Page 47 of One in a Million
Her lips left a trail of little nibbling kisses down his ribs and across his belly to his navel. “Now, before I have to go back to the house, what do you say we stop talking and make love again?”
“Only if we do it right.”
“Any way we do it is right.”
Sam made it last, kissing her long and deep, stroking her breasts and suckling the intimate parts of her until she gasped and came again, then again. All but bursting, he thrust into her, filling her hot, moist length. She gave a little cry as they climaxed together, then lay still, both of them blissfully spent.
When he woke before first light, Jasmine was gone, as he’d expected she would be. Making love to her hadn’t worked any miracles. It hadn’t healed his pain. But it had stirred desires he’d feared were buried forever. He felt more human than he had since the divorce and Jim’s death.
But as he lay in the darkness, recapturing the memory of their loving, the reality of the situation began to creep in. Jasmine was a suspect, a person of interest in his murder case. He hadn’t just crossed the line, he’d broken it beyond repair. If his superiors in the FBI got wind of what he’d done, his career would be over.
Should he confess to Nick? Or should he keep his mouth shut and hope it would never come to light? Surely, he wouldn’t be the first agent to slip off the straight and narrow path and keep his transgression a secret.
And what about Jasmine? What would she expect from him after their night together?
Sam had long prided himself on his integrity. Now that his integrity had crumbled in the heat of desire, he saw his so-called pride for what it was—nothing but vanity. And he was left to face the consequences.
What would he do if Jasmine turned out to be guilty of killing her father?
* * *
Charlie woke in his bedroom, wedged between the bed and the wall. His throbbing head felt twice its normal size. The last thing he remembered was coming home after Jasmine’s rejection and pouring himself a drink.
Trapped in the narrow space, he struggled to sit up. He must’ve fallen on the bed and rolled off the side. Too drunk to free himself, he’d lain there for the rest of the night.
Gripping the metal bed frame, he pulled himself back onto the mattress. The empty bottles lying around the room told him how much he must have drunk. Now he was paying the price with an elephant-sized hangover.
And Jasmine would pay, too, he vowed silently. He would make her sorry for the public humiliation she’d dealt him. Before he was through, she would beg him, on her knees, to forgive her and let her be his.
The morning sunlight, slanting through the shutters, stabbed into his eyes. He cursed. It was late, past time he was outside, checking on the animals, making sure the hired help had fed them. Shielding his face from the light, he pushed off the bed and stumbled to the coffeemaker.
The caffeine jolt helped to wake him, but he was still hurting like hell as he donned his sunglasses and stepped out through the front door, onto the veranda—only to be met with a scene of utter devastation.
His stomach churned as he surveyed the front yard, the patches of burnt grass littered with broken tiki torches and ripped signs displaying slogans likeFREE THE ANIMALSandDOWN WITH HUNTING.
Sickened, he was about to turn away when his gaze fell on something lying amid the debris—something that caught the morning light and scattered it into rainbows. Making his way through the litter, he picked it up. It was a silver cuff-style bracelet, familiar somehow. But only as he saw the name engraved on the inside did he remember where he’d seen it. And only then did he realize what it meant.
She had been here. She had been with the hooligans who’d invaded his property and done damage that would take weeks to repair and cost him thousands of dollars.
He could forgive Jasmine for humiliating him at Frank’s memorial. He had brought that on himself. But this was something else. As he stared at the bracelet in his hands, Charlie felt years of love freeze and turn to hate. He would bring her down. Now he had the means.
But first things first. He needed to see to his animals. He stuffed the bracelet in his pocket.
Two goats, the door to their empty compound hanging by one hinge, stood at a distance, watching him. The goats and other animals he raised for meat were probably scattered from hell to breakfast. The giraffe, already scheduled for a hunt, was missing, too. Several other grazers, including the two zebras, were gone, although the rest were still in their pens. If the fences had been breached, he might need to ask his neighbors, including the Culhanes, for help rounding up the escapees.
At least the gate to the carnivore compound was closed. But the chain had been cut, the padlock severed with a bolt cutter and hung back in place to secure the hasp. Charlie jogged back to the house to fetch the Winchester before venturing to unlock the gate. There was no sign of his hired men. They could’ve been scared off by the mob that had paid him a visit in the night, while he was passed out drunk in the house.
With the rifle loaded, cocked, and ready, he trekked back to the locked compound, lifted away the padlock, and opened the door far enough to step inside.
A sigh of relief escaped him as he saw that the big cats—the lions, the tigers, and the leopard, were all securely locked in their cages. Except for being restless and hungry, they were fine. But he would need to find something to feed them. Maybe he could bring down one of those goats that had hung around. Or maybe there was something edible in the refrigerator shed.
He was about to leave when a blood-chilling sight riveted his attention. The door to the fortified cage at the far end of the row was hanging open as if it had been forced.
The cage was empty.
The hyena was gone.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN