Nowhere to Hide (31 page)

“
Nothing. I wondered … I—”

“
I’m here. Stop by,” she whispered.

Twenty minutes later, twin headlight beams sliced through her open curtains. She made a beeline for the door and pulled it open. Graham approached, the yellow porch light giving him a sallow appearance. He mumbled something and pushed past her, rushing through the apartment. She followed as he went through her bedroom and into the bathroom, shoving the door closed behind him. The was no mistaking the sounds of his being violently ill. She put one hand to the doorknob, then let go. Privacy first, comfort later.

She went to the kitchen, poured a glass of Coke and brought it to the bedroom. When he emerged from the bathroom, looking pasty-white, she patted the bed. “Sit.”

Hunched over, he covered the distance in two strides. She handed him the cola and went to the bathroom for a damp cloth and a towel.

His head was bowed.  He didn’t raise it when she wiped his brow, his neck and then dried him off. A touch of his forehead was cool and clammy, not feverish.

“
Sorry,” he muttered. He took a swallow of Coke and set the glass on the nightstand.

She sat beside him and put her arm around his back. His shirt was damp with sweat. She unbuttoned it, then went to her dresser for one of her oversized sweatshirts. He shrugged out of his shirt and reached for the one she held out.

He managed a weak smile. “Pine Hills Police. Thanks. I might need a new job.”

“
You want to tell me what happened?”

“
They found a body.” He took the washcloth from the bed where she had dropped it and rubbed it across his face and neck again. “I went to the morgue.”

“
Oh, God. Was it Jeffrey?”

He lowered his head to his knees. “They’re not sure. The picture I had didn’t exactly look like what was on the table. He’s been dead for weeks, most likely. They found him at a construction site. Kids playing. Dogs dug him up. God, the smell.” He swallowed.

“
Why don’t you lie down? You’re white. Really white.”

“
Gee, I thought I was green.”

“
That was before. Now you’re white.”

“
I’m going to see that corpse in my sleep for a long, long time. But at least I didn’t get sick in the morgue. I managed to maintain long enough to keep my dignity intact.”

“
Glad I could be here for you.”

“
I wasn’t going to come. Didn’t want to bother you. I thought I wanted to be alone. But I couldn’t shake the sight, or the smell—God, I might have to burn that shirt—and I knew I needed to be with you.” He put his arm around her. “The getting sick part didn’t start until I was a few minutes away. After I called. I don’t want you to think I stopped here just to puke.”

He’d said he needed her. She stroked his cheek. “You can puke here any time.”

He downed half his Coke. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a homicide detective.”

“
Don’t be silly. How many weeks-old dead bodies have you had to deal with?”

“
This was my first.” He shuddered, and she followed his gaze to the bathroom. He took a deep, slow breath.

“
But you’ve dealt with dead bodies before, haven’t you? Traffic accidents? They can be horrible. Eventually, you build up a tolerance.”

He looked at her and he’d gone from white to merely pale. “Not many. The ugly ones are usually on the Interstate, and the Highway Patrol handles those. I haven’t dealt with a body since the mandatory autopsy during training. And that one was fresh. Practically sterile compared to—”

She saw the color drain from his face again, and she pried the glass from his fingers. “Put your head down,” she said. “Deep breaths.”

“
I’ll be fine,” he said, but he lowered his head to his knees. After a moment, he sat upright. “I need a shower. And some mouthwash.”

“
Clean towels under the sink. As a matter of fact, there’s a new toothbrush in the top drawer.” She smiled. “We went to your place before I could give it to you.”

While he was in the bathroom, Colleen pulled back the bedcovers. When he emerged, wrapped in a towel, she gestured to the bed. “You get some sleep.”

“
You’re not joining me?”

She saw something in his face. Need. Vulnerability. Maybe a hint of fear, a fear she understood. Not wanting the nightmares, knowing they waited like wolves ready to pounce, hovering in the shadows until you fell asleep. “Let me go finish a few things, lock up, turn off the lights. You try to rest. I’ll be in soon.”

He’d needed someone and had come to her. Much as she wanted to know what else he’d discovered, and to tell him about her trip to Stuart Gravely’s office, she set those thoughts aside. They could wait until morning. She downed a carton of yogurt for her dinner, powered off her computer, and made sure everything was secure.

When she went back into the bedroom, Graham was wearing her sweatshirt, leaning against the headboard. Purple shadowed his eyes, but most of his color had returned.

“
You look better,” she said. “But why aren’t you sleeping?”

“
I feel better. I was waiting for you.”

“
Give me a minute.” In the bathroom, she saw the second toothbrush sitting in the glass next to hers. They looked happy standing side by side. She brushed her teeth, released her hair from its ponytail and gave it a few licks with her hairbrush. She pulled her nightshirt from the hook on the bathroom door and wriggled into it. For a split second, she wished she had something silk and sexy.

Ridiculous. Even if she did, it would be a total waste tonight. Graham needed to sleep.

She flipped off the light and went to the bedroom. He was lying on his back now, eyes closed, breathing evenly. She tiptoed across the room, climbed in beside him and switched off the lamp. He gave a quiet grunt, turned on his side and spooned her into him. She savored the rise and fall of his chest against her back for a long time before she slept.

Colleen felt a restless stirring beside her. Disoriented at first, until the memories came back, she reached for Graham. She heard his labored breathing, recognized all the familiar signs of a nightmare.

“
You okay?” she whispered.

“
Fine. Go back to sleep.” He pulled off the sweatshirt she’d given him and dropped it to the floor. “Too hot.”

She stretched her body along his length, feeling his heat radiate through the thin cotton of her nightshirt. Moving her hands up and down his back, she pressed his taut muscles. She rubbed small circles on his temples, touched her lips to his. It was as if every muscle in his body was clenched. Her fingers moved from his temples to his chest, her lips from his mouth to his neck. He moaned softly and his muscles went lax. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away. How long since he had offered comfort? It was her turn.

“
Lie still,” she said. “Relax.”

He’d come to her. Needed her. Not as an outlet. As a friend. But he’d taught her the peace and joy two bodies could give each other. She reached for him. Her fingers caressed, stroked, teased. When they swirled around his navel, he gasped.

She felt his arousal growing, but she stroked his thighs, back to his belly, avoiding his genitals. When she heard his breathing accelerate, she grazed his testicles, letting her fingers toy with the soft hair covering them. She explored his stiffening erection. Her fingers moved along its smooth length, around its tip, then returned to his thighs. She repeated the motion. And again, until his hips jerked.

“
Relaxing isn’t an option anymore,
mo chridhe
.” He ran his fingertips over the turgid peaks of her breasts. Desire shot between her legs. His hands traced her body as she explored his, slowly, as if the night would never end. She opened the nightstand drawer.

When they were ready, she took him slowly, drawing out the joining until neither could wait any longer. With him fully inside her, she clutched her hands around his buttocks as if she could draw him even closer. Could being inside her feel as good to him?

She tilted her head, giving him access to the place below her ear where she loved to be kissed, and she moaned with delight when he understood what she meant. He began to move in long, slow strokes. She knew what she wanted now, and what he needed. Her hips moved to match his rhythm. She tightened herself around him, fine-tuning angles to heighten her own pleasure while denying him nothing.

Their passion grew in gentle waves until almost without knowing how they got there, they were both balanced on the razor edge of ecstasy. She heard him whisper, “Now,
mo chridhe
. Say my name. Now.”

Graham woke to the beep of his wristwatch alarm. His stomach burned from the previous night, but Colleen’s body, entwined with his, made up for any residual misery. He pulled her arm from across his chest and managed to turn off the alarm before it woke her. But when he tried to slip of out bed, she sat up.

“
What time is it?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“
A little before five. Go back to sleep. I have to get home and change for work.” He got up and found his pants beside the bed where he’d dropped them. His underwear was buried somewhere in the bedclothes. She tossed back the covers and fished them out, dangled them from her fingertips. Bedroom eyes tormented him.

“
Thanks,” he said, wishing he had time to take her up on her invitation.

“
I’ll make you some coffee,” she said and crawled off the bed.

“
No time. I’ll grab some on my way.” He picked up his shirt, telling himself he imagined the stench of the corpse. He hadn’t touched it, but in the morgue, it seemed the smell permeated his every pore. Repressing a shudder at the memory, he worked his arms into the sleeves but couldn’t find the fortitude to do up the buttons. Too close to his skin.

“
Wait,” Colleen said. “We never talked last night. What if I drove you home and then to work?”

“
Too complicated.” How could she snap to coherence so quickly? “Things are starting to come together. I don’t know when I’ll be finished. I’m meeting Peterson at seven-thirty, and I’ve got the Gainesville investigators coming around ten.” He shoved his socks into his pockets and crammed his bare feet into his shoes. He went into the bathroom and when he was finished, Colleen was gone.

She waited in the living room, holding a large grocery bag, her lips in a tight line. “Here,” she said and opened the front door.

“
What’s this?”

“
A Crystal Shores brochure. Complete with Stuart Gravely’s fingerprints. You decide if you can use it.”

Shit. He was not a morning person. Especially not the morning after a lousy day. The night had ended on a high note, but a little more sleep would have helped. He glanced at his watch, decided he wasn’t late yet, pulled Colleen to the couch and set her on his lap. “I didn’t thank you for last night. I’m a bear without my coffee.”

“
I said I’d make you coffee,” she said in a tight voice.

“
I know. But I have to get going. I’ll try to call you. How about dinner? You can tell me how you got this stuff. Until then, I’m not sure I want to know.”

She glared at him. “It was legitimate, Harrigan. Nothing you couldn’t have done without a warrant. I’ll have you know I went to great pains to get it too.”

“
I’m sure you did. Forgive me? If you hadn’t been here for me last night—well, best case scenario, I’d probably be nursing the king of all hangovers and would never make it to work.”

“
I want to be here for you.”

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her. “I’ll call, okay? Soon as I’m clear, you can fill me in.”

“
Okay.” She scooted off his lap and he went to the door.

“
Go back to sleep. I think I want you well rested tonight.”

He ducked when she picked up a pillow from the couch and hurled it at him, but not before he got a flash of her dimple.

Graham sorted his thoughts as he waited for Peterson. Colleen had called right after seven and explained what Stuart Gravely had told her, including the fact she’d seen him talking to Doris. He had turned the folio over to the lab to see if they could match the prints to any of the unknowns from Doris’ house. Better for the case if they could place him inside. And how did Doris connect? Was she a Crystal Shores investor?

He thought more about the property. Crystal Shores wasn’t defunct, merely undergoing a name change. Maybe Gravely was hiding something. Like bald eagle nests.

When Peterson arrived at seven forty-five, he looked tired, but with his basset hound face, that was the norm. He always looked like he’d just been awakened from a sound sleep, but Graham had discovered Peterson was a sharp investigator.

“
I heard you might have found your guy,” Peterson said, turning on the computer. “Not a pretty one. You got cause of death yet?”

“
Two bullets in the chest, apparently. ME will confirm.”

“
Okay,” said Peterson. “Tell me what we’re looking for.”

“
Anything fishy in Stuart Gravely’s finances, or that could tie him to Jeffrey or Doris Walters.”

Two hours later, Graham’s eyes burned as Peterson continued to whiz through databases and scroll through impossible screens full of numbers. Graham gave up trying to follow and settled for writing down Peterson’s terse explanations. Every now and again, the man would whistle, shake his head and swear softly.

“
This guy’s good, Harrigan. Real good.”

“
Can you summarize in words of one syllable?”

“
Gravely bought a chunk of land from Jeffrey Walters. Then he started getting people to invest in this fancy community he was building. But something must have gone wrong. He’s got this piece of property bought and sold to at least four different shell companies, all of which he owns.”