Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 24

He groaned softly.

"Hurry!"

He stopped completely, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. His breath was ragged. The damp contours of his chest branded the skin on her back. "I want to savor every second," he murmured.

Then he started those slow, steady strokes once more.

Release crashed down on her... took her breath completely.

Those final, exquisite ripples of tension pushed him over the edge. He pounded into his own climax, grunting savagely with the force of it.

He collapsed onto the mattress, pulling her against his chest while their bodies remained connected so completely she wondered how she had lived this long without him.

...without him.

The communitya"everyone she knewa"considered him a killer. Even knowing his alibi was real, her parents would never think of him as anything but dangerous.

The never-ending tragedy. Shakespeare couldn't have written a more unfortunate plot.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

Tuesday, July 23, 1:30 a.m.

Emily had fallen asleep, cradled against his chest.

It still stunned Clint when he considered that this was real. She was real.

In prison he'd learned not to count on anything. As much as he wanted it to, he couldn't allow himself to hope that this connection meant anything other than the desperate need to cling to someone in all this insanity.

Allowing her continued involvement in what he knew he had to do next, her tarnished reputation with her friends might be the least of her worries.

He had confirmation of his alibi. He had the primary, the only, witness seeing that night a whole different way.

He needed to know what had happened that night. All the guessing and theories in the world wouldn't help. Emily had shown him her detailed lists, and even though much of it held merit, none of it was evidence. He needed evidence or some way to prove the investigation hadn't been properly conducted.

There was just one place he could get that information, since Ray Hale refused to talk about that night with him.

The case files.

He needed to get his hands on those files. To review the suspect/witness interviews for any details he hadn't been told. Ray claimed there was nothing to see, that he didn't have the case files in his office any longer. Then he'd offered that story about the water damage. Clint wasn't buying it.

If Ray had something to hide, and Clint wasn't saying he did, he might decide to dispose of the files before Clint got himself an attorney and forced the issue.

Clint couldn't take that chance.

Four hours ago, before he'd ended up in the parking lot across the street from the Valley Inn, he'd gathered the tools he thought he might need and decided to do what needed to be done. But as he'd pa.s.sed this place he'd thought about Emily and whether or not she was actually safe, considering Turner's murder. So Clint had stopped... and well, he'd ended up here.

He snuggled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. He didn't want to go... but he had to.

Turner's murder had made one thing crystal clear: Clint's tactic had worked. Heather's killer was nervous.

Clint wanted him.

Clint's jaw tightened. He wanted him bad.

As much as Clint would like to stay right here with Emily, he had to get this done now, before it was too late.

He carefully untangled himself from her sweet body. She mumbled something in her sleep and he held still, let her settle again, and then he managed to get out of bed without waking her. Gathering his clothes as he went, he edged into the bathroom and closed the door. He grimaced when it creaked. After dressing, he washed his face with cold water to ensure he was fully alert. He combed his fingers through his hair and stared at his reflection a moment. If he got caught... he would go back to prison.

It was a risk he had to take.

He opened the bathroom door slowly, hoping it wouldn't creak this time. It did. Didn't matter, he realized, when his gaze landed on Emily standing at the end of the bed, her clothes in her arms.

"Whatever you're planning," she said with a tone that told him he could forget any negotiations, "I'm going with you."

She stalked past him, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. He stood there for several moments in a kind of shock. As much as he appreciated her desire to help him, this was way too risky.

By the time he'd regrouped and come up with an argument he'd intended to shout through the door as he made his hasty exit, she emerged fully dressed and looking exactly like the next brick wall he'd be hitting.

"You're going after those files, aren't you?"

He hesitated when he should have been running, putting some distance between her and the new danger his actions could very well trigger. He shouldn't have told her about requesting to see the files. "It might not help," he countered.

"It's the only way you're going to know if the police did their job," she argued.

She was right, but that didn't give her license to get involved. "You'll only slow me down," he challenged. "This has to be done fast and with as little noise and as few mistakes as possible."

"I'm head of the files department at a major research facility. I know more about filing systems than you can imagine exists. You need me. I can evaluate the filing system and find what you're looking for in minutes. It could take you hours."

He wished she wasn't right about that. "You understand that if we're caught, this won't be just breaking and entering." He had to be out of his mind to even consider this. "The community will look at you the way they look at me."

"I understand."

Still, he stood there, hoping she'd change her mind.

She didn't.

"All right, but we do this my way. You follow my instructions without question."

She nodded. "Whatever you say."

2:45 a.m.

Pine Bluff's post-Civil War courthouse stood in the center of town, with shops, offices, and a couple of cafes fanning out around it like a square wheel. Emily had always loved this courthouse. It made her think of history and justice.

But justice didn't always show up here. Sometimes a person had to make justice happen. That was what she was doing tonight.

"You're sure he said they were stored in the courthouse bas.e.m.e.nt?" She'd envisioned some run-of-the-mill storage facility. Breaking into a courthouse would go on one's permanent record... especially Clint's. If he was caught... she didn't want to think about it.

Funny, she'd wanted exactly this scenario in the beginning. She would have given anything for this opportunity to ensure he went back to prison.

She pushed the painful memories away. She had to focus. This was far too important to screw up.

"That's what he said. You can still back out."

"No way." She shook her head adamantly. "I'm in."

"Let's do it."

He grabbed a small duffel and got out of the car. She'd insisted on using her Malibu, since it was dark enough to blend in with the night. He'd left his truck several blocks away in case they needed a backup.

Emily followed his lead. They'd parked in a back alley on the east side of the courthouse. The whole world had appeared to be asleep as they drove into the heart of town. That was something one could usually count on around here.

She stayed close to Clint as they wove their way around to the front of the line of shops. Careful to stay away from the lampposts, they cut across the street and approached the courthouse on the handicapped-accessible side.

This was the part that really worried her. Considering his former profession with Sylvester Fairgate, she wasn't concerned about Clint's ability to get in, but what if there was a security system? A silent alarm could go off and they wouldn't even know it until it was too late.

When she asked as much, he said, 'That's why we're not going through a door."

He found what he deemed a worthy window and then he went to work. He explained a few things about security systems: "Magnetic sensors to monitor the opening and closing of windows are costly, especially when you're talking about the whole building. Has to be a hundred windows.

"Most places use gla.s.s-break sensors. As long as we get the window open without breaking any gla.s.s we'll probably be fine."

Probably.

With the window chosen, she understood why he'd selected this side of the courthouse. The handicapped-accessible side had exterior access to the bas.e.m.e.nt level, including two full-sized windows, whereas the windows leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt on the other sides were small cas.e.m.e.nts. Probably not even large enough to meet the current emergency egress standards.

She would never have thought of this.

He pulled a pair of gloves out of the duffel. "Here." He offered them to her. "I only have one pair; you take them."

"You," she argued. "You're the one whose prints are on file. If they find mine they won't have anything to compare them to."

He considered her reasoning, then tugged on the gloves. She liked that he listened to her. She also found it mind-boggling, since less than one week ago they had been mortal enemies.

From his duffel he removed a gla.s.s cutter along with one of those suction-cup hangy things people bought all the time to hang wreaths on windows. After licking the suction cup, which she watched avidly, he stuck it to the gla.s.s. He scored the gla.s.s and, using the suction cup, pulled the newly cut piece away from the sash, leaving a hole.

"Amazing," she muttered. Just like MacGyver.

Clint cautiously snaked his arm through the hole and unfastened the lock. The window went up and they were inside. He closed the sash and ran his fingers along the wooden edge where the two sashes met.

She leaned close so she could whisper, "What're you doing? Don't we need to hurry?"

"Checking for a sensor that would've set off an alarm when the window opened." He drew his hands away from the window and reached for his duffel bag. "We're good."

"Let's find the storeroom." She wanted this done as quickly as possible. It wasn't that she was afraid... okay, she was afraid. Hazing-week pranks were the closest she'd ever come to breaking the law.

The window had taken them into the property a.s.sessment office. The door leading into the bas.e.m.e.nt corridor was locked but allowed for opening from the inside. Once they were in the main corridor and the door closed behind them, they would be locked out of the room.

Before permitting it to completely close and latch, she asked, "Will we be able to get back in here?" She had to a.s.sume those sensor things he worried about were on all the doors leading outside the building. Going back out the window seemed logical.

The illumination from the flashlight provided enough of a glow without her having to aim it at his face for her to see him grin, one of those handsome, lopsided dazzlers she remembered from before... way before. Her heart reacted.

"You let me worry about that."

She moved away from the door, and the latch clicked into the locked position. He took the flashlight and started moving from door to door, reading the signs posted on each. When they'd reached the end of the main corridor, he took the shorter one to the right, the only other way to go. This section would lead to the bottom of the stairs that ascended to the first ground-level floor. She stayed right behind him, but she couldn't resist constantly glancing over her shoulder. If the police found her car... would they figure out what she and Clint were up to?

"...has to be it."

She dragged her full attention back to Clint. The sign on the door read: Authorized Personnel Only. She had to agree. If the files were here, this was the most likely place.

"What now?"

He gave the flashlight back to her. "Hold it right there." He directed the beam on the doork.n.o.b.

She held the light steady while he retrieved a new set of tools from the duffel's exterior zipper compartment. These looked like the pointy instruments a dentist might use when cleaning and prodding at teeth. Clint crouched in front of the door. Using both hands, an instrument in each, he worked on the lock until something clicked.

He twisted the k.n.o.b and the door opened. Incredible.

"You're pretty good, Austin."

He dropped the tools back in the bag and straightened next to her. "I hope you're referring to our other joint venture in addition to this one."

Heat flushed her face. She had started to tell him she'd have to think about that one when a sound echoed from somewhere in the main corridor. The succession of clicks and creaks that followed was unmistakable. Someone had unlocked the main exterior door on this level and opened it. A sequence of beeps warned that the security system had been disarmed.

Had to be the police.

Clint would go back to prison. This was a major violation of his parole. Not one of the d.i.n.ky ones.

She couldn't let that happen.

She clicked off the light and grabbed the duffel he'd left on the floor next to the door. They stood so close together she could feel the tension roiling through his body. She grabbed his shirtfront with her free hand and pulled his face close to hers, then whispered, "Get in there and make sure the door locks behind you. Once we're gone, you get the file and get out of here. Try chronological order first, then alphabetical."

"No way I'm letting you take the rap for this."

"Do it," she urged. "How can we find the real killer if you're in prison?"

Three breath-stealing beats pa.s.sed before he relented. He slipped inside the room he'd just unlocked. The barely audible rasp of leather soles on the tile floor was closer now. What should she do?

Then she knew. She dropped to her knees in front of the door behind which Clint had disappeared, turned on the flashlight, and retrieved the tools he'd been using to unlock it. She pretended to be hard at work even as the steps moved into the side corridor directly behind her.

Not looking back was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. A bright beam of light suddenly illuminated her position.