Totally at ease with his body, he stretched out beside her and tugged her back against the cool pillows. He propped his head on an elbow and looked at her with those black eyes and he was so close she felt the heat of his skin although he wasn’t even touching her. He leaned over to kiss her, and she stiffened.
He stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then relax.”
“Sorry.” She tried to smile. “I’m a little nervous, I guess.”
She waited for him to crack a joke, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked her, and the intensity in his eyes made it hard for her to breathe. She pulled his head down to kiss him, and he rolled into her, the solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress. Oh my God. She clenched her teeth to keep from saying anything and stroked her hands over his arms and shoulders as his mouth moved down her body.
“You’re shaking,” he said against her breast. His breath was hot and tickly and it made her shake even more.
“I know. I can’t help it.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been a while for me.”
His mouth trailed up to her neck. “What a waste,” he said. “I’ve been wanting you for years.”
“Years?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed the skin under her ear, sucking a little, and she had to wrap her arms tightly around his neck to control the tremors.
“Ever since that first day on your driveway. You were wearing that sexy little skirt and shooting your .22.”
She drew back to look at him. “You were attracted to me then?”
He smiled. “The way you handle a gun really turns me on.”
Then he pressed his mouth hard against hers, and she was pretty sure he was finished talking. His kisses grew more and more feverish, his hands more urgent, and she twisted and squirmed against him to get as close as she could.
The little room started to feel like a sauna as his skin grew damp against hers. He was touching her like he couldn’t get enough, like he was desperate, and she was touching him the same way, gliding her hands over his back, kissing and nipping at his salty skin. She closed her eyes and felt pleasure spreading through her body like a drug, making her lightheaded and giddy and eager. She’d never felt so desired, ever. Then he murmured her name, and she opened herself to him, and in a painful, shocking instant they were joined together.
She gasped and opened her eyes.
He was looking down at her, his face tight with controlled passion, the corded muscles in his neck straining. His struggle for control plucked a hidden, tightly strung wire inside her, and her whole body started vibrating with emotion. He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded slightly and pulled him in closer. Then she tipped her head back and gave herself up.
Cecelia slipped the negligee over her head and surveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Robert liked her in black. He liked her naked better, but tonight she wanted something extra to set the mood. Sex on demand wasn’t as easy as it had been when they first got married, especially now that calendars and ovulation tests were involved.
She spritzed perfume into the air and stepped into the mist. She didn’t want to overpower him, just give him a hint.
As if he needed one. He knew perfectly well what day it was, and she tried not to think that was the reason he’d practically leaped out of bed this morning, claiming he was late for a meeting. He’d worked extremely late tonight, too, but that hadn’t been his fault. Not much he could do about a client dropping in from out of town at the last minute. He’d had to take the guy to dinner, and dinner had turned into a few drinks at a sports bar.
At least, that’s what he’d told her, and she chose to believe him. Why would he lie, anyway? She knew, she knew, he wanted kids as much as she did. He talked about it all the time. He’d already teed up names, for goodness sake.
This wasn’t just for her. This was for him, too.
She fluffed her hair, adjusted her nightie, and stepped into the bedroom.
Where she found Robert sound asleep under the covers. He hadn’t even bothered to turn off the lamp.
Sighing, she slid in next to him. Maybe she should just let him rest. But he had another meeting early tomorrow, and today was the day.
“Robert?”
He rolled toward her, eyes shut, and draped an arm over her waist. “Hmm?”
“Honey…you asleep?”
“Hmm…”
“Honey?”
He opened his eyes now and looked at her, no doubt noticing the black lace and the perfume. He closed his eyes briefly, and her heart sank.
“It’s okay,” she said, turning over. How humiliating was it to have to beg her own husband? She thought of all the time she spent on aerobics and tennis and shopping at Victoria’s Secret. And he couldn’t even be bothered to stay awake.
“Hey.” He sat up now and rolled her back toward him. “I’m just tired, Celie. It’s really late. Is today…?”
She nodded. “There’s always the morning if you—”
“I’ve got an early meeting.”
“Right.” She closed her eyes. This was so pathetic, and to make matters worse, she felt tears welling up. God. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Hey, come on,” he said, touching the hem of her nightie. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or anything.”
Not trying to…So was he in or out? She still couldn’t tell.
“Take this off,” he said.
And she did.
Feenie lay there in the dark, her head nestled against Marco’s chest. His heart beat steadily beside her ear, and she realized he’d fallen asleep. A little knife twisted inside her.
How could he be asleep? Just like that? Maybe he was so accustomed to having women in his bed that tonight wasn’t much of a novelty. But for her, it was a major milestone, both physically and emotionally. It was ironic, really, that after everything they’d done tonight, she should lie next to him and feel so completely alone.
What was wrong with her that she kept expecting intimacy from people? Every time she let her guard down, it turned out the same. Marco would be no different. He liked her, maybe, but he didn’t love her. Sooner or later, she was bound to get hurt.
She eased away from him and peered over the edge of the bed. Only a faint shaft of moonlight illuminated the room, but after groping around on the floor for a moment, she located the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. She sat up and pulled it over her shoulders.
“Hey.” Marco’s arm curled around her waist. “What are you doing?”
She turned around. He sounded surprisingly alert for someone who had been asleep just seconds before.
“I need to put something on,” she said.
“No, you don’t.” He slid his hands under the sweatshirt, lifted it back over her head, and tossed it onto the floor. “I like you like this.” He pulled her back against him and encircled her in his strong arms.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said over her shoulder.
His laughter was warm against the back of her neck. “Just taking a breather.”
“Really?” She turned to face him.
“Really. I’m not planning to get much sleep tonight, are you?” He stroked a hand over her breast, and she felt heat well up inside her. Then his hand stilled, and he looked at her for a long moment.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
She smiled. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but it was something. Especially the way he said it, all low and serious.
“Thank you,” she whispered, trailing a finger down his chest. His body was so muscular and perfect, she couldn’t believe he was really here. With her. With all her unmuscular imperfection. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
He winced. “Guys aren’t beautiful.”
“Sometimes they are.”
“Ripped, maybe. Or buff. Pick a word that isn’t girlie.”
She kissed his bicep and watched him.
“I like beautiful.”
He sighed. “This is why I don’t do pillow talk. It’s too mushy.”
She smiled as he kissed her again. Maybe talking was overrated.
Chapter
15
M arco roused Feenie not long after dawn, shoved a mug of coffee into her hands, and dragged her off to the gym. Despite her most recent injuries, he didn’t offer to ease up on the barbells and medicine balls, and as soon as she was awake enough to think clearly, she felt oddly grateful. If anything, the previous evening had rekindled her motivation. She felt the need to defend herself now more than ever before. She hadn’t spotted the tan Blazer since Tuesday, but that didn’t mean Josh’s man wasn’t lurking around somewhere. And if the Garlands figured out that she’d tagged along on their little fishing expedition, they’d make every effort to shut her up.
As Marco practiced holds on her, Feenie’s thoughts drifted to the various ways Josh’s hired gun might try to kill her. Shooting seemed the simplest method, but Marco appeared convinced he had other plans.
She landed on her back with a thud, and he looked down at her, scowling. “You’re not paying attention.”
She got to her feet and bent over to catch her breath. “Sorry. I’m distracted.”
He raised an eyebrow and shot her a knowing look. He’d assumed she was thinking about sex, and she decided not to crush his ego.
“How about ten more minutes and we call it quits?” he said in a low voice. “We can swing by my place before we head to the firing range.”
She read the look in his eyes, and her stomach tightened. Cecelia had been right about Feenie needing a fling. Last night had been amazing. Problem was, Feenie didn’t think fling fully described what they were doing together. Things felt serious. Much too serious to walk away from after one night together, or even two.
But maybe that was just her take on it. Maybe to him it was all just sex. Feenie needed to avoid being alone with him until she figured a few things out.
“Actually, I’m famished,” she said. “Why don’t we shower here and go get some breakfast? What time does Rosie’s open?”
He looked stung for an instant, then covered it. “Got your appetite back, eh? That’s good.” He glanced at his watch. “Rosie’s opened fifteen minutes ago.”
Over migas and coffee, she decided to broach the subject that had been gnawing at her for the past eight hours.
“What do you plan to do with the evidence?” she asked.
He forked a spoonful of eggs. “Evidence?”
“The tapes, the pictures. Everything from last night.”
“Pictures probably won’t turn out. The tape’s good, but it’s not enough to really make a difference.”
She dropped her fork. “What do you mean? We witnessed the handoff with our own eyes! You recorded it! What more do you need?”
He returned to his food. “The audiotape is good but not conclusive. We need more.”
She leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms. “I disagree.” Understatement of the year. “I say we go to the cops right now, give them everything you have. Maybe they can get a search warrant and find more.”
He leaned in. “Have you forgotten what I’ve told you about the cops? And both Garlands have connections within the legal community, too. I’d practically need a smoking gun with Josh’s fingerprints on it to get a search warrant for his place. Local law enforcement is out.”
“Okay, fine. Go to the FBI. Immigration. Somebody who can do something. We can’t just sit here.”
He continued eating.
“Marco?”
“We’re not sitting here. We’re investigating. That means patience. It takes time to put all the pieces together. I’ve spent two years on this, and I have no intention of blowing it by getting sloppy at the last minute.”
“Two years, and you don’t have enough evidence? I don’t buy it. Who are you working for, anyway?”
“I told you. Some people who believe Garland is responsible for their relative’s death.”
“Yes, but who?”
He set his jaw. “That’s confidential.”
Unbelievable. He was fine with her risking her life to get information, but he still didn’t see fit to give her details.
“Yeah, well, I’d think they’d be getting impatient for results,” she said. “Or maybe they’re okay with you milking this thing for all it’s worth. You probably get paid by the hour, right?”
His eyes hardened. “Watch it.”
Her appetite had disappeared, and she pushed her plate away. “What about the girls?”
“What about them? We have no idea who they are or where they went.”
“They’re probably in the hands of some pimp by now. And they’re kids! How can you just let that go?”
He clamped a hand over hers. “I haven’t let anything go. But we’re going after someone who’s rich and connected as hell. He and whoever he’s working with have so many people on the take, you wouldn’t believe it. So we’ve got one chance to get this right, or it’s two years down the tubes and a price on our heads. We need more evidence.”
She eyed him across the table. He had a point, she supposed. Josh would do anything to discredit the evidence against him, and he’d most certainly try to punish anyone who called his reputation into question. A few weeks ago, she would have taken punishment to mean a lawsuit or a smear campaign. Now she knew he was capable of much more.
“Don’t you think it’s possible Josh knows you’re investigating him?” she asked. “What if there’s a hit out on you?”
He looked at her a moment, but as usual, she had no idea what he was thinking.
“I take precautions,” he said, clearly not intending to elaborate.
She rolled her eyes. Why did he always have to be so evasive? “What kind of evidence do you need?”
He released her hand. “My biggest gap now is the money. I can make a good case that he’s running some drugs, especially after last night’s audiotape. But I can’t prove the scope. I need financial statements, bank records. Anything showing his fingerprints on the money.”
Financial statements. Bank records. The kind of information someone’s accountant would have—or someone’s former accountant.
“And if we get our hands on these records, assuming they exist, then we can go to the police?” she asked.
“I told you about the police.”
“Okay, okay. The authorities. The DEA. The FBI. Someone who can help. You’re saying if we get hold of Josh’s financial records, we’ll have enough to turn him in?”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Why? Do you have any ideas?”
She looked down at the table, feeling guilty for the plan percolating inside her head. She’d been friends with Cecelia since middle school.
“Let me think about it some more,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”
After they finished at the firing range, Feenie persuaded Marco to drop her off at the newspaper office by promising not to set foot outside the building. It probably helped that she lacked transportation because her car was still sitting in front of her house on Pecan Street. They had decided that was the best place to keep it, to avoid drawing attention to her new living quarters.
Marco pulled up to the front of the Gazette building and did a thorough scan of the area. Feenie felt sure it was safe. No one would expect her to show up at work on a Saturday, and the painfully circuitous route they’d taken across town had eliminated the possibility of a tail.
“I’ll be back at four,” he said. “No leaving.”
She reached for the door, but he tugged her back.
“Hey,” he said, and kissed her. His mouth felt hard and possessive. “I mean it. Be careful.”
As she swiped her key card at the front entrance, she wondered what the heck she’d gotten herself into. Nothing about his treatment of her seemed casual, yet she knew better than to expect commitment from a guy who made his home on a fishing boat. Whatever he felt
for her was intense but temporary. Just like her interest in him.
Yeah, right.
She reached the top of the stairs as Grimes was coming out of his office.
“What brings you in on a Saturday?” he asked.
She plastered a smile on her face. “I just need to polish up that story for tomorrow.” The features editor had assigned her an in-depth piece about the high school, and she hadn’t had time to complete it because she’d been so focused on helping Marco.
His neutral expression became a frown. “What happened to your face?”
She touched her cheekbone. She’d applied concealer over the bruise, but her cut still required a Band-Aid. “Bumped into a door.”
Grimes raised an eyebrow skeptically and headed into the break room.
The newsroom was deserted except for the sports guys and the features editor, who had given her a mid-afternoon deadline. Feenie seated herself at her desk and got to work. She went over her draft, made some revisions, and then sent it over to the editor for a look. While she waited for his feedback, she typed up some wedding stuff for the next week, and her mind wandered to the scheme she had brewing.
If she were Robert Strickland, where would she keep sensitive files? She’d known the man for nearly a decade, and he rarely threw anything away. Cecelia often complained that their garage was like an orphanage for unwanted tools and gadgets. He read instruction manuals cover to cover, then kept them on file long after he’d learned to work the appliances to which they belonged.
Robert wouldn’t throw away something important like a former client’s financial records. But where did he keep them? Not at work, Feenie hoped. She didn’t have a chance in hell of talking her way into the posh offices of Robert’s accounting firm. But she doubted he’d store them there if he knew what they revealed. If the records reflected illegal activities, surely he wouldn’t keep them where someone in his office could nose through them. Feenie mentally went over the floor plan to Cecelia’s house. She and Robert had installed a safe years before, but Feenie had no idea where and wouldn’t be able to crack a safe anyway. She was pretty sure there were some file cabinets in Robert’s study, but that seemed much too obvious a hiding spot, even for a totally left-brained thinker like Robert. The attic, maybe?
One Last Breath Page 20
