Kathleen Creighton - Danger Signals

"Once more won't hurt." He pulled the car into a vacant space beside a fire hydrant and stopped. They both got out and hurried across the street at a half run.

"It's late." Wade said. "She's probably tired. I'm thinking she's curled up sound asleep somewhere."

"We could probably cover more ground if we split up." Tierney said. Her voice sounded small and scared.

He didn't reply, just reached for her hand and wrapped his around it. Gave it a gentle squeeze. He could feel her look at him, but he didn't look back at her. His chest already felt a couple of sizes too small for what was going on inside him.

A man passed them, walking a dog-a terrier of some kind-moving quickly and purposefully. He acknowledged them with a brief nod. Wade could hear the whap and bop of balls from the lighted tennis courts nearby, and whoops and jeers from some kids shooting hoops out of sight beyond the restrooms. A nice night, he thought, watching moths swirl and dance in the mercury lights. Peaceful…wholesome…safe.

A nice night to be out walking, holding hands with a beautiful woman.

Somewhere in this night a confused old woman is wandering…lost. And a killer might be stalking his next victim.

The hand nestled in his jerked suddenly. Gripped hard, then tugged free.

"There she is." It was half gasp and half sob. And Tierney was running across the grass. Dropping to her knees beside a park bench where a huddled figure sat muttering to herself and rocking…rocking…rocking.

When Wade got there moments later. Jeannette lifted her smudged and tear-streaked face, wiped a hand across one cheek and smiled at him-her radiant and youthful smile.

"I know you," she crowed in delight. Then she turned to her granddaughter with a look of heartrending bewilderment. "I do…don't I? I think…I must…"

"Yes, of course you do." Tierney said tenderly. "Come, love-let's go home now."

It was after midnight when Wade heard a door somewhere down the short hallway close softly. At the sound of light footsteps he picked up the remote, turned down the volume on the TV and shifted on the couch to watch Tierney as she came into the living room.

She joined him on the couch, one leg tucked under her so she was facing him. He could see she'd been crying, although she did her best to hide it with a look of surprise and a smile.

"You didn't have to stay."

He ignored that. "How is she?"

"Sleeping. She was worn out, poor thing." She raked her fingers through her curls, looked around for distraction and settled for "What're you watching?".

He shrugged. "All-night poker."

She cut her eyes at him. "Couldn't find anything more exciting?"

"What, you don't think we've had enough excitement for one night?"

Then he added. "Actually, this is pretty exciting. They're down to the final three and one guy just went 'all in.'"

She laughed, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed at it with a furious gesture. "I don't know what's the matter with me. I haven't cried before. Not over this."

"Maybe you needed to."

She clapped a hand over her eyes, but below it her mouth looked blurred and vulnerable. He saw her lips quiver in spite of her valiant efforts to control them. "I've lost her, Wade." she whispered. "The Jeannette Doyle I love so much-my grandmother…my gran-she's just… gone."

His throat felt swollen and scratchy, so his voice came out harsher than he intended. "Look, you've lost a loved one. Why are you trying so hard not to grieve?"

She didn't reply, only drew a shuddering breath and added the other hand to the one already covering her eyes.

He saw there was no use fighting it. So he reached for her, then leaned back against the corner of the couch and pulled her toward him. When he had her nicely tucked in against his chest and was fairly sure she wasn't going anywhere, he picked up the remote and muted the TV. Then he settled down to hold her and stroke her hair while she sobbed like a heartbroken child.

Little by little the sobs quieted…became fitful shudders and hiccupping gulps, desperate sniffs and poignant whimpers…and finally the slightly stuffy but even breathing that meant she'd fallen asleep. Wade tucked in his chin and looked down at her to make sure, then settled her more comfortably and stared at the silently flickering TV screen.

The beginning of awareness came suddenly to Tierney, and with it a state of confused paralysis. She lay absolutely still and tried to take stock.

Where am I? Why is the pillow moving? What's that sound? What time is it?

She identified the sound first. Snoring. Gran snored sometimes, but this wasn't Gran.

Ah-she remembered. This was Wade. She was on the couch, lying cradled in Wade's arms. He'd held her, she recalled, while she cried. She must have cried herself to sleep. He was snoring softly now, and since her head was pillowed on his chest, each deep breath moved it up and down. She opened her eyes but still didn't know what time it was. There was an old black-and-white rerun of a Cassius Clay boxing match playing on the muted TV.

She lifted her head, held her breath and attempted to extricate herself from Wade's embrace without waking him. She should have known better than to try.

Naturally, as soon as her body began to stir, so did his. His arms tightened around her and his body shifted in subtle ways that somehow made it all the easier for hers to conform to the shape of his. She felt his hands move on her back, glide downward in a slow but purposeful way as if they knew exactly where they were going.

I should wake him… can't let him do this. He's only doing this because he's asleep, mostly…doesn 't really know what he's doing…he'll be embarrassed when he realizes…

But it feels so good. It's been a long time since anyone's touched me like this.

She began to respond. Knew she shouldn't…but, oh…it just seemed impossible not to. Her body moved of its own accord, sinuously, catlike, to the rhythm of his stroking. The cadence of her breathing quickened. She slid her hand down his side and felt his do the same on hers.

She knew she had no intention of stopping.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. An awakening breath, as his hard, bristly chin nudged her forehead. Asked…urged…demanded.

Blindly obedient, she lifted her face as he asked-searching. Felt his body tense and tighten under her as he raised his head…then a breath-stopping surge of passion as two hungry mouths found each other. The passion rolled over her like a sea wave…engulfed her. It came from inside her and from outside, too-from him.

Just that-she felt no other emotions, just lust. And her own equaled his.

I need this so much…

It was like a drug she'd been craving. A drug she'd been denied for too long.

He eased one knee between her legs and slowly raised it, putting pressure on the nerve-rich places between, and at the same time his hands skimmed upward and found their way under her blouse. His rough hands on her bare skin felt so good she whimpered, a pitifully grateful sound.

His searching fingers found the fastening of her bra and unhooked it. and she obligingly raised her torso and lifted her arms so he could pull both blouse and bra over her head. Like a prisoner released from bondage, she gave a throaty little chuckle of pleasure. He answered with a whisper of approving laughter. His fingers spread wide across her rib cage, then slipped to her sides, thumbs stroking the undersides of her breasts as with strong hands and hard-muscled thigh he lifted her up so that her bared breasts were his for the taking.

And take them he did…each nipple, already sensitized to the point of pain, he first nipped and tongued to intolerable hardness, then sucked deep in a way that tugged and tormented places deep, deep inside her body. She put her head back, wanting to scream, helpless with desire, caught between his imprisoning thigh and his tormenting mouth.