Jack. Jack. Why does that name sound familiar? We’ve run across so many names in the last week they all blur together, but something about it is definitely pinging my radar.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Spencer says with a grin, standing up. “We should do it again.”
“Let’s not.”
By the time we get back out to the car, Spencer is practically vibrating. He knows something, and he’s about to burst to get it out.
“What is it?” I ask, opening the passenger door for him, resting one hand on the top of the car and leaning in.
“Jack is the name of the new girl’s dad.”
Well, that’s interesting. “Melody? Could be a coincidence.”
“Could be.”
It rarely is. Looks like we have a new person of interest. Thank fuck for that; I thought we’d be going in circles forever. “We have a list of all the employees for the studio. We should take a look at all the Jacks, just in case.” We shouldn’t get too excited; it still could be a coincidence.
Spencer leans closer, lips hovering below mine. “You think Reid’s innocent. I could tell the second you saw him.”
“Just a gut feeling.”
He sneaks a hand up under my suit jacket and tugs my shirt up so he can press his palm against bare skin. It sears into me, and I arch, wanting more pressure. I bite my lips and sway forward, our lips brushing.
“Your gut feelings are always right,” Spencer whispers. “And I trust you. If you think he didn’t do it, then I’m with you.”
“And if I’m wrong?” I’m not always right. But in this, I know I am. Reid Fuller’s no killer. Which means there’s a person on the edge of serial killer territory out there. Possibly tipped over already. That’s never a good thing. We need to stop it. Without putting Spencer in the line of fire. That’s a different kind of dangerous territory we’re wading into. Everything we do comes with risks. If I start shielding him from everything, we’re going to have a problem. I never have—I protect him when I can, let him push ahead when he needs to. There was always that confidence that no matter what he did, he’d come through unscathed.
Considering our line of work, it was a ridiculous confidence. One that shattered into a thousand pieces when he got taken last year. I can’t let it happen again, but I can’t let it consume meeither. What important details will I miss because I’m too busy being scared for him? I can’t be this compromised. I don’t know how to be anything else anymore.
Spencer lifts himself up enough to slant our mouths together properly. His tongue licks across my bottom lip, and I open, letting him have whatever he wants. He grips my waist to keep himself in place as he melts my brain. “Then we go down together. Whatever path you walk is the one I walk.”
Goddammit. I push him back into his seat and go in after him, tilting his head up and deepening the kiss even further. “My path is yours.” Fisting his hair, I dive back in, licking and tasting until we’re drowning in it, and he’s moaning, arching up against me, nails digging into my back. “You don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”
He shudders against me, clinging so tight he breaks skin.
“Say it. Tell me,” I demand hoarsely. I need to hear him say it.
“Nowhere you can’t follow,” he gasps. “Together. Always.”
Fuck, that sounds so good. The words are mine and mine alone. I’ll carve them into my skin so I never forget. Carve them into his.
His heavy breathing caresses my skin when I pull away. His pupils are dilated, and there’s never been a better sight than that. That I make him feel like that. Somehow knowing it’s less about sexual desire and more his desire formethat’s doing it makes it so much sweeter.He’smine, and the ways he needs me mean that he always will be.
“We should call Greer,” I murmur, not willing to move out of his space just yet. “And get a copy of his files for Irene. Maybe she knew a Jack too?”
“I love the way you think,” Spencer breaths out.
That deserves at least one more kiss. The rest of the world can wait.
Chapter twenty-one
Spencer
There’s a primal satisfactionin watching the man I love get himself permanently marked just because I asked him to. It’ll never come off. A sign that he belongs to me for eternity. Not to mention, watching him helps mask the pain on my chest, where I’m getting the exact same mark.
“Doing okay?” Britt, the woman currently digging dozens of small needles into me, asks. She pulls back, wipes the spot, and then starts back up again. I bet she’s a sadist off-duty.
“I’m fine.” More than fine. Kendrick is shirtless in front of me, and not even seeing someone else with their hands on him can take away my enjoyment. Loren, the artist working on him, has almost finished with the orchid and is working on my name, twined with it. Kendrick tried to talk me out of it, but I refused, and he caved, like he always does when I want my way. There’s no end to this. It’s for eternity, and he’s getting my fucking nametattooed on him. Just like I’m getting his. I’d never ask him to do something I’m not willing to do.
