“That could fit,” Tomasetti says.
“I’m starting to like Gilfillan for this.” I find myself wanting to return to Buck Creek with him in the morning, so I can be there when they execute the warrant. But I can’t leave with Sadie missing. Not when the last missing girl turned up dead.
An image of Sadie flashes in my mind’s eye. I see her as she was that day on the bridge in her skimpy tank top, with her long brown arms and reckless, engaging smile. Sadie with a can of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Sadie rolling around on the ground and throwing punches with the abandon of a born street fighter.
“Tomasetti, I don’t want to lose this girl,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“Sadie is…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. I almost said “special,” but I know in my heart she’s no more special than the others. All of them are someone’s daughter or son or brother or sister. All of them are loved.
“We’ll get him,” he says.
“She’s hard to handle. She won’t acquiesce.” I stare at the whiteboard, but I no longer see the words. “She might not have much time.”
“Kate, we’re doing everything we can.”
That’s one of the things I admire about Tomasetti; he’ll never prop me up with false hope. He’ll never make promises he can’t keep, no matter how desperately I need to hear them.
He crosses to me. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I smile, but it feels crooked on my face. “That I wish I wasn’t on the wagon?”
He’s standing so close, I can smell the remnants of his aftershave, feel the heat radiating from his body against mine. I see the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, the capillaries in eyes that are red from lack of sleep and too many hours on the road.
He frowns, but not in a serious way. “You’re beating yourself up because you’re not out there looking for her.”
The urge to argue is strong. But I don’t. Mainly because he’s right. “Do you want me to lie down on the sofa so you can ask me how I feel about that?”
“I know this is going to be a stunning revelation for you, Kate, but you and I need sleep and downtime, just like everyone else.”
“You’re not trying to tell me we’re human, are you?”
He offers a wan smile, but his eyes remain serious. “I wish I could tell you we’re going to go out there tomorrow and find her and bring her home. That we’re going to get this guy. We both know it doesn’t always work out that way.”
When I look away, he puts his fingertips under my chin and guides my gaze back to his. “The one thing I can tell you is that we’re doing our best. That’s all anyone can do. That’s got to be enough.”
I don’t intend to reach for him. But one moment, I’m standing there, feeling shredded and unbearably guilty. The next, my arms are around Tomasetti’s shoulders and his mouth is fastened to mine. The power of the kiss makes my head spin. My body surges to life with an intensity that shocks me. I’m caught in a flash flood and tumbling out of control.…
He grasps my biceps, and then my back is against the wall. His mouth trails kisses down my throat. His hands fumble at my belt and my robe falls open. His hands find my breasts. I hear myself gasp as callus-rough palms brush against sensitive skin. I’m having a difficult time catching my breath.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice shouts a warning. It tells me anything that feels this good can’t possibly be real or true or lasting.
I don’t listen.
He’s got the robe off my shoulders when I realize if I don’t stop this right now, we’re going to have sex either on the floor or on my desk, neither of which appeals.
I sidle right. Tomasetti follows and we stumble down the hall and into my bedroom. Dropping my robe on the floor, I draw back the covers and get into bed. Clothes rustle as he works off his shirt and steps out of his trousers.
And then he’s sliding into bed beside me. The familiar rush of what I can only describe as joy fills me when he puts his arms around me. My worries about Annie King and Sadie Miller and the case that has refused to come together fade into the background. And for a short time, we shut out the rest of the world. We take refuge in each other’s arms and this safe harbor we’ve built.
*
I wake, to find Tomasetti standing beside the bed, naked, his hair still wet from a shower. I have no idea how long I’ve been sleeping.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stretching.
“I’ve got to go,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost five. I’m late.”
But he climbs into the bed beside me. I snuggle against his shoulder, reveling in the solid warmth of him, the feel of his arm around me, the smell of soap and aftershave and his own distinct scent.
“There’s never enough time,” he says.
“You’re always sneaking away in the middle of the night.”
“Not by choice. I’ve missed you.”