Thrill Me to Death

by Roxanne St Claire

  Tanikasan spoke in rapid-fire Japanese to the boy, but he just shrugged and indicated the white earplugs of his iPod. With one more harsh look at Dan, he pushed a lock of black hair out of his face and disappeared into a dimly lit hallway.

  Reddening with embarrassment when the boy left, Tanikasan drew Dan into a tiny kitchen packed with floor-to-ceiling cupboards and a square Formica-topped table. Tea was offered with much sign language and repeated arigato gozaimasu from both of them.

  After an elaborate ritual that Dan knew not to rush, Tanikasan served him tea and led him to a garden not larger than two hundred square feet, cluttered with stone lanterns, ceramic animals, and dozens of plants in pink and blue plastic containers. Stepping over a hose, Dan sat on a stone bench and then nearly fell off it when she turned around and left him alone.

  Well, that wasn’t very Japanese of her.

  Baffled, tired, and rapidly losing patience, Dan sipped the tea while moist summer air pressed down. Fifteen minutes ticked by, and Dan realized how hungry he was by the tempting, tangy smell of fish and noodles wafting through an open window.

  “I understand you’re looking for me.”

  Dan turned at the sound of a female American voice. A petite woman with pretty hazel eyes and short, silky blond hair stepped through the trellis to the garden.

  “Are you Dr. Bauer’s wife?” he asked.

  “I am Adrienne Bauer.” She slid her hands into the pockets of khaki trousers, a gesture that was as unwelcoming as it was casual.

  Dan set the teacup on the bench and approached her, fixing a smile in place as he took in the wariness in her gaze.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m Dan Gallagher and I’m trying to find your husband. Is he with you?”

  Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  He glanced toward the house where Tanikasan could be seen at the kitchen window, watching them. “I had some trouble communicating with…is it your husband’s aunt?”

  “Who are you?” she demanded, the boldness of the question as out of place in this atmosphere as her light eyes and smattering of freckles.

  “I’m with an organization of security specialists, and one of our clients is seeking the medical examiner who handled an autopsy in Miami three months ago. That pathologist is your husband and I’d like to talk to him.” Dan was too tired to spellbind her with charisma. Besides, something in her eyes and posture told him she wasn’t the least bit vulnerable to his easy smile.

  She walked by him to the bench where he’d been sitting, and lowered herself onto it. “Why?”

  He’d had enough of middlemen. “Mrs. Bauer, I need to have this conversation with your husband. As I’m sure you know, much of his work is highly confidential and I think it would be more productive to talk to Dr. Bauer directly.”

  “Not really, Mr. Gallagher.” She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Since he’s been dead for nearly a month.”

  Dan drew back in surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And Max would be even sorrier.

  She looked toward the house for a moment, the flash of grief and something else—worry?—evident in her eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  He walked closer, gauging her body language, and trying to decide if he would get further by sitting next to her, crouching in front of her, or looming over her. Max would loom, and he was usually pretty damned effective in situations like this.

  Pausing a few feet away, he asked, “Was he ill? Is that why he returned to Japan so suddenly?”

  “No, he wasn’t—Well, yes, I suppose he was.” She folded her hands, her white knuckles revealing far more than her face. “I’m sorry if you’ve come a long way, but there’s nothing more I can tell you. My family and I are still deeply in mourning.” She indicated the house. “I need to go inside now.”

  “Perhaps you still can help me,” he said as she headed toward the doorway. “Perhaps he shared some professional information that could help me and my client.”

  Pausing, she looked over her shoulder. “My husband didn’t talk much about his cases and business, so whatever you’ve come to find out, I wouldn’t be able to help you. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  She disappeared inside, leaving him burning. He hated dead ends and, frankly, he didn’t believe her.

  Heading back to where his cabbie had indicated he could get a return ride into the city, he pulled out his cell phone and prayed for service. It would be spotty, but maybe he could text message Max. But the screen read NO SERVICE.

  More irritation boiled through him as he climbed into a spotless taxi and closed the door. Before he could speak, something thumped on the window.

  Dan jerked at the sound, turning to see a flat palm pounding the glass, a sea of smiling SpongeBob SquarePants in the window. He flung open the door and the teenage boy all but threw himself into the car.

  “Go!” he demanded, pushing at the front seat as though he could propel the driver into action. “Go now!”

  “Wait a second.” Dan grabbed the boy’s narrow wrist and jerked him around. “What’s going on?”

  “Go!” he urged again, looking over his shoulder in the direction Dan had just come. “Before my mom catches me.”

  Gone was the sullen teenage pout. And from the sound of this kid’s voice, he wasn’t Tanikasan’s son—he was American, despite the Asian tilt to his dark eyes.

  “Why did you follow me?” Dan demanded.

  The kid tossed another look over his shoulder, then at Dan. “Because I want you to help me figure out why my dad is dead.”

  So this was Yakima Bauer’s son. And Dan had been wrong; he was closer to twelve than fifteen.

  “I heard you talking to my mom and aunt,” the boy said, tucking his straight black hair behind his ears and revealing that he still wore the iPod earbuds. “I know you’re looking for him.”

  “I was,” Dan said. “I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone.”

  “Why did you want to talk to him?”

  “I needed some information about his work.”

  The boy held out his hand, a silver key poised between his fingers. “Then maybe you need this.”

  Dan looked at it. “Maybe I do. What is it?”

  “I don’t know. But my dad gave it to me and told me never to give it to anyone. And I want to know why.” His eyes closed on a sigh. “I want to know why.”

  “Why he gave you the key?”

  “Why he blew his brains out.”

  Dan took the key and had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to get any sleep or a geisha girl that night. “You’re not the only one.”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  A t the top of the main staircase, Cori took a breath and lifted her suitcase again. If she clunked it down the steps, she’d surely wake Marta. Max must be in the guest house, because she’d made a complete check of the upstairs rooms and William’s office before she’d zipped her suitcase closed and grabbed her handbag from the hall table.

  Downstairs, she kept the suitcase on the oriental runner and didn’t make a sound as she went to the kitchen. She propped a note to Marta by the coffeemaker, knowing that was where her housekeeper would start her day in about two hours.

  Then Cori dragged the suitcase over the tile and along the breezeway, glancing at the dark guest house. As soon as she stashed her suitcase in the car, she’d go wake Max up and tell him they were going to California. He wouldn’t be thrilled, but at least she’d let him sleep as long as she could. By dawn they had to be at the Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport, where a pilot waited for her with the Peyton jet.

  She opened the door to the garage and thumbed the alarm pad, blinking into the pitch blackness. From feel, she lugged the bag behind her, clunking it down a small cement stair and guiding her way with one hand extended like a blind person.

  Reaching the trunk, she opened her handbag for the keys.

  Which weren’t clipped to the inside like they always were.

  �
��Damn it,” she said, stuffing her hand into the bag and feeling around. “Didn’t he give them back?” She checked the back pocket of her denim skirt, then dug into the front purse flap to see if she’d stuck them in there. “Where the hell are my keys?”

  “Right here.”

  She jumped a foot backward and nearly choked. “Max, is that you?”

  “Running away, kid?”

  She reached out into the darkness to grab the keys he dangled, not caring if she hit Max’s face, fury boiling through her. “Give me the keys.”

  His hand closed over her wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “I’m traveling on business,” she said, letting him hold her wrist. “And maybe you could tell me what you’re doing lurking in my garage at four-thirty in the morning.”

  He pulled her closer and she could finally make out the whites of his eyes and a shadow of stubble over his face. How was it that this one time, her body hadn’t picked up his pheromones?

  “Where’re you headed?”

  “California.”

  She felt him tense. “And when were you going to tell me?”

  “In about five minutes.” She jerked out of his grasp. “I thought I’d let you sleep as long as you could.”

  He closed in, a tower in black looming over her. “You weren’t going to tell me.”

  “Yes, I was,” she insisted. “I’m going to the house in Healdsburg and I’m going to see the Petaluma Mall. I wouldn’t go without you.”

  He just stared at her, anger emanating from his very skin.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “You’re running away. Again.”

  “Aw, Max. I knew it was just a matter of time.”

  “What was?”

  “Until you threw that in my face. The last time I ran away, I had a pretty compelling reason to get away from you. Plus, here’s what you don’t know: I came back in a few days and you were gone for good.” She let her handbag slide down her arm and hit the top of her suitcase with a thud. “I have a plane waiting at the Tamiami Executive Airport, and if you’ll just pack a bag, we can leave in a few minutes.”

  “It’s in the trunk.”

  “Your bag?”

  “When I saw that you were packing, I did the same. Just to be sure you didn’t leave without me.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t trust me. I had no intentions of running away.” She pushed his chest, moving him back an inch. “We have a job to do here: we have to find who killed my husband and stay alive in the process. Anything else is out of the question.”

  He moved right back into her space. “There isn’t anything else. Didn’t you prove that with your little striptease this afternoon?”

  “I was testing you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he repeated and moved an inch closer, filling her nose and lungs with the dizzying, spicy scent of him.

  “I didn’t ask for you as my bodyguard,” she said evenly. “And I still don’t know why I got you. So, I wanted to find out if you came here to do a job or to see what it would take to have me again.”

  “And what if I did what you were teasing me to do? Huh?” He pulled her toward him, right up to his mouth. “What would that prove?” His heart hammered so hard, she could feel his body vibrating.

  She backed out of his grasp, hitting the garage door.

  He closed the space instantly. “Would it prove that I still want you?” He slammed his hands on either side of her head so hard the garage door shook. “Well, guess what?” He got right into her face. “I do.”

  He kissed her hard, delving into her mouth with total ownership and command. He slid his hands down her ribs and over her hips, pressing his massive erection against her.

  Wild desire ached between her legs, making her moan.

  His mouth trailed down her throat, sucking away her sanity and leaving raw, hot need twisting through her.

  She grabbed his neck and pulled his face into her, smashing her breasts against his chest to send sparks to the hard peaks of her nipples. Instantly, his hand came between them, sliding inside her sweater and closing over her breast as a sexy sound of desire escaped his throat. He dug under her bra until his palm touched flesh, thumbing her nipple, pinching it gently, then grasping her with a rough groan of helplessness.

  He pushed her higher, his insistent erection grinding into her crotch. Blinded by lust and need, she tried to ride him, her skirt digging into her thighs and holding her legs together.

  She let out a sob of frustration. He reached down, cupping her rear end, then inching lower to the hem of her skirt.

  “I want you,” he ground out, his breath jagged. “Okay? I want you.”

  She pressed against him in silent consent. He yanked the skirt up her thighs, freeing her to finally, blessedly open her legs and feel the crush of his hard-on against her wet panties.

  “I want you, Cori,” he admitted again, growling into her mouth, moaning into her skin. “I want you.”

  His hand covered her crotch, his fingers slipping under the silk, threading her curls, teasing her flesh. As he kissed her he circled her nub with his thumb, then matched the wicked, rapid thrusts of his tongue with one finger, then two.

  She rose up, wrapped her legs around his hips, and let the fire build. He pinned her with his thighs, his hands on her breasts, her throat, her hips. He never stopped kissing her, moaning, murmuring her name repeatedly. His zipper snagged her panties, but she was so wet and needy she just kept grinding against him, wishing he were inside her.

  Fire shot between her legs and she dropped her head back and rode him hard, unable to stop. A climax started deep inside and built with lightning speed. Hot, endless waves of pleasure pounded down on her, until she could only sob his name, biting his shoulder, her throat raw from ragged breaths.

  Slowly, finally, he let her down.

  “Get in the car, Cori.” His eyes were hooded and dark and hungry. “I’ll take you to the airport.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her whole body still thrumming from lust. She half stumbled away, vaguely aware that he was opening the trunk for her suitcase as she climbed into the passenger seat. In a minute he got in next to her, his face set so hard, it must have hurt his jaw to hold it like that.

  She knew that look. When Max went deep into battle with his emotions, he shut down and no amount of talk would open him up.

  She had no desire to talk, anyway. Her core squeezed, her limbs grew heavy. She wanted more. More of him. Inside her, deep inside her. On the plane, thirty thousand miles above earth…they would make love.

  She glanced at him but he stared straight ahead, that tiny scar pulsing, his massive shoulders tense under the fabric of his shirt.

  As long as they could keep it on a purely physical level, this would be fine. She needed this.

  She closed her eyes and let her orgasm-shaken body float back to reality. God, she needed him.

  She didn’t open her eyes until they parked on the tarmac, where the Peyton Enterprises Gulfstream G450 was lit and powered for takeoff in the misty predawn.

  She turned to Max, but he was already out of the car and approaching Capt. Dale Willingham, her pilot, to shake hands.

  She hoped to God he was telling Dale they needed complete privacy in the cabin. A shudder of anticipation jolted her. Jorge, her usual copilot, opened her door and she managed some small talk, aware of Max’s every move. He climbed into the cockpit, stored luggage and, from what she could tell, conducted a thorough preflight check.

  As Cori settled into her favorite sofa in the back, she looked out the window and watched Max on a cell phone, taking the moment to devour his sexy body, and remember the thrill of his incredible mouth and fingers and manhood.

  He still wanted her. And, God, she wanted him. The realization was liberating and she tapped the armrest impatiently, ready to take off.

  Finally, the pilots disappeared into the cockpit and Max dipped into the cabin.r />
  “All set?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He’s good. He knows what he’s doing and the plane checks out.”

  “Then buckle up.” She tilted her head to the seat next to her, on the sofa.

  He didn’t move. “Your bodyguard in California is Chase Ryker. He’s excellent—former Air Force and NASA astronaut, one of the top Bullet Catchers.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  “He’ll meet you at the Sonoma County Airport.”

  Her heart hit bottom with a thud just as the engines fired. “You’re not going.”

  He shook his head. “I’d like to keep investigating people here. You’ll be in good hands with Chase.”

  “But not in your hands.”

  Her look must have been abject despair because his eyes darkened with a little sympathy. “It’s better this way. We’re combustible.” He reached around to the cockpit and tapped on the door. “You can close up now. I’m leaving.”

  “Max—”

  He held up his hand in farewell, then pointed a finger at her. “You be careful out there, kid.”

  And he was gone.

  Through the window, Cori thoughtfully watched him climb back into the Mercedes and drive away. Max Roper could be tough and mean and deadly. He could be soft and funny and kind. But she’d never known him to be scared.

  Until now.

  As Gifford Jones strode through the underground garage of Peyton Enterprises, he imagined how he looked to others. A fit and handsome man with a gorgeous wife, an excellent career, a beautiful home, expensive cars. True, he’d endured tragedy, but, for the most part he got what he wanted in life and carried himself with the confidence of a winner.

  So why, he thought as he pressed the call button for the elevator, had he stayed awake last night considering the merits of a gunshot to the head? After Breezy told him Corinne had decided to go out to California, he’d actually considered it. Desperation could kill a man.