Mike exited off the highway, and I slowed down and cut my lights again once I saw him turn onto a street lined with town homes. I stayed two blocks back, parking on the side of the road and rolling down my window. He pulled into a driveway next to a white Honda, and I took the camera from Rosemarie.
“Why does that man look familiar?” Rosemarie asked, sticking her head out her own window so she could get a better look.
Thank God the camera had an excellent zoom lens. Hiding Rosemarie was almost impossible without the two-block spread. I focused on Mike as soon as he got out of his truck, and took several shots as he walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
“Well, fuck,” I said, taking the shot that had just sealed Mike’s coffin.
I recognized the brunette who answered the door. I’d seen her leave the police station about twenty minutes before Mike. She was dressed in cotton boxers and a tank top. The zoom lens amplified the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Mike had certainly noticed too.
I fired off rapid shots until he walked inside and she closed the door behind them. I wasn’t up to sneaking around the house and getting the nitty-gritty details. And I think as much as Kate wanted me to get proof of Mike’s infidelity, that she probably wasn’t really ready to see them either.
“I swear I’ve seen that man before,” Rosemarie said.
“Nope, he’s just another client.” The last thing Kate needed was gossip, and Rosemarie had a mouth as big as a barn door. Anyway, it would only be a matter of time before it started getting out that they were having problems. “Let’s get you home. You’re probably going to have a hell of a hangover.”
“I never get them,” she said cheerfully.
I shot her a nasty look and turned the car back toward the highway. I had some thinking to do. And it was probably best if I avoided Kate until I figured out what to do. If I showed her those pictures, Nick would have another double homicide to investigate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunday
I rolled out of bed the next morning with a heavy heart and a tension headache that was wrapping its way around my head and squeezing like it was one of those wrestlers with forty-two inch crushing thighs on Smackdown. So I did what I always do when confronted with stressful situations—I popped a couple of aspirin and baked like I was the sole contributor to the Rotary Club bake sale.
I’m not going to lie, it felt damned good to whack a rolling pin against the helpless dough of the cinnamon rolls I was making. By the time I slid them into the oven, the kitchen was covered in a fine mist of flour and I was contemplating just eating the butter by the stick. The only thing that saved me from going down that dark and dangerous road was the ringing of the doorbell.
A scowl etched my face and I felt my blood pressure rising. I had a feeling it was Nick, and after more than twenty-four hours of post-coital bliss, followed by him pancaking on me, I wasn’t in the mood to do anything but use my rolling pin as an assault weapon.
I jerked the door open and found myself face to face with Agent Savage.
“You planning on using that?” he asked, nodding to the rolling pin in my hand. “I’d advise against it. I don’t think we’re at the handcuffs stage of our relationship, though I’m willing to try if you are.”
His dark eyes went all sleepy and sexy, and I started to close the door in his face, but he stepped inside before I could accomplish my goal. I looked around nervously, not sure what to do with him. Savage was a little suffocating. He was very male and his presence wasn’t one that could be ignored. And I was at a loss as to where I was going to put him, considering I’d had sex with another man on almost every available surface in the house. I didn’t want to cross-contaminate the men in my life.
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked, leading him back into the kitchen. “How’d you find me?”
He arched a brow and I sighed quietly. I was never hard to find. And after I’d seen how easy it was to get information on people the night before, I couldn’t believe I’d been naïve enough to even ask the question.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little slow this morning. It was a long night.”
“Good thing I came over,” he said, sitting at the little breakfast table in the corner. “You’d have eaten all those cinnamon rolls and then you’d have hated yourself. Now I can help you ease the burden.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
I pulled the rolls from the oven and my eyes almost crossed as the smell of yeast, cinnamon and melted butter assaulted my senses. I might hate myself for eating them all, but it might be worth it.
“I got some new information regarding the Sirin Corporation that I thought you’d like to know.”
“It turns out I have some information too. Computers are scary things.”
“More than you know,” he said, pulling one of the gooey rolls from the tray and taking a bite.
My mouth dropped open and excitement was gathering in places that had no business being ready to party with a man like Savage. A look of pure bliss came over his face, and I had a fleeting glimpse of what he probably looked like after achieving orgasm.
“Jesus, these are amazing. Why aren’t you married?”
The feelings of excitement stopped in their tracks and shriveled back into the frozen depths of my love life.
“He decided the home ec teacher’s tits were more exciting than my cinnamon rolls, but thanks for asking.”
I bit into my own roll savagely and ignored his thoughtful look. We finished our rolls in silence and then I went to grab the papers I’d printed out the night before.
“So how are you learning anything new about this case if you’ve been ordered to stay away from investigating Sirin?” I asked, taking my seat across from him once more.
“I’ve got my sources. You don’t do this job as long as I have without learning a few tricks on how to bend the rules and not get caught.”
“So what did these sources tell you?”
“Tell me what you found first. Let’s see if any of our information lines up.”
I passed him the handful of papers I’d printed from Kate’s office the night before.
“It looks like Amanda Whitfield isn’t the only call girl to be permanently eliminated from the Sirin payroll recently. Amanda seemed to be closest with three of the other Sirin girls—Becca Gonzales, Andi Bachman, and Noelle Price. But their quartet is down to two. Noelle Price was found dead two weeks ago in Atlanta. Apparent suicide. A couple of cops were called in, but from what I was able to find, they didn’t even do a standard investigation for foul play. The medical examiner signed off on the death, and she was cremated within another twenty-four hours.”
“We need to get to those other girls. I want to monitor everything they’re doing. They’re probably terrified at this point, and I have a gut feeling Natalie Evans isn’t through with them yet. Let me make a call. I need to get someone tracking them.”
Savage stepped out of the room and I helped myself to another cinnamon roll.
“Your turn,” I said once he came back to the kitchen and took his seat.
I was glad I was still wearing my pajama bottoms with a stretchy elastic waist. I contemplated making a trip to get another cup of coffee, but I was weighed down by six pounds of yeasty goodness and butter. I might not move ever again, and I secretly wondered if Savage would think bad of me if I just oozed out of the chair and laid down on the floor.
Savage must have read my mind because he stood up and grabbed my coffee cup, making himself at home as he saw to the domestic chore. The rolls hadn’t affected him at all. He still looked as deliciously fit as ever, and I couldn’t even see the slightest hint of a pooch hanging over his belt. Bastard.
I might have said thank you as he set the coffee in front of me, but mostly I was thinking how unfair the roles of men and women were in today’s world. It would be much easier on everyone if we lived in a time where Rubenesque women were worshipped, and men were trying to constant
ly shove food into our mouths.
“Addison,” he said, arching one of those devil brows in my direction. “Your eyes have glazed over. I can’t figure out if it’s because you’re full or you’re bored.”
“Sorry.” I did another cursory glance of his body. “I suppose you work out.”
“Every day. It gets to be a habit.”
“Figures.”
“Don’t worry. I like a woman with curves.” His grin showed a slash of white teeth against the copper of his skin and just the hint of one dimple.
“Nobody asked you,” I mumbled.
This was getting embarrassing. I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never had luck getting the attention of the opposite sex. I can make myself look more than respectable—granted, this wasn’t one of those times—but I was still having one of those moments where I thought the men showing interest in me might be a little above my hotness level. Maybe the universe was just playing a cruel joke. Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and get as many orgasms as possible from this predicament. Unfortunately, I had a lifetime of Catholic guilt and mostly stable morals to keep me from doing such a thing.
“Are you going to tell me what you found out?” I asked belligerently.
“Natalie Evans’ client list is one of the most sought after pieces of information in this country, right behind who shot JFK and how the hell Glenn Beck ever became famous. I’ve got a reliable source who says Natalie is very distrusting of technology.”
“I don’t blame her,” I interrupted. “I’m rethinking my entire outlook on life after working this case.”
“Eat another one of these and listen,” he said, shoving the last cinnamon roll past my open lips. “My source says she’s so paranoid about people being able to hack into her files that she keeps everything written down and locked away in the safe in her home office.”
“You have an informant inside the house?” That was the only way Savage could have come by information that specific as far as I knew. Not unless the Feds had the inside of the house wired, and I was thinking that was a big no-no considering they’d already had their hands slapped.
“I have informants everywhere. And that’s protected information.”
“So now what?”
“Technically, it would be unethical for me to search Natalie’s home without a warrant. But I’m thinking a private investigator could get away with it if they managed not to get caught. Especially if there was a guarantee that the alarm would be disengaged tonight between the hours of ten and midnight while Natalie Evans is at a political fundraiser.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. Talk about bending the rules a little. Agent Savage’s sock rebellion had clearly gone to his brain.
“Are you out of your mind?” I stood up and slapped my hands down on the table. “I don’t know anything about breaking and entering. I don’t know how to crack safes or walk silently like a ninja.”
He stood and mirrored my pose so we were practically nose-to-nose. “This is the only way to get that client list. Someone in that book is a murderer. Are you going to let them get away with it?”
“Oh, no. You’re not going to lay the blame at my feet for this.” My vision was starting to reach that hazy red of anger. “You guys are the ones who buffooned around until you got kicked off the case.”
“I’m almost positive the word buffoon was never meant to be used as a verb.”
“What?” I sputtered. “I’m trying to have a fight here. And you never interrupt a fight to correct grammar.”
“My bad. Please continue.”
“Now I don’t remember what I was saying.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and remembered it was in a haphazard knot on top of my head. Little specks of flour floated down in front of my face from my cooking tantrum, and I was distracted by Savage’s lips. I could tell he wanted to laugh, but if he so much as cracked a smile I was going to punch him in the eye.
“I think you should start calling me by my first name. It’s Matt, by the way.”
“Savage fits you a whole lot better. I think I’ll stick with that.”
“I bet Kate would love to go along with you to search for Natalie’s client list,” he said changing the subject.
I was starting to get whiplash from following his conversations. “Did they not teach you how to fight properly in FBI school? I bet suspects walk all over you in an interrogation.”
“I somehow manage to muddle through. The FBI has taught me many other things,” he said, moving in a little closer. “And I happen to know for a fact that Kate knows exactly what she’s doing when it comes to breaking and entering.”
My eyes widened at this bit of news, but I guess it seemed plausible. I’d think it would be par for the course for a private detective to know about such things.
“Except there’s one problem with that,” I said triumphantly. “Kate is not a rule breaker. She’s so squeaky clean you could serve dinner off her.” Savage looked slightly confused by the saying, so I pressed my advantage. “She will never agree to this. Nothing means more to her than the reputation of her agency.”
I always suspected Savage was a dirty fighter. He was obviously a man who didn’t like to lose. He leaned forward and took my mouth in another one of those tonsil exploring kisses, and I groaned because he tasted of hot sex and cinnamon rolls.
I managed to pull away before I ended up christening another table in my mother’s house, but I was slightly dazed and huffing like a steam engine.
“I told you to stop doing that. I’m in a relationship, dammit.”
It sounded like I was trying to convince myself of that information more than him. He quirked a brow but didn’t contradict me.
“I dare you to ask her,” Savage said, his own look of triumph settling over his features. “Kate is prime for the pickings for a little adventure and rule breaking. Especially after what I saw last night.”
“Wait a minute.” I slapped a hand against his chest and pushed him out of my comfort zone. “How do you know about Mike? I haven’t even told Kate what I saw yet.”
“Just because you’re avoiding her,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t blame you. It’s a sticky situation.”
“Answer the damned question,” I growled.
“Did you know you swear a lot more when you’re angry? And to answer your question, I knew about Kate’s husband because I’ve been following you. You don’t think I’d just set you loose on a case like this and not keep track of you, do you? People are dying here. And you’re just doing the things that I can’t right now because of the politics Natalie Evans is playing.”
A whole myriad of things was whipping through my mind at his confession. Indignation and anger were two I recognized right away. But another was fear. Savage had been following me around, and I’d had absolutely no inkling. Not even a twinge that there were eyes watching me. Of course, he was a professional, so that made me feel a little better.
“Just ask her,” he pushed. “I’ll be there as backup in case you get into trouble.”
“I don’t mean to snoop into your private business,” I said, gathering up the dishes and taking them to the sink. “But do you get into a lot of trouble with your superiors on a regular basis? You seem to have an issue with authority.”
“They’re just jealous because I have better taste in socks.”
“I’m sure that’s it.”
I looked around the kitchen and winced at the mess. I wasn’t a neat cook. I’d pretty much used every pot and pan in the house, and flour and spices were sprinkled on most of the flat surfaces. Good thing my mother wasn’t in town. I could leave it for later without feeling too much guilt.
“What do you have planned for the day?” Savage asked a little too innocently.
I narrowed my eyes and wondered if some of his Indian ancestors had been shamans. I had plans—but they weren’t anything I wanted to share with him. Savage had an uncanny ability to wiggle his way into a situation without you bei
ng aware until it was too late.
The first of my plans was to find a new place to live if I had to do back alley hand jobs to achieve the dream. The second was to avoid Kate at all costs. I didn’t want to go to her with my suspicions about Mike until I had given her the case tied up with a bow. I didn’t want there to be any room for doubt if I was going to be the one to deliver life-destroying news.
My life was getting complicated. I wasn’t all that good at subterfuge. Good thing I’d had years to perfect my lying techniques or I’d have been in trouble.
“My plans are no concern of yours. Stop trying to complicate my life.”
The slow stretch of the smile across his face was like being stripped of one article of clothing at a time. “I am complicating your life, sweetheart. You’ll just have to deal with it. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for a new place to live.”
“Someday I’m going to have to meet these infamous sources of yours. They must have sold their souls to the devil to know so much.”
“What if I tell you I have a friend who has a little house in Savannah that needs immediate occupancy?”
“I’d say it’s probably way out of my budget. I’ve checked the prices in Savannah. There was nothing that even came close to what I can afford.”
“This place hasn’t been advertised yet. Some friends of mine bought it for their mother several years ago, but she passed away last month. It’s an older home, but it’s in good shape, and I think you’ll be surprised at the rent. My friends are in a position where they don’t really need the extra income. They have rental properties for the tax deductions.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, propping my hands on my hips. “This isn’t your idea of a cruel joke is it?”
“I’m serious. I’d be glad to give them a call and set up a time for you to see it—”
I could tell by the slight pause in his voice that there was a but coming.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
He crossed his arms over his massive chest and rocked back on his heels. “I want that first date I told you about yesterday. I’m not above bribing my way into getting it.”
Whiskey Sour (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 2 (Addison Holmes Mysteries) Page 11
