Part 22 (1/2)

”She did. And to say it was dreadful is like cla.s.sifying Nina under the category gentle as a lamb. It was akin to purgatory. I mean, I've heard things-and trust me when I tell you, I've seen things. But this, Sam? This was ...” Wanda shook her head, sorrow in her eyes. ”Now, she hasn't had time to process all of this properly. But she will, and when she does, we need to be there for her. What we don't need is you rus.h.i.+ng in there and demanding answers. I absolutely will not have you interrogating her like some suspect until she can work this out. I can tell you whatever you need to know for the moment, Mr. Undercover.”

His nod was curt. Wanda knew. Cue angry female number two. ”Nina told you all of it, I gather?”

Her arms crossed over her chest. ”All while you were on the phone with Smelly.”

”Stinky,” he corrected over the rim of his winegla.s.s, giving her a direct gaze.

”Like there's a difference?” was her stiff-lipped question.

”And you're rightfully angry.”

Wanda's finger jabbed the air, and her face, tight and angry, glowered. ”Well, I can tell you, I'm not in love with this latest development, but I'd bet I can't add any more recrimination or hurl any nasty words at you that haven't already been lobbed by Nina. She does come in incredibly handy from time to time-especially when it comes to an angry WTF. So for the moment, I'll save my rant with my extensive vocabulary for another time. Just know that Wanda the Halfsie is not pleased, and she's not afraid to share her displeasure in the way of snarling and fangs should you have the audacity to become arrogant! However, given your motives, and the idea that your feelings for Phoebe are genuine, I'm going to grant you the gift of time heals all wounds.”

Sam's shoulders relaxed. ”Noted and appreciated.”

Wanda's face broke into a wide smile. ”So, we have some a.s.s to mutilate, yes?”

Archibald clapped his hands together and chuckled. ”Ah, the chase begins! Oh, sir, I realize your boots are quite deep in the stench of manure where the ladies are concerned, but I hope they'll forgive my fascination with your place of employment. An FBI agent, Master Samuel? It's brilliant. Truly. You are quite covert. I would have never guessed. It's pure genius how you present yourself as some mild-mannered scientist with just a dash of absurd. Why, it's almost Superman-esque, don't you agree, ladies?” He looked to Nina and Wanda in his excitement. They each gave him a sour expression.

Archibald straightened and cleared his throat, his face returning to the decorous, composed expression he wore. ”Right, then. I'll just go back to the kitchen, where a lovely glazed peach tart awaits our Darnell. Come, demon,” he directed Darnell with a hand to his elbow. ”We shall pour ourselves a fresh gla.s.s of cold milk, and you can tell me all about Agent Sam.” He winked before exiting the living room, chuckling in soft fits of laughter.

”I really need to see her, Wanda. For myself.”

Wanda softened again. ”Of course you do. You have a lot of splainin' to do.”

Sam winced, setting his gla.s.s on the end table. ”Does she know?”

Wanda's eyes widened in disbelief and she wrinkled her nose. ”Are you kidding? After what she fought her way out of today-I wasn't going to be the last bit of pile on. No. I didn't tell her. I'm leaving that up to you because it's on you. And I'll let you see her. But one word, one squeak of discontent from her, and I'll hear it. And you won't like it when I knock that door down and emasculate you. So don't make me. Now before you go in there, let me fill you both in on what happened. She'll need to get this all off her chest in her own words, I'm sure. But the kind of trouble we're up against needs to be thought over. You'll need to absorb it. At least Nina will. I imagine you see things of a similar nature in your line of work, Sam. Regardless, we need to talk this out as a group.”

Sam nodded, forcing himself to put on his agency face as he listened to Wanda relate what happened to Phoebe and keep his thoughts from straying.

When Wanda finished, Sam sat stone-faced. He'd seen some s.h.i.+t in his time. Definitely. Serial killers, pedophiles, terrorists-the sc.u.m of the universe. But he'd never seen the kind of s.h.i.+t Phoebe had.

Wanda leaned into him, her pretty eyes inquiring. ”Now do you get it?”

He let his head drop to his folded hands and nodded. ”I get it. I have to see her now.”

”Remember what I said,” Wanda warned, though it was without the harsh undertones of before.

Another nod, and Sam was rising, dropping his Stetson on a coat hanger before pus.h.i.+ng his way into the bedroom.

The bathroom door was still closed, and he thought to turn away for a moment, but he needed to see Phoebe. Hold her. Smell her hair. See for himself she was at least physically unharmed.

And then he'd tell her everything.

He gave a light rap to the door with his knuckles. ”Phoebe? Can I come in?”

The gurgle of water in the tub sloshed and the door popped open.

Sam took two steps inside and had his first glimpse of her, sitting in the darkened bathroom.

Up to her eyeb.a.l.l.s in bubbles, her auburn hair pulled up into a knot at the top of her head. Her creamy skin was streaky from the spray tan, but her eyes, wide and full of so many emotions he didn't know where to begin to list them, made his gut ache.

Her vulnerability in that very moment would stay with him for as long as he lived.

And it was his undoing.

Sam put both feet inside the bathtub, cowboy boots and all, and sat on the edge. Reaching for her, he dragged her to him, soaking wet, molding her to him, heedless of anything other than feeling her against him. Lifting her, he pulled her from the bathtub.

Water dripped to the floor, leaving puddles at his feet and along the edge of his sunken-in tub.

Her arms went up around his neck and her frame relaxed against him.

Sam pressed his lips to the top of her sodden head, and closing his eyes tight, he rocked her.

CHAPTER 15.

They sat that way for a long time until Phoebe was able to speak, her voice raspy, and answer Sam's unspoken, yet totally clear desire to talk. ”I don't think I can right now,” she whispered, wis.h.i.+ng futilely for the cleansing flow of tears to wash away her horrors. She clung to him, letting the soothing strength of his arms seep into her tired body.

”You don't have to,” was Sam's gruff answer.

She lifted her head, her eyes searching his. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to purge the images by putting them into words. She wanted to find respite from this terror. ”Sam? I ...”

Sam shook his head, brus.h.i.+ng the wet hair from her eyes with tender fingers. ”Don't.”

Phoebe broke then, dragging Sam's head down, pressing her lips to his with a fevered need to feel him inside her. The affirmation of life or unlife, whatever they were calling it-she needed it.

Now.

She was ravaged from the inside out. Torn apart for leaving behind that man.

Solace.

She needed to find solace. She needed to find a safe harbor to set aside her emotional turmoil and just feel.

Her hands grabbed fistfuls of his thick hair, twisting her fingers in it, tugging his lips to her mouth, forcing them to melt into hers. She heard his moan, felt the delicious sc.r.a.pe of his tongue against hers, tore at his shoulders in the effort to take his jacket off.

”Phoebe,” he said on a rasp, gripping her shoulders with fingers that dug into her flesh. ”Before we ... I need to tell-”

She quieted him by pressing her lips closer to his and grabbing at the lapels of his jacket. ”Don't say anything. Please. Please,” she begged.

Sam's harsh, needy groan echoed in the bathroom, his hands tightened over her slickly wet skin, pulling her entirely out of the tub so they stood together. Water washed down off his clothes, dripping in rivulets to puddle at their feet.

He ran his hands over her skin with hard palms, pulling her to him with a grunt, shrugging out of his wet jacket while she popped the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt with shaky fingers as their lips meshed. Sam's tongue, deep in her mouth, left her legs weak, her knees shaking with need.

Phoebe pressed her cheek to the damp skin of his chest before she slid down his body, kneeling before him and yanking the buckle of his belt free. She used her hands to shrug his jeans and boxer-briefs down over his thick thighs, her lips caressing the muscles in them as she went.