What the hell?
He stared at the long, thin box bearing the photo of an incredibly lifelike penis. Bubbles swirled lazily in the bottle of body oil lying next to it.
That did not look like any gourmet food he’d ever purchased.
He set his briefcase down with a thud. A bright pink business card attached with a lilac ribbon to a spray of colorful condom wrappers peeked out of the bag. He picked it up. “Especially for You” Personal Parties—Laci Burton. Below the slogan, someone had scrawled in bubbly cursive—Thanks for the purchase! Enjoy!
A sex-toy party?
He shrugged off seeing Kathleen’s Jeep in Price’s drive. He wasn’t going to think about what she’d purchased, how she might use those items with Harding. Celia at a sex-toy party? He lifted the bottle of oil. Vanilla-almond, self-warming personal lubricant. His gaze fell on the boxed dildo, images popping off in his head.
Celia, naked and spread-eagled on gold sheets, her silvery blonde hair spilling over pillows edged with heavy cord. Her lips open on a moan, skin glistening with oil, the scents of vanilla and almond heavy in the air.
Pure arousal pooled in his belly, shooting a heavy tingling to his groin. Ah, damn it, he was imagining her naked in his bed. His hands rubbing that oil over her skin, but her hands easing the vinyl dildo inside her while he watched…
Hell .
Sweat beaded his upper lip and he brushed it away. He was losing it. Fantasizing about the best damn investigator he’d ever hired. He wasn’t going to let his attraction to her spoil that. Celia was an adult and what she did in her private life was just that—private. Her business. As long as she kept it separate from his office.
He frowned, eyeing the adult toy while her flirtation with Cook played through his head again. Maybe it was more than a flirtation. Maybe she’d bought the items to use with the sheriff’s investigator. Hell, it wasn’t like Tom was privy to the details of her private life.
For all he knew, she’d done more than review case details with Cook after he’d left.
More images flickered in his head…Cook’s sturdy frame supporting Celia’s slim body, his hands sliding over her skin, gleaming with scented oil, while she pleasured herself with that damn rubber dick and moaned the other man’s name.
Tom’s stomach pitched and a weird burning traveled under his skin. Primal anger fired in him, clenching his lungs, making it hard to get oxygen to his brain. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Celia could see any-damn-body she wanted. He had no control over that. Getting pissed off because she was interested in Cook was counterproductive, a complete waste of time.
But he still didn’t like it. Cook was a player, known in the tricounty area for his string of one-nighters. Celia deserved better.
Maybe she didn’t want more. What did he know?
He grabbed the items from the counter and slammed them into the bag. With it shoved under his arm, he snatched up his briefcase and stormed from the house. During the fifteen-minute drive to his offices, he fumed and pushed the Mercedes through its paces.
Damn it all. He didn’t need this right now.
Who was he kidding? He didn’t need this ever. He liked his relationships with women kept on an entirely level basis. Women who tied him in knots were not his thing. Since he’d hired her, Celia had jerked more knots in him than a Boy Scout going for a badge, so she was definitely out-of-bounds.
If she wanted Mark Cook, fine.
When he turned into the parking lot behind the office building, Celia’s sporty SUV was already in her customary spot. An unmarked Chandler County unit sat in a visitor’s space.
Tom shot the vehicle a glare as he climbed from the driver’s seat and locked his car. He jogged up the stairs to the back entrance and let himself in. At only a few minutes past seven, the nearly deserted offices were quiet. He bypassed his office and headed for Celia’s.
Beyond her closed office door, he could hear the murmur of voices, Celia’s light voice blending with Cook’s deeper tones. Cook’s dark chortle set Tom’s teeth on edge. Without knocking, he pushed the door open.
The aroma of strong coffee hung in the air. Cook, stretched out on the sofa taking up one wall, had a file open before him. Celia sat at her desk, folders lined up in a neat row. Both heads turned in his direction.
For some reason, seeing them working didn’t improve his mood. He didn’t acknowledge Cook, but fixed a look on Celia. She returned his gaze, her face impassive.
“Ms. St. John, could I see you a moment please?” He turned and strode to his office. Inside, he set his briefcase on the credenza and flipped the computer on with terse movements.
Celia appeared in his doorway, eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”
Her hair was up in a chic knot, leaving the elegant line of her neck bare. The picture of her with Cook flashed in his mind again, the other man sliding his mouth along her throat. The irritation flared into something hotter, a primitive possessiveness. Damn, he really didn’t need this. He set the wrinkled lilac bag on the edge of his desk. “You left that in my car.”
She crossed the room to pick up the package. “This is why you wanted to see me?”
Settling into his chair, he flipped open the file he’d need for court that morning. The words wavered in front of his eyes, anger still jerking along his nerves. “I told you I wanted an update.”
“I don’t have anything for you yet,” she said, voice cool, removed. “We’re waiting on fingerprints and blood tests before we question him again. We need a court order for a blood sample and the judge won’t be in his office until nine.”
He glanced up. Her slender fingers played with the thin silver chain that disappeared into her blue blouse. Beneath her pinstriped jacket, silk clung to firm breasts. Great. Now he was able to envision the edge of her cleavage, as he’d seen it above her camisole the night before. “What is he doing here?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re going through cell-phone records. Doe had one of those throwaway cell phones. But we’re not finding anything yet, just calls to pay phones or other throwaway cells. I put out a press release and Cook issued an Amber Alert.”
He nodded. “I saw the photos on the news this morning. Good idea, there. Be ready if they want an interview later.”
“I will.”
“In the future, I’d appreciate more professional behavior from you on scene.”
Her face froze, fingers tightening on the chain. “Excuse me?”
He clenched his jaw. “When you’re working, whatever is going on between you and Investigator Cook does not need to be bandied about the way it was last night.”
“Whatever is…” She stared at him, her nostrils flaring slightly with a deep breath. Her face reddened and she crossed her arms, the lilac bag hanging from her fingers. “Just what do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know and it’s none of my business, unless it affects your performance as my investigator. I merely don’t approve of your flirting with Cook at a crime scene.”
Bad temper crackled in her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the desk. Her blouse gaped slightly, her silver chain brushing against a hint of satin. “Is this a reprimand?”
“No.” He held her gaze, his own temper rising to meet hers, his pulse thudding in his ears. “A reminder.”
She leaned closer. “Just for the record,” she said, her voice lowering, taking on a hint of steel, “I am not involved with Mark Cook. If I were, it would have no effect on my job performance and I resent the hell out of your implication.”
“Good.” He drummed the file in front of him, irritated with the relief her denial sent coursing through him. “Then we understand each other.”
Her mouth thinned. “Oh, I understand you perfectly, McMillian.” She straightened. “Are we finished?”
He nodded. “I’ll be back in at the end of the day. I want another report then.”
She smiled, the expression cold, a little feral. “Of course.”
Turning, she strode from the room, the bag tapping against her hip. Tom rubbed a hand over his eyes. He’d handled that well.
Just like a jealous ass would.
—
The audacity of the man. The absolute gall.
Celia shoved her office door open. “Are you ready to go?”
Cook glanced up from his file. “Uh, yeah. But it’s not even eight. The judge won’t be in his office until at least a quarter to nine.”
“By the time we drive to Moultrie, the lab will be open.” She tossed the bag on her desk. What was McMillian’s problem? He didn’t want her, she was an adult, so what the hell did it matter who she slept with?
Not that she’d ever sleep with Mark Cook. Humorless laughter bubbled in her throat. McMillian had lost his mind.
Cook straightened to a sitting position. “Then we’ll have to make a second trip over there with the blood sample.”
She blew out a long breath, trying to still the fury sizzling throughout her body, shortcutting her brain. Cook was right. She wasn’t approaching things rationally. And she was proving McMillian right too. Letting her emotions affect her job.
She tapped a finger against her forehead. “Had breakfast yet?”
“Does an overdose of squad-room coffee count?”
Her skin itched, feeling too tight. “Let’s go get something before we meet Judge Baker.”
“Sure thing.” He gathered his notes and crammed them in the file folder. She ushered him out the door and toward the back exit. McMillian stepped into the hall as they passed, briefcase under his arm, keys in hand. Their eyes met and she lifted her chin, determined not to back down.
His gaze slid to Cook at her side, but he didn’t acknowledge him. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Celia.”
Her anger pulsed, but she merely smiled. “Of course.”
She continued walking, refusing to look back to see if he followed them. Cook’s footsteps thudded on the metal stairs behind her and he fell into step beside her once they reached the parking lot.
He glanced over his shoulder and whistled low. “He looks pissed. What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?” She stopped at his patrol car and waited. Behind her, McMillian’s Mercedes purred to life. A knot gathered at the base of her neck. Lack of food and sleep, obviously. She’d been unable to rest at all, questions about the baby bouncing around in her head. The stress making her temples ache had nothing to do with McMillian and his accusations.
Her feelings weren’t bruised, either.
“All that tension and ice. What the hell did he say to you earlier?” He unlocked the car and Celia slid into the passenger seat. The strong scent of wintergreen gum blended with the disinfectant used to clean the stainless steel rear seat.
She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes while fastening her seatbelt. A harsh laugh worked its way free from her throat. “He wasn’t happy about our interaction last night. He thinks we’re sleeping together.”
“You wanna?” Grinning, Cook fired the engine to life.
“No.”
“Damn.”
Her laugh this time was less abrasive. She glanced out the window as he backed out and eased into the alleyway alongside the office building. The anger gripping her chest lessened somewhat, giving way to a vague sense of hurt disappointment.
She was crazy with wanting McMillian and he thought she was involved with someone else. Damn his blind hide. Damn her, too, for wanting the ass in the first place.
Slowing for a traffic light, Cook slanted a glance at her. “Listen, St. John, I’m sorry if I caused trouble for you.”
“No.” She waved his apology away. “It’s just McMillian being his normal self.”
Wicked glee glinted in his gray eyes. “You mean an arrogant dickhead?”
A puff of laughter escaped her. “That he is.”
The light turned green and he looked at her before accelerating. “My God, you’re hot for him.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head. “I am not.”
“You are.” He laughed. “Admit it, St. John. You’ve got a thing for the asshole DA.”
“Right.” She pinned him with a cool look. “You’ve figured me out, Cook. He’s my true heart’s desire. I lie awake at night fantasizing about him. I doodle his initials on my reports.”
He snickered, but thankfully dropped the subject. They killed an hour at the local diner, tossing around case theories and bemoaning the time it would take to get their lab work. Celia nibbled at a piece of toast and pushed scrambled eggs around her plate while Cook wolfed down a hearty breakfast platter. Afterwards, they walked the two blocks to the law offices that lined the courthouse square. Construction continued on the new courthouse structure, the din of hammers, saws and jackhammers filling the air.
The narrow stairway forced them to climb single file. Celia stopped on the landing and knocked at the frosted glass-paned door belonging to Judge Alton Baker.
“It’s open.” The judge’s gruff voice wafted into the hallway.
Celia turned the ancient metal knob, the door shuddering as she pulled it open. Judge Baker sat at his desk, packing boxes scattered around the room, half a ham biscuit resting on a greasy wrapper atop a stack of files. The room reeked of old law books.
She stopped just inside the door. “Good morning, Your Honor.”
He looked at them over his half-lenses, a shaft of sunlight picking out gray strands in his head of thick brown hair. “St. John and Cook. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Smiling, she extended her warrant request. “We need a blood sample from a suspect.”
Accepting the paper, he glanced at it and eyed her, his piercing gaze assessing. “This have anything to do with that dead baby?”
“Yes, sir.” Cook leaned against the doorjamb. “We need to check the suspect’s DNA against the baby’s to prove or disprove paternity.”
With a harrumphing sigh, Baker reached for a pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. “There you go. Make sure you nail the son of a bitch to the wall.”
“Yes, sir.” Celia took the paper back from him. “Thank you.”
In the hallway, with the door closed, Cook let out a slow, audible breath and grinned. “Son of a bitch actually makes me nervous.”
Celia laughed and waved the warrant at him. “Come on. Let’s go make Mr. Doe’s day.”
They crossed the street to the sheriff’s department, located behind the courthouse construction. At shortly after nine, the jail was coming to life. Celia followed Cook down the stairs to the holding area. In the hallway beyond, prisoners called to each other, and a jailer admonished them to keep it down. A lone voice groused about greasy, undercooked bacon.
On the way down the stairs, Cook flipped through the keys at his belt. “Rise and shine, Doe. We need to see you a sec.”
Celia stopped dead as they entered the holding area. Doe lay sprawled, legs at an unnatural angle, his arms twisted beneath him. Blood pooled under his head. Adrenaline pumped through her, her heart rate kicking upwards. “Cook, get that door open.”
“Shit.” Stress vibrated in his voice. He fumbled the key into the lock and slammed the door to the side. “Son of a bitch, St. John. He did a header off the top bunk.”
Memories of the fear in Doe’s eyes beat in her head. They’d screwed up. She should have played on that fear last night, gotten him talking. Now it was too late. “Oh, hell.”
Cook pressed a finger to the carotid pulse point. “He’s dead. Damn, I gotta call the GBI. And the sheriff. Man, he’s gonna have a hissy fit.”
She eyed the blood, mixed with brain fluid, her stomach dropping. “Guess we didn’t need that warrant after all.”
—
Tom dropped his files and legal pad in his briefcase. Forty-minute drive to the Darren County courthouse, only to have his case placed on continuance. The aggravation didn’t improve his mood.
Hefting the leather case, he turne
d toward the door. His gut clenched, an oddly familiar lift and fall. Just inside the entrance, Kathleen stood talking with her partner at the GBI. Agent Altee Price had been slated to testify for his prosecution. Kathleen hadn’t seen him yet and he watched her. The navy polo of her GBI uniform highlighted the coppery hair framing her pale face and its fine features. She waved a hand as she talked, her thin gold wedding band glinting.
Damn, he hated the way seeing her still kicked him in the balls.
He frowned. It had been years. The marriage had died long before they’d signed the divorce papers. Those last years, he’d been the only one trying. Why did her remarriage, the news she was pregnant, bother him so badly? It was over and he needed to just let go.
Celia could help him do that.
He shook off the thought and headed for the door. All Celia was going to do was help wrap up this baby case. With his court appearance rescheduled, he could catch up with her, see how that investigation was progressing. Find out if she was still as infuriated with him as she’d been when she’d walked away with Cook that morning without a backward glance.
He strode up the aisle. Kathleen and Altee had disappeared and he pushed open the door. Small groups of people stood in the rotunda area and Kathleen caught his gaze as he exited the courtroom. A polite smile curved her mouth.
Nodding, he forced a smile in return. “Kathleen. Agent Price.”
Kathleen tilted her chin. “Tom.”
A small chime rang out and Altee tugged her cell phone from her waistband. “It’s Botine. I need to take this. Excuse me a minute.”
She walked outside, leaving him in a bubble of isolation with his ex-wife. Nerves jangled in him and Tom cleared his throat. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Yes.”
“I’m glad for you.”
Surprise bloomed in her dark eyes. “Thank you, Tom.”
“Give Harding my congratulations.” She nodded and he jerked his head toward the door. “I’ve got to go.”
At least she couldn’t tell the words stuck in his throat. Glad she was pregnant again? With another guy’s baby? Yeah. More proof she’d forgotten their son. His throat tightened. After Everett’s death, he’d ached to talk, to share his memories of that precious boy with her. She’d not allowed him to speak the baby’s name in her presence. He’d never been able to forgive her for that.
Memories of Us Page 3
