by Rebecca York
They reached the car, and both climbed in. He had intended to stop for pizza, then head for the next stop on their list, but when he turned to Olivia, he saw that she was sitting with her shoulders hunched, shaking, which made him wonder if her reaction had as much to do with her past as the present.
He could have said, “Are you all right?” But he knew she wasn’t. He wasn’t so great himself. Instead of speaking, he leaned across the console and reached for her, pulling her close.
At first she stayed stiffly in his embrace, then he felt her give in to the feel of his arms around her shoulders. She hadn’t put on her seat belt yet, and he slid his seat back, lifted her up, and settled her in his lap.
She kept her head down and her face against his shoulder. He stroked his hands over her back, then into her lush hair.
“Thanks for getting us out of there,” he murmured.
“It was worth a try,” she answered in a barely audible voice, raising her head to look him in the eye.
“It was quick thinking on your part.”
“Then you don’t assume I’m just an airhead model?”
“I never thought that.”
“Then why…” Instead of finishing the question, she let her voice trail off.
“Why what?” he pressed.
“Have you been keeping me at arm’s length?”
The question shocked him. “Because I knew it was what you wanted and because we have to maintain a professional relationship.”
“Do we?”
Before he could answer, she brought her mouth to his. They’d both been through an experience he wouldn’t want to repeat. That was no excuse, he told himself as the feel of her lips on his radiated to every cell of his body. He’d picked her up to comfort her. Suddenly his reasoning wasn’t so clear. He’d wanted her in his arms. Now he was shaking with the need for her. As he kissed her with a passion gone out of control, she returned the fervor, her hands moving over his back and into his hair, holding his mouth to hers. The world had vanished around them. The only thing in his universe was the woman in his lap, her hip pressing against the erection suddenly straining the front of his jeans. He slid his hands under the back of her knit shirt, pressing them against her warm skin, reveling in the feel of her. But it wasn’t enough. Acknowledging his own surrender, he angled her away from his chest so that he could move his hands around to the front of her, cupping her breasts through her bra. They were small, but sensitive, and she moaned as he stroked his fingers back and forth across the hardened nipples where they poked through the clinging fabric.
Neither of them spoke, but words were unnecessary. She lowered her head, her teeth digging into his shoulder and her long hair hiding her face. For long moments, she stayed where she was as he continued to caress her. Then she moved, shifting her body so that she was straddling his lap, only a few layers of fabric separating his cock from her sex. It was a clear indication of what she wanted—a perfect echo of his own desire.
Chapter 14
Max didn’t know what would have happened if a loud horn hadn’t blasted through the bubble around them. Her head jerked up, her expression startled, and he followed her gaze, seeing that a huge truck had come around the curve in the road and slowed so that it was opposite them. The driver, who was much higher than the SUV, leered down at them.
“Get a room,” he called out.
Olivia slipped off Max’s lap and turned her head away, using her long hair as a curtain and waiting until the driver had started up again and disappeared down the road.
“Sorry,” both of them said at the same time.
“Not your fault,” Max said, his voice thick with frustration and passion. “I picked you up and put you in my lap.”
“It’s just as much on me,” she answered. “I shouldn’t have started anything out here.”
He didn’t ask what that last part meant. Would it have been all right to start something if they were in the privacy of the farmhouse?
She pulled down the visor, inspected her face and ran her fingers through her hair.
After taking a breath and letting it out, she asked, “We were going to see Brian Cannon?” she asked.
“You don’t want pizza?”
“After we finish with Brian.”
He reached for the starter button, and she reached for her seat belt. When he started the vehicle with a jerky motion, she grabbed the door handle.
“Sorry,” he said again.
She made a dismissive sound. “We’re going to his office? And you know where it is?”
Again he answered in the affirmative.
“Are we going to call him first?”
“Better if we just drop in.”
“What if he’s not there?”
He shrugged as he drove back the way they’d come. “There are a lot of other suspects we can try. Like maybe Tommy Larson.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“He was on edge at the meeting.”
“Right.”
“But everybody in the class is a suspect. Maybe everybody who was at Donley when you were.”
“You mean teachers or custodial staff?”
“It’s possible. Did you worry about any of the janitors?”
“No.”
He turned off when they reached the outskirts of Columbia, the town that had been built from scratch on Howard County farmland by James Rouse, who had wanted to make the new city a model for America. Back then, the local residents had resented the intrusion into their way of life, Olivia’s father probably among them. Had he vowed never to let his family shop at the Columbia Mall, but the decision had finally become too inconvenient?
The New Town, as it was still called forty years later, was divided by Route 29, with most of the more recent development on the east side of the major highway, and much of it built since the last time Max had been in Howard County.
Cannon Limited was in an upscale office park off Broken Land Parkway, and Max pulled into a parking space several rows from the glass and brick building. When they climbed out, Olivia looked down at her front, grimaced, and tugged at her bra before pulling at the hem of her knit shirt. Max inspected his own clothing, but didn’t see any sign of their previous behavior. Still, he ran a hand through his hair before they started for the building.
“Let me do the talking,” he said.
She gave him a quick glance. “Glad to. I’d like to hear what you’re going to say.”
“I told you what I was thinking, but I always play situations like this by ear.”
He’d looked up the address but not the suite number. Pausing at the directory in the lobby, he scanned the entry and found Cannon Limited on the second floor.
They were both silent in the elevator and didn’t speak as they walked down the carpeted hall and into an office reception area that was decorated in tasteful shades of beige. On the wall were expensive-looking modern oil paintings of the slash and dribble variety.
An attractive, dark-haired young woman sitting at a desk to one side looked up questioningly as they approached her workstation. The metal tent sign on her desk said Allison Holiday.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“We were hoping to speak to Mr. Cannon.”
“And you are?”
“Max Lyon and Olivia Winters.”
She consulted a computer screen. “I’m sorry, I don’t have you on his appointment list.”
“We’re from the Donley reunion committee. We were talking to Brian at the committee meeting the other night, and we were hoping he had a few minutes to see us now.”
“Just a moment,” she said, got up from her desk and walked down the hall.
Olivia glanced at Max. “Smooth.”
“I practice.”
A few moments later, Ms. Holiday returned. “He can give you a few minutes. His office is at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you,” Max said.
As they walked down the hall where the same kind of paintings lined the w
alls, Olivia said in a low voice, “He must be doing pretty well in the commercial real estate business.”
“You mean you think he spent a lot on this artwork.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he got his dog to do it with its tail.”
She snorted.
“Or get me some paint cans, and I’ll make you some.”
The door at the end of the hall was opened, and Max stepped through the door ahead of Olivia.
“This is about the reunion?” Brian asked. “Did they put you in charge of fund-raising or something?”
“No. But I hope you can give us a few minutes of your time,” Max said.
Max took one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, and Olivia took the other.
“I’ve been talking to Olivia,” Max said when they were seated. “About the murders of your classmates.”
“You started that conversation last night. I wish you’d drop it,” Cannon said, sounding annoyed that Olivia’s new fiancé was rocking the boat. Whatever boat that was.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I didn’t know about any of this when I got engaged to Olivia, but as soon as I found out, I realized it was my duty to protect her.”
“Isn’t that the job of the police?” Cannon asked.
“They don’t seem to be doing a very good job,” Max countered.
Cannon was silent, and Max recognized the technique. If you said nothing, the other person would eventually fill the silence. In this case, Max was prepared with his story. Which was true as far as it went.
“After the meeting last night, Olivia had a nightmare. I woke her up, and she was quite upset.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t have gone to the meeting,” Cannon suggested.
“It’s too late for that.” This time Max was the one who paused. After their encounter in the SUV, he’d vowed to keep his paws off Olivia, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over, taking her hand and knitting his fingers with hers. The sign of a concerned fiancé, he told himself, noting that Cannon followed the gesture.
“What was it about?” Cannon asked, sounding wary.
Max kept his gaze on the man. “About a party at your house.”
“I had a lot of parties at my house.”
“This was the one on Cinco de Mayo, your senior year. The one where Gary Anderson shot off a gun.”
Cannon blanched, and his gaze shot to Olivia.
She shrugged.
“Oh, that party,” the man across the desk muttered.
“We were talking about the members of the class who died under strange circumstances—or were killed. Both Angela and Gary were at that party. And also Patrick Morris.”
“Jesus! You’re including him.”
“He’s dead,” Max countered.
“From a faulty furnace giving off carbon monoxide.”
“It might not have been an accident.”
Cannon’s accusing gaze shot to Olivia. “Three dead people who died from unrelated causes don’t prove anything.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “And we agreed not to talk about what happened that night.”
“That agreement was ten years ago when we were teenagers. I did my best to wipe that party out of my mind,” she answered in a low voice. “But last night Max woke me out of a nightmare and asked me what was wrong. I didn’t actually want to tell him about it, but he could see I was upset, and he wanted to know why. I decided it would be better to tell him.”
Cannon looked exasperated.
“Olivia says she was near the door, and she wanted to leave. When she heard the gun go off, she couldn’t see who Gary shot at.”
Cannon focused on her. “Is that what you told him?”
“It’s the truth.”
“The truth? Did you tell him you were so out of it that you didn’t know what was going on?”
“I don’t remember that part.”
“Of course not,” Cannon shot back. “You were too drunk. Lucky you didn’t throw up all over the rec room.”
“Let’s not get sidetracked. I don’t think that’s relevant,” Max said.
Cannon’s gaze swung back to him. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what’s relevant.” As soon as he’d spoken, the other man looked like he wished he hadn’t made the assertion.
“We’d like to know which football player was involved in the incident,” Max said.
Cannon hesitated for a moment. “Craig Pendergast.”
Beside Max, Olivia caught her breath. “Didn’t he die when his car went off the road?”
“Yeah,” Cannon confirmed. “So if you think he was the one who killed Gary, that can’t be true.”
“I wasn’t implying that he killed anybody,” Max said in a controlled voice. “Now we know for sure that four people who were at the party are dead. Why don’t you tell me what else was going on that night.”
“The usual kid stuff.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t drink and smoke pot back then,” Cannon said. “And weren’t you arrested for breaking into houses and stealing stuff?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“So what right do you have to come here and question me?”
“What I did back then isn’t relevant to this investigation.”
“But what I did is?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s your class with the dead members. And it looks like four of them were at your house that night.”
Brian’s voice grew hard. “And you’re calling it an investigation?”
“I guess I am.”
“I don’t have to answer any more questions.”
“Don’t you want to catch the killer?”
“I’m not convinced there is a killer. I mean, we’re talking about a bunch of people who died in different ways. Don’t serial murderers usually have a pattern?”
“It depends on why they’re doing it. If it’s for sexual gratification, then they probably have a similar MO. But if it’s to punish people or to keep them from talking, not having a pattern would be a good technique for disguising what was going on.”
“What are you, a cop in disguise?” Brian suddenly asked.
“I’m not a cop.”
“Then why are you digging into this like a squirrel digging up nuts?”
“To make sure nothing happens to Olivia,” Max responded. “Suppose something happened at that party? Something the killer didn’t want anyone to know about.”
“Then he waited a long time to start his killing spree.”
Max kept his gaze on the man. “An interesting way to put it. But it goes back at least five years—when Gary died.”
Brian dragged in a breath.
“You’re the one who came here talking about a serial killer—or whatever you want to call it. And maybe it’s time for you to leave, because I can’t give you any more information.”
“I think you can.”
“Like what?”
“Olivia told me the people she remembers at the party. I’d like you to give me your list.”
“I’m supposed to remember everybody who came to a party ten years ago?”
“It was at your house, and it was a pretty memorable event.”
Cannon sighed. “Okay, I’ll do my best.” He began rattling off a list of names, many of them the same names Olivia had given him, although there were more.
“Can you write it down?”
“Now?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“How about I email it to you. That will give me time to dredge up people I might have forgotten.”
Max would have liked to stay in the office, putting the guy on the spot, but he thought there was no more to be gained by pressing him. “Okay,” he agreed and gave the guy his email address.
Cannon visibly relaxed when he knew they were going to stop questioning him.
Max gave him another jolt by saying, “You’re in danger, too.”
Brian’s
eyes widened, but he only said, “Oh sure.”
“Don’t be so cavalier about it.” Max leaned forward. “This is more urgent than you might think. Last night someone was sneaking around Olivia’s property. They ran away when I came outside with a gun.”
The other man blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wouldn’t kid about something like that. So any help you can give us would be appreciated.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Max and Olivia stood, and the businessman gave them a long look and shook his head.
“What?” Olivia asked.
“I never would have figured you’d end up with the school thug,” Cannon said, probably delivering a line that he’d been hoping to work into the conversation like a skunk cabbage in a wedding bouquet.
“He’s not a thug.”
“He was back then.”
“Some people are able to overcome their beginnings.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cannon asked.
“I’m just saying that Max turned himself around.”
Cannon shrugged.
“You had every advantage,” Olivia continued.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your parents had money. You had anything you wanted. You could afford to go to one of the top colleges.”
“And I had the grades to do it.”
They were apparently talking loudly, because Ms. Holiday stuck her head in the door.
“Do you need anything?” she asked her boss.
“No,” he snapped. “Mr. Lyon and Ms. Winters were just leaving.”
Max took Olivia’s arm and they headed for the door. The receptionist stepped aside to let them pass, followed them down the hall, and watched them exit the office suite.
“That went well,” Olivia murmured as they headed for the elevator.
“Depends on the objective. We pissed him off, but we got some valuable information. We know about Pendergast. And we know Cannon’s hiding something,” Max said.
