“You. I was lost right after I met you.”
She blinked. “You sure hid it well.”
“Self-preservation.” Slowly, caressingly, he let go of her hand. “How about you?”
Her hand drifted lower, settled, shaped, measured. She let out a long breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. “Sam, I don’t know if I’m checked out for this caliber. I’m used to, uh, twenty-twos.”
“I’ll show you all the fine points of handling and safety.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “You sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything. It will be good, Kate. For both of us.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He looked at her, saw she meant it, and felt a combination of tenderness and lust that nearly brought him to his knees.
“Bedroom, couch, or floor?” he asked.
“Okay,” she said again.
He bent and joined their mouths in a deep, mutual exploration that left both of them breathing hard.
“Bedroom,” he said finally. “I don’t want you bruised anymore.”
“Only if you start stripping on the way there.”
He smiled down at her. “Stripping, huh?”
“As in peeling off layers of clothes until we’re even.”
“Even?”
“All I’m wearing is this robe.”
His eyelids half lowered. His breath hesitated as he looked at her from pink toenails to sleek calves, inward curving waist, and the shadow between her breasts that had been making him want to howl. And as he looked, he shrugged out of his suit coat and kicked it aside. Her hands were already on his weapon harness, tugging at it as much in frustration as in any real attempt to unfasten it.
“Here,” he said, guiding her fingers. “And here.”
Her hands went lower. “What about here?”
A shudder went through him like lightning. “Wrong gun,” he said thickly.
“You sure?”
“Only if you want to get as far as the bed.”
“If it’s the floor, you’re on the bottom.”
“Deal.”
He kicked aside the last of his clothing and reached for her robe. The look on her face stopped him.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Just enjoying the, um, manscape.”
“The what?”
She licked her lips. “Male landscape.”
Her robe came off with a swift motion of his hand.
“Female scenery is outstanding,” he said, following his glance with his hands, his mouth, until he was on his knees in front of her. He ran the back of his hands inside her legs from her ankles to her thighs, gently prying them apart. His thumbs caressed the black cloud of female hair, parting it. “If I’m going too fast for you, let me know.”
She started to ask what he meant, then felt the slick, searching caress of his tongue. She made a sound that could have been a throaty cry of surprise or pleasure or both tangled into one. A few moments later her knees loosened, then buckled as waves of heat slammed through her, shaking her, tormenting her with what was just beyond her reach.
“Sam, I can’t — stand — anymore.”
“Come down here and tell me that.”
She felt his hands on her hips, urging her down. She went eagerly, desperate for more of what he’d given her. When he reached for the slacks he’d thrown aside, she dragged them closer for him.
“Want to play dress-up?” he asked, pulling a condom out of his pocket. “Or you want me to do it?”
She reached for the packet, saw her hands were shaking, and laughed. “You better do it.”
“What if mine are shaking too?”
“Impossible.”
“They were earlier.”
“When?” she scoffed.
“In the parking lot. I thought I’d lost you.” He opened the package and sheathed himself quickly. Then he caressed her slowly and deeply, teasing her and at the same time testing her readiness to accept him. His thumb circled the sleek knot of flesh that silently begged to be touched. “But I didn’t lose you, did I?”
She couldn’t answer. Heat was spilling through her in quicksilver pulses that unraveled her breath and her body.
Smiling rather fiercely, he pulled her down over him and pushed into her, eased by the liquid pulses of her release. The fit was tight, slick, perfect, everything he’d dreamed of when he first thought of opening her legs and pushing in deep. He clenched his teeth against the demanding, overwhelming lure of his own need. He wanted to savor every bit of her, wring the last drop of her ecstasy, feel —
But it was too late. He couldn’t stop the heat exploding up from the base of his spine, demanding that he drive into her again and again while the world went red and black and wild around him.
With a final shivering, clenching sigh, Kate slumped over Sam’s chest and lay there trying to breathe around the sweet pressure of him filling her. Aftershocks of completion kept rippling through her, surprising her, breaking her breath into pieces.
“Sorry I was so quick,” Sam said, running his fingertips down her spine. “I’ve been dating myself too long. I’ll do better next time.”
“Quick. Jesus. You destroyed me.” She let out another breaking breath and kissed his neck, licked it, liked the taste, licked it again. “I’ve been dating myself too. You feel good inside me, Sam. So damn good. Perfect.”
“Not the wrong caliber after all, huh?”
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked lazily.
“Would I do that?”
“Yeah.” She bit him. “But I forgive you.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me do it again?”
“Laugh at me?”
“Eventually.”
She felt him moving slightly beneath her, opened her eyes, and saw his hand patting around, trying to find his slacks without disturbing her. She leaned to the side to help him get closer to the slacks, liked the way it felt at that angle, and wiggled a little.
His breathing changed. “Um, darling?”
“What?”
“Condoms are only good for one round, remember?”
“The problem has never come up before.”
“Well, it’s come up now, but good.”
She smiled. “I noticed.”
With a slow reluctance that almost ruined Sam’s good intentions, Kate lifted herself off him. “Okay.”
“The last time you agreed with me, we ended up on the floor.”
“With you on the bottom.”
Sam got to his feet, winced, and said hopefully, “Bed?”
“With you on the bottom?”
“Any way you want me.” He grabbed a fistful of condoms from his slacks.
“Mmm,” she said, opening his hand and stirring the small packages. “Let me count the ways. One, two, three, four…”
“I offer rain checks.”
“So do I.”
He pulled her close, kissed her even closer. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter 47
Scottsdale
Friday
9:00 P.M.
A cell phone rang, interrupting Sam and Kate just as they were thinking about dragging themselves out of bed to make a late dinner.
“It’s yours,” Kate said.
“I’m trying to ignore it.”
“Is it working?”
Sam cursed and stalked into the living room where his cell phone was still attached to his belt, which was still attached to his slacks, which weren’t attached to him. When he recognized the number, his irritation vanished. He didn’t know what Lee Mandel’s godfather wanted to talk about, but he doubted it was good news. He punched the answer button.
“Special Agent Groves.”
“This is Gavin Greenfield. Sorry to bother you on a Friday night, but you told me to call if anyone questioned me about Kate or Natalie Cutter.”
Sam’s gut clenched. So quick. Jesus, this killer is scary. “Yes. Who called?”
“He didn’t leave a name.”
“Tell me as much of the conversation as you remember. Word for word, if possible.”
“I answered the phone,” Gavin said. “He told me he was following up on an interview with you.”
“Did he use my name?”
“Yes. He called you FBI Special Agent Sam Groves.”
Sam frowned. Most civilians were happy with less than the full title. “Go on.”
“I asked him who he was, just like you told me to.”
“And?”
“He didn’t tell me. He just asked me who Natalie Cutter was to me. I told him since he was in the FBI, he should ask you. Then I hung up. Did I do the right thing?”
“Yes. Do you remember him representing himself to you as a member of the FBI?”
Gavin hesitated. “No. When he said it was a follow up on your interview, I just assumed…” Then, anxiously, “He was FBI, wasn’t he?”
I hope not, but I’m not betting Kate’s life on it. “Thank you, Mr. Greenfield. You did just right. If anyone else calls, please let me know immediately.”
Sam hung up, held the cell phone in his fist, and grappled with the sickening feeling that the killer was two steps ahead of everyone.
Especially Sam Groves.
“What is it?” Kate asked.
He looked at her standing in the doorway, naked and beautiful. Vulnerable. His gut clenched.
“You mentioned rain checks,” he said.
“You want one?”
“No, but I’m asking for it anyway.”
“It’s yours.” And so am I. But that was something Kate wasn’t ready to say aloud.
Sam reached her in three long strides and pulled her into his arms. Instead of the passion and driving strength she’d come to expect from him, she found herself held gently, rocked against his chest.
“I have to go back to the hotel and take care of some things,” he said, his voice as rough as his hands were tender. “I don’t want to. But if I spend the night here, they’ll yank me off the strike force.” He tipped her head back and looked into her eyes. “You understand?”
She nodded.
“I want you to put my cell phone number in your speed dial so that all you have to do is punch connect to get me,” he said. “Okay?”
She nodded again.
“Don’t let anyone in here except me, and only if I’m alone,” he said. “If I’m not alone, call 911 and take your gun off safety and don’t open the door. Okay?”
“Sam…”
“Promise me, love.”
She gave up. “Okay.”
“If anyone knocks or calls or does anything that makes you uneasy, dial me no matter what time it is.”
“Sam, who just called?”
He hesitated, not wanting to make her as uneasy as he was. Then he told himself he was a fool. She couldn’t protect herself if she didn’t know what was going on.
“Gavin,” Sam said. “Someone called him, asking about you.”
He watched understanding take the light from her eyes.
“I see,” she said huskily. “That was quick.”
“Kate, I’ll stay if you —” he began.
“No,” she cut in. “It’s all right. I don’t want you taken off the strike force.” Leaving me with men I have to trust and can’t, because I’ll be wondering which one of them is hand in hand with a killer. “I’ll do whatever I have to.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. “Be safe.”
He pulled her close and held her, just held her, trying not to think about how fragile life was.
Chapter 48
Scottsdale
Saturday
4:00 A.M.
Sam awoke to the hotel phone ringing. And ringing. He looked at the bedside clock, then at the other bed. Empty. Colton must have the graveyard shift tonight.
Sam grabbed the phone. “What!”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the night clerk said quickly. “A fax just came in for you. The cover letter said it was most urgent. I —”
“I’ll be right down.”
He disconnected, rubbed his sandpaper face, and told himself to hang tough, it was only a few more years before he could dump his shaver in the trash and never look back. He went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his eyes, and grabbed the jeans he’d dumped on the floor after he finished drawing up diagrams of who knew what and when regarding various couriers and deliveries. Then he’d looked at them and wanted to bang his head against the wall.
He had enough suspects for a dental convention — and a headache to match.
He still had one. Four hours’ sleep wasn’t enough.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
But not all of it. He smiled when he remembered how he’d spent the best part of last night with Kate. She liked it all the ways he did, hard and fast, slow and mind-blowing, slipping and twisting and turning until there wasn’t any breath in his lungs but hers….
He splashed more water on his face and then reset the hotel’s complimentary automatic coffeepot for cook right now instead of at seven A.M.
Barefoot, still buttoning the shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck in, his hair looking like it had been stirred rather than combed, and his weapon harness hanging loosely on his shoulders, Sam rode the elevator to the lobby.
The clerk took one look at the man walking out of the elevator toward the desk and glanced nervously toward the lobby guard.
Sam fished his badge holder from his rear pocket and said, “Special Agent Groves. You have a fax for me.”
The guard and the clerk relaxed.
“Yes, sir. If you’ll sign here…” The clerk pushed a form and a pen toward Sam.
He signed for the fax, wondered if the ten bucks per page charge included the fancy sealed folder with the hotel’s logo, and took the papers up to his room. The welcome smell of coffee greeted him. He tossed the folder on the bed, poured a cup of coffee, drank it, and poured another. That took care of the free coffee provided by the hotel. If he wanted more, he’d have to wait until the maid came to refill the coffee basket in maybe nine hours, or he could order from room service and watch Doug’s blood pressure spike at the expense report.
Sam reached for the phone. “This is two-twelve. Send up a pot of coffee. Black.”
He hung his weapon harness on a chair and went to the bed. Sipping on the lethal black brew, he opened the folder. The cover sheet informed him that the contents were privileged information not to be read by anyone without clearance from the FBI.
“This better be good, Mecklin,” Sam said, “or I’m going to call you at four A.M. tomorrow and sing every frigging verse of the ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ ”
Sam scrubbed away a yawn and turned over the cover page. It lifted, slid, and came to a rest halfway to the hall door.
He ignored it.
The first sketch showed a flashy female figure with light eyes, Dolly Parton hair, and tits to match. Caucasian, if you could trust the artist’s rendition of a description given by an unhappy citizen remembering what had happened five months ago.
The second sketch showed the same busty female with dark hair and dark eyes, as Sam had requested. He studied it for several minutes, but couldn’t pin down why she looked kind of familiar. Caucasian, Hispanic, either was possible. Which meant that better than half of the female population of the United States between the ages of twenty and fifty could fit the description.
No wonder she looked familiar.
He tossed the sketch on the unmade bed. The third and fourth sketches surprised him. Each showed the same person, absent makeup and wig, with a man’s haircut and shirt. The result was a subtly effeminate man with a lean build and ordinary looks. The third sketch was of a blond male with light eyes. The fourth version was dark and dark.
Sam whistled silently. Wonder if Lee Mandel looked like either of these.
Only Kate could help him on that, and it was too soon to wake her up. Unless he was in bed with her.
Don’t think about that. It will fuzz what’s left of your brain.
He set the sketches in a row across the foot of the bed and reached for the folder again. The remaining two pages were a summary of both interviews with Seguro Jimenez.
When Sam finished reading, he threw the papers on the bed and grabbed his cell phone. It took three separate people and a lot of attitude, but he finally tracked down Mecklin.
“The stuff arrived,” Sam said.
“You woke me up to tell me that?”
“Sorry,” Sam said. “Thought you’d be awake, having just sent me the fax and all.”
An indistinct grumble was Mecklin’s only answer.
“I just wanted to verify some facts with you,” Sam said. “Did Seguro think the person trying to pawn the sapphire was a transvestite?”
“If you read the interview summary you know he couldn’t be pinned down.”
“You were there,” Sam said. “What did you think?”
“Seguro Jimenez is a switch-hitter. He doesn’t care what gender as long as he’s not the catcher. He liked what he saw, male or female. So now we have the whole population to look at, male, female, and undecided.”
“Did Seguro say anything that would make you think the he/she act wasn’t comfortable in the costume, like maybe it was a temporary disguise?” Sam asked.
“No. In fact, he thought the tits were made-to-order, expensive drag queen stuff for a guy that didn’t want to take estrogen shots and have breast implants in order to attract straight men. That’s why the dress had a high neck — jiggle can be put in bras, but real cleavage is tough to fake close up and bare.”
“So is the rest of the equipment,” Sam said.
Mecklin gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, can you imagine a dude who’s expecting to find pussy between his date’s legs and finds jingle bells instead?”
“I don’t want to imagine it, thanks. Did Seguro come any closer to admitting that he bought the stone?”
“That solid citizen? Hell, no. He’s a real prince. He sent the tits and the stone right back out the door. Funny thing, when we showed Seguro a photo I printed of the stone, his eyelids flinched. He recognized it. I’ll show it around to the others tomorrow, but my money is on Seguro being the fence.”
ColorofDeath Page 24
