Murmur (Pierce Securities Book 5) Read online

  He took a deep breath. “We’re going to do that again.” Before the words could register, he’d let go of her shoulders and sank his hands into the ponytail at the base of her neck, angling her face to his, and captured her lips in a kiss that liquefied her knees. As his tongue swooped inside her mouth, Valerie caught herself before she sobbed in relief, stiffening in his arms. But he was relentless, continuing to stoke her into a white-hot frenzy. Her conscious self said she was covered in dusty bird poop, but her subconscious was all about his hands on her neck, his tongue in her mouth.

  Okay, so if that’s the way this would be until he left, what choice did she have but to give in to the pleasure of it?

  Valerie wrapped her hands around his neck and reciprocated the kiss, his passion, until their actions were fevered.

  He lifted her and walked to the glass wall of the aviary, leaning her against it, much like in the shower earlier. Her heart leapt even as her panties moistened at the anticipation of what would happen next.

  Then Quinten’s phone rang—playing a classical piano concerto. And Batman echoed it. Quinten pulled apart from the kiss, a confused look on his face. He glanced at Batman, who was up to his tricks. The bird cocked his head and echoed the phone as Quinten’s pocket rang. Then the bird piped up with a spot-on Lily Tomlin impersonation, “Consolidation Companies, please hold, Consolidation Companies, please hold.” Then the opening piano riffs from Nine to Five choked through Batman’s throat and broke the spell. Quinten started fumbling for his phone.

  “We’re not through,” he warned before answering, “Pierce.”

  He listened, then turned his back and went inside to his “office” in the sunroom off the aviary, and Valerie breathed a sigh of relief while Batman continued his serenade. She reached in her pocket and brought out a treat for him, still trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

  And how she was going to recover when it was over.

  Quinten hated to leave Valerie, even if he still watched her through the window. But Simon had been bitching about him not answering calls, and he was supposed to have news… so…

  “How are things there?” Simon’s voice was gruff and impatient, predictably. He hated when cases lingered. He compared these types of cases to gut-rot whiskey, turning the stomach and causing ulcers.

  “They’re good.” Quinten didn’t want to give his brother too much information; he could sniff out deception like nobody’s business. Quinten wouldn’t lie to his brother, just tell him what he wanted to hear in this situation, and Simon would see straight through it. “You get anything on that Grynderr guy?” Something about that was still niggling in the back of Quinten’s mind, but he was preferring to think it was something personal and had nothing to do with Valerie. The alternative to that theory was way worse: that someone not only knew who she’d hired, but knew he was a fighter, and he’d gone to great pains to keep the two sides of his life separate from each other. Now that he was officially finished with fighting, the two sides couldn’t clash with each other. Never mind that Larry was calling him again. He was avoiding the man’s calls like the plague. He knew what Larry wanted—another fight. And he wasn’t giving in. Larry needed to find another cash cow.

  As if reading his mind, Simon broke into his thoughts. “How did you get hooked up with this Larry character? Guy is a total jerkoff. Says he doesn’t know anything about The Grynderr in one breath, and the next, he’s trying to get me to talk you into fighting him again. Says he wants a rematch.”

  Quinten snorted. “Larry just sees dollar signs.”

  “Maybe you should do it and we can set a trap.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” The idea had a little merit, but Quinten didn’t want to go back to fighting just to figure out what this guy had to do with Valerie. “There’s something we’re missing. We have all these pieces but nothing fits right, you know?” He ran a hand absently through his hair, even as he looked out the window to watch Valerie putting bags of trash in neat rows before going in the sliding glass door. She was retreating to the other part of the house, her domain. It was a tangible reminder she was trying to pull away from him. Quinten needed to do this right, make her feel like the special person she was. Or he would lose her.

  “Yeah, I know. The trace that Evan did on the hack on Ms. Dunaway’s cameras? The one that came up in Argyle Ford’s neighborhood? That came up a bust. Jordan and Deena Rae went out there yesterday and an elderly couple lives there. They’ve got four boys, none of which live with them. I’ve got Evan still digging around on it, but he’s got other jobs, too. But keep your phone with you, I may need to get ahold of you again. You better fucking answer.”

  “I did this time, didn’t I?” Another thought occurred to Quinten. “Hey, man, after I’m done with this, I want to get together with Bonnie. Have dinner or something. Just to check in.”

  “Yeah, sure. Just get this done.”

  After Simon hung up the phone, Quinten went in search of his woman. He had something to finish.

  Quinten relished the feel of Valerie’s curved backside as she snuggled under his arm and slept. The back of her naked body stuck to his side; every blessed inch of its warmth was against him. As his arm quickly went numb under her neck, he wasn’t about to move anything. He could do this every night for the rest of his life. Quinten wanted nothing more than to have this woman—relaxed and curled up next to him—forever.

  Her scent invaded her nostrils as he rested his eyes against the onslaught of the vision that was her. She was perfect, every fucking inch of her. As badly as he wanted to wake her and sink himself inside her lush warmth, she needed to rest, and he wasn’t going to disturb her.

  Gradually, her scent turned to that of something muskier, like stale sweat, and Quinten’s senses sharpened from his lusty post-coital haze into alert awareness in a heartbeat. He heard shallow breaths, and coupled with the sweat, they were all decidedly masculine. An energy shifted in the room, and without moving a muscle, Quinten slitted his eyes to peer out under his eyelashes.

  He stared at the man standing over Valerie in the bed next to him, tracing the deep scar on her fucking face.

  Quinten went still, the moment frozen, as he watched the man look upon his woman with a funny look on his face. It was a heart-wrenching look of awe and regret, as if he were about to assassinate his hero. Then he saw the gun and realized what was about to happen.

  Anger boiled inside him while he physically reacted. He snapped his hand around the invading wrist and twisted, hearing the snap of bone right before the yowl of pain. The gun fell from the man’s hand and hit the floor with a loud clunk. Quinten lunged across Valerie’s body, about the same time she came to a full wakefulness, and he launched himself at the invader, tackling him to the ground.

  “Valerie, call Hollerman.” Panic etched across her face, but she managed to stay calm as she fumbled for a phone, wordless. Quinten wrapped himself around the struggling intruder effortlessly, managing to get him into a position of submission.

  He rolled the intruder onto his stomach and pinned his hands behind him, using his body weight to keep him still and quiet.

  “Son of a bitch. You’ll regret this with every fiber of your being,” Quinten hissed under his breath as Valerie brought his pants over to him. Getting a good look at his face, Quinten saw a pasty-skinned, acne-scarred, middle-aged stranger under him. This wasn’t Argyle, Brandon, or The Grynderr. This was a person who had slipped under his radar completely. If it weren’t for the look of complete adoration on his face when he’d been standing over Valerie as she slept, he would have thought the man was a paid goon.

  But clearly, he wasn’t.

  A grunt of pain met his ears, but Quinten ignored it as he used the zip ties in his wallet to secure the man’s wrists before putting on his pants. The man didn’t speak, though, and Quinten was getting frustrated, both at the man and himself. He rolled him back over so he could look at his face, ignoring the grimace of pain as his body weight fell on his broken w
rist.

  “Who are you?” Quinten asked, dying to know who he’d missed. His brain was working on overdrive, trying to put this face with every name he’d come across since he’d started this case.

  When the man didn’t answer, Quinten got in his face, anger so close to the surface, he was afraid if the man didn’t answer, he’d kill him. “Who. Are. You?” He growled out the words, deceptively controlled. If this man had any clue how close he was to snapping, he would be a blubbering mess.

  Instead, he just swallowed, his eyes wide as he watched Quinten, not saying a word. The only hint of his fear was an audible swallow.

  Valerie’s whisper behind him gave him what he needed. “It’s Elliot.”

  Not taking his eyes off the man, Quinten asked, “Who the fuck is Elliot?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Quinten was tired of searching his memory banks.

  “Elliot Raines. He’s a reporter.”

  The reporter who had been tossed out of her trial for contempt of court. Quinten sat back on his heels and bit the inside of his cheek. “Go call Hollerman. Get him over here. And stay in the living room. Call Ryan in here, too. Their numbers are all in my phone.” Narrowing his eyes on Elliot Raines, he continued, “Me and Elliot need to have a little chat.”

  To his credit, Elliot let out a tiny whimper at Quinten’s words. Quinten nodded with satisfaction. Bastard needed to be scared. Quinten hoped Hollerman would get there fast because he didn’t know how long he could sit there and not kill the bastard.

  “Have you been watching her since the trial?” Quinten stood and began pacing the room. Elliot was trussed and not going anywhere. He wasn’t the tough guy type who could just grit against the pain of a broken wrist. Even now, his face was a little gray, and a light sheen of sweat was covering his face and neck.

  “No.” His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t offer anything else.

  “How long?” Quinten gritted out, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

  Elliot’s eyes were darting around wildly. “I don’t have to answer your questions. You’re not the police, and you have no authority here.” A mild panic suffused his voice, but he remained steady. It would have been admirable under any other circumstances, but Quinten was not impressed.

  Instead, he was a bit more enraged, if that was even possible. Throwing himself at the supine man, he gripped his wrists in his meaty hand and twisted, relishing the man’s high-pitched yell.

  “A year!” Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. “I’ve been watching her a year, since she got her new surveillance system.”

  “Why did you contact The Grynderr?”

  Elliot was openly weeping now, the pain apparently too much for him. “To throw you off.” Quinten didn’t say anything about the effectiveness of his strategy because it had totally worked. Quinten wasn’t going to think about that now, though. The man tried to curl his legs up underneath him, but Quinten was still sitting on them. “You started watching her, too, and I did a little research.” A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth, and he said proudly, “I’m pretty good at research.” His words were gasping as he tried to find air through his pain. He hissed and blew, but apparently on a roll, continued, “She’s mine.” His words brought a roiling nausea rising to fight the fury coursing through Quinten’s veins. He clenched his fists, but Elliot didn’t see them. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, he kept going. “We were so happy together. You didn’t see that part, but we were.”

  Quinten saw then, the depths of his illness. Elliot was probably schizophrenic, living in an alternate reality or something, and it had taken on some grandiose illusions. The brain worked in strange ways, Quinten knew. And here was this man who truly believed he and Valerie would be living happily ever after.

  “What were your plans tonight?” Quinten had seen the gun—it was currently shoved under the bed out of reach—and he was leaving it there for Hollerman to pick up. But for some reason, he wanted to hear the man say it.

  Elliot’s eyes were clear as they focused on Quinten. “I was going to give her the choice: to live with me, or die with me.”

  “You understand I’m not letting either one of those things happen, don’t you?” Quinten was trying sound reasonable—to get the guy to connect with him on some level to make him open up and get talking—but the words coming from Elliot Raines’ mouth only made Quinten sicker to his stomach.

  What if he hadn’t been here?

  He wanted to feel pity for the delusional man who honestly thought he was going to get what he wanted, but Quinten couldn’t muster it. He stood again and paced to the other side of the room, an effort to get a handle on his emotions and put distance between him and this guy before he rung his neck.

  Thankfully, that’s when Hollerman decided to arrive, followed by Valerie.

  “Elliot Raines, you are under arrest…” As detective Hollerman started his spiel, Elliot’s face took on a glazed quality as he searched out Valerie’s face, unmasked.

  “I love you. I always will,” he whispered as Hollerman stood him up. Quinten didn’t want her to listen to any of this man’s delusions, so he led her out of the room by the elbow.

  As they walked to her kitchen, Quinten swallowed back the nearly incapacitating nauseous feeling by breathing deep, ragged breaths. This was a close call. If Elliot had done something to her, Quinten didn’t know what he would have done. And he wasn’t sure what that meant to him. He liked her, sure. He was supposed to protect her, that was a given. But the time they’d spent together the last two days was incredible, not something he was willing to stop.

  A loud banging at the door to Valerie’s inner sanctum heralded Andrew’s arrival.

  “What happened?” Andrew looked around, alert and ready.

  “He’s in there with Hollerman. Was watching us sleep. The question is, what the fuck happened to you? You’re supposed to be watching.”

  “I was. I was patrolling the perimeter. I just got off the phone with Simon. Was updating him.”

  “Patterns?”

  “Nope. No patterns. I kept it random. He must have been watching me to squeak in around me.”

  “Go find where he got in. There’s got to be some evidence. I want to know if it’s a regularly used entrance for him. I need to know if he’s done this before.” Quinten’s voice was nearly unrecognizable to his own ears. The tension he radiated was almost visible, like heat waves rising off his skin.

  The next three hours passed in a blur of activity. The police took statements from both of them after getting the perp off the property. They went through Valerie’s domain, low murmurs and whistles punctuating their opinions about her living situation. Then they moved on to the rest of the house, not bothering to keep their opinions on the down-low, as was evidenced by the monitors that were still on in Valerie’s bedroom.

  When the last police officer had left, Valerie was in the kitchen cleaning out the coffee pot and rinsing cups in the sink. Simon came up to Quinten and shook his hand.

  “Congratulations on a job done. I need you back in the office later today for debriefing and another job.” The big brother shone through, and Quinten knew this was not up for discussion. Never mind that his inner fibers were bristling, hard. Something was way off.

  “You don’t think this was too simple?” At his words, Valerie dropped a cup in the sink, but it didn’t break. She didn’t say a word, but the fear was etched in her shoulders.

  “No. This dude confessed. She recognized him. He’s most definitely the guy who came in and made himself at home.” Truer words weren’t needed, but to Quinten, something still felt off about the whole thing. Maybe it was the way Valerie was standing at the sink, mindlessly washing coffee mugs as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Was this another protective mechanism?

  He’d been out of the office on this job for nearly two weeks, and his absence had been noticed. They were short-handed, and Simon had probably had to turn jobs away. Quinten knew Simon
well enough to know that was one of the things he hated most. Simon wanted to help everybody, even though he trusted no one.

  “I’ll be there,” Quinten assured his brother.

  His gaze fell on Valerie. She leaned her hip on the counter, arms crossed in front of her, watching them carefully. He couldn’t read her expression, and that bothered him.

  Quinten ushered Simon out the door, his focus solely on getting back to Valerie. He needed to touch her, to make her feel safe again.

  As he walked back down the hallway, he heard nothing. No more dishes clattering in the sink. No more police chatter. Just blessed silence. When he got to the kitchen, Valerie was still standing in the same spot, only her face was sad. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. The relief was instantaneous.

  This was where he belonged. He needed Valerie in his arms like the desert needed rain. The feeling of her soft curves was soothing to him, and he hoped it did the same for her.

  Unfortunately, she stiffened in his arms. Pulling back slightly, he looked at her face. The tiny line that led down to her collar bone led to the fine crisscrossed lines on her face. They were her character builders, showing she had survived, was stronger. But the watery, glazed look in her eyes shone brighter than the scars. Was she aware that all these police officers and the members of her security team had seen her tonight without the masks?

  “You need to go,” she whispered.

  Wait. What? He knew he looked like a fish out of water, the way his mouth was flapping. Her mouth turned down in determination.

  “I heard your boss. You have other jobs to do now. You can’t stay.”

  “But—” There was no way he was leaving her. He needed to make her understand he was here, not leaving.

  “No. It’s just easier this way. I knew it couldn’t last, anyway.” She pushed him away, and he allowed it, his eyes squinting at her.

  “Now, wait a minute…” he began, but she was just getting warmed up. His possessiveness flared, even as she spoke in low, even tones.