the gas station.”

  “See anyone there? Anyone that could vouch for you?”

  Marcus thought for a moment and said, “Some guy and his wife. Had a little kid. Think she was a teacher.”

  “Tim and Janey Finch,” Nixon said, as if he hated the couple. “Those are your witnesses?”

  “Not a fan?”

  “Always bitching about their neighbors.”

  “They can vouch for me. I was there, with Angie, in the evening.�
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  “I’ll give you a call if we need anything else,” Nixon said. He got up and walked around the desk, unlocking Marcus’s handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

  Marcus got up and made his way to the door to the Sheriff’s department. “And I’m just supposed to walk all the way home?”

  Nixon shrugged his shoulders and flashed Marcus a smile. “We need to find the serial killer, don’t we?”

  Marcus left the Sheriff’s Department and started walking down the street. He considered walking to the R&C, or the new coffee shop, or anywhere else and calling Angie. Instead, he realized he needed to clear his mind.

  Everyone was dying around him and there was nothing he could do to stop it, it seemed. The guilt that was crashing over him was immense.

  Who’s next? Me? Angie? Someone else I care about in this town? Someone I don’t care about that doesn’t deserve to die?

  Why is the killer so interested in me? So interested in Shifters? What makes us so important to him?

  He didn’t have an answer to any of those questions, but did it matter? He could feel the noose tightening. He was running out of time.

  He thought about Joanna Rivers, lying dead in her bed, almost as if she was just taking a long nap. But she would never wake back up, and she had done nothing wrong.

  Marcus couldn’t think of a time he’d ever felt worse in his life, so he just walked.

  Chapter 13

  Angie was lying in bed, unsure of what to think. She would never have called her and Joanna Rivers friends. But they had been through so much together. She thought if Joanna hadn’t had her eye on Marcus for so long, they would have probably gotten along just fine.

  And now she was dead.

  She knew Marcus was feeling guilty over what happened and she couldn’t blame him. She felt terrible herself.

  What if Marcus is locked up for those murders? That can’t happen, though. He had nothing to do with them. We were in town when they happened. Nixon can’t be that ignorant, can he?

  She wasn’t so sure.

  She cried herself to sleep, though it was barely anything resembling sleep. She woke up a few hours later. The sun had gone down. Her tears had stopped.

  Angie was just beginning to will herself to get up and call the Sheriff’s Department when she heard the front door open. She immediately jumped out of bed and ran down the hallway, reaching the kitchen just as Marcus was closing the door.

  He opened his arms wide as she walked into his embrace. He winced tenderly but held her close as she buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent. He was covered in a fine layer of dust and she knew he had walked home.

  “Marcus, I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered. His fingers were running through her hair and he kissed her head lightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know,” he said. “It was the serial killer’s. He’s to blame for this, not us.”

  Angie wanted him to believe those words. She wanted to believe those words, though she was unsure if either one of them did.

  “What did Nixon say?” she asked, kissing his cheek slightly.

  “He questioned me about Joanna. Took me to see her body at her house.”

  Angie gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  Marcus nodded. “Then he grilled me about Branson. But he had nothing that could stick, so he let me go.”

  “And he made you walk home?” she asked. He nodded. “I could have picked you up.”

  “I needed the time to think.”

  “Let me see your bruises,” Angie said. She helped peel the shirt back off of Marcus. He’d never had time to relax in the tub. The bruising was some of the worst Angie had ever seen. The left side of his chest, where he had thought he had broken ribs, was black, blue, and swollen.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m so sorry, Marcus,” she said, running a fingertip lightly along the bruise. It started underneath his armpit and went all the way down past his hip. His shoulder was lightly bruised. Carefully, she undid his belt and helped slide his jeans down. She was unsurprised to find that the bruise went down almost to his knee. “Marcus…”

  “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. Angie bent down and untied his boots, then pulled them off. He leaned back against the counter. Angie could see the pain on his face, though he tried his best to ignore it. She had him stripped down to just his underwear.

  Marcus had begun looking better since he’d gotten out of prison. Being out had almost completely brought back the man that she had known when he went in. But she could see he was beginning to be worn down completely.

  She brought herself close to him.

  “Marcus. We might not live through this,” she whispered. “No one else is.”

  “We will,” he told her. Their voices were quiet, almost as if talking to loud would let the serial killer hear what they were saying. “I’ll do anything to protect you and our child.”

  He reached down to her stomach, running a hand up underneath her shirt. He rubbed her belly slowly.

  “Angie… I love you so much,” he said. “We can get through this.”

  “Can we?” she asked. “Marcus, can we?”

  “I…” he said. “I don’t know. But I’m going to do whatever I can.”

  She didn’t know what came over her then. But everything suddenly felt so hopeless. Their friends were dying all around them. It reminded Angie of all of the worst times in her life, where she had felt so powerless to change things.

  But she had Marcus next to her.

  She pressed her lips against his and he kissed her back. Their kisses were always passionate, but this was something else entirely. This was something ravenous, some kind of kiss that seemed like the last kiss either of them would ever have. Something felt so final, so dangerous, that it completely broke Angie’s heart – and she knew that Marcus felt the same way. Neither one of them ever wanted their kiss to end. His tongue pushed between her lips. She sucked it into her mouth, tasting him, their lips moving perfectly together.

  They kissed and they kissed and they kissed, and it finally ended with Marcus’s hands running through her hair, his fingers light, as he tipped her head back and exposed her neck to him. His lips wrapped around her skin firmly. Goosebumps exploded across her body. She moaned lightly, her hands grabbing him by the back and holding him close.

  Marcus’s hands grabbed her by her ass and lifted. He spun her around, all traces of his pain seemingly vanishing as he dropped her onto the countertop with ease. His hands came up and lifted her shirt over her head. It disappeared onto the kitchen floor. She reached behind her and undid her bra, freeing her breasts.

  His hands and lips found them almost immediately. He squeezed gently, yet firmly, and his lips came down, wrapping around one nipple and sucking it between his lips. Angie heard herself moan and she was no longer quiet, no longer caring who heard.

  Then Marcus was sucking on the other nipple, bringing it into him, and between her legs she felt herself moistening. His hands found her belt, undoing it in an eye blink, and it too was gone. He unbuttoned her pants and with one smooth motion, they were flying off of her body. Her panties were completely soaked through. He looked down at them, seeing through them. With expert fingers, he looped them through the waistband in her panties and slid them off of her body. She felt the warm countertop on her bare skin.

  Now she was the only one who was naked, and that wouldn’t do. As his lips kissed every inch of her that he could find, she reached down and dropped his underwear. She felt resistance as they caught on his stiffness, and then they were past that and falling to the floor where he stepped out of them.

  Angie reached one hand down and wrapped it around his member, feeling the wetness from his precum glistening the tip. She used two of her fingers to slide down between her legs, across her clit and between her lips, sinking deep into her until they were wet and slick. Then she grabbed his cock with her wet fingers, sliding up and down his length. His moans filled the kitchen.

>   His fingers grabbed her ass, pulling her straight over to him. She was at the perfect height for the tip of him to be right between her legs. She still had a firm grip on his wet hardness, so she angled him up against her as he slowly and surely pulled her body closer and closer to him.

  She felt as his huge girth pressed between her legs. She felt pressure against her clit as he came closer to her, her ass sliding across the counter. There was pressure down below as the tip of his cock sank between her lips, swimming in her wetness and disappearing inside of her. He slid deeper and deeper until Marcus could go no deeper.

  Instead of going nice and slow, Marcus’s hands wrapped tightly around her, holding her in place, and he thrust into her deeper and fast. Angie screamed in pleasure as he moved in and out, in and out, letting him push and pull as he saw fit. She leaned her head back against the wall, lost in the pleasure, lost in the situation of it. This wasn’t making love, not exactly. This was something else entirely. This was something desperate, scary, yet altogether amazing.

  She lost herself in the feeling, focusing on his length sliding up against her clit. There was a sharp pain as his fingers found one nipple and then it was pleasure. His hands were sliding all across her body, her neck, her back, through her hair, squeezing and pulling whenever she wanted and needed it.

  And then Marcus was grabbing her, spinning her and putting her down on the floor. For a moment she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but she was by the table, leaning over it with her bottom pointed straight at Marcus and her legs spread wide. His hand came up and gently pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her body down until her breasts came to rest on the cool wood table.

  She reached her hands wide and gripped the sides of the table as Marcus came up behind her. One hand grabbed her ass cheek and spread it to the side, the other was on his length, and he angled himself deep into her. Angie was moaning and screaming in pleasure as he pushed his length as far as it would go, coming to a rest only when he could go no further.

  He started pulling out and then pushing in hard and fast. She gripped the table to hold herself in place, each thrust shaking the table and her breasts and her hair. She lost herself in the moment, feeling only the pleasure of Marcus and her having sex that was incomparable to anything else.