Reckless Surrender Page 9

  “The minute you walked through my office door you became mine, which means you’re mine to protect. I don’t care if I have to toss you over my shoulder and drag you back to my place kicking and screaming, but rest assured, babygirl, you are spending the night with me…in my bed…under my protection. You got that?”

  Faced with well over six feet of dominant male determination, Phoebe could only nod yes.

  Chapter 11

  With no further protest from Phoebe, Michael gathered all her things and ushered her out the door. The commander of the academy was afforded a small brick home on the edge of campus. With neither of them having an umbrella, there was nothing left to do but run through the sheets of rain till he reached his front door. Leading her inside, he began to turn on the lights. Sparing a glance for Phoebe, he was alarmed by how small and vulnerable she looked. Walking over to her, he easily swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs. Placing her on the bed, he went into the master bathroom and began to run a hot bath. All the while, she sat there still and silent.

  Michael walked up to her. “Arms up.”

  She obeyed without a fight…which worried him.

  He carefully pulled her gray sweater over her head. He then unlatched her black lace bra. Tossing them both on the bed, he knelt before her and removed first one then the other knee-high boot, giving each chilled foot a comforting squeeze. Lifting her under the arms, he raised her to her feet and unhooked her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He had what was left of her black thong still tucked in his pocket from their lovemaking in the library. Picking her up once again, he carried her into the bathroom and slowly lowered her into the steaming hot water. The impact of the water thawed her reserve.

  Phoebe grabbed onto his upper arm.

  “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m not a—”

  Michael stopped her with a finger to her lips. “It can wait. You take a nice hot bath while I prepare dinner for us. We’ll talk then.”

  Leaving her to soak in the tub, Michael walked back into the bedroom and stripped out of his wet uniform. Tossing on only a pair of jeans, he walked barefoot downstairs. Checking that the front door was locked, he headed to the hall closet. Pressing his thumb to the fingerprint lock on the safe inside it, he removed his 9mm Glock the moment the door sprung open. Grabbing a loaded magazine, he closed the safe door and headed into the kitchen. With the gun within reach, he began to prepare dinner for them both.

  Phoebe arrived downstairs dressed only in one of his white dress shirts and a pair of his white tube socks. The socks were so large they looked like leg warmers over her small calves. His shirt reached to well below mid-thigh. Michael felt his gut clench. It was the first time he was seeing her without her standard cat-eye makeup and red lips. She looked beautiful.

  “I left my suitcase down here, so I borrowed one of your shirts. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind in the least,” he said with a wink. “Sit. Wine?”

  At her nod, he poured them both a glass of cabernet. Heading back into the kitchen, he returned with their plates and joined her at the table.

  “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. It’s the one thing I know how to cook well.”

  “Actually, it’s one of my favorite dishes.”

  “Good.”

  They both sat in silence for several minutes. Michael eating. Phoebe mostly twirling the pasta around her fork and taking fortifying sips of wine.

  “You know, I’m a pretty sensitive guy. You’re going to hurt my feelings if you don’t at least pretend to like my cooking,” he said teasingly.

  Phoebe smiled. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not that hungry.”

  “Grab the bottle and our glasses and head into the living room. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “No. I’ll help with the dishes.”

  “No you won’t and that’s an order.”

  He was pleased when she obeyed him without further argument. After cleaning up, he joined her. The living room was furnished comfortably in masculine shades of royal blue, maroon and gold. Engravings of notable naval ships graced the walls. To warm up the room while she was in her bath, Michael had lit a fire in the beautiful brick fireplace that dominated one wall. As he walked in, he noticed she was curled up on the sofa with one of the throw rugs covering her legs.

  He had never been the sort to want to settle down, but seeing Phoebe in his home, wearing his shirt, gave him a strong desire to want to spend every night like this…with her. Sitting next to her on the sofa, he watched and waited. He had learned through years of interrogations of enemy combatants in the military that silence was actually one of the greatest motivators to get someone to talk.

  After several minutes, she broke. “How much do you know?”

  Stroking his knuckles down her cheek, he said, “Sorry, princess, that’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to tell me everything. Right here. Right now.”

  Watching her sigh as she toyed with the stem of her wine glass, he could practically hear her weighing her options. Hopefully, she would come to the correct conclusion.

  She had only one. Him.

  He knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. There was no denying she had been lying to him, probably from the start. He just needed to know how much she had been lying about. The one thing he was confident about was she was not lying about her reaction to him. What they had was too raw, too primal to be a lie. He also knew she had placed herself in danger by trying to investigate alone the murders of those two women. What he didn’t know was why.

  She tucked a lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear before meeting his eye. Taking a deep breath, she said, “My name isn’t Phoebe Pringle.”

  Michael smiled. “I figured as much, although I have to confess, I like Phoebe. It suits you.”

  “My name is Phoebe…but it’s Wilson. Phoebe Wilson.”

  “So, Phoebe Wilson, mind telling me what you are doing at my academy and why you lied?”

  “I’m an investigative journalist. I’m here to see if there was a naval cover-up of the murders of Mary Bruen and Annie Porter,” she burst out in a rush. Her eyes were wide and glistening as she waited for his response.

  A journalist.

  He figured as much. Her shoes were far too impractical for her to be private investigator. He had warned his supervisors in the Navy it would only be a matter of time before someone from the press caught wind of the story. The details of the murder were too salacious, too gruesome.

  “And what have you learned?”

  “Wait. You’re not going to comment on what I just said?”

  “What is there to say?”

  Amused, he watched her beautiful green eyes light with anger and defiance.

  “Nothing. There is nothing to say,” she burst out, obviously hurt.

  If he’d doubted for a moment she felt anything for him beyond his usefulness in her investigation, she just chased it away right there with her disgruntled pout. His adorable princess thought he was being dismissive of her…of them. She was mistaking his lack of response, his calm demeanor, for disregard. Mistakenly thinking he regarded her as a quick fuck so her real name didn’t matter. It was past time she realized she was his…and he played for keeps.

  Taking the wine glass from her fingers, he placed it on the coffee table with his own. He then grabbed her arms and pulled her over his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out.

  Flipping up the hem of the white shirt, he bared her ass. Raising his arm, he brought his hand down on her right cheek. The loud crack as his palm met her skin echoed around the quiet room.

  “Are you crazy?” she screeched.

  “That was for lying to me about your name.”

  He raised his arm again and spanked her left cheek. A cherry red palm print appeared almost immediately. “That was for putting yourself in danger.”

  Phoebe kicked and screamed but could not dislodge his restraining arm across h
er lower back.

  Deliberately spanking the generous under curve of each bottom cheek, he yelled over her hollering, “And that was for thinking that what we have is so superficial it can’t survive a few obstacles. Do I need to continue?”

  “No! No! Let me up,” she begged.

  Flipping her back into an upright position, he could see her cheeks were tinged pink as tears glistened in her eyes.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to spank an employee like that,” she pouted as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I did anyway,” he responded, a challenging light in his eye. “And I will do it again if you ever lie to me again.”

  Phoebe nodded her understanding.

  “Good. Now tell me why you suspect my disagreeable secretary of murder.”

  They spent the next few hours going over everything. They had cleared the kitchen table to make room for the books she had gotten at the library, her copies of the student files, and his copy of the naval and police reports.

  “Here, right here. I knew it. It’s not a pentagram with a crude carving of Satan. It’s the wendigo,” exclaimed Phoebe as she held up the dusty old volume they had checked out of the library. It was the published journal of a fur tracker from the seventeenth century. It was a wealth of firsthand information on the tribes in the Buzzards Bay area at the time.

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m still not seeing how a three-hundred-and fifty-year-old ghost story somehow plays into a random murder from today.”

  “That’s because you are trying to think through it logically,” explained Phoebe.

  “Well logical thinking is part of the Marine training,” quipped Michael.

  Her eyes narrowed in a glare. He loved pushing her buttons. Damn, he couldn’t ever remember having this much fun with a woman, despite the fact that the topic of conversation was two gruesome murders.

  “We agree that the murders could not have been done by the two suspected midshipmen, right?”

  He nodded. “Right. They don’t fit the profile and they both have alibis for the time period of both murders.”

  “I’ve also determined that neither has any particularly influential parent which would have led us to suspect meddling with the details of their alibis or any other such nonsense.”

  “We both agree the homeless man theory is just bullshit put out by the Navy.”

  “I’m surprised you would admit to that.”

  Michael shrugged. “Marine.”

  Phoebe laughed. “Is that your answer for everything?”

  “Yes,” he responded, giving no quarter.

  He watched as her expression grew thoughtful. “Is that also why you are handling the news of my being a journalist investigating a possible cover-up in stride? Because it impacts the Navy and perhaps not you as a Marine?”

  “No. I’m handling this in stride because we both want the same thing. The truth. I became a Marine to protect the vulnerable. I have absolutely no interest in letting a murderer go free because it might cause the Navy some momentary bad press.”

  “Collaborating with me could cost you your job,” she whispered. “You have to know that is not what I want out of this.”

  Michael stroked her cheek. “Babygirl, I wouldn’t have been assigned this position if my superiors thought I would just look the other way. I was brought here to change the old boy way of thinking. Trust me. They are perfectly aware of my character and what I am capable of. My career will be just fine. And besides, if you think any of this compares with what I had to deal with in Fallujah—” He left the rest unsaid.

  He liked how she blushed at his words and touch. Yeah, he could definitely get used to having her around. She was a fascinating mix of intelligence and vivacity coupled with stubbornness and just the right amount of crazy.

  Clearing her throat, she continued. “I know it is a stretch but hear me out. Mrs. Ludtz went off the deep end two months ago after her husband was found cheating on her. I’ve heard stories of all sorts of erratic behavior.”

  Phoebe then related to him the strange scene she’d witnessed the day of his run. How Ludtz had been dancing and singing strange nursery rhymes in the woods. It was odd, to be certain, but that didn’t make her a murderer.

  “Yes, but how does being pissed at a piece of shit husband suddenly lead to murder?”

  “That’s the piece of the puzzle I don’t have,” she admitted. “I agree with your sheriff and the police report about the markings on the women’s backs, that it could be an indication of a woman unable to lift the dead weight. It would also explain why the victims were strangled and not burned. I can’t say I know for certain, but I imagine there is a great deal more involved with trying to burn a body than simply strangling someone. The fact that it perhaps requires more strength and agility than Mrs. Ludtz possesses could be another argument for it being a woman who committed the murders. Plus, people would have seen the fire and come running, possibly catching her in the act.”

  “And how does the whole mad monk and wendigo tradition fit in?”

  “At first I thought it was just some nonsense, but now I’m not so sure. It says here the wendigo was not just associated with cannibalism but also insatiable greed, gluttony and selfishness. What if Mrs. Ludtz has truly come unhinged and she associated those women with the woman who stole her husband away, that she somehow equated his mistress with selfishness and greed for taking something that wasn’t hers?”

  “Do you think it’s possible Mary Bruen was Mr. Ludtz’s mistress?”

  “It’s possible. What if Mrs. Ludtz believes that after killing Bruen she herself became a wendigo? There was the bit about the liver missing. What if Mrs. Ludtz…ate it? Cannibalism leads to a human transforming into the evil spirit of a wendigo,” mused Phoebe out loud.

  “You realize how insane all this sounds?”

  “I do,” she admitted.

  “Right, well tomorrow after you leave I will track down Mrs. Ludtz’s husband. If anyone would have answers for us, it would be him,” said Michael as he gathered their empty wine glasses and the empty bottle and took them into the kitchen.

  Phoebe followed behind. “I’m sorry. Did you just say after I leave?”

  “Yes.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my story and my investigation. I’m going to see it through.”

  Michael grabbed her by the waist and lifted her high till she was sitting on the counter. With the raised height, she was at eye level with him. Placing a hand on either side of her hips, he leaned in close. “Listen very carefully, princess. You are catching the first flight out of here tomorrow. Just because I didn’t mention the fact that you are the fucking spitting image of the two victims doesn’t mean I didn’t notice. I clocked that the moment I laid eyes on you that first day in my office. Why do you think I tried to get you to leave?”

  “So? Lots of woman look like me!”

  Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. “No, beautiful, they don’t. You are obviously her next target. She has made that more than clear with the symbol on your door and the ransacking of your room. If it is her, she is becoming even more erratic and unpredictable. Who knows what she will do next? Unfortunately, I can’t have her arrested without more proof. I’ll talk to her future ex-husband and hopefully learn enough for the sheriff to get an arrest or search warrant. In the meantime, I want you somewhere safe…far away from here.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to object.

  “Don’t argue with me on this, Phoebe. My mind is made up. When this is all over, I’ll come and get you.”

  He should have been suspicious the moment she grew silent. The moment she didn’t fight him. Instead, his mind was on more pleasurable pursuits.

  After a brief truce where they spent an amazingly passionate night in bed and enjoying the feel of her in his arms when he awoke, the peace between them was once more broken when she broached the subject of her
leaving.

  “I’m not,” Phoebe insisted.

  “Trust me. You are,” he fired back.

  They continued to argue, kiss, make love, then return to arguing all morning till the late afternoon. Then the time came for her to get into a taxi to the airport and for him to leave for his meeting with Mr. Ludtz.

  Wrapping his arm around her lower back, he pulled her close. Placing a hand under her chin, he lifted her face to his. “This isn’t over between us. Once it is safe, I will come to New York for you.”

  He wasn’t sure what would happen after that, if she would consider staying with him in Massachusetts or if he would need to find an assignment in New York, but it honestly didn’t matter to him.

  He had found something he wanted.

  Her.

  And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe and by his side.

  Tapping her on the nose, he teased, “And don’t worry. I promise to share all the gory details with you for your story. You will get no military cover-up from me. If you are right about Ludtz, then it is you who solved this case, and you earned the right to write about it.”

  Phoebe nodded and got into the taxi without another word.

  Again, he should have been suspicious. He should have questioned her uncharacteristic silence. Her lack of fight.

  He should have known she would defy him.

  Chapter 12

  Present day, later that evening.

  Hush now, Phoebe, do not you fear

  Never mind, Phoebe, the Mad Monk is near

  The sickly-sweet sing-song voice echoed around her empty bedchamber. Phoebe’s mouth opened, the lower lip trembling in a macabre pantomime of a silent scream. Fear kept her immobile. A fear so intense it struck straight through her, making her very bones feel brittle and weak. A cold sweat broke out over her brow as she searched the darkness in vain, trying to peer past the moving shadows. Every outline was suspect. Every hint of sound, real or imagined, a cry of alarm, but there was nothing.