by Style, Linda
She tipped her head back and laughed. “Not a chance. I’m the quintessential junk-food junkie. But I have to do the healthy thing for Cait and the girls. At home, I have to keep my stash hidden.”
She never failed to surprise him. He twirled the spaghetti on his fork and took a bite. “It’s good.” He kept eating as she continued to watch him.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get back to L.A. tomorrow?”
“I’m counting on it. But I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”
She tapped her fingernails against the tabletop. “We’ll be fine.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Do you think you’ve run into a dead end on the black car?”
He caught her gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not. Can you think of anything you didn’t tell me before? Anything that might identify the car or the driver? Any clue about the passenger—how tall, what she was wearing, her hair color, a bumper sticker…anything.”
She looked away—guiltily, he thought.
He nudged harder. “It’s common for witnesses to remember things later when they’ve had a chance to think about what happened.”
Her back went rigid. She looked straight at him, eyes narrowing. “When did I become a witness?”
Wrong choice of words. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LAURA LOUNGED CURLED up on the couch watching the fire pop and snap. Her nerves were about to snap, too.
If Jordan thought she knew more than she was telling, he was right. But what good would it do to tell him it was Alysa who’d gotten out of the black car?
If the man in the car was Alysa’s former pimp, which Laura suspected was the case, telling Jordan could turn this into an ugly situation and send the teen on a downward spiral. What she’d wanted when she’d told Jordan the license number was for Jordan to pick the guy up, scare him off—without involving Alysa. That would solve both problems. The pimp—aka stalker—would be out of commission. She’d deal with the teen’s problems herself, later.
It wasn’t a cake walk for any of the girls to stay on track. With deep insecurities and rock-bottom self-esteem, it was all too easy to fall back into their old patterns. The need for love and acceptance superseded all else, and they looked for it in all the wrong places, taking whatever scraps of affection they could get. A life of childhood abuse and emotional neglect didn’t disappear with a few counseling sessions.
“I picked a hearty pinot noir this time,” Jordan said, coming in from the kitchen.
“Thank you.”
Sitting beside her, he leaned back and let out a deep breath, as if he was glad to finally rest. She could relate. She’d been tired before they’d finished making the snowmen.
“I’d forgotten how relaxing it is up here,” Jordan said, settling in. “I almost don’t want to go back.”
“But you have to.”
“Yep.” He glanced at her. “I have cases to close…other work to do, besides finding the—” he stopped, hesitated “—the man in the black car.”
He was going to say stalker. And the other work he was talking about was Anna’s case. He was avoiding mentioning those things so she wouldn’t get upset. He was helping her, being considerate of her feelings… and she was doing nothing for him. She glanced away. No, “doing nothing” was wrong. She was taking from him and not giving a damned thing in return.
Swallowing some air, she forced out the words. “Are you getting any closer to finding a suspect in Anna’s…the Kolnikov case?”
A fleeting look of puzzlement crossed his face. “I’ve got a person of interest to check out. But he’s a ghost. I don’t have a name, just a description. Apparently he and Kolnikov saw each other frequently before she died. If I knew where Kolnikov grew up, I might have a chance of finding him. Apparently he lived in the same town.”
Laura sipped her wine. “Wouldn’t her birthplace be in your records? On the death certificate?”
“It is, but she didn’t grow up there.” He frowned. “You mentioned that your ex-husband had sold her some real estate. Do you know if he kept records of those transactions?”
“Of course. For tax purposes. But I imagine the police confiscated everything in his place after he…died.”
“Well, if they did, I didn’t see anything.”
“What would they do with the records if the case isn’t solved?”
“They might keep them if they’re important. If not, they’d return them to the nearest relative.”
“That would be Eddie’s mother. She passed away last year.”
“Do you know what happened to her estate?”
“She didn’t have much. Some things went to Cait, nothing much. There’s a box of stuff in my garage, but it’s just odds and ends. I doubt she’d have reason to keep his tax records.”
“I’d like to look at it.”
“Sure.” Laura didn’t know when he could, though, not unless she called the shelter and gave the okay to let Jordan investigate. “Where did you hear about this…ghost?”
“From a woman who worked for Kolnikov.”
“What did she say?”
“He was tall and blond and quite a few years younger. She seemed to think he was a boyfriend, but he could just be another john. That would make him harder to track down.”
Tall and blond. Younger. Jordan’s “person of interest” might be the guy Laura had seen Anna with at Tucci’s restaurant when she and Eddie went there to work out their divorce. Anna had introduced them, but Laura hustled away from the woman out of her past as quickly as possible. “I think I might’ve met him.”
Jordan turned so fast to look at her she was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.
“Well, I don’t know if it’s the same person, but he fits the description. It was at a restaurant. Eddie and I ran into Anna, and she introduced us to a man…Nick. He was tall, blond. A lot younger than she was.”
“Nick? No last name?”
“Not that I remember.”
“But you do remember meeting him.”
She nodded. “But just briefly.”
“So, then you might have seen her more than the couple of times you mentioned?”
Her stomach knotted. The lies were catching up with her. “Maybe it’s like you said, things come back later.”
He smiled. “So how long ago was this, when you met Nick?”
Eddie had been dead for three years, they’d been divorced for a year before. “Almost five years.”
Jordan arched an eyebrow. “Not too long before she died, then.”
“I guess so. Does that help at all?” She’d love to see Anna’s murderer get what he deserved. In trying to forget her past and start a new life, Laura hadn’t had any contact with the woman for ten years before she married Eddie. And then she’d only seen her a few times after that.
“I’m hoping once I resurrect Kolnikov’s records, it’ll help.”
Her breath caught. “She kept records?”
“Tax records. I heard she also had the proverbial black book, but no one has been able to locate that, either. But—” he stroked her cheek “—right now, I’d like to just enjoy the fire and your company.”
She snuggled back into the pillow, her emotions at war. She could think of nothing she’d like better…even though nothing could ever come of it.
They passed the rest of the evening relaxed in front of the fireplace, and now the two of them were sprawled out on the floor finishing up a game of gin. As she laid down her last card, Jordan took her hand. “I’ll be leaving early in the morning, probably before you get up. Do you have any questions on how to do things around here?”
“You mentioned the security system and snowmobile.”
“Let’s do it now,” he said. “It’s really easy.”
He got to his feet and helped her up. On the way to the garage, he gave her the rundown on the security system as they put on jackets. In the garage, staring at the two snowm
obiles, Laura said, “They look like fun. I think I’d like to try it sometime.”
“I’m sure Cait would enjoy it, too.” He lifted the seat. “The key is here. It starts just like a car except the gas and the brakes are on the handles. You turn the right handle to accelerate and the left to brake. It’s simple.”
“Can I do it?”
“It’s very loud. Might wake up Cait.”
She liked how he always thought about Cait. “Right.”
“Go ahead, sit on it. Get the feel.”
Hoisting one leg over the seat, it reminded her of getting on a motorcycle, something she’d done many times as a teen. As she wrapped her fingers around the handlebars, she felt Jordan’s warm body sink in behind her. He reached around to place his hands over hers, his cheek against hers…his full lips close enough to kiss. Desire ignited inside her…and if he kept this up, she was going to burst into flames.
“The motion is subtle,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll take off like a shot and fall backward.”
“Subtle. You mean like this?” She cranked the handle, but it didn’t move.
“It’s the other way. To accelerate, turn down on the right side, and to brake, turn up on the left.” He demonstrated the movement and his body pressed even closer. “But neither works when the motor isn’t running.”
Who cared if it didn’t work? She was, as he’d said before, in the moment. She moved her hands in the direction he described to show she knew what he meant. “Accelerate. Break.”
“Great.” He eased back, and as he did, his face brushed her hair. He stopped, inhaled deeply, not hiding his response at all. After a moment, he said, “I think…we’d better get back inside. It’s cool out here.”
Cool? She was burning up. She stood to get off the snowmobile, but her right foot caught on the seat. She swayed back and he caught her.
“Whoa. Easy does it.”
Seconds passed, but neither moved. Her breathing deepened. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.
His lips met hers, and in that one mind-spinning moment, her last barrier collapsed. Right, wrong or foolish, she was falling for Jordan St. James. And she wanted to enjoy the feeling for as long as she could. She was weak, putty in his hands, unable to do anything but kiss him back, long and deep and with all the passion that had been building in her for so long.
“Sweet,” he murmured, his mouth still against hers. “I knew your kiss would be delicious.”
And his was intoxicating. She lifted a hand to his cheek, suddenly infused with passion. She hoped he felt the same. When he lifted her in his arms and headed inside, she knew the answer.
“My bedroom?”
“It’s either that or the snowmobile.” As she said the words, his mouth was on hers again, soft and warm and insistent. Her arms around him, she kissed him back and then he turned and carried her off, just like in the movies.
If she hadn’t been drunk with ecstasy, she might’ve looked to see what the room was like, but all she saw was Jordan. The rest was a blur. He placed her gently on the unmade bed. The sheet smelled like Jordan, woodsy and sexy, and she wanted to wrap herself up in it. When he lowered himself beside her, she curled her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as she could get him. This was her moment, hers and Jordan’s, and she shut out all the voices telling her this wouldn’t work.
He rolled on top of her, or maybe she pulled him there, but the next thing she knew he was straddling her legs. Hard and pressing against her. She throbbed with desire. Her hands went to his shirt and slipped it over his head. He did the same for her. She reached for his belt and he watched as she unbuckled it, his breathing deepening. Then, impatiently, he stood and pulled the rest off himself. He stood there for a moment, letting her look at him—and she did…all six plus feet of him…all sinew and hard muscle, and so different than her soft, unathletic curves. She wondered if he’d be pleased or horrified when she undressed. But the second he climbed in bed with her, she forgot every self-conscious thought she’d had.
She started to undress, but he stopped her. “Let me.” He barely touched the front of her bra where it fastened and the lacy garment popped open. On his knees, he unsnapped her jeans and tugged them, inch by inch, down over her hips and her legs, one leg at a time. The deliberate slowness was like an aphrodisiac, until every nerve, every muscle quivered with need, her desire so intense she almost couldn’t stand it.
When she was naked, he ran his fingers down her breasts and the delicate skin on her sides, then down her hips and the inside of her legs until he reached the bottom of her feet. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Every single inch.”
“I want to make love with you so much,” she said, pulling him to her.
“All in due time, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know if I can wait,” she said, taking him in her hand. His groan told her he might not be able to wait, either.
“Well, if you keep doing that, it’ll be over sooner than you might want.” He moved her hand to his chest and kissed her long and deep.
She ran her hands down his back, feeling the ridges of muscles, each stroke a type of pleasure she hadn’t really known before. He caressed her breasts and her backside and then between her legs. It took only two strokes before she exploded, her body thrusting and tightening in orgasm. She felt as if it went on forever and she was drifting away, in another dimension. Somewhere in that foggy state, she heard a drawer open.
“Protection,” he whispered.
She looked up, trying to focus. “Here, let me do it.”
He smiled. “Be my guest.”
When they were ready, he kissed her again. “You sure you’re up for this?”
She smiled. “I’ve never been so up for anything in my life.”
He laughed. “Just making sure.”
“Be sure,” she said, and pulled him into her arms for another kiss.
Jordan couldn’t wait any longer. He spread her legs and slowly entered her. She flinched a little, but within seconds, they found their rhythm, a pulsating beat that coursed through him, building in intensity until he felt her release coming again and again, holding himself back so she could enjoy…until he couldn’t wait one more millisecond and he exploded inside her.
They lay there, side by side, his arm around her waist, for what seemed a very long time. She ran her fingers over his chest.
“I can’t stay,” she finally whispered. “Cait might wake up and find us in bed.”
“Right. That wouldn’t be good. But it doesn’t mean I like it.” He grinned. “What I like is you, right here in my bed.”
“I like it, too. Too much.”
“Stay a little longer.”
When his lips went from her mouth to her breasts and lower, she couldn’t have left if she wanted.
Later, back in her own bed, Laura stretched out, feeling more mellow than she had in, well, she couldn’t remember how long. Everything about being with Jordan felt so normal, and she wanted the feeling to last forever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS STILL dark when Jordan got out of bed. He wasn’t going to examine what had happened last night, because if he did, he’d either feel like a jerk, or want to stay and make love with Laura all over again. He gathered some fresh clothes, showered and headed out the door.
But even driving on an icy road in the dark couldn’t keep him from thinking about Laura. He’d never felt as good as he had when he was with her. And he’d never felt so unsure. Take away the fact he was investigating issues concerning her, take away the fact she felt she was in danger and wouldn’t tell him why, take away all that and then what did he feel?
A lot. He cared about her. For all the good it would do. He had no idea where the case was going to end up. No idea what her involvement with Kolnikov or DeMatta was…except that it was more than she was saying. Of that much, he was sure.
Still, they fit so perfectly together. Talking with her was as natural as breathing. Maki
ng love was, too. She’d dispelled any reservations he’d had the second her lips met his.
But why was this…relationship…whatever it was, so compelling? He didn’t have the answer. All he knew was that despite his vows not to get involved, he was. And if he continued to pursue the relationship, he’d only hurt her in the end. How could he ask someone to be a part of his life when his life was a lie.
He wasn’t Jordan St. James, the son of L.A. socialites Harlan and Mary St. James. And his brother Harry, Harlan Junior, wasn’t his brother. Jordan was a bastard whose heritage was questionable. His brother had made the point every day from the time he learned Jordan had been adopted.
He’d come to grips with Harry’s jealousy long ago, and Harry had, too. But it’d taken even longer to come to grips with his own need to belong. He’d done all the right things, was a decorated officer, the best at whatever he did. But nothing changed the fact that he was a bastard his own mother didn’t even want. How could he ever father a child when he didn’t know what he might inflict on that child?
Though he’d learned to live with his own questionable DNA, he wasn’t going to drag anyone else into his quagmire.
When he reached a point where he thought his cell phone could catch the satellite, he checked his messages. One from Luke sounded garbled. Was he drunk? He hadn’t been drunk since last year on his son’s birthd— Damn. He’d vowed to be there for him this time.
He punched in Luke’s number. No answer. He left a message telling Luke he was on his way to headquarters and he’d see him there.
Three and a half hours after he’d left Big Bear, he pulled into the police garage. Luke’s car wasn’t there. Heading into RHD, he noticed the floor was nearly empty and stopped at Mary Beth’s desk.
“Another Studio Killer homicide,” she said.
Jordan was glad he’d missed it. He had work of his own to do and he could do it a lot faster without interruptions. He checked the Delores Matthews file. Rita Valdez said the woman mentioned Hawaii, but he found no references to the island in the file. But he did note that she’d been married once in Hawaii.
