And as they wound down, she settled against him.
“I feel like…” She lay collapsed and spent. He stared at her body in awe and traced her figure with his pointer finger. He ran his single finger down her side and her thigh. She melted as she looked up into his eyes and watched him watch her. “I just ran a marathon.”
“If you don’t feel like that after every time you make love, then you’re doing it all wrong,” he said.
“That’s some line,” Maeve teased. She nudged him with her forehead against his bicep. He slapped her gently on the ass.
“Maybe it’s a line,” he admitted. “But I’d like to think it’s true. Sometimes you need sex to exist for no either reason than because you have to have someone.”
“Like animals?”
“We are animals.” He kissed her shoulder. “Sex should feel barbaric sometimes.” He grabbed her close and pressed their bodies together.
“Maybe we’re animals,” she said slowly, “but I’m not just an animal,” Maeve said and she slid lower, kissing his hairless, tan chest. She moved up and then kissed his lips, soft and slow and sensual. The passion of the last half hour segued into a blissful connection.
She kissed him longer and her kisses became more urgent, and she moved to put her body on top of his again, but he laughed and pinched her side gently, pulling at a small roll above her hip.
“Easy, partner,” he said and he rolled out of bed. He stretched upward and reached to the ceiling—his body in full glory. “Give me twenty to recover. Maybe all night if something good is on HBO.”
Maeve rolled over and buried her head in her pillow. She let out a satisfied groan and looked over at Derek again, switching back and forth between burying her head and lifting it to catch a glimpse at him.
“I’ve never slept with someone so gorgeous before. And with so much, God, um…power,” she ended up saying, although she didn’t like the idea of it, so she shook her finger and said, “magnetism.”
“Magnetism.” He laughed.
“Inexplicable scientific fact. Crotches like magnets.”
“Total explainable scientific fact,” Derek said with a laugh. “Basic biology. Hormones are literally like magnets.”
“Sex? Sure,” Maeve said with a shrug. “But that wasn’t just sex.” Then she looked up coyly, the teasing winding down and her insecurity starting to rear its head. No, that wasn’t just sex—that wasn’t just about parts and pieces and the mechanics of bringing themselves to come. That was only one small piece of the moment they shared.
Derek opened his mouth, paused, and smiled.
He said, “It wasn’t just anything, was it? God, you’re beautiful.” He forgot about wherever he was headed and turned back to the bed. He jumped up next to her and rested his naked body against hers. He kissed her and kissed her, and his hands were in her hair and on her hips. The scruff from his face scratched her skin, but she liked the way the sandpaper feeling brushed against her stomach, her legs, her toes.
He kissed her toes. She couldn’t help but giggle and wiggle each appendage as his mouth came near.
They drew away. Derek ran a hand through his hair and he sat—watching, patient, taking it all in.
“I’m glad we found each other,” Maeve dared to say. He’d just rocked her world and she was feeling honest. He’d already tasted the inside of her, but sex was casual and she knew that dating was a fickle universe. Maeve often didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do from one day to the next. There were no rules anymore. And there was no great self-help book that offered advice for starting a relationship with the newly bereaved. Or starting up one with a childhood celebrity crush. Or one that specifically talked about how to untangle yourself from your family’s lies.
“You’re going to say cheesy things now,” Derek said, and he opened his mouth and made a face before hopping back out of bed, much to her chagrin. He walked backward, naked, out into the living room, staring at her the entire time. “I’m going to get a drink,” he whispered. “Be right back.”
He disappeared, but then put his hand on the doorframe and popped his head back inside. “I’m glad we found each other, too. I…” he paused. She sat up and tugged the bed sheets up around her body. “We’re just good together, Maeve. We’re like, really good. I like you.”
“You can fool anyone for a week,” Maeve contributed self-deprecatingly. And Derek responded by throwing his head back and laughing.
“That’s what I always say,” he admitted. He didn’t go to the kitchen after all and he walked back into the room, eyes twinkling.
“Do I feed you with laughter,” Maeve said and she opened the bed sheet, inviting him to crawl back into bed with her. He spooned her. Their naked bodies touching. He curled behind her and wrapped his feet with hers. They rested there hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled. And as he spoke to her, his words tickled her ears and neck. He occasionally kissed her on the back of the neck, his mouth brushing against her as he spoke.
They talked about all the things happening—all the things that needed to be done.
He was going to take leave from work. And he should get a hotel. She didn’t try to dissuade him because she understood that space was a good thing, needed. Also, she didn’t want to admit she was a little afraid.
“You think I’m in danger?” Maeve asked.
Derek remained quiet.
“It’s possible,” he said after a time. “And it’s what I’m the most afraid of. That I stay out of this and when it comes back…I could lose another person I care about.”
The words weren’t lost on her. A person I care about.
“This building is secure,” Maeve said with a sigh. It was even more secure since Hugo came over and installed new locks that were dog-proof. “That was one of the reasons why I chose it. And, are you suggesting that I should be afraid of the Woodstock Killer?”
“It’s not as strange as it sounds,” he said. But she was certain that it was exactly as strange as it sounded.
She thought of all her memories of Derek from the trial; reading all the witness testimony of Peter’s confession and his dad’s heroic act to save the day and the neighborhood and the community from a predator. If all of that was a lie? It was mind-blowing. It was a scoop.
“Did your mom ever know the truth?” Maeve asked after a few minutes. He had been drifting to sleep and she reached her elbow back to nudge him. He squeezed her tighter and sighed into her back.
“No. She didn’t,” he said.
“Can you imagine keeping a secret that big from the person you love the most?” she hummed.
Derek was silent for a beat, then he said, “No. I can’t.”
That knowledge hung between them. Derek turned on to his back and Maeve moved with him, curling up into his shoulder, her hand on his chest. She wrapped a single leg around his and stared forward.
“I want you to know that you may have your doubts about me—”
“I don’t,” Derek said quickly, and he rested his chin on the top of her head and squeezed his arms around her.
“I feel like you’re the first person I want to be real with,” Maeve said and saying it out loud made her want to cry. It also made her want to wince. There was nothing she could say that was original or witty or that would sell him on the idea of her being a perfect fit for him. She had to toss out the truth and hope it counted for something.
“I feel like I can like you for who you are now and admit that I liked you for the celebrity you were then. And that, yes, I’m interested in this case, but I’ll be as involved as you need and want. I really do like you. And I am wrecked inside for what you’re going through and I’m sorry. And I don’t know—”
He kissed her. She bit back the rest of the emotion, unwilling to make any part of this about her.
“Stop,” he said and ran his fingers through her hair, untangling it piece by piece, as his lips pressed against her temple. “I’m here because I want to be,” he answered. �
�I like you, too.”
They kissed, she turned into him and the excitement between their bodies grew and charged them with renewed hunger. Renewed desire. He ran his hands through her hair and gathered it up again. He kissed her nose and her neck, nibbling. She spied the clock.
It had been a forty-minute respite of talking, and now they were attempting a whole new catalog of positions with ease and laughter and joy.
By the time Maeve woke up in Derek’s arms the next morning, his blue eyes finding hers, his hand across her breast, she was prepared to marry him.
Even in the early morning light, the fervor of yesterday melted away into a placid understanding of togetherness.
Maeve smiled to herself. She was in love.
Before she could wiggle out of bed, she heard the vibration of her phone on the chest of drawers.
“Don’t answer it,” Derek pleaded with her, but she shooed him away and grabbed the phone immediately. Maeve didn’t recognize the number and she let it go to voicemail. “There’s my girl,” he said.
“I do that anyway,” she said with a coy smile. “I’m a proud believer in screening calls for my own sanity and self-care.”
“Smart choice. You never know when you might need to come pick up someone from the ER,” he teased.
“I called back right away on that one.” A voicemail popped up and Maeve clicked on it.
She put the phone to her ear and listened as an unfamiliar voice shattered her morning. “Maeve. I got your number from Debbie at the ER. I’m sorry to intrude, but I wouldn’t unless it was urgent. I’m looking for Derek and I heard he might be staying with you? You must be a new friend. I’ve been trying his phone, but nothing. Have him call me. It’s Julie. He’ll know my number.”
Maeve rolled her head over to Derek, who was still resting against her pillow, his arms above his head. “What?” he asked, sensing trouble.
“Julie,” Maeve answered.
“Julie?” He sat up and gawked.
“Your ex. Julie.”
“She just called you?”
“Looking for you,” she said.
“Holy shit.” Derek jumped naked out of the bed and walked over to his phone face down on the dresser. “Fourteen missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty text messages. She’s a beast.”
“What’s it about?” Maeve asked. She hoped that her question sounded light and innocent, without the jealousy she was actively pushing away.
“Ignore her,” he said as if he was reading her mind. “I’m serious. You have to ignore her.”
Maeve put her hands on her hips and waited. She could deal with psycho girlfriends, she only needed to know what to expect.
“She didn’t say what she needed,” Maeve said. “You should call her back…”
He put his phone back down and walked away from it without responding.
“It’s about my dad’s funeral. She wanted to help plan. She said she has a florist…” Derek trailed off and sat down on her couch, pained. Maeve followed and sat down beside him. “If you take it over completely then I won’t even need to text her back.”
“You should text her back,” Maeve said. Even she didn’t want to be cruel to the woman; everyone deserved the dignity of a reply. “But I’ll help plan the memorial. Me and the girls. Done.”
“Fine, I’ll let her know I’m good and don’t need help… And then you’re gonna take the lead on the reopening of the Woodstock Killer case, too? Impressive abilities,” he cooed and Maeve blushed as she realized he was offering her true admiration.
“When do you want to have the memorial?” she asked.
“Next weekend?”
“When do you want to get the club involved?”
“Whenever,” he replied.
She scrunched up her nose and held it there, searching his face, and she waited until he shifted on the couch, uncomfortable by her silence. “Let’s find a killer. I’ll set up shop in my apartment. And we’ll lay your dad to rest…and let’s do all of it without Julie and—”
Derek leaned forward and kissed her straight on the mouth before she was finished.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled back, holding on to her lower lip for a beat. “Sometimes I’m really turned on by efficiency.”
“Oh, really?” Maeve cooed. She turned her neck to him, exposing the thin lines of her collarbone. “How does it make you feel to know that I always file my taxes right away.”
He licked her neck.
“Respond to emails within the day…” she cooed.
He picked her up and threw her back on the bed.
“God,” Maeve said. “You weren’t kidding. I’m highly motivated to continue to impress you with all my amazing qualities,” she squealed.
The excitement of their budding relationship eclipsed the more pressing issues like murders and over-bearing Julies. But Maeve didn’t care—as she felt his hands all over her body, the musk of him enveloping her, she was certain that she’d stay focused.
“You intoxicate me,” he said, his heavy breath on her ear. His mouth found her earlobe and tugged gently.
Maeve hummed, satisfied.
She, indeed, could have her cake and eat it, too.
Chapter Twenty
In a matter of days, the apartment was transformed from a perennially messy bachelorette pad to a central hub of the Love is Murder Social Club: Find a Killer Edition.
Sometimes they wanted to drink wine and talk about murder cases, but when called to action, the small group rallied with particular grace. It seemed everyone had a role and claimed their position within the larger group with ease.
The amateur sleuths sloughed off more and more actual responsibilities to tease out aspects of the case that went forgotten or unnoticed through the years. Holly brought her chatty pre-teen around once who they finally silenced by hooking him up with Hugo to tag along on maintenance calls.
They had suspects.
They had questions. They had reimagined the case from what Derek could remember—which was nothing. But, if Peter was innocent, they had a lot to unpack.
Millie, uninvited and surprised, wandered into the middle of a particularly heated brain-storming session between the members, who slipped in and out of Maeve’s apartment as though they lived there. A woman with a head-scarf and a thick accent unloaded groceries into Maeve’s refrigerator and Millie could only watch with her mouth agape.
Huddled in the corner over a blown-up map of SE Portland, Maeve and a group of other women circled the path of the Woodstock Killer during his killing spree. They’d marked the paper with each attack, noting times and dates. There was something about the pattern of the attack that suggested the killer knew the area well. He’d been able to evade the police, even once they were actively looking for him.
Millie walked forward to Maeve, unnoticed by the masses.
The windows of the apartment had been covered with crime scene photographs and evidence summary posters made from giant Post-Its provided by a local teacher.
“Can I talk to you?” Millie asked when she made eye contact with her sister.
Maeve got up from the chair and excused herself, pulling Millie into her bedroom and shutting the door. Roger lifted a lazy head from the bed, his new hiding place, and then went back to sleeping, disinterested by the sisters. The noises from outside carried toward them and Millie listened, dumbfounded.
“What. The. Hell. Is this?” she asked.
“It’s the club. We relocated.”
“Oh my God.” Millie made a face. “It looks like some bad television show. It’s also the most Portland thing I’ve ever seen. Did you know someone is setting up a vegan bakery out of your kitchen? Are you all huddled together secretly solving a crime in there?”
Maeve took a breath.
“The Woodstock Killer is back, Millie,” she said, and Maeve nodded as if this answered everything. She put up her hands in supplication. “He’s back.”
“What?” she shook her head. “The who?”
“The Woodstock Killer.”
“Right,” Millie said and she slumped her shoulders. “Have you been working?”
“On this. Yeah.”
“No, like, working. I went to have lunch at the restaurant and they said you took a few days off because of a family emergency?” Millie raised an eyebrow. “Sorry to blow your cover, but I had no idea what they were talking about.”
“Oh, Timothy died.” Maeve frowned.
“That guy you performed CPR on? I mean, sure, that makes you family…”
“So far the verdict is still pending on whether or not the wound was self-inflicted. No gun. Apparently, there was a suicide note, but the wife has it. Signs point to a cover-up or an accomplice.”
“Shit, Maeve,” Millie breathed. She put her hands on her hips and bit down on her lower lip, shaking her head. The dismissiveness was gone from her voice. “The wife? And what—”
“You’re ridiculous. You were literally with me at the club, Millie. You sat there and listened to him speak.”
“Right.” Millie snapped her fingers. “Okay. Right. The famous murder dad or whatever.”
“You have that look you used to get when we were kids before you’d go tattle on me with something to Mom and Dad.”
“Yeah, I might call Mom, Maeve. This is kinda creepy.”
“It’s not creepy.”
“You’re investigating a murder in your house with people you met a week ago.”
“You know me better than anyone else, Mills. Can’t you see how invigorating this is for us? For me. Maybe. How invigorating it is to get to use my major. I love this, Amelia.” She so rarely used her given name. “How often do people like us get to do this? We’re behind-the-screen people, we know stats and facts and we want them to make sense, and when the world doesn’t make sense, we want to figure it out. I want to put the pieces that are out of whack right again. I want to use my ability to see a scene and figure out puzzles to help people…”
Forgotten Obsessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 1) Page 15
