I pulled in breath, squared my shoulders, held his eyes and repeated (kind of), “Chace, honey, I’m good here.”
“Backbone,” he murmured, his gaze drifting around my head and shoulders then it sliced to Jon. “Send someone to check Harker’s Wood. I’ll get Faye sorted and then I’m on my way.”
Oh God. Holy frak.
Harker’s Wood.
I’d heard of Darren Newcomb but I didn’t know how. His name was just familiar.
But whoever he was, this had something to do with Misty.
“Frank’s already on that. Got a cruiser headin’ that way. Frank’s with the body,” Jon replied.
“Call him, tell him I’ll go to the body first. The wood second. Anyone on the family?” Chace returned.
Jon shifted uncomfortably again as he shook his head.
“Fuck,” Chace muttered then, “Right. Body, wood, then I’ll go to his family.”
I didn’t like that but even if I didn’t, it was his job. Unfortunately, murders were happening in Carnal on an alarmingly frequent basis. Well, that wasn’t true. Just Tonia Payne, a waitress who was killed by Dalton McIntyre. Then there was Neeta, Tate’s old girlfriend though she didn’t live in Carnal, she was just murdered by McIntyre who did live in Carnal and also did all his killing here. And, of course, Misty Keaton. But still, that was three people I semi-knew in the last few years when I’d lived there near to my whole life without a one.
Though I suspected even if you informed a hundred families a loved one had died or something bad had happened, it would never get any more fun.
“Right Chace,” Jon muttered then he looked at me. “Sorry, uh… Faye, is it?”
Like he didn’t know. I’d been with Chace at the Italian place, The Rooster and Bubba’s. The talk hadn’t come to me but I was no dummy. The town was buzzing.
Anyway, I’d given him my name at the police station three weeks ago.
“Yes, Faye.” I offered my hand but stayed close to Chace, with my other arm wrapped around his back. “Jon?”
“Jon, yeah.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze while giving me a small smile appropriate to an introduction on the heels of giving the news that someone had been murdered. “Sorry to interrupt but, uh… nice to meet you, formal like.”
“You too, Jon,” I said quietly and pulled my hand away.
He let it go and looked up at Chace.
“See you, um… there,” he murmured, dipped his chin to me then walked to the door.
Chace gave my shoulders a squeeze. I read the command, dropped my arm and he followed Jon.
“Later,” he muttered, Jon looked over his shoulder at Chace, jerked up his chin then took off.
Chace closed the door and turned to me.
“I’ll just uh… go, um… find my purse and head home.”
I was thinking about where my purse might have gotten to so I jumped a little when I felt Chace’s hands settle on either side of my neck and my head tilted back to catch his eyes.
Then I caught my breath at what I saw.
“Please, honey,” he whispered, “make tacos. Eat ‘em. Watch television. Do whatever. But however it ends, when you go to sleep, crawl into my bed.”
Oh God.
I blinked, my belly warmed, my heart skipped, my hands came up to curl around his wrists and my mind couldn’t decide whether to be scared, excited or freaked.
“Chace –” I whispered back, not sure what else I was going to say but not getting the chance to say it.
His hands squeezed my neck, gripping firm but not hard. His face got closer. “Please, Faye, whatever this is, when I get home from it, I want to slide into my bed with you bein’ in it.”
“Okay,” I agreed quietly and it was Chace’s turn to blink.
“What?”
“Okay,” I repeated. “I’ll stay. I’ll eat tacos. I’ll watch TV. If you’re not home, I’ll go to sleep in your bed.”
His head moved away an inch but his voice was still soft when he asked, “Easy as that?”
“You want me here?” I asked back.
He didn’t answer that. That raw warmth washed through his face and he murmured, “Christ, Faye.”
I finished as if he answered yes.
“Then I’m here.”
His fingers gripped harder and he clipped a guttural, “Christ, Faye,” that hurt to hear but for some reason felt good all the same.
I squeezed his wrists. “Go, so you can get back. I’m hungry so I have to cook.” I rolled up on my toes and concluded, “I’ll leave the champagne for tomorrow.”
It was then his hands at my neck gave me a rough jerk toward him but he didn’t kiss me. His hands left my neck so his arms could close around me tight.
And he hugged me.
I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his chest because it felt good.
It also felt bad and this was because I knew he was feeling something ugly and I couldn’t protect him from it. The only thing I could do was sleep in his bed as he asked. And that meant so much to him; he man communicated it with a hug.
And really, if you communicated that way, who needed words?
That said it all.