Nowhere to Hide (27 page)

“I’ve had a change of heart.”

He reached out and touched her chin, cupping it with strong fingers. “How much of a change?” he asked in a low voice.

For an answer she ran her hand over the edge of his beard-roughened jaw, then brought his mouth back to within a hair’s-breadth of hers. “I think . . .”

“Yes?”

For an answer she reached her lips up to his, pressing her mouth to his, straining upward. He slid his body atop hers, never breaking the kiss, and his right hand moved downward to cup her breast. September’s pulse was running light and fast, and when his tongue entered her mouth she felt herself go limp.

His hips moved against hers and she answered with the same age-old motion. She could feel the escalation of her rasping breath, and she slid her arms around him, sliding her fingers beneath his waistband, tugging up his shirt. With a muscular twist he was leaning away from her, balanced on one hip while he ripped at the buttons of his shirt. She swept his hands away and undid them herself, sliding his shirt from warm, hard shoulders.

As soon as he was shirtless he worked on her top, pulling her arms above her head and tugging the salmon-colored shirt up over them. Then his head bent to her flesh-colored bra and he placed his mouth over one breast, suckling through the sheer fabric and causing a shot of desire to streak through her inner core.

“Oh . . . God . . . I . . .” She held her breath, surprised, torn between a groan of desire and shaking laughter.

“What?” he asked, balancing himself on both hands, staring down at her, his hips pressed hard against hers. It was impossible not to feel his hardness and her legs moved apart of their own accord; September was sure she hadn’t willed it, but then, later, she thought maybe she had.

“I’m . . .”

He waited.

“I think I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He flashed a white grin at her, and then very slowly moved down her body, his hands tugging on her pants, pulling them over her hips, and then following with her panties, pulling off shoes, socks, and everything in the process until she was completely nude. Swiftly, he pulled off his own pants, boxers and all, and then he lay half atop her, half beside her, his mouth nuzzling her ear and throat.

“I get the feeling you’re more expert at this than I am,” she said on a gasp as his mouth moved lower to capture her nipple. Heat shot through her and her head lolled back. She caught a glimpse of the sky and a billion stars before she squeezed her eyes closed.

“The only woman I’ve been with in forever was Loni,” he admitted.

“But Sheila . . .”

“No. I told you.” And then he shook his head. “She was married.”

She believed him. Not that it could matter in the larger scheme of things, could it? If there was a bigger issue it was that he was involved in the case, at least peripherally, and she should know better.

And then she gasped, “Wait . . . don’t . . . !” Her eyes flew open, because he was moving south to the center of her and her fingers were suddenly gripping his hair, hanging on for dear life.

He had the nerve to chuckle and then keep right on and a moment later, September bit down on her lower lip to fight back a scream of surprise and dark desire. And then he was kissing her and licking her and her hips were rising to meet him and she said, “Oh, God!” and pulled him to her, grabbing him and holding her arms around him and he entered her so smoothly that she was shocked it hadn’t been more effort except that she felt like pure liquid.

She slid her mouth over his cheek and tasted the saltiness of his flesh, dragging his mouth to hers as he pushed against her. And then they were in rhythm, moving together, and he pulled back and looked down at her and she stared up at him and then his mouth crashed down on hers once more and within moments her whole body was shuddering and she was flying, flying, and there was so much desire, and love and emotion that she was afraid she would cry, or scream, or something, but all she did was hold everything inside in a deep crushing grip until the waves crested and she could let out that pent-up air on a huge exhalation at the moment of his own climax.

And then he lay atop her, their hearts beating wildly, and for a few moments September just lay mesmerized, still staring at the clouds.

“I . . .” he said doubtfully, not lifting his head from her breast.

She froze a moment, her heart jerking. He wasn’t going to already regret this, was he? She wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“No condom,” he said then, sounding stunned.

Her relief was so enormous she started to laugh, sounding half-hysterical. “I don’t have any, but it won’t be a problem, timing-wise, I’m pretty sure.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. She could see the smile now on his lips. “This time,” he said.

“This time.”

“It’s at the top of my shopping list for the future,” he said, and then bent down to begin lazily kissing her and starting all over again.

Thursday morning September went to work in a daze. Agents Bethwick and Donley wanted a meeting but she barely heard one word of it. They had nothing much further to report on Lulu Luxe’s killer, although the john thought there might have been a white van parked in the lot not far from his car. It had already been determined the guy was half-wasted, though he wouldn’t admit to it and add to his transgressions by admitting to driving drunk.

Sandler looked her way to see if she wanted to report on their own investigation, but she signaled that Gretchen could take over. What followed was an abbreviated version of looking into Glenda Navarone Tripp’s history that involved a possible sexual relationship with someone on the premises of what had once been Grandview Mental Hospital. She left out everything that had to do with Emmy Decatur, and September’s ongoing probing into the killer’s possible association with Sunset Elementary School. The agents both stared at them silently. Maybe they thought Sandler and September were holding back, or maybe they just thought they were incompetent. From September’s point of view, it didn’t really matter which. They were following leads and that was that.

And all she could think about were Jake Westerly’s hands and lips upon her skin, and twice she felt her face flush when a particular memory struck home.

Holy God.

“You okay?” Gretchen asked, looking over at her when the meeting broke up.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look, I don’t know . . . shell-shocked, maybe.”

“You said that the pieces would come together,” September said, desperately trying to change the subject. “How can you be so sure?”

Gretchen shot a look to the agents, then at George, who was absorbed in a phone conversation that held all his attention. “Well, what do we know for certain, and what are we guessing at? Let’s go someplace where we can talk alone.”

“You want to leave the station?”

“Yeah, I’m due for a latte, aren’t you?”

“An iced coffee. Sure.”

They left a few moments later and this time September drove, taking her Pilot. The nearest coffee place was a Starbucks, and after they’d purchased their drinks, they sat at a tiny table for two in the corner rather than head into the growing heat of the day.

They spent about an hour hashing out what they had so far and it boiled down to a few facts and a lot of theories.

“You know we rechecked out The Barn Door, but we haven’t visited Emmy’s Gulliver’s, and Glenda’s Lariat again,” Gretchen said.

“We should do that,” September agreed. “And I want to interview Hague Dugan, too.”

“I thought you said the sister—Dawn Markam-Manning—said he wasn’t at Grandview when Glenda and Emmy were.”

“He wasn’t. But his name keeps cropping up in both the Zuma investigation and this one, and we’ve always known there was something between them.”

She shrugged and nodded. “How you gonna interview him?”

“I’ll ask Auggie. He wants to help on our investigation. I’ve been trying to keep him out, but now with the feds here it hardly matters. Now, it’s just whether he has the time.”

“Hague is Liv’s brother. If he can’t help you, maybe she can.”

“Maybe,” September agreed.

Liv Dugan was her brother’s newest love interest, and she’d been a person of interest on the Zuma case. September didn’t know her all that well, but she sensed her brother was deeply involved with her. This was no quick fling spawned in the heat of the investigation.

“All right, let’s go back,” Sandler said. “Let’s go to Gulliver’s first, around four, and if we have time we’ll hit The Lariat right afterward.”

“I’ll call Auggie and maybe Liv.”

Back at the station, George was annoyed and frazzled. “Where the hell did you run off to? We’ve got a murdersuicide on East Blankenshire. Somebody’s gotta go there.”

“What’s taking you so long?” Gretchen asked.

George flushed. He never liked leaving his computer and desk chair. “I don’t have a partner right now.”

“What’s the story?” she asked in a long-suffering tone, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, fuck it,” George muttered. “I’ll go alone.”

“You shoulda gone twenty minutes ago,” Gretchen pointed out. “Fine, I’ll go with you. Frick and Frack don’t care what we do on the Do Unto Others case anyway.” She gave September a long look full of meaning. She wanted her to continue forging ahead.

As they headed out, she heard George say, “They were losing their house and all their money. Foreclosure and bankruptcy. Looks like the husband couldn’t take it, so he shot his wife, and then shot himself.”

“So, the wife didn’t sign on for this.”

“Doesn’t look like it. . . .”

“Son of a bitch,” September hissed through her teeth to no one in particular. She couldn’t stand these guys who became judge, jury, and
owner
of their wives or girlfriends, treating them like they had no mind of their own, as if their lives had no worth whatsoever.

She texted Auggie with a request to visit Hague, maybe with Liv.

While she was waiting for him to respond, Agent Donley cruised over her way, causing her to sit up straight. He leaned a hip casually against the edge of the desk and said, “What’s with the guy out front?”, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Guy? I mean, his name is Guy,” she said, falling into a familiar trap that all the newbies fell into when they first joined the force. Kind of like Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First” routine. “Guy Urlacher.”

“I’ve passed his desk at least six times and yet every time I enter, he wants me to show my ID.”

“Oh, yeah. Protocol. That’s our Guy.” She half-smiled. She didn’t trust the feds’ motives when it came to taking her case, but if he was going to make an attempt to be friendly, so would she. “I still get ‘carded’ and I’ve been here for months. He tries it on Sandler, too.”

“How does that go over?”

“Just about like you’d expect.”

He chuckled, then glanced back to his partner, then turned back to September. “We get the feeling there’s some resentment around here with us taking over. That’s all right. We’re used to it. I just thought we might be able to get past some of it and work together.”

His voice said he was just laying it out there. She could take him up on his offer, or not. No big deal. She had to admit, it was tempting to join forces, as they were expected to do, but something made her hold back. “I’m all for that,” she lied easily. “Was there something in particular?”

“You and your partner are thick as thieves. Wanna share?”

“Oh, we’ve got a number of irons in the fire. She’s out with Thompkins right now at the scene of a possible murder-suicide.”

“And you’re not with her.”

“One of our investigators is recovering from a bullet wound, so we’re short. Sandler decided to help Thompkins out.”

“Thompkins didn’t want to go,” he observed, alerting her to the fact that he’d been paying attention. “If you’d jumped in, he would have been happy to stay. I think
you
wanted to stay, and that’s why your partner’s gone but you’re still here. What’s your next move, Detective?”

September just managed to keep herself from sliding a glance toward D’Annibal’s glass office. He wasn’t there anyway, but this political game-playing was making her sweat. Donley was fishing, trying to get a handle on what she and Gretchen were up to. “I’m following a lead,” she said vaguely.

As if on cue her phone chirped at her. A text. Undoubtedly from Auggie. Feeling Donley’s eyes on her, she picked up her cell and glanced quickly at the message.

could go see H in 2 hrs you in?

She clicked off immediately, processing, hoping the agent wouldn’t be able to read what was on her face. “Did you have something I could help you on?” she asked him.

Hearing her dismissal, he straightened slowly from the desk, smoothing his tie. “No, I guess not.”

“Then we’re good?”

“We’re good.” He slid her a lingering look before he walked back across the room and September had the feeling she wasn’t fooling anybody.

September drove her car to her apartment and waited for Auggie and Liv. They would have picked her up at the station, but September didn’t want the agents to get too curious about what she was doing. It was strange; they were all on the same side, but the undercurrent of competition was strong and she felt like if she didn’t keep swimming she might drown.

She called D’Annibal’s cell and left a voice mail saying none of the detectives were at the department for the next hour or so and if need be, call on any of their cell phones. She was waiting in her Pilot when Auggie’s newly repaired Jeep wheeled into the lot. A few weeks earlier it had sustained some major damage, but the bodywork and all other repairs had been made and it looked good as new.

She climbed in the back behind Liv, who rode in the passenger seat, and said, “Thanks. I feel so clandestine about all this.”

“Eh, the feds are okay. Just have to draw a chasm in the sand and make sure they stay on one side, you on the other,” Auggie said.

September looked at the back of Liv Dugan’s head. Her light brown hair was all she could see, but Liv’s serious, hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and wide mouth were an attractive combination, and September couldn’t help but feel a little like chopped liver with no makeup and her hair hastily clipped back at her nape. She’d left Jake’s place in a rush after a lengthy morning shower together that had her now staring unseeingly out the window, her mind filled with the sight and feel of slick, hard muscles and a hot mouth exploring her in ways that made her feel limp and weak.