Cold Case Cop (11 page)

They drove down the jagged road and discovered the sheriff had cleared the pile of rocks they’d almost crashed into earlier this morning. Fifteen minutes later they were standing outside their motel-room doors.

“Take a hot shower,” Alex said. His voice sounded husky, as if he were imagining her in that shower.

Despite the chill, warmth spread through her body as she stared at him. She was on the verge of offering to share that shower when she caught herself. Damn, what was wrong with her? Sex with Kirkland was a complication she did not need.

“Right,” she said. She fumbled with her key and opened her door.

Closing the door behind her, she dropped her keys and purse on the now-made bed. She stripped off her clothes, draped them over a chair and turned on the shower. Steam filled the tiny bathroom as she stepped under the warm spray. She dipped her head under the showerhead, rinsing the cold rain from her hair. The warmth felt so good and she stood there for several minutes before the chill left her body.

Finally, she got out of the shower and wrapped her hair and body in towels. She clicked on the TV and settled on a channel with the least amount of static.

She switched on her laptop and started to write her article. This story wasn’t even close to being played out but there was enough to sketch an outline. When she’d finished, she phoned her editor. Miriam picked up on the fourth ring.

“It’s Tara, and boy do I have a story for you.”

Tara ran down what she’d found out in the past thirty-six hours. Miriam listened, not saying a word or puffing on a cigarette.

“So how soon can you have copy?” Miriam said.

“I only have notes now.”

“E-mail them to me.”

“Easier said than done. I have no access to the Internet.”

“Okay, fax them to me.”

“I’ll have to track down a machine first.”

Miriam muttered an oath. “My God, you are on the dark side of the moon.”

“Basically. Just sit tight for a few more days and I’ll have a better picture of what’s going on.”

“It goes without saying that you’ll stay there and cover the story as it unfolds.”

“You couldn’t drag me off this island.” She promised to call with the next update, and hung up.

Tara rose. A nervous energy flowed through her body as it did each time she hit on a great story. She went to her bag and dressed in the yoga pants and T-shirt she’d brought. She checked her watch and realized it was only six in the evening.

She ran her fingers through her hair and found her gaze settling on the door that connected to the room next to hers. Kirkland’s room.

Curious, she moved to the door and leaned her ear against it. She could hear the deep timbre of his voice and she guessed he was talking to someone at the state or the Boston police department. He hung up. She heard him pacing. His phone rang again and he snapped it up immediately.

Desire curled in her belly and radiated through her body. The warmth spreading through her body pushed out all thoughts that didn’t have to do with Kirkland. Closing her eyes, she imagined him wearing a motel towel wrapped around his narrow waist, his chest glistening with the mist from the shower.

Her eyes snapped open and she pulled back from the door and ran tense fingers through her damp hair. “I’m losing my mind.”

This potent sexual desire in her had to be borne out of the story. Endorphins always flowed when she landed a scoop, and in the midst of building the story she became edgy and restless. “It’s just the story. It’s just the story.”

But it wasn’t
just
the story.

The reality was that she wanted Kirkland. She had since the moment she’d first seen him.

A knock on her door had her flinching. She moved toward it. “Who is it?”

“Kirkland.”

Her stomach tightened and she was almost afraid to answer the door. In her current state of mind, who knew what she’d do if she was close enough to touch him?

She moistened her lips. “What do you want?”

“Open the door and you will see.” His voice possessed a playfulness she’d never heard before.

Tara laid her hand on the door. She could rattle off six reasons why she should keep her distance from Kirkland. Making a play for him had no upside. Even if she could forget his blue-blood roots, sleeping with him was still a bad idea. Sex between them could compromise the story and her job.

“Tara,” he said. His voice had a rusty quality that made her knees weak. “Open the door.”

Closing her eyes, Tara touched her hand to the door. She knew what was going to happen if she was alone with Kirkland tonight. She knew they’d end up in her bed.

Keep your distance. Keep your distance
.

The chant fell on deaf ears. She released a sigh and opened the door.

Thursday, July 17, 7:00 p.m.

T
ara found Alex standing in the breezeway with a bag of takeout. He had showered but instead of a towel, wore faded jeans and a well-worn, blue Boston Police Department T-shirt.

“Figured we both could use something to eat,” he said, holding up the bag.

We.
Alarm bells sounded even louder in her head, warning her to refuse. Instead of listening, she mentally shooed them away and opened the door wider. “I’m starving.”

He grinned and slid past her into the room. “I was hoping your room had some kind of table.”

“Just the bed.”

He stared at the bed, now covered with her notes and papers. “Right.”

Tara closed the door and crossed the room to her bed. She cleared away her article notes, closed up her laptop and set them all on the dresser by the TV.

“I guess I don’t have to guess what you’ve been working on,” he said.

Unapologetic, she shrugged. “I’m working on the article. And I’ve also been in touch with my editor about it. She’s ready to run with the piece as soon as I can file it.”

He accepted the information with a nod. “That would explain why your line was busy.”

“You called?”

“About dinner.”

“Ah.”

He set the bag down on the edge of the bed and started to unpack cartons. The smells of marinara and fresh bread made her stomach growl. “State police called and they’re still knee-deep in evidence collection at this point. Once this storm passes I’ll head back up there.”

“I’ll be there, too.”

He removed plastic forks, napkins and paper plates. “I’d be shocked if you weren’t there.”

“You’re not like most cops.”

That had him raising his eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She moved to the end of the bed and sat down, careful to keep a few feet of distance between them. “They are intimidated by my work. They resent me and they certainly don’t trust me.”

His gaze took on a new intensity. “Should they trust you?”

She raised her chin a fraction. “I’m tenacious and will do what it takes to get the story. But if I give my word, I keep it. Period.”

“So if I asked you to sit on a story, you would?”

“If I promised, sure. But generally I don’t make that sort of promise.”

He nodded as he opened several cartons. “That’s fair enough.” He handed her a plate and fork. “I wasn’t sure what you would like so I settled on Italian.”

“I have a cast-iron stomach and can eat anything.”

“You should have been a cop.” He opened a tinfoil container filled with pasta. “Dig in.”

She spooned some spaghetti onto her plate. “Where’d you get this?”

“At the tavern. I persuaded the cook to box us up some dinner.”

“I didn’t think they’d do that.”

He accepted the carton from her and dumped some pasta on his plate. “You have to know how to ask.”

She shook her head. “I think Flo likes you better than she does me.”

He grinned as if a memory had popped into his head. “You can be brutally direct.”

“True.” Of course, if she were to be direct now she’d tell Kirkland how much she wanted him. She ached to touch his warm skin and to kiss him. Instead of saying what was on her mind, she took a bite of the pasta. It wasn’t bad and she realized that she was hungry. When they’d finished, she collected his plate. “Seeing that you cooked, I’ll do the dishes.” She dumped the plates and empty cartons in the trash can. “All done.”

“You’re not the domestic sort, are you?”

She leaned against the bureau by the TV. “Roxie is the queen of frozen and canned food. In fact, we used to joke that if someone took the can opener we’d starve. But I am a great cook. If you tell anyone I will deny it.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “I can’t picture you in a kitchen.”

“Nothing soothes my nerves better than making crème brûlée or flourless chocolate torte.”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“I try.”

“So what brought you back to Boston? Or better, what took you to D.C.?”

She was more comfortable asking the questions than answering them. “I went because there was a job at the
Washington Post
. It didn’t pay much but it was a chance.”

“And you couldn’t find that closer to home?”

“At the time, I wanted to get away from Boston. I was feeling a little confined after my breakup with Robert.” There was no sense in holding back. “I didn’t fit in Robert’s world—his mother made that very clear to me. But I also didn’t feel like I fit in Roxie’s world. I just needed a fresh start.”

His expression darkened. “If it’s worth anything, he’d have made you miserable.”

“I know that now.”

He rose as if unable to stay away from her any longer. His gaze had darkened, and he possessed a different kind of energy that had her mouth going dry. She moistened her lips.

“I didn’t come here to just share dinner with you, Mackey.”

Her heartbeat filled her ears and her stomach fluttered. “Really?”

Kirkland moved toward her a step. “I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind for a long while. Those crisp white shirts of yours have been driving me crazy for almost a year.”

Her body tingled. “A whole year? I thought you didn’t like me at first.”

“I have always noticed you, Mackey. Always. I started liking you when you agreed to aid in that investigation a few months ago.”

“Really?” She moved a step toward him, and he was so close now she could feel the heat of his body.

“I’ve always noticed your killer figure. But after that case, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She traced one of the buttons on his shirt with her fingertip. “I have to admit I’ve had a few thoughts about you.”

His eyes brightened with interest. “What kind of thoughts?”

“Very unprofessional thoughts.”

He brushed her hair from her shoulder, exposing the soft skin of her neck. Gently he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “Such as?”

The idea of voicing the dreams she’d had about Kirkland made her blush. There was no way she could speak of them. But she could show him.

Tara wrapped her arms around Kirkland’s neck and raised up on tiptoes to kiss him. He bent his head as he pulled her against him. He tasted so good, and the feel of his hard body against hers sent shivers down her spine.

In the back of her mind, again logic screamed that this was a mistake. And again she ignored it.

Kirkland deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips open with his mouth. He probed the inside of her mouth, exploring, and made her crave his touch with a ferocity that stunned her.

She unfastened the buttons of his shirt. And slowly she slid her hands under the brushed cotton and felt his hard abdominal muscles. He flinched at her touch as if he’d been burned. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he hugged her tighter. She savored the effect she had on him.

He backed her up toward the bed. Together, they sat on the edge. Desire pounded in her veins.

Kirkland kissed her again. His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth as his hand pressed into the small of her back and then slid below her panty line. He cupped her buttocks.

She squirmed, savoring the luscious agony.

Her hands slid down his flat belly and she unfastened the button of his pants. Her hand slid deeper.

“Don’t rush this,” he warned.

He pushed her back and his hand slid up under her shirt. As he kissed her, his hand slid over her naked breast and teased her nipple into a hard peak.

Tara arched, pressing into his body. “You are driving me nuts.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Good.”

“We are about to cross a line,” she said, breathless. “The line separates professional and personal.”

His hand stilled. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. I’m going to write my story regardless of what’s happening here.”

“I know.”

She wanted to be straight with him but it was hard to think clearly. “So we understand each other?”

“Outside…tomorrow…it’s about our jobs. Now…it’s just us.”

“Yes. Just us.”

Kirkland’s hand slid to the waistband of her sweats and slipped under the soft fabric. He teased her tender flesh. She moaned and arched into his hand.

Tara reached for the waistband and slid her pants off. Kirkland stared down at her naked flesh, his gaze hot with desire. He stood and removed his clothes and she pulled off her T-shirt. Within seconds they were in the middle of the bed. He lay on top of her and they were kissing.

Tara lost track of time as Kirkland kissed and stroked her body. Several times he brought her to the brink and several times he pulled back. She was so moist, so eager for release that she couldn’t wait anymore.

She opened her legs and guided him to her entrance. Kirkland needed no more coaxing and she realized that it was taking extreme control for him to hold back. He pushed into her. He filled her to the point of pain. And for a moment she paused as her body became accustomed. He sensed her unease and didn’t move inside of her.

“It’s been a while for you,” he said against her ear.

Nine years. Since Robert. “Yeah.”

As she grew accustomed to him, he began to move very slowly in her. Pleasure started to build and soon he fit inside her as if they’d been made to make love.

And then like tinder to kindling, the intensity of their lovemaking exploded. He started to move faster and faster and she found herself spiraling out of control. When she could stand it no more, she arched back and called out his name.

He pushed into her with one final thrust and together they found release.

Kirkland collapsed on top of her. The sweat of their bodies and their rapid heartbeats mingled as they lay in utter contentment.

He rolled on his side, pulling her against him. Her bottom nestled against him. He nestled his chin in the crook of her neck and kissed her on the ear.

Together they drifted off to sleep as the rain pattered above their heads.

Outside a lone figure stood in the rain, staring up at the dark lights of Tara’s hotel room. The figure held the loaded .45 in hand and waited for Kirkland to leave Tara Mackey’s room.

The reporter had done her job. She’d found Kit.

But now Mackey’s tenacious reputation had become a liability. If not stopped, Mackey would keep digging into the murders of Kit and her driver.

And that couldn’t happen.

As the minutes passed and the rain came down harder, it was clear that Kirkland wasn’t going to leave her room tonight.

It wasn’t a surprise that the reporter was a slut. All those brassy, pushy women like Kit and Tara were whores.

None deserved to live.

Now that Tara had done her job she would die.

Killing Tara Mackey tonight would be out of the question. But soon the opportunity would come and the bitch reporter would die.