The bile rushed up his throat and in the months since his wife had been beaten, violated and murdered that had happened countless times too.
Kiss me, Chace.
Her voice came at him in a memory, brutalizing his brain as it had every day, so many f**king times a day, he couldn’t count.
Her last words to him.
She’d been begging.
Kiss me, Chace.
He hadn’t kissed her. They’d been married for years and except the kiss he had to give her at their wedding, he hadn’t kissed her once.
Not once.
Instead, he’d felt his lip curl, something he didn’t hide from her, and he’d walked away.
As he swallowed the bile down, his eyes flew open when he heard someone approaching.
Then he heard a stumble and a female hiss the bizarre word, “Frak.”
He came to his feet silently, instantly alert, and his gaze swung to the trail where the noise was coming from. His hand went to the gun in the holster clipped to the side of his belt. It was his service weapon. He wasn’t on duty but he always wore it. His mountain town of Carnal, Colorado might have recently emerged out from under a small town tyrant’s thumb but that didn’t mean it was safe.
He blinked when she came into view, her head down, the top of her hair covered in a knit cap the color he couldn’t tell in the moonlight. Her eyes were to her feet as she stomped through the snow to get to the clearing.
As if sensing him, her head shot up and when she saw him, she stopped so abruptly, her body rocked.
Chace stared at her.
He knew her.
Jesus f**king Christ. What the f**k?
He said not one word. It was f**king two in the f**king morning in the freezing cold in the middle of nowhere that just happened to be the scene of an ugly, bloody murder. And she was there. He didn’t know what to say because he didn’t know whether to be pissed or seriously f**king pissed.
She said not one word either. Then again, she was known for being quiet and not just because it was an occupational hazard, seeing as she was the town’s librarian.
Surprisingly, she broke their stare but she did it mumbling, “Uh…”
At that sound, Chace decided to be seriously f**king pissed.
“What the f**k?” he asked.
“Um… uh, Detective Keaton,” she replied then said not another word but her eyes were locked to him. Her long, sleek hair flowing out from under her cap was a midnight shadow against her light, puffy vest and the scarf wound around her neck. Her face was pale in the moonlight.
And, f**k him, he liked her voice. He’d heard it before, not often but he’d heard it. And he’d liked it the other times too. Quiet, melodious, like a f**king song.
Yeah, he liked it. A f**k of a lot.
Just not right then even if it was the first time she’d uttered his name. Or one of his names. The name he’d prefer she say was his first and he’d like to hear her say it when she was on her back, her rounded body under his, his c**k inside her and he’d just made her come.
Something he’d never have.
This reminded him he was seriously f**king pissed.
So he repeated, “What the f**k?”
“I… uh –”