"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 rushing 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 pushing 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, wishing 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, brushing 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 shirt 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.

She backed him against the opposite wall by wrapping her arms around his thighs and giving him a nudging. And then she took in the brilliance of his beauty-his jeans around his ankles, his boots still on his feet. The hot sight of his desire made her quiver, and the deep ache he'd created at her very core began once again.

Sam's hand immediately went to her head, threading his fingers through her wet hair, letting his head fall back on his shoulders.

And then she was enveloping him, taking a long drag on his c.o.c.k, running her tongue along his thick hard shaft, shivering when his husky moan settled in her ears. Trembling fingers engulfed his engorged flesh as she drove down on him, twisting her hands to slide up and down and follow the path her tongue had taken.

Sam's hips jutted forward with a hard jolt. He drove his c.o.c.k into her mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair, grinding against the press of her tongue before he pushed her away with a grunt.

His hands grabbed at her shoulders and dragged her up along his hard frame so that she felt every inch of his cool flesh along the way. Her nipples tightened to sharp points, sc.r.a.ping against his chest with delicious friction. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached for his tongue to swirl the heated tips.

As though Sam could read her mind, he hauled her upward until their noses touched, slipping his tongue into her mouth for one more taste. Their eyes connected in a hot gaze and lingered for a moment, and then he was setting her on the edge of the sink's vanity, sliding his mouth along her neck until he made his way to her breast and found a nipple, swirling his hot tongue over it.

Phoebe bucked forward, wrapping her arms around his head, reveling in the molten achy heat between her legs.

Sam used forceful hands to spread her thighs, driving them apart before slipping his fingers into her wet folds and entering her.

Colors flashed before her eyes upon the impact, impact she couldn't get enough of. She lifted her hips to rock against him, sliding her a.s.s to the edge of the counter so he'd go deeper while his tongue lashed her nipples. The heel of his hand rubbed against her swollen c.l.i.t, making her head thrash and a harsh sound slip from her throat.

Just as that spiral of white-hot heat began to reach its peak, driving her sensitive nerves to a frenzied need for o.r.g.a.s.m, he left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and kissed his way down to the tops of her thighs before removing his finger.

Phoebe whimpered her discontent, but when Sam laid his head on her thigh, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around her waist, she realized, this brief flicker of seconds ticking away was meaningful.

When Sam spoke the words that gave definition to the moment, Phoebe Reynolds fell in love.

For the very first time.

"If you'd been hurt ..." he mumbled, vulnerable and harsh in one bold statement.

She ran her hands over his hair in understanding, trembling and just as vulnerable as he was.

But Sam didn't linger. It was as if he needed to touch her continually to rea.s.sure himself she was really all right. His head dipped between her legs and his tongue was on her with rapid speed, licking, sucking, devouring every inch of her exposed flesh until she did exactly what she'd dared him to do just last night.

She screamed.

At the exquisite pleasure his tongue swirling over her c.l.i.t in slow strokes created.

At the bone-deep need only Sam had ever evoked in her.

At the way he loved every inch of her flesh with such powerfully desperate need.

Her back arched as her hips bucked upward, driving against Sam's face until the sweet-sharp release eased.

Yet, just when the tension had begun to ease in her body, Sam scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and sitting on the counter.

He sat her on top of his c.o.c.k, and with one swift upward thrust so forceful her body jolted, he entered her, making her cling to his neck. Hands at her waist, Sam drove upward harder still, stretching her, filling her, and leaving behind an ache that would have been painful if not for the heat.

That d.a.m.n wave of molten lava washing over her, making her want to scream, it was too much yet not enough. The swell of him inside her consumed her, drove her to a mindless pleasure she would never be able to describe.

Phoebe made herself memorize every inch of his hard back, her hands roaming freely over it as the tension between them built. She explored his arms, clenching and unclenching her fingers to revel in the ridges of his flesh.

Sam's hand explored, too, cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tweaking her nipples, gripping her hips hard until he sensed she was at her breaking point.

Relief was but a hard stroke away, yet Sam teased until Phoebe felt the ripple of his muscles, the tightly coiled flex of his tendons.

The moment between them suspended for mere seconds, and then she was falling, driving downward on his delicious, rigid c.o.c.k until her teeth clenched and nothing else but release mattered.

They came together, hard, hot, greedy with pleasure. They took from each other. They gave to each other in a split second of spiraling relief.

Phoebe was the first to cave, sinking into the hard shelter of Sam's chest and pressing her cheek to his.

He reached up and bracketed her face, kissing her closed eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

"Yay again for vampire s.e.x, huh?"

His chuckle rumbled in the bathroom. "Yay again."

Lifting her head, Phoebe gazed into Sam's dark eyes so full of so many things she wasn't quite sure she could read them all. "Are you okay?"

Rising with her still around his waist, Sam made his way into the bedroom and set her on the bed. He plopped down next to her, dragging his soggy boots off and kicking his wet jeans to the floor.

He pulled her to him, running his hands along the s.p.a.ce where her waist met her hips. "That's my question you're stealing there. But it's one I'm too afraid to ask you because after what Wanda told me ... Well, I only experienced it secondhand, and even I'm not okay."

Her lower lip trembled when she let her head fall to his shoulder. The deep, gut-wrenching anguish she felt over transporting out of there before she'd been able to help that poor soul began anew. "We have to go back. We have to help that man. I won't ever sleep again if we don't help ... Oh, G.o.d ... what they were doing to him. It was ..." She fisted her hands together to keep them from trembling. "I don't even know who he is, but he's being tortured and I don't even think he realizes it, Sam. I don't know if he has Alzheimer's but if he does, he must be so far gone, he doesn't know what's happening to him. They were laughing, those vile pigs. Laughing and chatting with him like everything was d.a.m.n well normal. Like throwing your guinea pig a social interaction bone is all part of the job. He was split wide open, Sam ..." She squeaked his name, then pressed her fingers to her eyes to wash away the unG.o.dly images.

Sam tucked her head under his chin. "I heard, honey."

Phoebe's voice cracked when she said, "But I've got to get him out. I won't be able to bear it if we don't. I'm not even one hundred percent sure where he is, but we have to find him."

"I've got someone on it."

Her head shot up. "Say again?"

"I said, I've taken care of it."

Phoebe paused with a frown. Took care of what? "You did what? How can you take care of this man's fate?"

Sam set her away from him. "How about we talk about this tomorrow?"

Phoebe watched Sam's eyes evade hers, then return to her face. "Uh, no. Yeah, yeah. I've been traumatized and you don't want to push poor, scarred-for-life Phoebe over the edge, but now I want to know what you mean by, you've got someone on it. Who could you, the bug guy, have on something like this, King of the Geeks? Mothra? The Fly?"

"About that ..." Sam took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.

Phoebe's antenna was on red alert. The intonation of his last words implied guilt. She knew they did due to the fact that Archibald had told Wanda a little white lie about who'd eaten all of his angel food cake. He'd feigned no knowledge of the cake thievery and told Wanda to ask Darnell if he'd finished it.

That was because he didn't want her to beat him down about his very human cholesterol numbers and how high they were his last trip to the doctor. And when he'd fobbed the cake eating off on Darnell, Phoebe had heard the guilt in his words.