Jon's Spooky Corpse Conundrum

by A J Sherwood

  He winked at me and went back to eating. “Who wants cake?”

  That was not an agreement.

  Donovan does this thing. I’m not even sure he’s aware he does it. But every single time, it sparks my libido. It isn’t anything like getting naked—it’s a particular move he does, a gentle caress. As we stepped into our bedroom, I heard him shut the door behind us, then step in close, his hand lightly resting on my hip. He leaned all of that warm strength up against my back, pressing a kiss against my temple, and my brain just clicked off.

  I knew whenever he did that, he wanted to make love. But he didn’t want to push an agenda, so he approached me from behind, so I couldn’t read his lines. He left it up to me whether I wanted to or not.

  And of course I did. I wasn’t sick or dead.

  I slid my hand up over his head, turning my own to catch his mouth in a sweet kiss. As our lips touched, I pressed my ass back into his groin, a clear signal I wanted him. Now.

  He smiled into the kiss, turning me and ducking down to close the height difference between us. The kiss turned hungry, Donovan’s tongue stroking along mine in a hot flash before releasing. The temperature in my blood spiked, increasing the pressure in my pants and sending a new warm buzz along my spine. The man should have come with warning labels. I’m pretty sure he’s illegal in a few states.

  We started tugging at clothes, losing them in a graceless movement, tossing them heedlessly to the floor. Donovan backed me up against the wall and when my shoulders touched the cool sheetrock, my nerves lit again with anticipation, flashing and sparking in loops of positive feedback. I did love it when he took me against a wall. He was so dominant and in control as he took me apart.

  Donovan didn’t seem in a hurry tonight, kissing me in a heady rush before trailing his lips down, the rough rasp of stubble a steady line down my neck. His tongue flicked against the dip between my collar bones and I let my head fall back, giving him room. It’d been days since we’d done this, days since I’d had him, and for the life of me I couldn’t think of what had been more important. Why hadn’t I made sure this man was naked and in my bed nightly? What was wrong with me?

  He drew back and my entire body twitched forward, trying to resume contact instinctively.

  “Lube,” he reminded me, and I needed the reminder. Right. Lube. I liked lube. I’d like it a lot better if it was over here instead of over there. But Donovan was working on that, because he was smart that way. Smart lover.

  I think he’d been planning this, as he knew exactly where the lube was in his duffle and he fished it out in record time. Then he was back in my arms, kissing me, and I snugged him in with both arms around his waist. I heard the cap pop and spread my legs a little wider, giving him better access, a tingle of anticipation racing through me.

  The first touch of his fingers was a little cold, the lube not warmed up yet. Then it was just pleasure, as he stroked firmly inside. My muscles clenched in brief, shocked pleasure before I forced myself to relax, leaning into his arm, trusting him to hold me up. In a minute, my legs would not be up to the task.

  I grabbed the lube bottle before he could toss it aside, putting some into my own hand before I let it drop to the ground. He was half-erect against my stomach, which wouldn’t do. I wanted him hard and ready. I put my lubed hand to him, stroking from head to root, and felt him hiss in a breath. Smiling against his skin, I homed in on his sensitive spot, right above his Adam’s apple, and sucked the skin there. Not hard, not hard enough to leave a mark, but teasingly.

  “I swear you do that just because you know it drives me insane,” he rasped.

  I chuckled evilly. He was not wrong.

  In something like retaliation, he slid another finger into me, scissoring his fingers apart. I moaned against his skin, not caring how undone I sounded as the stretching sensation thrilled along my nerves. There was a brief, passing moment of discomfort before Donovan’s fingers crooked and found my prostate in a warm slide that made my eyes roll back into my head.

  “Dear god, have pity,” I gasped out.

  He didn’t. Because he’s evil. He slid another finger in me, still hitting that spot, and my legs jerked upwards in a brief spasm, my body weight tilting against his chest as I scrambled for balance. My breath started coming in sharp, desperate pants. If he didn’t get in me soon, I’d murder him. His mischief shone clear even for my unfocused eyes. I whined, “Donovan!”

  “Shh, I’ve got you.”

  He was not nearly desperate enough. I knew this because he wasn’t moving. I put teeth to his neck and bit him, not exactly gently.

  “Oww. Alright, alright,” he chuckled, not really fazed. “Why are you such a cannibal?”

  “You’re driving me insane. In me, dammit.”

  “I do love it when I drive you to this point.” Donovan caught the backs of my thighs and lifted me up, pressing me into the wall as he maneuvered in closer.

  Beyond relieved, I tried to be helpful, putting both arms around his shoulders, tilting my hips up and letting my back take the brunt of my weight. He had a little trouble seating himself, so I dropped a hand and caught his dick, guiding it in. It was an awkward angle, but when he pushed, it was all heat and that delicious burn that made me shudder. Donovan pressed in closer, his hips cradling my ass, my weight pressing down against him. It felt like we couldn’t get any closer, that he was deep as possible, and it was the main reason why I loved being fucked against a wall. I literally couldn’t get him any closer.

  His hands shifted, just a little, getting a good grip on me. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, peppering his face with small kisses. Donovan started to shift, drawing out only to surge in again, seeking with each thrust that perfect angle. He stared into my eyes as he moved, and maybe it was his lines, maybe it was the lighting, but he looked pure gold to me in that moment. On the next thrust he found it, that perfect angle, and my voice tore out of my throat in unrestrained delight.

  I touched Donovan everywhere I could reach, brushing up and down the straining, rock solid biceps of his arms, curving my fingers around his shoulders and down across the sensitive nubs of his nipples. I wanted to record it all, even though I knew every inch of his skin. My mind was blank and I felt nothing more than the feel of Donovan and the sparking ecstasy that mounted with every second. It felt like every breath was pure passion, edged with the scent of sex and sweat and Donovan.

  My balls drew up, tightening against my body, and I could feel my climax hovering on the edge. I didn’t want to come just yet; I was enjoying this far too much. I knew it was inevitable but I wanted it a little longer—to be connected with him, to have his undivided attention. I could see his climax building as well, knew how close he was, and a new desire ripped through me. I wanted to come at the same time, share that ecstasy.

  Maneuvering my lube-covered hand between us, I gripped my cock and started working it. It felt like relief, to finally have that friction, and my head fell back, eyes slipping shut.

  “That’s it, babe. Come for me. Come on, let go, you beautiful man, let go.” Donovan groaned the last word as his climax swelled past the breaking point. I felt him come, hot and deep within me, and it triggered my own climax. I clenched around him, bending forward so my forehead touched his shoulder as I shuddered and came all over his chest.

  I might have blacked out for a second. Next thing I knew, we were on the floor, still panting for breath. He was kneeling and slumped over me, grinning that pleased grin of his, looking infinitely sated and sexy.

  “That was…” he trailed off in a satisfied sigh.

  “Superb,” I agreed.

  Donovan looked down at the mess on his stomach and then around, snagging his shirt with two fingers to wipe himself off with.

  “We could shower?” I suggested idly, but really, the last thing on my mind was getting up. I hadn’t gotten full function of my legs back.

  “Later.” He stood, then pulled me up, nudging me toward the bed.

  I was g
etting too old for the floor, so I willingly flopped onto the mattress, then rolled to the far side so he had room. Donovan snuggled in against my side, an arm thrown across my waist, with the air of a man who was perfectly content. I stroked his arm idly with the back of my fingers, watching him.

  The thought occurred to me that I might have done this alone. I might have met my father before I’d met Donovan. It was entirely possible—we’d been called in for a case, after all. If I had, if the meetings had been reversed, then I’d have reunited with Caleb, met Neil, dealt with the fallout of Rodger’s lies all alone. The mental image was a bitter one. I was so grateful to fate, or luck, or whatever it was that let things pan out the way they had. The situation was so much easier to face with this man a stalwart support at my side.

  He fell asleep as I watched, and I levered up just enough to catch the quilt at the bottom of the bed, drawing it up and over us. He gave me a sleepy smile, tugged me in a little closer, and then went out like a light. I snuggled into his chest, took in a deep breath, and joined him.

  16

  I was a lot more relaxed this morning, thanks to the round of satisfying sex last night. And the quickie in the shower this morning. Jon tackling me pretty much cemented how comfortable he was in his dads’ house. It was a good thing on many levels.

  We were once again in the police precinct’s conference room, records strewn out around the table. We’d more or less split duties. Sho, Garrett, and I tackled the Witherspoon records, while Jon and Neil took the Stephenson/Cartwright case. Jon was trying to find the link between Stephenson and Jenny Cartwright and was paying very close attention to her scrapbook and diary. I was glad we had something physical for him to go through. Most of the records we’d gotten in were electronic.

  Witherspoon had apparently kept a law firm on retainer, and they’d emailed everything to us in huge compressed files. They mostly handled the real estate portion— buying, selling, titles—and permits for him. It was no less mind numbing today than it had been four days ago, but at this point anything could be viable information. I was perhaps a third of the way through my stack when I hit the late nineties, and the signatures on the deeds and permits changed up a little.

  “Huh. Witherspoon had a partner.”

  All heads came up.

  “Business partner?” Neil asked. “Another one?”

  We’d run into a few that popped in and out of the records, so I tacked on, “Recently?”

  “Well, not really. Recent-er. He joined in 1996 and stayed on until…looks like 2009. Kyle Ayers. I don’t know how invested he was financially, but enough that he had signature power. His name is all over the permits and some of the deeds.”

  Sho wrote down a note on the legal pad at his right elbow. “I’ll keep an eye open for that name. Garrett, can you check state records and see if you can pull up an articles of corporation or something? It’ll tell us how invested he was in the business.”

  “Sure.”

  We all went back to reading.

  Garrett piped up a second later, “So Kyle Ayers was a partner, alright. He had thirty percent interest in the company up until 2009. Then he’s not listed as a partner after that. There was no other partner brought on, he was the last one. Company was sold 2018. Let me check the court records, see if there’s a reason why Ayers split.”

  “I’m not that far into the financials,” Sho threw out, still scrolling. “I’m still in the ’90s. Maybe there was some sort of fallout? Let me hop up to that year. Maybe Witherspoon bought him out.”

  That could well be. Or maybe Ayers decided to retire? We had no information about him aside from a name. He might have been older than Witherspoon. Might have been much younger and chosen to work for a different company.

  “Hey, whoa.” Garrett straightened abruptly in his chair. His eyes were glued on the laptop in front of him, finger scrolling on the mouse as he reported, “I’ve got a legal action filed against a Kyle Macintosh Ayers in 2009. Richard Witherspoon sued him for embezzling.”

  Neil was around the table in a flash. “Let me see.”

  Twisting out of the way, Garrett gave him access so he could bend closer and read it for himself.

  Sho clacked away madly and then let out a low whistle. “Wow, and did he embezzle. I’ve got checks written to him that are upwards of five thousand dollars. Multiple times in a month. Wow. No wonder Witherspoon sued him. Did he win?”

  Neil was the one to answer, an expression of evil glee on his face. “Oh, he won, alright. Court ordered Ayers to pay every cent back, plus interest. He was sentenced twelve years in prison for it, too. Witherspoon sold the company while he was in prison.”

  Jon stayed carefully planted on the far end of the table, but he was just as invested as the rest of us. “Did he? Pay it back.”

  “Some of it,” Sho reported, still glued to the screen. Light and numbers flashed in his glasses as he clicked through the windows. “The court mandated he sell anything of value if he couldn’t pay for it outright, which he couldn’t. Ayers sold his house and car and paid back four hundred thousand, roughly.”

  “That left him with…how much to pay back?” Garrett inquired.

  “Another three hundred thousand,” Sho supplied, quickly doing the math in his head.

  Garrett shook his head in disapproval. “What a naughty, naughty boy Mr. Ayers was. To steal almost a million from his own company. Was he paroled or is he still in?”

  Neil was the one with the answer. “Paroled. This year, actually. June, to be precise.”

  “That looks like a pretty good suspect to me,” Jon observed.

  “If we can track him down, sure.” Neil straightened and headed out the door. “And I’m still curious how he moved the body. Is he strong enough to do that on his own? Or are we still looking for accomplices?”

  That was a very good question we all had no answer to.

  Neil said, “Let me make some calls, see if I can’t get a location on him. Jon, I hate to pull you off what you’re doing, but can you and Donovan go talk to the daughter and ask her about this? I want her perspective on what went down.”

  “Sure.” Jon scooped up his jacket and stretched. “I need a break from reading cramped, teenage-girl handwriting anyway.”

  We headed out and there might have been a little bounce in my stride. Finally, a break in the case, assuming this panned out. I felt like we’d never get one.

  The October air filtered over us in a gentle breeze, and leaves rustled across the huge parking lot in a skitter along the pavement. It sent a shiver over my skin as I opened the door. I was really made for warmer climates than this. Winter and I didn’t get along.

  Jon hopped into the Humvee, with me riding shotgun, as usual. I got a text message as we loaded in, and I strapped in the seat belt with one hand as I checked my phone with the other. The message made me bark out a laugh. “Rodger apparently tried to ambush Lauren at Nat’s and do his usual routine of make-up/manipulation.”

  Jon paused with his hand on the gear shaft to give me an odd look. “That sounds like trouble, so why are you laughing?”

  “Because Mom happened to be there and she chased him off with a water hose? And Skylar got pictures.” I flipped the phone around so he could see. It was very much a classic scene. My mother, looking all pristine and elegant in a sweater dress, chasing a grown man off with a jet spray of water, and Rodger running for it.

  Jon took one look and busted out laughing. “I adore your mother.”

  “Skylar says she’s so proud of herself it’s hysterical,” I reported, as another text came in. “Also that your mother is laughing.”

  “Good.” Shaking his head, he put the vehicle into reverse and took us out of the parking lot. “Figures Rodger wouldn’t give up so easily. I swear we’ll have to get a restraining order for him.”

  “You think it’ll come down to that?”

  “Manipulative, controlling bastard that he is? I’ll bet my eye teeth on it.”

  I wou
ldn’t bet against him. If anyone could read people and see potential trouble, it was my psychic lover. I tapped out a reply to Skylar, assuring her we both found that funny, and getting a promise that she’d update us if Rodger tried again. I felt the need to have another little chat with Rodger. He wouldn’t walk away unharmed this time, though.

  Only when I put the phone away did I think to ask the obvious question. “Where is Maggie Witherspoon, anyway?”

  “I wondered when you’d ask that. She’s at the same hotel as everyone else. Well, where Carol, Jim and Sharon were, I should say. I bet they’ve left by now.”

  Neil had spoken with Jim last night, and while I hadn’t heard the conversation, we’d been apprised this morning that Jim, Sharon, and Carol would return to Nashville today. I think they were just as glad to leave the hotel and get back to their own beds. We’d also left Marcy and Tyson running things alone long enough. Not to mention the work piling up. I didn’t look forward to catching up when we returned, not one bit.

  Since Jon knew where to go, I didn’t navigate, just watched him drive. He was handsome in any lighting, but sunlight suited him best, and I loved looking at him. If someone had told me ten years ago—even five years ago—that I’d be in the relationship I have now, I wouldn’t have believed them. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to earn the right amount of karma to have him. Maybe I’d saved a country in a previous life?

  “Love you too, honey.”

  I loved it when he put what I felt into words. I grinned at his profile. “You’re checking me out from the corner of your eye, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t have to. Whenever you stop and just look at me, I know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not that predictable.”

  He snorted disbelievingly.

  “You could lie and make me feel better, you know.”

  “Truth’s good for you,” he drawled.

  A random thought popped out of my mouth before I could check it or wonder at its source. “Have you ever considered if you might be graysexual?”