Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints) Page 8

  “I take it you knew the victim,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Who are you?” Her voice sounded weak, distant in her ears.

  “Detective Inspector Drew Mahon. Special Enquiries. And you are?”

  “Jess McCormack. I recently got married.”

  She wondered why she felt the need to say that, but she didn’t miss the shrewd look in the green eyes staring back at her.

  “You are Jason McCormack’s wife.”

  Chapter Six

  Drew Mahon counted himself a fortunate man. Sean Wright’s death had brought his investigation of Alexander McCormack to a standstill. Not even the supposed sister could be found. And with Tom Addison’s death he hadn’t thought he could find another possible lead. But here he was sitting next to Jason McCormack’s wife. And she was taking Tom Addison’s death a lot harder than he thought she should.

  The day before, Tom had contacted him at New Scotland Yard. He’d been running scared, wholly convinced his life was in danger. He’d sought police protection in exchange for information about Alexander McCormack’s business dealings, Sean Wright’s death and the sudden spate of hooliganism surrounding Finsbury Town Football Club. It was this promise of succulent pieces of new information that had brought Drew and his Detective Sergeant far north to Marmaduke’s tonight. He took a steadying breath. They’d come too late.

  He’d already discovered a great deal about Alexander McCormack and none of it discreet. McCormack was a right-wing, Catholic bigot forced to resign as vice-Chairman of a major premier league Scottish club. But then he’d re-emerged as the Chairman of an obscure third division English club with the notoriously dangerous Sean Wright as his right-hand man.

  Drew navigated the car through the dense, snow-clad woodland leading to Madeley.

  Speculation and circumstantial evidence.

  That was all he had, but it was enough to be certain of one fact. Sean Wright had been out of his league. And Jessica McCormack was surely out of hers.

  He glanced at the beautiful woman sitting next to him. The policeman in him was intrigued. By all accounts Jason McCormack’s marriage had been an exclusive and private affair, yet a mere day later his wife risks life and reputation to meet with Tom Addison. Her reaction had clearly suggested they were more than casual acquaintances.

  Lovers, perhaps?

  The idea of Jessica McCormack being with Tom Addison burned deep in belly as much as the thought of her being with her husband. She turned her face toward his. She was grieving over a man many wouldn’t miss. The question was, why?

  * * * *

  The car pulled to a halt outside the front entrance to the manor and Jess stiffened. She looked out onto the partially lit forecourt. It was here where she’d last seen Tom alive. Where they’d last spoke and where he’d waved goodbye. Her fingers touched her cheek where he’d kissed her. She turned toward the Inspector.

  “Thank you for bringing me home,” she said.

  “No problem. You had a shock. Besides I would’ve been remiss in my duty if I’d let you get behind the wheel of your car. I can tell you’re not used to alcohol. I’ll have someone drive your car back in the morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  She didn’t attempt to leave the car. She relaxed her head against the seat’s headrest and briefly closed her eyes. She was going to have to face Jason. Only right now she didn’t have the strength to defend her actions tonight. She could hardly believe Tom was dead, but she’d seen his face, hadn’t she? It was Tom. And he was dead.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Mrs. McCormack?”

  “Yes. My…husband is at home.”

  Amidst the surge of past memories of Tom, calling Jason “husband” felt awkward. It was Tom who’d been her husband in every way. He’d loved her despite her impassiveness. Respected her whims, her fancies, her desires no matter how selfish and gave her a security she’d dismissed. And he’d ultimately let her go when she’d demanded her freedom. An overwhelming sense of guilt ripped through her. Why couldn’t she have loved him? She hadn’t even tried. Why did he have to die like that?

  “I’ll need to speak to you in the morning, Mrs. McCormack.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand.”

  Cold air blew across her face as Inspector Mahon got out of the car. Her eyes followed his movements to her passenger side. Another gust of wind-propelled snow wafted inside as he opened the door.

  Jess stepped from the car just as Jason appeared in the doorway, his body silhouetted by the light from the reception hall. She opened her mouth to speak, but found she was incapable of uttering a single word. The policeman shifted behind her, closing the tiny gap between their bodies as Jason stepped forward. The air misted with his every breath and his fists clenched and unclenched at his side, but he kept his eyes firmly on her face.

  “Where have you been, Jessica?”

  Mahon spoke and Jess trembled with relief. “Your wife has been through a terrible ordeal, Mr. McCormack. There was a shooting at Marmaduke’s this evening—”

  “Marmaduke’s?! What in hell were you doing there?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me that,” Mahon said.

  For the first time in that long moment Jason shifted his gaze from hers to the Inspector and Jess sank backward, stiffening when she collided with the man’s chest.

  “You’re a long way from your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Detective Inspector, to be playing baby-sitter to my wife?” Jason challenged.

  “Tom Addison died tonight, Mr. McCormack. It was unfortunate and foolish, but your wife saw his body. She obviously knew him, so his death hit her hard. I couldn’t leave her wandering aimlessly about town, could I?”

  The chilly air crackled under the intense weight of their taut silence and Jess felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned, looking from one man to the other, conscious she was now caught between them both. Her stomach roiled, but she didn’t know if it was from the whiskey she’d had or the open hostility in the policeman’s eyes. But it really didn’t matter. Her knees buckled and then the world faded before her eyes.

  * * * *

  Drew easily caught her before she hit the ground.

  Her eyes were closed and her head rested against his shoulder. He didn’t understand it. A woman like her and a man like him. His eyes flicked to Jason who’d dashed toward them. Something wasn’t right about this marriage. His investigation into the McCormacks proved Jessica McCormack was the kind of woman neither Jason nor Tom would’ve considered his type. Men like them didn’t change.

  “This way,” Jason said. He frowned and led the way back into the house. “You should’ve called me.”

  “She asked me not to.”

  Drew followed him through the airy hallway and into the spacious living room. Jess moaned softly against his neck. He tightened his arms protectively about her. He loathed leaving her here, but until he could prove foul play Jason McCormack had vowed to love and cherish the woman in his arms until death them do part. It was the latter detail of this sentiment that made his gut tighten.

  Drew laid Jess onto the large Japanese sofa positioned in front of the fireplace and then turned back to her husband.

  “Were your wife and Tom Addison lovers, Mr. McCormack?”

  “Always straight to the point, Detective Inspector,” Jason said. “No, they weren’t lovers and before you ask, I didn’t kill him.”

  Jason’s face hadn’t show the slightest hint of emotion, not even a muscle twitched in his face. But Drew noticed there'd been the barest hesitation before he answered. He moved forward, his steps intimidating, unhurried, assertive, although he wondered if this tactic worked on a man such as Jason McCormack. A man who had been around crime as long as Drew had been fighting it.

  “And, I suppose, you wouldn’t know Tom Addison worked for your father?” he said.

  “I have nothing to do with my father and even less with his practices. Ergo, his associates are of no interest to me.
”

  “Associates like Sean Wright?”

  “As I’ve said before, Detective Inspector, I have nothing to do with my father or his associates and I fail to see what Sean has got to do with tonight.”

  “Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything,” Drew shrugged. “Two men who worked for your father have been murdered in the last ten days. And, you, Mr. McCormack, seem to be the only common denominator in both cases. Your wife links you to Tom Addison, and Sean Wright connects you to your father—”

  “I was nowhere near London the day Sean died.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve checked. But Sean came to see you. Here. Four days after we arrested him and three days before he died. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  “Anything could have happened in those days, Detective Inspector.”

  “True. But you only have to tell me why Sean Wright came to see you on the morning of the twenty-first, Mr. McCormack, and I could possibly eliminate you from my list of suspects.”

  “It was a private meeting and unless you have more than this to go on you can’t prove I killed Sean.”

  “And you can’t prove you didn’t. So we’re back to where we started. I know the kind of man your father is, McCormack,” Drew said.

  He stepped closer, deliberately crowding Jason’s personal space. “And I don’t think you’re an apple that’s fallen that far from the tree. My worry now is your wife. Like your other victims, she’ll never know when you turn predator, will she? She’ll not see it coming.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re crazy if you think I’d harm my wife.”

  “You’re Alexander McCormack’s son,” Drew scathed.

  “If that makes me guilty of anything arrest me now, Detective Inspector.”

  Both men appraised the other. Both made their judgments and prepared to defend them.

  “She’s your wife, but I have to wonder if she knows what kind of man you are.”

  Drew stepped back and flicked a final glance at Jess, her eyes closed in restless sleep.

  “I’ll be back in the morning for your wife’s statement and after that, who knows?”

  * * * *

  Jess struggled to hold on to sleep. She snuggled against the wall of comfort engulfing her senses and ignored the sound of her name whispering through her subconscious. She didn’t want to surface. The sound persisted, becoming louder with each call and eroding away her resistance until she succumbed to its insistence. Her brain stirred and awoke to the powerful rhythm of heartbeat and familiar touch. She drew a deep breath in and filled her nostrils with the faint combination of aftershave and masculine scent.

  Jason.

  His mellow voice called to her again and her eyes fluttered open. He cradled her in his tender strength. Her lips nestled against his throat and her hand lay flat against his chest, above his heart. She pulled back and tentatively met his gaze.

  “You were crying in your sleep,” he said.

  He made no attempt to release his hold on her and she made no effort to break the intimacy. She remembered Tom. How was she going to tell Jake his father was dead?

  “Tom’s dead,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry about Tom, Jessica.”

  “Are you? I know Tom came to see you after the reception,” she stated quietly. “Why?”

  “You think I killed Tom?”

  The suddenness of his stunned reply and shrewd comprehension of her thoughts caught Jess off guard. She lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze. Jason caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and compelled her eyes back to his.

  “Answer me,” he said.

  Jess searched the shadowed depths of his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me, Jessica.”

  “Should I be?”

  “I may have given you reason to think me capable of a lot of things, but I’m not a murderer. Besides, why would I kill Tom? I’ve nothing to gain by his death.”

  “Tom said I was making a mistake marrying you—”

  “Is that what you think?”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jess tensed against him more than conscious of the close proximity of their bodies. Heat shot through her, sending a shaft of desire from the sensual tips of her breasts to the taut flesh between her thighs. She lifted her mouth to his, her face only a breath away from his. But he didn’t make any move toward her. She frowned. Her invitation had been so clear. Could she have misread his? She swallowed her hurt and humiliation.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Jason pulled her back to him when she made to leave his arms. His fingers threaded through her hair, drawing her startled gaze back to his. A muscle twitched warningly in his cheek as he wordlessly demanded her attention.

  “Don’t do this, Jessica, if you’re not ready. I want all of you or nothing,” he said.

  She stared at him in silent awe and mute understanding and knew in her heart of hearts here was where she wanted to be. With Tom she’d been aloof and distant. She’d avoided him when he would be intimate and despised him when he’d made love to her. But how could Jason have known that? She shouldn’t have married Tom. Her head had ignored the warnings in her heart, and it warned her again. This time it was alerting her to the dangers of falling in love and being vulnerable.

  Something had happened between them in the chapel. Something strong—something transcendental that she’d tried to ignore—that made her want to believe in her vows and in Jason. She touched her fingers to his lips. Because of Tom’s untimely arrival at the chapel, she was yet to feel his lips on hers. Her hand slid to the nape of his neck and her fingers clutched the silkiness of his hair. She drew his head down to hers. Her lips parted. He caught her mouth with his own, fusing their breath into one.

  She moaned softly and fisted her hand within the fabric in her grasp. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined being kissed so intensely or intimately or completely. Never in her life had she felt less in control and relished her helplessness.

  His breath infused the very depths of her lungs, unlocking her emotions and freeing her inhibitions. Desire raged through her blood tormenting her tender nipples until they pulsed with painful yearning. She sighed against his mouth and responded intuitively to his lead.

  Her head spun in growing arousal as his tongue met hers in a passionate caress. Each stroke sent her on voyage after voyage of discovery that explored and savored the pure pleasure of his mouth on hers. He murmured her name against her lips, the sound a gentle resonance tingling her spine and melting her bones.

  “More?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  With obvious restraint he pulled back to look at her. He wanted her. She could see that in his eyes bright in the firelight, but there was something, which forced him to keep a tight rein on his control. Her fingers smoothed the tensed lines between his brows.

  “What is it?”

  “I want you in my bed.”

  Jess knew what he asked. She understood the significance behind his words. She eased from his arms and stood in silence, holding her hand out to him, knowing, despite all that had passed between them she wanted this. He took her hand and in silence she led him from the room to the large hall and up the sweeping staircase, each measured step bringing her closer to being his wife in more than name.

  * * * *

  She unfastened the buttons of her white blouse and slipped the garment from her shoulders. It drifted toward the wooden floor, landing with barely a sound. Jason discarded his shirt. She watched him through her lashes, enjoying every moment of her power over him.

  Her hands snaked down her stomach to the top of her jeans. She played with the small button before popping it free. Jason had discarded his in one swift motion.

  She could see the erection his boxers couldn’t hide. The possessive glint in his eyes both excited and frightened her,
yet she dared challenge his self-control. She stepped beyond his reach when he moved to touch her face.

  She slid her jeans down her legs and kicked them free. She stood before him in her low-cut bra and lacey panties watching his eyes sweep over her, his longing for her evident.

  Jess reveled in this moment, in her femininity and her sexuality—and in her right to call a man as Jason McCormack, hers. Her mouth curved into a slow, conquering smile.

  Jason cast his boxers to one side and stepped toward her. He backed her against the wall—reminiscent of their meeting in the school library—and in one fluid motion he spun her. She braced her hands against the wall.

  He spread his legs and settled her hips between them. Powerful thighs cradled the backs of her own, and between them the hard ridge of his erection nudged her aroused flesh.

  “My turn,” he said, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

  He caught her wrists in one hand and lifted her hands high above her head. He pinned her body with his, crushing her breasts against the cold surface. Her nipples instantly hardened in response. His other hand ran down the curve of her hip and up the inner length of her thigh to the sensitive nub straining against the thin wall of lace. His fingers grazed her center and she bucked against him. A deep, rich sound resonated in his chest. She was hot and wet and aching.

  He tugged her panties to one side and slowly circled the knot of flesh where her nerves converged in delirious torment. His fingers stroked her feminine folds, exploring her heated opening and testing her readiness before delving into the snug comfort of her body. Her inner muscles contracted drawing his fingers deeper into her wet heat. She was beyond thinking, beyond reasoning. Her mind and body were slowly becoming overwhelmed by deliciously new sensations.

  Jess swelled some more, erect and painful, moist and delicious against his hand. She made small noises at the back of her throat, keeping time with his rhythm. He inserted another finger and pushed further in. Jess writhed against his hand heightening the fiery feeling spreading upward and caressing her insides. He slid a knee between her thighs and leaned his body harder into hers, subduing her impatience and holding her upright.