The Closer (13 page)

“Baby-making music,” Griff finished for her. “George Michael, Marvin Gaye and Barry White.”

“And that's the only elevator that ever responded to your call? There was never any instrumental Muzak playing?” McCann asked in amazement. He grimaced significantly and shook his head. “He's been screwing with you from the beginning, hasn't he?”

Griff stilled, then swore. Of course he had. Anyone with the audiovisual skills required to manipulate the cable and stream a damn
talking
owl
into the room could have easily influenced the elevators and music.

“Let's get back to Ms. Rossi,” Payne said, urging her to continue.

“Anyway, I rode up the elevator. I was alone and it didn't stop for anyone else, then I walked down to our room.”

“Did you see anyone in the hall?”

She bit her lip, considered the question, then shook her head. “No, not a soul. Not even any of the housekeeping staff.”

“Okay, go on.”

“When I got to the room, I realized that I didn't have a key, so I lifted my hand to knock. That's when I noticed it lying on the floor, just beneath the edge of the door.”

“The key card?”

“Yes.”

“So he wanted her to be able to get in and find us quickly,” Flanagan remarked.

“How thoughtful of him,” McCann drawled.

“And then what?” Payne asked.

“Well...the first thing I noticed when I came in was that weird smell,” she said. “It was sweet.”

“The gas,” Griff told her.

“I thought that it was odd that you weren't in here,” she said, gesturing to the living room area. “And then I heard someone call my name and say, ‘Back here.'”

Payne leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “You heard someone call your name? Where did it sound like it was coming from?”

“The bathroom,” she said. “I thought it was Griff, but...”

All of them shared a look as a key piece fell into place.

“He was still here,” Griff said.

Flanagan whistled low. “He waited for Jess to get back, then he sneaked out as soon as she found us in the bathroom, when she was distracted.”

“Ballsy bastard,” McCann said. “What if she'd run out screaming?”

“He did his homework,” Griff said, reluctantly impressed. “He knew she wouldn't run. She's not afraid of anything.”

She smiled at him and leaned over. “You keep forgetting the clowns,” she said. “But thank you, anyway.”

“When you found us,” Payne prompted. “Was the bathroom door opened or closed?”

“Open,” she said. “The vent was on. You were all on the floor,” she said. “Near the door. And the new case was on your wrist and the owl feather was on top of your chest.”

“If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, please tell us.”

Jess nodded. “I will.”

Payne thanked her, then pushed to his feet and started looking around. “All right,” he said. “Let's get to work, gentlemen. Where the hell did he hide? How the hell did he do it?”

The four of them fanned out, started sweeping the suite once again. Griff found a tiny camera mounted to the top of the television screen, which accounted for how he'd known who was in the bathroom. He'd been watching. McCann located the source of the gas—the canisters had been placed in the floor vents, which had been blocked off. Keller had remote detonated them. And Flanagan and Payne found his hiding place—the box springs beneath the bed. He'd torn away the thin fabric from the bottom and climbed up between the slats.

“No way,” McCann said, crouching low to look beneath the bed.

“Way,” Jamie told him. “I'm the biggest one here and I can do it.”

He did.

Jess bit her lip and darted a look at Griff. “You don't think he's been hiding under there the whole time, do you?”

Griff shook his head. “I very seriously doubt it.”

“I do, too,” Payne told her. “He'd only need a few minutes in here to do what he needed to do,” he said. “He wouldn't have hidden in here long. Too risky.”

“Do you think the surveillance tapes are going to be of any use at all?” McCann asked.

“I doubt it, but we should look at them.” He glanced at Griff. “In the interim, I think that you and Ms. Rossi should head back to Shadow's Gap and let the three of us wrap things up here. Once you've got her settled and brought her father up to speed, you can return to Atlanta.” He turned to Jess. “Ms. Rossi, the instant we have the piece back, you can rest assured that we will return it to your father for the repairs, then make sure that it's delivered to Montwheeler.”

She nodded. “I have every confidence in that, Mr. Payne.”

“It's Brian,” he said, shooting her a smile.

She and Griff made quick work of packing up, said their goodbyes, then rather than wait on the valet to pull the SUV around, made their way to the parking garage. They'd barely settled into the seats when Jess turned to him.

“There's no way in hell you're taking me back to Shadow's Gap, not without that damn bra. I'm coming to Atlanta with you.”

Griff grinned at her. “I never doubted it.”

13

“A
RE
YOU
SURE
you don't want me to drive?” Jess asked, her gaze clinging to Griff's profile. “I don't mind at all and I know that awful gas had to have made you a little sick.”

“I'm over it now,” he assured her. “No worries.”

“Are you sure you're all right?” Honestly, when she'd come around the corner and caught a glimpse of his prone frame on the bathroom floor, she'd come as close to fainting as she ever hoped to. Her heart had dropped to her feet, the blood had rushed out of her head, roaring past her ears, and her mouth had gone bone dry.

And he thought she was fearless.

She'd never known terror like that, had never been more afraid of anything in her life. The idea that he was gone—God help her, dead—had took hold and she hadn't been able to shake it off until he'd moaned and blinked those amazing eyes up at her.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Jess, I'm fine, really. The only thing that was wounded was my pride and it'll recover. Eventually,” he drawled.

“It was a damn sneaky thing to do,” she said. “How were you supposed to counter that? You were prepared to meet him face-to-face, not have him hide beneath the bed and blast you all with an incapacitating agent.”

He shot her a look, smiled. “Incapacitating agent?”

She cocked her head, darting him a pointed look. “I've watched enough crime dramas to know what knockout gas is, smart-ass.”

“I'll just bet you have,” he muttered, still grinning.

“So...what's the plan?”

He lifted a brow. “The plan? Other than driving until we don't feel like driving anymore, I don't have one.”

No plan? Wow, they had made some progress, she thought, pleased. “You aren't going to do anything sneaky, like try to take me back to Shadow's Gap, are you?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, of course not. You said you didn't want to go back, that you wanted to come with me to Atlanta.”

“Will it be a problem for you?” she asked hesitantly. “You know, with Payne and the others?”

“Would it matter if it was?” he asked.

“Not to me,” she said. “But they're your coworkers and I don't know what your company fraternization rules are.”

“Well, considering that each one of them—and nearly every other agent who works for them—all met their spouses on the job, then I seriously doubt they'll have anything to say about you.”

Jess felt her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

He nodded once. “Seriously.”

She hummed under her breath. “Well, good. I would have gone to a hotel if it had been a problem, but I'd rather stay with you.” She reached over and patted him on the head. “I've grown rather fond of my hound,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, snorted. “Rather fond, huh? Does that mean I'm going to get a treat later?”

Jess reached over and cupped him through his jeans, smiling when he jumped and his jaw tensed. “Who said anything about later?”

“Jess,” he said warningly as she slid the button from its closure and lowered his zipper.

She bent over and peeked up at him from lowered lashes. “This thing has tinted windows, right? I don't want to inadvertently give some trucker a show.”

“Government grade,” he said, sucking in a breath as she freed him. He shifted, hit the back button on his power seat, sliding it farther from the steering wheel.

Jess pulled her hair out of the way, tucking it over one shoulder, then ran her tongue around the soft rim of his engorged head, before pulling the whole crown into her mouth.

He swore violently, tensing his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?” she teased, licking the length of him, the musky scent of man filling her nostrils.

“No
.
”

Good, because she didn't want to. She loved the way he felt in her mouth, the soft, soft skin, the thick veins running along his long, hard shaft. She wrapped her lips around him again, flicked her tongue against the V of his head, hitting the sensitive spot just beneath the rim of the crown, and sucked hard, dragging him deeper and deeper into her mouth.

She could feel the tension tightening the muscles in his legs, the sound of his harsh breath gasping between his teeth. His balls hardened, drawing up against her palm and she worked his shaft with the other, chasing her strokes with mouth. She caught the first taste of him on her tongue and sighed with pleasure, then upped the tempo and sucked harder, took him deeper, opening her throat to accommodate his massive size.

“Jess, I can't— I'm going to—”

“Come for me, baby,” she breathed, giving him the same order he'd given her last night.

As though those were the magic words, he did. She lapped it up, licked him clean, kept feeding at him until the very last bit was milked out of him, then pressed a lingering kiss on the crown of his cock and sat up.

“I thoroughly enjoyed that,” she said.

Seemingly shocked, his expression was one of frozen delight. “You, uh...You didn't have to, you know,” he said, gesturing awkwardly.

Jess felt her lips twitch. “I liked it better than the alternative,” she said.

“Oh? What was that?”

“Getting it in my hair,” she replied with a naughty grin. “My hair is looking especially good today.”

“Everything about you looks especially good every day,” he said. “But I have to admit, you were magnificent on that runway. You
owned
it.”

“You weren't too bad yourself,” she said, pleasure blooming in her chest at the unexpected praise. She slid him a look. “We make a good team.”

He smiled, then reached over and took her hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Yes, we do,” he said. He glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face. “Why don't you try to get some rest,” he said. “We're in for a long drive.”

“I'll be fine,” she assured him.

Famous last words, she thought hours later. It was after dark when she awoke, the moon hanging low in the sky, and they were in a parking lot of a popular hotel chain.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, sliding a hand over her cheek.

Jess stretched, yawned. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to play out on you.”

“No problem,” he assured her, his gaze dropping to her lips. “I'd rather you have plenty of rest for tonight.”

She smiled. “Gonna need my strength, am I? That sounds promising, though I do hope you're planning to feed me first. I'm hungry.”

“I've ordered something,” he said, pulling around to the back of the building. He helped her with her bag, then located their room and opened the door. It was a substantial downgrade from the honeymoon suite, but it was clean and comfortable and they were together.

Win, win, win.

Their dinner arrived in short order, then they had each other for dessert. Jess was pleasantly exhausted, her limbs still trembling from another one of those magnificent orgasms he always managed to pull from her body, when Griff decided to turn the television on...

And she saw the pair of them making their runway debut. She sat bolt upright and scrambled to the end of the bed. “We're on the news? Already?” she asked, her voice climbing. “Damn, that was quick.”

“There's no such thing as bad publicity,” Griff said. “I know you're worried about this being bad for business, but Payne was right. If anything, it'll be just the opposite. For Rossi jewelry, Clandestine and Montwheeler.”

They watched the whole piece, thankful when the reporter glossed over how the bra was actually stolen, probably because they hadn't been given the details. Evidently Payne's confidentiality warning was effective.

She sighed and looked over at Griff. “No mention of Ranger Security. That's a good thing, right?”

“Definitely.” He'd pulled out his laptop and turned it around to show her. “The bra the Owl substituted is already up to four hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “And there's still another day left on the auction.”

She'd inspected it before they'd left. “It's a damn fine piece of work,” she said. “Not as good as anything me or my father could make, quite honestly, but still, very good. It's well designed, the cast is fine and each of the jewels is competently set. If he did it himself, then that's impressive. It takes years of practice to be able to execute something to that degree.”

Griff lifted a bare shoulder. “He intimated that he did it himself, also admitting that it wasn't as well done as a Rossi.”

“Well, he got one part of that right, at any rate. Do you think he's telling the truth?”

“Payne insists that being a thief doesn't make him a liar, and he trusts him,” he said. Griff hesitated, seemingly unsure.

“But you don't?” she asked.

“I don't know him, but Brian Payne is nobody's fool. If Payne trusts him, then I have to believe that trust isn't misplaced.” He turned to look at her, his eyes guarded, wary. “Speaking of misplaced trust, I'm sorry,” he said.

Jess blinked, confused. He was sorry? “Sorry for what?”

“For losing the piece when I promised that I wouldn't.” He shook his head. “You trusted me and I—”

Jess scrambled onto his lap and took his dear face into her hands. “And I still trust you,” she said, pinning him with her gaze. “You are not to blame for what happened, you hear me? You did everything you possibly could to keep this from happening. I don't know what you could have done that might have resulted in a different outcome.”

He smiled sadly, a weary grin on his mouth. “I don't either, but I still feel like a fool.”

“I'm sure that Payne, Flanagan and McCann all feel like fools as well, but do you think they are?”

“What? No,” he said, as though the idea was ludicrous.

She smiled, rested her forehead against his. “My point exactly.”

Humor lit his gaze and the corner of his mouth hitched up, tugging into a half grin that was extremely endearing and equally sexy. He sighed, almost as though he'd come to some sort of inevitable conclusion. “You're good for my ego,” he told her.

He was good for hers, as well. “Ditto,” she said, melting with happiness.

It was nice to be here with him without the case, without the mission, without any purpose other than to get back to Atlanta. Without a plan, she thought, her grin widening.

Griff lifted his head and kissed her, his lips sliding mesmerizingly over hers. He tasted like barbecue and hot apple pie, like sin and seduction, like home and, God help her, happily ever after.

“Hey, Jess?”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be all right if I made hot sweet love to you all night long?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself more firmly against him and sighed softly into his mouth. “Oh, hell, yes.”

* * *

C
LAD
IN
ONE
of Griff's long-sleeved flannel shirts, her knees drawn up to her chest, hair tumbling over her shoulders, Jess sat on the end of his couch, her gaze riveted to the television. The Owl's theft of the bra hadn't been the only thing that had the media in an uproar.

She
was.

News agencies and daytime talk-show hosts played the clip of her runway appearance repeatedly, rejoicing that Clandestine had allowed her, a “normal” woman, to model their most exquisite, most anticipated piece of the year.

“Just look at her,” one woman remarked. “She's got
confidence,
she's got
curves,
she's
gorgeous,
but it's more than that. She's somehow managed to embody, in just a few short steps, the power of being a woman, of celebrating femininity.”

“Or it could be that super-hot guy chasing after her, Nina,” her cohost joked.

The pair laughed and then they launched into their critique of Griff's performance, which was not getting as much attention as Jess's, but more than enough to warrant lots of phone calls from friends and family, most especially Justin, whom he was talking to right now.

“You're on every channel!” the boy said, his voice going high. “Seriously, dude.
Every
channel. Like the president.”

Griff chuckled, unable to help himself in the face of Justin's awed delight.

“You didn't mention that your new job involved escorting supermodels,” he gushed. “I thought you were in the security business.”

“I am,” he said. “But there are aspects of my job that I'm not at liberty to discuss. Client confidentiality.”

For which he was eternally thankful. He'd hate to burst his little brother's bubble and ruin his badass image by telling him that he hadn't so much been escorting the “beautiful woman” as the bra she was wearing, and that he'd ultimately lost it. Griff grimaced.

No doubt he'd get his Cool Card revoked for that.

“Ah...” Justin sighed knowingly, as though that element only added another degree of awesomeness to Griff's job. He rather liked this big-brother business, a fact he'd decided to share with his mother and sister as soon as this issue with the bra was settled.

Of course, having that settled unwittingly settled other things—like his relationship with Jess—so there was a part of him that hoped (horrible, he knew) that Payne was wrong about his friend, that Keller wouldn't keep his promise to return it. Because that would keep Jess at his side, looking for it, and they could keep having amazing sex and she could keep scaring the hell out of him with her insightful little peeks into his head.

It was unnerving and yet...not. On one hand, it was nice not having to explain everything, on the other it could be damn inconvenient, particularly when she saw something he didn't want her to see. Like last night, when she'd caught him looking at her and she'd known he'd been thinking about what would happen when they got the bra back.