“You did great. Even better than I’d expected. I can guarantee you have the job. I’ll give you the newspaper’s address. If you feel better, be there on Monday morning at nine sharp.”
I grinned, my cheeks flushing with excitement and the heat from the soup. “I owe you for this, Carter. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“I only gave you a chance, everything else was up to you. But I can’t say I dislike the thought of you owing me,” he said, his eyes implying what his words didn’t. “I’m sure we can work something out when you’re on your feet again.
I nodded, anticipation adding to my sense of well-being.
“Do you really think I should just forget about Delgado? I really think I should go to the police.”
He put down his spoon. “I honestly don’t know, Camilla. I’m torn between you doing your civic duty and your safety. The latter is more important to me, but in the end, I guess it’s a decision you need to make for yourself.”
I let out a heartfelt sigh. “I don’t know what to do. Right now all I want to do is crawl back to the couch.”
After we ate, he insisted on doing the dishes, then we both went to the living room.
“Do you want to sleep? Don’t be shy about telling me to go and let you rest,” he said, stopping to look at Fish. “Isn’t he cute?”
“Yeah, he’s not much of a conversationalist, but he keeps me company,” I said, sitting down. “And no, I don’t want you to go. But I’m not the best company myself right now, and I’m afraid you’ll catch my cold. I plan to watch movies, then sleep for twelve hours straight.”
He sat next to me, putting a hand on my knee.
“I would like to stay a while longer if you don’t mind. And stop worrying. I told you I have a supercharged immune system.”
I smiled weakly, the effects of the cold dragging me down once more. Why were these damn viruses so much worse in the early evening? “Thank you, Carter, for everything.”
“You’re welcome. What movies did you have in mind?”
I frowned at my DVD collection arranged on a bookshelf. “I was planning to watch Bridget Jones’s Diary, but if you would prefer, we can watch something else.”
He shook his head, his lips twitching in amusement. “It’s fine. I like comedies, and I heard that one fits the bill. No naked bimbos and car explosions.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I messed that up babysitting last week.” I told him about Andrew, Die Hard, and The lost World.
He chuckled. “As a male, I can assure you, young Andrew probably enjoyed them even if his mother didn’t.”
“Corinne forgave me, but I don’t think she’ll ask me to babysit any time soon.”
I went to the bookshelf to look for the Bridget Jones DVD. I pushed it in the DVD player and turned it on.
“Let’s make some room,” Carter said and started to remove cushions from the couch.
“Wait. It opens up.” I showed him how to pull out the sofa. “There, now we can lie down,” I said, rearranging the cushions once more. “Popcorn?”
“Sounds perfect. Want me to make it?”
“Nope. I’ll do it, and in the meantime I’ll heat up another cup of my tea. It will put me back on my feet by tomorrow. Make yourself at home.”
“I plan to,” he replied, stretching out on the sofa.
Minutes later, when I returned with the popcorn, he was smiling at the screen, the remote resting on his flat abdomen. I put the popcorn bowl between us, but Carter pushed it aside and drew me into him, tucking my head onto his shoulder. I nearly stopped breathing when he pressed his cheek to my forehead.
“The fever is down,” he said, nestling my head under his jaw. “Feel any better?”
I nodded, afraid to speak and break the spell. This intimate scene, the way he took care of me and held me as though I really mattered, touched me deeply. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie with Carter’s body glued to mine, our legs entwined, his warmth and the dizzying smell of his aftershave penetrating even my stuffed nose.
“I’ve always dreamed of a love like that between Bridget and Mr. Darcy,” I said dreamily.
“Eccentric?” Carter asked, his breath warm on the top of my head.
“Ageless. Ardent. I can picture them staring at one another in that fiery way even when they’re eighty, him kissing her wrinkled hand with the same passion.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So, why haven’t you?”
I shrugged. “I guess I’ve never met my Mr. Darcy.”
I looked up at him. His gaze burned into mine, making Colin Firth’s sexy eyes pale in comparison. He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. My feverish skin tingled at the touch of his mouth, and I was sure I would melt in his arms. When he let go of my hand and bent his face toward mine, my eyelids began to lower, mesmerized.
But before our mouths touched, sanity returned, and I turned my head away.
“Carter, don’t...”
“Why not?” His breath against my neck sent shivers of pleasure and lust through every nerve in my body.
“I want to kiss you so badly I ache,” I confessed in a whisper, as his lips sought and found the extremely sensitive area under my jaw line. “But I care about you too much to have you catch this damned cold. Tomorrow ... Tomorrow I’ll be all right again.”
I gasped as his arms pulled me closer and his teeth scraped along my neck, drawing the skin into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue. My world was spinning, and I was deliriously aroused, but with a superhuman effort I tore myself away.
His eyes were glazed with desire, his breathing rapid as we gazed at one another in a strange understanding. It was inevitable that we would come together soon. When we did, it would be earth-shattering. This forced delay and agonizing wait was just foreplay.
Carter looked away, biting his lower lip in a sort of grudging acceptance. Then he drew me back toward him and nestled me back against his chest.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s watch the movie.”
The only watching I did after that was stare at the erection under his jeans’ fly, and dream of the moment when I would have him inside me. As frustrating as it was, this erotic exercise lulled me to sleep again, to dreams where I was free to make him my lover, over and over again.
Chapter Thirteen
I awoke the next morning feeling much better. I opened my eyes and looked around. I vaguely remembered Carter waking me up in the middle of the night to lock up behind him, but had no memory of getting into bed or putting on my pink pajamas now drenched in sweat. To my credit, my fever had broken. The only remaining sign of my cold was a faint sore throat.
I sat up cautiously. The floor sat still; the room failed to spin. I stretched carefully, my achy muscles now loose and rested. I grinned. My magic elixir had worked! The cold was all but gone.
I was certain Carter’s bedside treatment had worked wonders, too. I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Had I placed it there next to this morning’s dose of cold medication? I took the tablets. Had it been Carter or had I done it when I’d undressed and come to bed? I just couldn’t remember doing it, and if I hadn’t, who had? I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about that right now.
I showered and dried my hair, then treated myself to my weekly Sunday morning facial. As I waited for the green mask on my face to do its magic, I wrapped myself in a thin silk robe and went into the kitchen. I made myself a cup of instant coffee, then carried it into the living room. After feeding Fish, I sat cross-legged on the sofa, turning on both the TV and my laptop.
I was just about to check my Facebook messages when something caught my eye. I looked up at the TV screen and turned up the sound.
“Jewel King, Jack Doleman, has been missing for two weeks now, and his wife still refuses to comment on the matter,” the announcer said, before going on to describe the facts as he knew them, making no mention of the second letter and the patch of scalp. There was nothing else of interest, but
I was surprised when they posted a picture of the man on the screen.
Jack Doleman was an attractive man on the high side of forty. Despite his obvious Anglo-Saxon name, the man was Latino with cappuccino skin, dark curly hair, and milk chocolate brown eyes. He was fit, well-muscled, with a blindingly white smile and a clean shaven face. I could see how women would find the guy attractive.
Remorse jabbed me. Yesterday, I’d been too sick to really think about it, but could I let this man suffer and maybe die just to save my own hide? I had to go to the police and tell them what I’d overheard in Richie Delgado’s conversation. If I didn’t and something horrible happened to Jack Doleman, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I set down my coffee mug and phoned Carter. He answered on the third ring.
“Morning, beautiful. How do you feel?”
“Much better,” I said, smiling at the sound of his voice. “No doubt in part because of your tender ministrations yesterday. Thanks again for everything. I called to tell you that I’ve decided to go to the police with what I know about Richie Delgado.”
He was quiet so long that I thought he might’ve hung up.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow. Right now, I’m babysitting my two-year-old nephew.”
“I didn’t know you had a nephew. But don’t worry, I’ll go by myself. I have to go now. It doesn’t seem right to wait until tomorrow. What if ... something happens?”
He sighed. “You’re right. You should go as soon as possible. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“I am. I’m feeling fine,” I assured him, as I stood and walked to the bathroom to remove my facial mask. “I have a rather hazy memory of last night. I woke up in bed, wearing my pajamas ... Any idea how I got into them?”
“I assume it must’ve been the Pajama Fairy,” he said and chuckled.
“First time she’s paid me a visit,” I retorted, unable to hide the humor in my voice. “Maybe I should call on her services every night.”
“Maybe you should. Listen, I have to go. Tim’s crawling toward a wall socket. I’ll stop by later, after I return him to my sister, okay?”
“Sounds good. Just remember, no violent movies unless you want to be put on the naughty babysitters’ list. Bye.”
I ended the call and removed the mask. The thought of Carter undressing me while I was unconscious drove me crazy. I couldn’t decide whether I should be worried about the action or disappointed because I’d missed it. If only I hadn’t been so sick ... I smiled. But I wasn’t now. Today was a new day, with new opportunities, and Carter would be over later.
The prospect of what might happen in a few hours occupied my thoughts as I fixed my makeup and dressed.
I chugged another cup of my herbal tea, slipped my feet into white sandals, grabbed my bag, and locked the door behind me.
As I drove to the police station, I practiced what I was going to say. I would be professional and concise, making sure they believed me and took action.
When I arrived at the closest precinct, the officer on duty lifted his head from a magazine, and gave me the once over. He was heavyset, his red face hinting at a blood pressure problem that could explain why he was riding a desk rather than walking a beat. The way he eyeballed me, taking in my pink sundress, lingering on my cleavage, didn’t reassure me.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“I hope you can,” I said, standing closer to the desk. “My name’s Camilla Jackson. I have information regarding the Jack Doleman kidnapping.”
The officer jerked to attention.
“What kind of information?” he asked, his eyes now focused on my face instead of my chest.
“I work at Gabriel’s Hair Salon,” I began. “Friday morning, a man came into the salon for a haircut. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but yesterday I learned he’s Richie Delgado, Jack Doleman’s right hand. At the salon, I overheard him on the phone. He said: ‘It’s not working. I suggest we send the next letter with a little... souvenir. You know what I’m sayin’? A finger, maybe two.’ At the time I was startled, thinking he might be a mobster, but now I believe he may be involved in his boss’s kidnapping. I know his wife received a second letter Friday night, along with a patch of her husband’s scalp.”
His bushy eyebrows arched, but his reaction wasn’t what I expected.
“How do you know about the second letter? It was supposed to be kept out of the media,” he demanded.
“I’m a journalist,” I replied, stretching the truth, but proud to think it could one day be a fact. “My ... partner and I questioned Mrs. Doleman yesterday, and she showed us a copy of the letter.”
“But you said you work at a hair salon,” he snapped, eyes narrowed.
“I do. I mean, I did. Tomorrow’s my first official day at the paper.”
“Hmm. And you’re already interviewing people ... Fast work,” he said, finally putting down his magazine.
“Look, what does what I do or did have to do with anything? I’ve just given you what could be vital information toward solving a case, and you haven’t even bothered to write it down. Is there someone else I should speak to?”
“We’ll look into it, Miss...”
“Jackson. Camilla Jackson,” I repeated annoyed. “How can you look into it if you don’t even remember my name?”
The guy stood, revealing a large beer belly that probably didn’t help with his blood pressure. His reaction and lack of enthusiasm were disappointing
“Miss Jackson, what you’ve told me is very interesting,” he said, his tone implying the opposite. “But it’s just hearsay. Do you have any proof? A recording? Another witness who can vouch for what you heard? The detectives working the case have already talked to all of Mr. Doleman’s staff members. If there was anything suspicious about this man, Richie ... whatever his last name is, they would’ve acted on it by now.”
“Delgado,” I emphasized between clenched teeth. “Whether it’s hearsay or not, is it up to you to decide it’s insignificant? Your detectives didn’t know what I just told you when they questioned Delgado. This could be vital to saving Mr. Doleman’s life! You can’t simply dismiss this information.”
“I assure you, I’m not.” He held up the sheet of paper on which he’d just written my name and Delgado’s. “I promise you I’ll have someone look into it. Give me your address and phone number in case they want to follow up with you.”
I rattled off the information somewhat mollified, but still convinced he was dismissing me.
“Thank you for coming in today with this. We need concerned citizens like you. Have a nice day.”
My lips parted, but I closed my mouth at a loss for words. Had he just dismissed me? I couldn’t think of anything else to say. With a shrug, I turned on my heels and left. I’d done my civic duty. If the police were smart enough to use what I’d given them, that was fine. If they chose not to and something happened to Jack Doleman because the officer on duty failed to do his job, it was on his head, not mine. I’d done all I could. The matter was out of my hands now.
Still slightly annoyed by the officer’s dismissal, I headed home. Traffic was just like me, frustrated and all over the place. The afternoon sun speared my eyes. The air was stuffy and hot as I climbed out of the car when I reached my building. Once in my apartment, I went into my room to change into something more casual. I was just undoing the zipper of my dress when the doorbell rang.
Could it be Carter? He’d promised to drop by later, but I expected he’d meant in the evening. Curious, I headed to the door, praying it would be him and not Bernie inviting me over to watch BBC.
My stomach fluttered at the sight of Carter. There wasn’t anything special about his faded jeans and simple white t-shirt, but that body would have looked great in a monk’s cassock and cowl.
It took me a few seconds to notice the bouquet of carnations and roses he held, along with a box of my favorite chocolates. He lifted his hands and smiled.
“A ‘glad you’re feel
ing better’ present,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door.
I took the flowers and carried them into the kitchen. When was the last time anyone had given me flowers?
I’d just finished placing the blooms in water and arranging them on the table when Carter pulled me into his arms.
“Thank you for the flowers and candy,” I said, my heart beating faster than before.
In the blink of an eye, his mouth crushed mine, as his hand hooked behind my neck and pulled me toward him. I was dazed only a second before I melted into him, my fingers running through his hair.
Our tongues twisted and twined. My head spun as he turned so that my back rested against the wall, my mouth under his, his body glued to mine. His hands caressed my back, my shoulders, and when my hips pressed up against him instinctively, his palms lowered to my bottom, pressing, cupping, exploring.
“I want you,” he whispered against my lips, his eyes burning with desire. “I want you so damn badly, Camilla.”
In answer, I dragged his head back down, sliding my tongue into his mouth. He groaned and lifted me effortlessly off the floor. My legs wrapped around his waist. We moved blindly down the hallway toward the bedroom, then fell onto the bed, still tangled.
I relished his hard body on top of mine. I strained to cling to some semblance of control, but I was beyond that. I’d yearned for this man and now I couldn’t hold back. Releasing his mouth, I pulled his t-shirt over his head and then rolled over him, kissing his chest, tasting the taut muscles that rippled with each flick of my tongue, sucking his nipples into my mouth. When I slipped my tongue along his toned abdomen and dipped it in his navel, he dragged me up with a moan and reversed our positions, capturing my body under his again.
He kissed me, pushing his tongue deep inside my mouth, catching each of my gasps within him. His hand cupped my breast, then his mouth lowered to it, damp and hot. Somehow he undid the zipper and shoved my dress down over my shoulders. My breathing raced almost as if I were hyperventilating. I reached down and pressed my palm against the rigid erection. He bit my lower lip and lifted my dress, then slipped his hand inside my damp panties, just as I unbuttoned his jeans and folded my fingers around him.
Sacked! Page 13
