by Rebecca York
It felt wonderful to slide his hands over the curve of her bottom, her hips, the indentation at her waist, all the places he’d longed to touch. Imagined touching.
Easing a little away, he managed to get his belt buckle undone, then his zipper. But he kept his briefs on as he kicked his jeans away.
He had imagined this so many times. Yet the reality was so much better than any daydream, and he marveled at the intensity of what he felt now.
Turning to the side, he bent to pull the covers back, then brought her down to the bed with him, rolling to his side, holding her in his arms.
His gaze on her face, he cupped her breasts, shaping them to his touch, then played his thumbs over her distended nipples.
She closed her eyes, her breath catching as he bent to take one hard peak into his mouth, drawing on her as he used his thumb and finger on the other side.
“Oh, Mack,” she cried out.
Gratified by her response, he slid one hand down her body, into her hot, moist folds. He had never needed a woman more, yet he wasn’t going to rush this. Not when he sensed the moment was so important.
He touched her and kissed her, tasted her, lifting his head to watch her face and judge her readiness as he continued to stroke her most intimate flesh.
He saw passion color her features, felt her hips lift restlessly against his fingers.
“Look at me,” he asked as he pulled off his briefs, then moved over her, parting her legs with his knee.
Her eyes met his, and everything inside him clenched.
When his body sank into hers, he felt as though it was a homecoming.
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, overcome with emotions he couldn’t name as he began to move inside her. He had wanted her for a long time, and finally she was his.
She threw back her head on the pillow while she matched his rhythm. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she climbed toward orgasm with him. Summoning every ounce of self-control he possessed, he held himself back, waiting for her to reach the peak of her pleasure. When he felt her body start to contract around him, he let go, crying out as climax rocketed through him.
As the storm passed, he looked down at her. For a moment, he saw a look of wonder in her eyes, and he thought that she was finally ready to admit that they belonged together. Then she must have realized she was with Mack Steele. As she stared at him, she took her lower lip between her teeth.
“Jamie?”
When she didn’t answer, he shifted his weight off of her, coming down beside her on the bed.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.
“Don’t tell me it was wrong,” he managed to say around the lump that had formed in his throat.
“It was.”
“Give me a good reason why.”
She didn’t answer, and he wondered if she could come up with anything logical or if she was just clinging to old assumptions.
Fumbling for her hand, he clasped his fingers with hers. Was there anything he could say to convince her that she was a free woman? That the two of them were right for each other, and no memory of the past should come between them?
When she started to move away, he held on to her.
“Stay with me. I need you.”
“Why?”
It was hard to get the words out, but he managed to say, “Because making love with you was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, and I don’t want you to tell me it was wrong.”
“It was.”
“No. And I’d like a chance to prove that to you.”
“How?”
He wanted to say that he’d make love with her all over again, and it would be just as good. But great sex wasn’t the answer to his problem. He wanted the two of them to merge their lives. He wanted her to realize how amazing they were together. Not just in bed.
And most of all he wanted to tell her he was in love with her, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear that piece of information. “Just give me a chance,” he said in a low voice.
She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Maybe I can’t.”
“Well, I’m not going to force you into anything,” he said, waiting for her to tell him that he just had. It wouldn’t be true. But if she thought so, he had no defense.
Long seconds passed, and when she didn’t say anything, he felt a tiny bit of the tension ease out of him.
“We should talk about the man and the SUV,” he said, because he needed to change the subject.
“Okay. But not in here.”
She pulled the spread around her as she climbed out of bed and began collecting her clothes.
He lay where he was until she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he quickly jumped out of bed and gathered up his own clothing. He climbed into his pants before straightening the sheet and blanket. Then he stepped into the sitting room to put on the rest of his clothing.
IF STAYING IN THE BATHROOM all day was an option, Jamie might have taken that route. But she had to be honest with herself. One reason she was upset was that making love with Mack had been wonderful. He was a skilled lover and a considerate one, and she’d been without a man for so long. She wanted that to be the reason the fireworks had exploded between them, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie to herself. There was something between them. Something she was sure that a normal woman would want to explore.
Did that mean she wasn’t normal?
Unable to come to any conclusions, she took a quick shower, then dried her hair. She didn’t bother with makeup as she stepped back into the bedroom. Mack had pulled up the sheet and smoothed it out. She finished the job by tugging the spread back into place, making it look like nobody had been making love there.
Then she walked into the living room where Mack was sitting with his gaze trained on the television.
He could have asked how she was feeling. He could have said a dozen different things. When he remained silent, she took the seat at the other end of the couch where she’d have to turn her head if she wanted to look at him. When he used the remote to snap off the TV, she jumped.
He gestured toward the coffeemaker in the kitchen area. “Do you want some coffee?”
“I’m fine.”
“So what can you tell me about the guy who tried to push you into the SUV?” he said, as though the time they’d spent in bed together hadn’t really happened.
She focused on the incident. The one that had sent her burrowing into Mack’s arms. “I already told you he was wearing a ski mask, so I couldn’t see his face.”
“I believe you can tell me more than you think. What color were his eyes?”
She allowed his face to jump back into her vision and winced. “Are you okay?” Mack asked quickly.
“Yes. I was just thinking about him grabbing me. Then struggling with him.” She swallowed. “His eyes were brown.”
“Okay. Good.”
“That’s not much.”
“Did he have a big head? A small one?”
“About average.”
“Big nose? I mean, did it make the front of the ski mask poke out?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure it was super big.”
“What about his hands?”
She hadn’t realized he could get so much out of her, but the question brought back another detail. “His nails were neatly cut and clean.”
“Okay. So that means he’s probably not an auto mechanic or anything that involves manual labor.”
“And his hands were fairly large.”
“Another good detail.”
“But not enough to figure out who he is.”
“What was he wearing?”
Again, she pictured the incident, and details came back to her. “Jeans. Scuffed boots. A casual jacket. Nothing we can take to the police.”
“The SUV was black.”
“Yes. And… I remember the interior was beige,” she added as another tidbit surfaced.
“Was the interior neat or messy?”
; “Neat. I didn’t see anything lying around except…” She stopped short and winced.
“What?”
“I saw a pair of handcuffs. Obviously for me.” The last part came out high and breathless.
“Anything else you can tell me?”
She thought for a few minutes and shook her head. “Oh, wait. I think I scratched his neck with my nails.”
“Okay. That might help, if we find him.” He paused for a moment. “Let’s go back to Clark Landon. Could it have been him?”
“He was about the right size but I don’t think Clark has that vehicle. Nor would his car be so clean and neat.”
He answered with a harsh laugh. “He could have stolen it, for all we know.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Finally, Jamie moved restlessly on the couch. “Maybe I should get some rest.”
“You should eat something.”
“Like what?”
Mack got up and walked to the desk, where he picked up a menu. “There’s a restaurant right in the hotel. I can bring us back something.”
“Okay,” she answered without enthusiasm. She wasn’t really hungry, but it would be a bad idea to make a habit of missing meals.
He handed her the menu, and she scanned the selections. “Hamburger and fries, I guess.”
He dialed the number and ordered two hamburgers and two orders of fries, then said he’d pick up the food.
When he left the suite, she got up and walked back to the bathroom, where she used her brush and the dryer to straighten out her hair. Maybe she did care…a little.
Mack was back with the meal they’d ordered in a few minutes. “What’s that for?” she asked when she saw two chocolate milkshakes.
“For fun.”
“Fun. Yeah.”
They started eating in silence. She didn’t know if the burgers were good or bad. She was just eating to keep herself going. But she did like the chocolate shake, she silently admitted.
Probably because they were both uncomfortable, he turned on the TV and they watched the news again. The local stations were still talking about the murders, but they didn’t have any new information.
When he suddenly said, “Maybe it’s time for you to go back to Baltimore,” her head snapped up.
“You wanted me to come along. What’s changed?”
“That’s not exactly the way I remember it.”
Chapter Eight
“Whatever you remember, I’m not going back,” Jamie said, punching out the words.
Mack had an answer ready. “It’s the safest thing for you.”
“Why?”
He set down the burger he was eating and spread his hands. “Because you’ve been attacked twice now. Someone tried to run you down in a parking lot. Then they tried to kidnap you. Those incidents must be related either to the funhouse investigation or to Clark Landon. Neither alternative is good.”
She felt her expression turn defiant. “Maybe, but I’m not leaving. I want to see this through.”
“Even if you get killed,” he snapped.
“Are you trying to frighten me?”
“Maybe I’m trying to make you think logically.”
She could feel her jaw hardening as she spoke. “It’s not that far to home, and my address is in the same database where you looked up Lynn Vaughn. If someone is after me in Gaptown, they could follow me back home. Maybe I’m safer with you than I would be in my own house.”
A satisfied expression flashed across his face so quickly that she wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it. Did he really want her to go home, or was he glad she was insisting on staying with him?
“Let’s go on the assumption that the sooner we solve the murders, the better,” she said.
“You think we can?”
“That’s why we’re hanging around, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why don’t we talk to Tim Conrad’s wife,” she heard herself say.
He looked at his watch. “I guess it’s not too late for a business call. Okay. Let’s.”
“You know where she lives?”
“I looked up the address after you found his name.”
They finished their meal quickly.
She saw Mack’s watchful expression as they headed for the elevator. He was even more vigilant when they reached the lobby.
“You wait here. I’m going to get the car.”
She could have objected. Instead she said, “All right.”
The lobby was almost empty, and she kept her eyes on the people there: a couple of female desk clerks, a businessman checking in and an older couple with luggage who must have been waiting for an airport shuttle or something. As she studied the people, she suddenly wondered if the clerks knew anything.
Walking to the counter, she waited until a man checking in had wheeled his suitcase to the elevator. Then she said, “My name is Jamie Shepherd. Did anyone come in or call about my staying here?”
“Not that I know of,” the clerk answered. “But I’ve only been on duty a couple of hours.”
“Thanks.”
Mack had pulled close to the door, and she hurried to join him, surprised at her sudden feeling of exposure as she stepped outside. It didn’t feel good to know that someone might be watching her. She scanned the area but didn’t see anyone obviously paying attention to them. Still, she kept looking around as they drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
“What did you say to the desk clerk?” he asked.
“I wanted to know if anyone had inquired about me.”
“Did they?”
“Not as far as the woman knew, but she’d only been on duty for a few hours.”
“Or she could have been paid not to say anything.”
“Oh, thanks.”
He glanced toward her, then in the rearview mirror. “Just being realistic. Maybe we should have registered under false names. Too bad I wasn’t thinking we needed to hide our identities.”
She answered with a tight nod, then folded her arms across her chest.
Mack kept checking in the rearview mirror and watching any cars that pulled beside them.
“Do you see anyone suspicious?” she asked.
“No. And I’m hoping not to.”
They exited the highway and headed toward Tim Conrad’s house. It was in a working class neighborhood where a lot of the houses needed painting and the driveways held more pickups than cars. The Conrad house was a small rancher with dull white siding and window trim. As she looked at it, Jamie felt her stomach knot. She had been depressed and worried about her future for a long time after Craig had died. The woman who lived here could be in similar shape.
“Do we just knock on the door?” Jamie asked.
“Yes.”
“And what do we say?”
“I was thinking about that on the way over. Probably our best bet is to just say we’re investigating homicides in the area.”
“For whom?”
“The Light Street Detective Agency.”
There was a low hedge around the front yard. Beyond it, the sidewalk was cracked. And the front porch had settled so that the structure leaned forward slightly.
When they knocked at the door, there was no answer for several moments. Then a boy of about ten lifted the blinds in one of the front windows and looked at them.
“What do you want?” he called through the window.
“We’d like to talk to your mom. Is she home?”
He went away, and Jamie wasn’t sure if he was coming back. Then the front door opened, and a thin, blond woman who appeared to be in her early thirties looked at them inquiringly.
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Conrad. We’re from the Light Street Detective Agency in Baltimore,” Mack said, getting out his credentials and showing them to her.
“And?”
“We’re investigating murders that have occurred in Gaptown during the past year.”
The woman gave a little nod. “I’m not sure
how I can help you.”
“Can we come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.”
Her expression was resigned as she stepped aside, and they walked into a small, cluttered living room. On a chest at one side of the room were some framed photos. Jamie saw a picture of the boy, his mother and the man who must have been his father. Like his wife, Tim Conrad appeared to be in his early thirties. He wasn’t much taller than his wife, and his light-brown hair was cut short. In the picture, he was smiling.
Jamie looked away, thinking that Mrs. Conrad kept the reminder of happier times in full view. Jamie had done the opposite and put her pictures of Craig away.
The boy was sitting on the floor in front of an old television set with one of the boxes that converted the signal to digital. He seemed to be ignoring them, yet Jamie had the feeling he was taking everything in.
His mother must have had the same thought because she said, “Tommy, you go on to your room.”
The boy got up slowly and left.
Mrs. Conrad gestured toward the couch. “I guess you might as well sit down.”
“Thank you,” they both said.
As she sat down, Jamie wondered what it would be like to have a son to take care of on her own.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” she said.
The woman nodded.
“Are you getting along okay?”
“I had some insurance. And I’m an aide at West Side Elementary School. So we’re getting by.”
“I know it’s hard,” Jamie murmured. She had had insurance, too. Quite a lot, actually, because the Light Street Detective Agency had a very generous policy for employees. But financial security didn’t make up for the loss of a spouse.
The woman’s expression turned fierce. “How would you know?”
Jamie clenched her hands in her lap as she answered. “My husband was killed last year.”
Mrs. Conrad’s expression softened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to keep your perspective.” Jamie glanced quickly at Mack. He was watching them, and she figured he’d decided she was the best person to get information out of Mrs. Conrad. She hated to use that connection, yet she understood its effectiveness.
“What happened to your husband?” the other woman asked.
