Lost But Not Forgotten (24 page)

Gillian was distracted from her task by his actions, and her hands stilled. “Bad news?”

He saw she’d removed her colored contacts in the bedroom, and her tragic blue eyes were wary and fixed on him.

“Ethan arrested the men who’ve been tailing you.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“They were bailed out faster than Ethan could sneeze. Capputo and Turpin each called a different attorney. Standard practice when these guys are associated with crime bosses. It confuses local authorities.” He paced nervously, all the while massaging the back of his neck. “In the case of our boys, both lawyers have been under FBI surveillance. Now the Fibbies want to talk to you.”

“Me?” She looked like a rabbit facing a predator, not knowing which way to run.

“It’s fairly standard operating procedure,” he said, dropping to his knees beside her. “You already know what kind of men Turpin and Capputo are. It shouldn’t come as any surprise to hear they’ve made someone’s ten most wanted list.”

“But the FBI! Mitch, I can’t help them. Will you talk to them, please? You know everything I know.”

“I’ll be here, Gilly, but they’ll want to hear the story directly from you. That’s just how those guys are. So, you repeat exactly what you told Ethan and me.”

“They—they won’t confiscate my suitcase, will they?”

“They’d better not. Come on, I’ll help you look through it again.”

They each patted down every colorful quilt square. Mitch loosened the lining in the case itself and double-
checked all the corners. Sitting back on his heels, he watched Gilly carefully restore the items to the case. “I’ll swear there’s no key in that bag,” he said as she lightly touched the urn and then closed the lid on the case.

“I know. Yet it’s so unlike the Daryl I knew. He simply wouldn’t tell Patrick I’d have a key in my possession and then not make sure I did.”

“I think we have to assume his plans went awry.”

“That’s the part I can’t fathom. His plans
never
went awry. He was so methodical about everything. Believe it or not, the clothes in Daryl’s closet were number-coded.”

“He dressed by number?” Mitch asked, incredulous.

“Yes. He tried to organize me, too. I hated studying a chart every morning to try and decide if it was a 4, 3, 6 day or a 2, 7, 8 one.”

Mitch couldn’t help laughing. “I shouldn’t make fun of someone who can’t defend his position. Obviously, he took numbers seriously. I’m beginning to see why you and Malone were so sure you’d find the key. But you’ve heard that saying about the best-laid plans.”

“Maybe you ought to tell that to Turpin and Capputo.”

“Tomorrow we’ll ask the FBI to pass it along, with our regards—once they track those bastards down again. Tonight, though, is still ours to enjoy. Let’s put this out of our minds and go to bed.”

A smile worked its way across Gillian’s face. “Wait till you get a load of the nightgown Regan sent for me to wear.”

Mitch edged closer and waggled his brows. “I thought you looked fine without one.”

“Isn’t a hint of mystery supposed to be sexier? You know, something to make you wonder what’s under the red satin?”

He rocked his hand back and forth. “I’m willing to show I’m broad-minded. How much time do you need to slip into your red-hot number? Sorry, I didn’t mean to use that word—
number,
I mean.”

“A minute or two.” Her voice was low and sultry.

“I was about to go sample the coffee. But if you talk like that again, all bets are off.”

She teased him further with a drawn-out kiss. Then before he could put his hands on her, she slithered out of his reach and pirouetted off to the bedroom.

Mitch rubbed both hands over his face, as if that would stave off the fire rising through his veins. He needed caffeine like he needed a hole in the head, but Gilly deserved a chance to deck herself out. She’d left most of what she owned behind in New Orleans, and then those sleazebags had slashed the pitifully few things he’d seen hanging in her closet.

Decision made, Mitch pulled himself together and went to pour a mug of coffee. Trusting she’d had hers earlier, he switched off the coffeemaker.

He stood at the glass door, staring at the winking stars that studded the night sky. He sensed her presence behind him, seconds before catching the scent of her perfume. Mitch turned and felt the air leave his lungs. The mug slipped from his grasp and hit the floor tile. Luckily it bounced instead of breaking. Coffee splashed his legs, but the heat seeping through the cuff of his jeans was tame compared to the fire consuming the rest of him.

Gillian posed in the doorway, one arm raised, her right hip casually leaning against the casing. A wide band of red lace flirted with her upper thighs, leaving a mile of leg smooth and bare. The same kind of peek-a-boo lace plunged in a deep V between her breasts, offering him an enticing, shadowy cleft.

“You were right and I was wrong,” he said when he managed to find his voice. “Red satin
is
sexy. Damn sexy.” Mitch stepped over the puddled coffee and knew Gilly could feel the effect of her appearance in the swell behind his jeans zipper as he crushed her tight and swung her into his arms.

He wanted to take his time tonight for her sake. But in less than five minutes, the red satin confection lay tangled on the bedroom floor.

Gillian had toyed with the idea of teasing him, maybe playing hard to get. One look into his smoky eyes and she was lost. Though both of them were hot and ready, Gilly hung on to her control long enough to press him into the mattress and to slide a thigh up and down his injured hip. Her last coherent thought—she was darned well going to treat him to seduction, Southern-style, tonight.

Mitch might have been the one to start out fully charged, but she soon caught up. They fell into a natural rhythm as the heat and pressure built and built and built—until a thin layer of resolve stood between each of them and explosion.

Gilly knew she’d achieved her aim when Mitch swore and begged for mercy. But he was too far gone to feel her catlike smile form around his exploring tongue.

Her heart pounded hard, like rushing water through her ears.

His almost leaped out of his chest.

Sweat slicked their bodies, drenching the sheets. Mitch wondered how high a man’s body heat could rise before he died.

He needn’t have been concerned. They did explode then, virtually together. In the moments that followed, he was positive he’d landed on a new planet. Or in heaven.
Why else would he be drifting among soft, downy clouds?

“Are you all right?” Gilly murmured, stirring at last.

“No, but I’ll help you prepare my eulogy in the morning.” He held her in place, stretched along the length of him, when she tried to wriggle off. With one limp hand, he awkwardly pulled the bedspread over their still-heated bodies.

This time, her smile curved against his chest. “We were pretty perfect, weren’t we?”

His answer was to grasp the back of her head while he leaned forward and fused their mouths in a kiss of gratitude…and just plain happiness.

Afterward they slept, arms and legs entwined. Somewhere in the back of Mitch’s mind lay a fuzzy intent to try to top their performance….

The next thing he knew, he and Gilly were ejected from a sound sleep by a loud knocking at the front door.

“It’s them,” Gilly cried in fear, snapping on the bedside lamp as she scrambled to pull on her nothing nightgown.

“Who?” Mitch hopped around on one foot, attempting to turn the second leg of yesterday’s jeans right-side out.

“The men! The Arm and The Turtle.”

“I don’t think so.” Mitch had finally managed to calm his pounding heart. “Those guys tried to break down the door of your apartment. Whoever’s out there now is slightly more civilized. Maybe the FBI? I’ll go check. Just in case we need to make a fast break, why don’t you wear something more…substantial?” Even as he said it, his eyes caressed her.

She pointed at the bedside clock. “Mitch, it’s 2:00 a.m. Who calls on anyone at that hour?”

Then they heard a gravelly voice announce, “FBI, open up.”

“Well, now we know—and it’s not exactly a surprise.” He sighed. “I’ll go take a gander at their ID while you change into something…warmer.”

She was already gathering clothes from the duffel Regan had packed. “Be careful,” she warned seconds before disappearing into the bathroom.

Mitch took time to pull on a T-shirt and his boots. He even finger-combed his hair on his way to the door. “Hold your horses,” he called out. “We’re not all night owls just because you are.” He peered through the peephole. “Okay, I’m here. Let’s see a badge.”

Two men in dark suits held shields close to the halogen light illuminating the condo door. Satisfied, Mitch threw the dead bolt and the night lock and opened the door a few inches.

“We’re here to talk to Noelle McGrath. She may be calling herself Gillian Stevens. Get her,” snapped the bossier of the two men, shoving his way inside.

“State your name,” said the other, a man who wore horned-rimmed glasses.

Mitch narrowed his eyes. “You know my name. Chief Wellington, Desert City P.D., gave it to you. Or Detective Ethan Knight did. I’m Mitch Valetti, formerly with the Desert City force.”

“Don’t get smart with us, Valetti. Ex-cops have zero authority.”

“You’ve got no right to speak to Mitch like that,” Gillian said in a cool voice from the bedroom doorway. “I’m Gillian Noelle McGrath. Please keep your voices down, and everyone sit. Noreen Malone was kind enough to let us stay in her home. I’d hate to have neighbors complain and cause her trouble.”

Mitch felt a burst of pride in the woman who’d scrubbed her face to a little-girl shine, but who’d clearly taken command of the room.

The agents lumbered all the way in and sat down, trying to be civil. “I’m Agent Bob Hall, and my partner’s Agent Kevin Eloy.”

“Got any coffee?” Eloy, the one blinking behind glasses, asked hopefully.

Gilly raised her eyebrows. “I’ll be glad to make some, but I doubt many normal people have a pot going at this hour.”

“I’ll zap what’s left from last night in the microwave,” Mitch offered. “It’ll still be better than the rotgut stuff these guys guzzle day in and day out.”

Gillian nodded, but she wished he’d stay. When he walked out of the room, the small amount of bravado she had disappeared with him.

“Well, well, Mrs. McGrath,” Hall began the minute she’d settled on the love seat. “You and your husband, Daryl, kept company with some A-1 assholes.”

Gillian bristled. “First, Daryl and I were divorced before he was killed. Second, from the little I know, they were his clients. I gather he didn’t like them any better than you do. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made a list of their names.” As Mitch had suggested earlier, Gillian began to tell them what she knew.

He came back with coffee for everyone before she’d finished her story. He sat on the overstuffed arm of her love seat and curved a reassuring hand over her shoulder.

“Names,” Hall spat when she ended. “We need those names and any other particulars you can give us. The lawyers who bailed out Capputo and Turpin are both tied to known mobsters who deal in drugs, prostitution and
gambling. We also suspect they’re in the illegal weapons business now.”

“I—I—” she stammered, turning a stricken face to Mitch.

“She just told you about the key. No one’s been able to find it. Take it easy, Hall, she’s not the enemy here.”

“You have proof of that?” Hall curled his lip. “She’s a player in a field where the stakes are enormous and everyone plays or dies. How can we know she’s not using you and Knight to cover her tush while she holds on to the key, trying to shake down the head honchos?”

“What are you saying?” Gillian demanded. “What’s he saying?” She looked at Mitch with frightened eyes.

“He’s accusing you of extortion,” Mitch replied, tightening his grip on her shoulder. “Listen,” he said, glaring at the agents. “I’m sure you checked my credentials and Ethan Knight’s. We’re prepared to vouch for her. So is Pat Malone, retired Flagstaff P.D.”

“You’ve seen what happened to that guy, and you still trust her?” Eloy shook his head. “Bad things happen when she’s around. I hope you’re watching your back, Valetti.”

“My back is fine. Why don’t you and Hall quit spinning your wheels here and round up Turpin and Capputo? And this time, hang on to them long enough to get a few names out of them.”

The two agents looked disgruntled. Finally Hall muttered, “They’re guilty as sin. We’ve got a good man on their tail. I didn’t want to tell you this, but they paid Malone a second visit. Worked him over good. Lucky for Ms. Malone, she’d gone out to the pharmacy.”

“Dammit! How…” Mitch doubled a fist.

Gillian swayed, and grabbed Mitch’s arms. “My God, no! How did they find him? Is…Patrick badly injured?”

“He’ll live. Don’t ask to see him. We’ve got him stashed, and have a man on him around the clock. As to how they found him, we’re not sure yet.”

Mitch thrust out a pugnacious jaw. “Ethan said you’d arrive here tomorrow afternoon. I’m guessing the reason you’re early is because they forced Malone to tell them where Gilly’s staying. When were you planning to let us know?”

“We weren’t. Damn, I hate dealing with know-it-all ex-cops. Eloy and I are going to stake this place out tight. If either or both of those bastards show up, they’re goners, all right?”

“Yeah, all right—if they don’t get past you,” Mitch said with some sarcasm.

Gillian jumped to her feet and paced the room, wringing her hands. “Why are they doing this? If they have the connections we think they do, they must know the police stripped my car and didn’t find a key. Mitch, you said one of them searched my large suitcase. They even went back and tore up my apartment. Mitch and I double-checked the small bag I have. And they shredded my purse. Maybe Daryl planned to put the key in my luggage. He didn’t. I swear I don’t know anything about his client or where he might have hidden…whatever he hid.” Covering her face, she started to cry quietly.

“Get out,” Mitch ordered. “There’s a limit to how far you can go in grilling an innocent citizen.”