Carol Ericson - Eyewitness

He turned his head to kiss the center of her palm. Stretching out on the bed next to her, he pulled her close and she felt his heartbeat reverberate in his chest as she laid her cheek against his flesh, crisscrossed with scars from another place and time.

The blouse she’d pulled on in haste hiked up to her hips, and Kieran slid his hands beneath her panties and peeled them from her body.

While he removed his shorts, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Lying naked beside Kieran, Devon closed her eyes awaiting another assault from his hands, mouth, tongue.

His calloused fingers traced a line from under her arm to the bottom of her hip. His soft lips planted a kiss on her collarbone, his tongue testing her flesh.

He transferred his kiss to her lips, and the warmth of his mouth against hers melted her bones. He continued his slow exploration of her body with his strong hands, hands that had inflicted injury, pain and death.

Now they expressed only love.

He nudged her onto her back and pressed his body, full-length, against hers. His warm flesh electrified her skin and she gasped in the sheer pleasure of the sensation.

“Did I hurt you?” He pushed up onto his forearms, and she immediately felt the loss of him.

Stroking his back and buttocks, she whispered, “Absolutely not. Never. Come back to me.”

He lowered himself again, sealing himself to her so there was no distinction between where the lines of his body left off and hers began. He kissed her mouth and then nibbled her earlobe. “I love you. I never stopped loving you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she trailed a finger around his eye. “I want you, Kieran. I need you to make me feel whole again.”

He slipped one leg between hers and then eased inside her. His body shuddered once and then the tenderness ended. He drove into her core over and over while she moaned and sighed and asked for more.

His muscles were hard and tense beneath her kneading hands as he restrained himself, held back. Then she exploded and shattered into a million pieces, giving him his cue.

With a guttural cry, he let go. And in the midst of his own pleasure he sought her mouth again, his kisses hard and hot. And then she knew.

Kieran Roarke had finally come home to her.

DEVON DROPPED A KISS on top of her son’s silky hair, so much like his father’s.

“Tell Kier…your dad to hurry up.” When Michael disappeared down the hallway, she turned to Elena. “I really appreciate this, Elena.”

“Absolutely my pleasure. Michael and I can use the time to get better acquainted outside of the office.”

“I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

“Not at all. Like I told you on the phone this morning, I had only two patients today and one of them always cancels on me.”

“Thank you. We won’t be gone long. Should be back for dinner.”

“If it’s okay with you, we’ll go on a picnic at the beach. We won’t go to a swimming beach, so Michael won’t be in the water.”

“That’s fine. Just call or text me if there’s a problem.”

Kieran emerged from brushing his teeth in the bathroom, carrying Michael on his shoulders. “All the details settled?”

Devon smiled. Michael looked so comfortable up there, and after the night she and Kieran had spent in her bed maybe Kieran would realize they belonged together as a family. “I’m ready to go. Elena has a fun day planned with Michael. Is Sam joining you today?”

A pink tint touched Elena’s cheeks. “No. He had to go out of town today.”

Reaching up to tickle Michael’s cheek, Devon said, “Have fun today. We’ll be back for dinner.”

“Don’t go home, Mommy.”

Devon’s smile froze on her lips. Her son shouldn’t have to worry like this. “I’m not going home, sweet pea. Just going to see a policeman, like Uncle Dylan.”

“I’ll keep Mommy safe.” Kieran hoisted Michael off his shoulders and placed him on his feet.

After several hugs and kisses, Devon pulled the car out of the driveway and hit the coast highway. Chewing her lip, Devon glanced into the rearview mirror. “Do you think Michael will be okay?”

“Elena will keep him safe. The guy’s after you, not Michael.”

“Yeah, I wonder if he knows I’m on my way back to the city to talk to the detective on the case. I wonder if he’s following us right now.”

“He can follow us right to the police station.”

Three hours later, Devon steered the car across the cable car tracks on Powell and headed into the underground parking structure at the SFPD’s central station. She’d called Detective Marquette from the road, and he’d assured her he’d be in his office and ready with the pictures.

She’d also called Elena, and she and Michael were packing for their beach picnic. Leaving Michael with Elena had been the right thing to do. No way could Michael have handled this trip to the police station.

Devon’s gaze darted around the busy floor where the elevator had deposited them. This scene made her nervous.

“Are you okay?” Kieran’s warm breath caressed her earlobe, and she straightened her shoulders.

“Yep. Let’s get this over with. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

They asked for Detective Marquette at the front desk, and the officer paged him. A few minutes later, he came striding from the cluster of cubicles and offices in the back, hand outstretched. “Glad you could make it up. Sorry for the inconvenience. Some things we still have to do in person.”

As the big man squeezed her hand in a powerful grip, Devon asked, “Any luck with your cell phone?”

“Nope. I’ve called it a few times, but it goes straight to voice mail. I’ve got an order in with my carrier to ping it, but I can pretty much already guess where it is-probably at the bottom of the ocean or in a Dumpster.”

Kieran shook Marquette’s hand. “Any idea where and how it was stolen?”

The detective lifted one suit-clad shoulder. “After I met with the chief, I did some shopping on the main drag for my wife. She loves that knick-knacky tourist stuff. Gets crowded in those shops and I usually keep my work phone in my jacket pocket. Would’ve been easy for a pickpocket to snatch it.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s have a look at those pictures. Most of Johnny Del’s former partners are getting up there in age now, but who knows? Maybe you’ll recognize some geezer from the streets of Coral Cove.”

“I don’t see how some senior citizen could be throwing Molotov cocktails around and running along rooftops.” Devon shuffled after Detective Marquette, her hands in her pockets.

“I said they were getting up there, not knocking on death’s door.” He ushered them into a small room with a table, four chairs and a two-way window. A loose-leaf binder lay open on the table.

“Have a seat and let me tell you how this is going to work.” Detective Marquette pulled out a chair for Devon and she perched on the edge.

Kieran sat next to her and flipped through the binder.

Detective Marquette tapped the first page encased in plastic. “Five sheets with six mug shots each. Members of Del Vecchio’s gang of thieves, including Johnny Del himself, are scattered throughout. Have a look. Let me know if any of the faces jump out at you-people you may have seen around your apartment house. Someone you’ve seen on the streets of Coral Cove.”

Taking a deep breath, Devon scooted the book closer to Kieran. “You can look at them, too.”

She studied the photos, the lines and creases on each worn face telling stories, sketching personalities. The men in these pictures weren’t hot off their first crimes or even the last crimes that had put them away. These mug shots of late middle-aged men full of regret and bitterness had obviously replaced the young criminals full of bravado and swagger.