by Lacy, Shay
This was going to be a red pot. She’d seen a photo of a red Mexican pot with orange, yellow, and green peppers on it. She liked to visualize the pot in her mind as she formed it. Her hands smoothed the clay into a circle as the wheel turned. Her palms slid across the cool, moist clay. She formed the mouth of it by pressing her fingers into the center. With gentle pressure, she widened the orifice.
Charlie had done this to her last night, spreading her pussy open until he could push his tongue inside. Her body tightened in memory. The sensation had been exquisite, especially when he rubbed her clit at the same time. She’d come screaming. Twice. Finally her pleading had forced him to cease his torment and fill her with his cock.
The pot’s opening was now wide enough to slip her hand inside. The moldable clay gave outward under her gentle pressure, the way Charlie had spread her legs before he feasted on the tender flesh there, his dark head bent between her tanned thighs. She relived the feeling of his tongue caressing and probing, laving her quivering, excited flesh, pushing her with insistent jabs toward that explosion they both desired.
She was using too much pressure on the clay and eased up. Charlie did this when he wanted to extend their loving. He left her trembling while he paid tribute to other parts of her body, only to return to excite the flesh between her legs once more. Sometimes when they were on the brink, he slowed his thrusts until he barely moved. Then he would kiss her until they were gasping for breath. Slowly he’d build the speed again.
Two nights they’d been together, and it hadn’t been enough. She ached for his possession, ached to be molded and caressed, pressed into, filled with warm, hard flesh. She was an empty vessel, just like this pot. She’d been empty since she’d been ripped from Charlie’s arms all those years ago. Only he could make her feel completely alive.
But she’d never see him again if she gave the relic to the detectives.
It was laughable. She’d found what she’d lost, only she couldn’t keep it. Hadn’t she learned that the hard way when her mother died? People left you. There was nothing you could do to stop it.
But she wished she could have more time with him.
• • •
Charlie strode confidently into the Hilton with his luggage. This was going to be a little tricky, but he was determined to succeed.
“May I help you, sir?” The young blonde woman’s nametag read Natalie.
“I hope so. The name’s Castleton. My wife and I had a reservation with the Montgomery wedding party but we canceled when we didn’t think we’d be able to make it. Things worked out, and my wife insisted we come. Please tell me you have a room available?” Charlie gave his most charming smile.
“Let me check, Mr. Castleton.” Her French manicured fingertips tapped on the keys. Then a smile broke out on her face. “You’re in luck. Your original room is still available. You’ll be on the same floor with the other wedding quests.”
“Excellent,” Charlie said. “And you’ve got all our information in your computer?”
“Yes. Joseph and Camille Castleton.” She rattled off their address and phone number in Atlanta, and Charlie confirmed it.
“That’s for two nights,” Natalie said.
Charlie kissed part of his finder’s fee good-bye. He’d have to get a credit card advance and pay the bill in cash. “Yes.”
“Ah,” Natalie murmured, her finger on the screen.
Charlie tensed, awaiting discovery.
“The Montgomerys are paying for their guests to stay.” She smiled at Charlie. “There won’t be a bill for you to worry about.”
Charlie exhaled and smiled back at her. “The Montgomerys are good people.”
He finished registering, pocketed both key cards, and allowed a bellhop to escort his luggage to his room. The king-sized bed called out for him to sink his tired body into its thick mattress. Fatigue pulled at him after two nights with little sleep. But he was used to odd sleep schedules when he filmed movies.
He tipped the bellhop and laid out black jeans, a black T-shirt, and his suit jacket. A quick shower washed away Juliana’s scent, which he immediately regretted. But their affair was finished unless he stopped at her house one last time on his way out of town.
Charlie eyed the big bed. It would be a perfect place for a sexual romp with Juliana. He sat on the side. It felt wonderfully soft. They wouldn’t have to worry about waking the neighbors with their gymnastics because the mattress would absorb even the roughest play and no one would get hurt.
With a sigh, he lay down. Alone. He and Juliana hadn’t finished in the bathroom when her father interrupted, which was why he ached for her now. He set his watch alarm for eleven o’clock. He’d snatch some sleep, then grab something to eat, and hopefully sneak into the Montgomery mansion while darkness hid him.
Damn, he wished Juliana were here to hold in his arms.
• • •
Through his small binoculars, Charlie saw quite a few lights on in the Montgomery mansion even though it was past midnight. He’d snuck through the yard of the unlit house next door, then down to the dock so he could approach from the back of the house. Thank God there wasn’t a moon tonight, but to be safe, his fake beard and mustache covered much of the paler skin on his face.
He’d only seen one guard patrolling, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Time to move. He rose from the shadowed side of the guesthouse and strolled toward the back door of the main house. Fifteen yards had never seemed so far. Despite his caution, he felt incredibly alive.
He tried the doorknob and found it locked. The four-season porch was to his left, a much more visible target, but he had to try it. He inhaled and strode onto the patio. Five sets of doors opened outward. Feeling conspicuous, he tried the first one. It was locked. So was the second. The third turned under his hand.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie opened it far enough to slip through, then pulled it closed behind him. No sense drawing attention to his point of entry. Faint light from the hall illuminated the chairs, couches, and tables on this indoor patio. He avoided the obstacles and flattened himself next to the doorway, cursing for not researching the floor plan as he usually would. Instead, he’d been making love to Juliana.
Charlie blocked that thought before it could proceed further. He couldn’t afford any distractions. The front door was ahead of him to the right, but would Montgomery’s study be to the left or the right? The house was taller on his right, which meant stairways leading to bedrooms. He turned left.
His black running shoes made no sound on the polished tile floor. The hall opened into a gleaming kitchen, the stainless steel appliances reflecting the lone light in the room. Charlie turned into the hallway on his right. The floor here was highly polished wood. Someone’s footstep alerted him and he immediately backtracked, ducking into the spacious kitchen. As he flattened against the wall, he looked for cover and another way out. His heart was hammering so loud he could barely hear the approaching footsteps. Male, by the sound of the heavier tread. Definitely not high heels.
Locating another door, he prepared to fling himself in that direction. As he stood poised, the footsteps continued on, the sound more muffled on the tile. He let out his breath.
Charlie waited a beat, then swung back out into the hall. With extreme caution he padded forward and checked the first doorway. It was a formal dining room with a large table and what looked like twenty chairs. Then came a formal pantry, a lounge, and then, bingo . . . a room with a desk and a computer.
There was only one doorway and he was standing in it. A wall of windows behind the desk showed the paved front courtyard. Damn. He’d have to use a penlight to search the dim room, which someone patrolling the grounds could see through the windows.
There was no hope for it. Without Juliana to pinpoint the sculpture’s location, he had to search methodically. There were two paintings on the wall. He lifted the one closest to the door, looking for a wall safe. The hall light showed nothing behind it. The next painting hung on the wal
l by the desk. Using his body to block the small light, he flashed his penlight behind the painting. It, too, was bare.
Keeping his thumb over the majority of the light, he swept the top of the credenza. Not that he’d expected the sculpture to be out in the open after what Juliana had said. The credenza was locked. He used his lock picks to open it, but there were only file folders inside. Charlie didn’t know enough about Montgomery to understand what was in the files. Besides, he was here for the sculpture.
He checked the desk next, picking it open with his tools. There was a built-in safe in the bottom drawer big enough to hold the relic. Charlie’s heart raced as he inserted his pick in the lock. He fumbled the first try. Then he inhaled and breathed out to calm himself. The lock clicked, a sound like a gunshot in the room’s silence.
Charlie lifted the lid . . . and heard a second click and the sound of leather soles on wood. He dropped to the plush carpet. The footsteps halted. A beam of light splayed over the desktop. He didn’t dare breathe. The light clicked off and the footsteps moved on.
He rose and shone the penlight into the safe. It contained several bundles of money, hundred dollar bills, some papers—titles and deeds—several small notebooks filled with mostly numerical data, several flash drives, and more papers. But no sculpture. He clenched his fist in frustration. It should be here. He replaced everything and searched the rest of the desk, the closet, and the room. Nothing. Dammit. Montgomery must have it in a bedroom safe. Charlie couldn’t risk a search of the bedrooms at this hour. He’d have to try again in the morning.
Charlie slipped his tools and penlight into his pocket. Then he flattened against the door and listened. When he heard nothing, he slipped into the hallway and headed toward the back of the house.
Would Montgomery move the sculpture downstairs before the wedding? It would be easier to produce the sculpture for potential bidders if he did. Charlie would search the office again in the morning.
Another sound alerted him just in time and he darted into the pantry, flattening himself against the wall. Footsteps stopped. Charlie held his breath and stilled his body.
They both seemed to stand frozen, listening. Charlie hadn’t thought he’d made a sound coming down the hall, but he’d been a little distracted. He cursed his stupidity. He had to stay focused in the present. And the present was right outside the door.
The need to breathe was immediate. He’d learned to play dead for some of his roles where the rise and fall of a corpse’s chest could force the filmmaker to reshoot a scene. He let out a slow, careful breath and took in air. There was a rustle of cloth, and Charlie froze again. Then there was a footstep and another and another as the guard proceeded down the wooden hall.
That had been too close. It was time to leave. He listened for a minute and then poked his head into the hall to look both ways. Seeing no one, he stepped into the hall and as quickly and silently as he could, retraced his steps to the indoor patio. A scan of the back lawn showed him the coast was clear, so he strode out to the guesthouse.
It had been both harder and easier than he’d thought.
“Hey!” a man shouted behind him.
Charlie flung himself toward the palm trees. A gunshot rang out. A hot pain seared his left bicep. He bit back a curse, dropped, and rolled, coming up against a palm tree. Another shot caused bark chips to spray from the tree trunk next to him.
Crap, the guy was trying to kill him! Charlie switched direction, diving for the bushy Florida Gama grass. But he kept on scrambling backward. The grass wouldn’t stop a bullet.
The hedge separating the Montgomery’s property from the absent neighbor’s was four feet wide. Charlie launched himself over it, rolled to his feet, and took off running. Any second he expected a bullet to pierce his back. How ironic that he’d come home to die.
His lungs burned. This was stupid. Running would attract attention to him. He should hide. But he’d never been shot at, never had someone try to kill him before. He couldn’t stand still and let someone murder him.
Like someone had murdered Billy. Stabbed him in the back.
Shit! Charlie ran faster. Should he head straight for his car three doors down? Would they catch him then? The twelve-foot-high hedge that separated the houses protected him now, unless the guard was following him. Charlie couldn’t hear any pursuit. Did they have radios? God, what had he been thinking to come here at night?
He’d have to risk his car. It was his fastest getaway. He pounded down the driveway to the gate. A latent sense of self-preservation halted him there. A runner would bring unwonted attention on the street. But someone strolling to his car wouldn’t.
His nerves screamed to move faster, but he forced himself to walk toward his car. He was exposed. They’d be looking for him. He was moving too slow. Why had he parked so far away?
Sweat ran down the sides of his face into his fake beard. His T-shirt stuck to his chest and back. The hair on his neck clung with dampness.
God, let me make it to my car. His back itched. Was a gun trained on him even now? Would he be brought down like a rabid dog? Would anyone even care if he was? His parents, his brothers. But would they care as much about him as they had about Billy?
Charlie now regretted every year he’d been forced to spend away from Juliana. If he thought he’d wasted his life as an actor, it was an even bigger waste without the one woman who seemed the other half of him. She was yin to his yang. Dammit, why had he left her this afternoon like that?
He drew his car keys from his pants pocket. The lights would flash if he clicked the door open, so he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. His internal clock screamed that he was running out of time. With shaking hands, he inserted the key, unlocked the car, and opened the door. The light bloomed like a beacon in the night. But no one slammed the door shut. He slid behind the wheel. No one leaped from the bushes to point a gun in his face. When he reached out to shut the door his arm screamed in pain. He looked in surprise at the trail of red sliding down his arm toward his wrist.
No time. Don’t think about it now. He had to get that light off. He closed the door and locked it. Darkness reigned. His hand shook as he stuck the key in the ignition. The car faced away from Montgomery’s mansion. He felt his back exposed. He saw a dark figure appear on the street. Charlie started the car without putting his foot on the brake. The car lurched forward. He left the headlights off and accelerated slowly.
Too slowly. They had cars. It was miles to the freeway. He drove as fast as he dared, watching for headlights in his rearview mirror. When he passed a house lit up with a line of cars parked at the curb, he pulled into a vacant spot and turned off the engine. His mind screamed at him to run, but someone had seen him pull away. They’d catch up to him and then . . . He was safer here for now.
In a moment, headlights appeared in his side mirror. Charlie slid down in his seat. Two cars roared past. His heart thumped hard. That had been close.
While he waited to see if more cars pursued, he pulled out his ponytail and stripped off the false beard and mustache. He used his teeth to tie a bandana around his arm.
Still he waited. Ten minutes later, headlights appeared from the opposite direction and he ducked out of sight. Two cars passed at an unhurried pace. He stayed down out of sight for five more endless minutes. His arm throbbed to his heartbeat.
Then he sat up and started the car. Still without turning on his headlights, he drove a mile down the road. When he didn’t see any pursuit behind him, he switched on his lights.
Charlie didn’t breathe easy until he reached the freeway. Even then he took an exit going the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, drove around in circles until he was sure he hadn’t been followed, and then drove back to the freeway.
He felt a little lightheaded with relief. Still, he headed to the one place that felt like home.
To Juliana.
CHAPTER 11
Charlie nearly fell through her doorway when Juliana opened the door to his
pounding.
“Hush, you’ll wake the neighbors. Do you know what time it is?” she whispered.
“Hammer time?” He gave her a silly, lopsided smile.
“Are you drunk?”
“Do I seem drunk?”
“I asked, didn’t I?” Juliana didn’t smell liquor. “Are you high?”
“High on life, baby.” He took a step forward and lurched toward her.
“You are high.” She closed the door, sighing. When she’d seen him she’d felt a thrill go through her because she’d thought he’d come to make love.
“No.” He shook his head and thrust a bandana-wrapped arm out to her. “Wounded.”
“Wounded?” It came out a small shriek. Then she remembered who she was talking to—the actor. “How?”
“Gunshot.” He looked smug.
She sucked in her breath. “Let me see.”
“Can I sit down first?”
He was paler than when she’d seen him earlier. What if he was telling the truth? Juliana led him to her small kitchen and turned on the bright overhead light. He sat in a chair with an audible sigh and wiped sweat from his forehead.
She untied the navy bandana. There was a dark stain on it. It clung to his arm and he hissed. She peeled it loose. There was a round hole near the edge of his bicep.
“You’ve been shot!”
“Told you so.”
“Someone shot you.” Juliana couldn’t believe it. She turned his arm looking for an exit wound. There. Another round hole. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough but at least a doctor wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet.
“We have to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” His jaw set mulishly.
