by Davis, Jo
“Good idea.” Liv gave him a shaky smile. “You’re welcome to a guest room.”
“Downstairs is better. I can hear if someone attempts to break in.”
Even in the dim lamplight, Alex saw the color drain from Liv’s face.
“I-I suppose that’s a good idea. Thank you, Jason.”
“No biggie.”
Christ. Had he ever been that young and bulletproof?
Alex took the pill and glass, downing the painkiller in one swallow. Liv took the glass from him and he settled into the pillows, waiting for the stuff to kick in and knock his ass out. Liv brushed his lips with a soft kiss, and he closed his eyes in pleasure.
But he couldn’t open them again.
The last thing he heard was his wife saying something about fetching their self-appointed protector a pillow and blanket.
With his last wisp of consciousness, he imagined what it would be like to have Jason curled up in their bed instead.
He answered the phone, hand trembling, uncertain which was the greater hell—trying to kill Alex or the failure to accomplish it.
“Hello?”
“He’s terminated?”
Goddamn. “No.”
A telling pause. “Why the fuck not?”
“He wasn’t in the car. He uses a starter on his key ring—”
“I pay you well to circumvent these problems. Fail me again and I’ll be forced to cut you loose.”
Cut your throat, he meant.
“I understand.”
The phone went dead. As dead as Alex would be soon. He lowered his face into his hands.
“Sorry, man. Better you than me.”
At ten, Detective Lambert came to call. Much too early, considering Alex’s restless night. Two doses of pain medication barely kept him comfortable enough to sleep, and Liv doubted he’d be up for questions right now.
Frowning, Liv answered the door, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. Jason stood right behind her, prepared to intervene again if their visitor wasn’t welcome, like he had when the news crews arrived at the crack of dawn. Forcing the reporters to retreat while keeping his face off camera had been a challenge he’d gladly accepted. He’d been so good to her and Alex, and his protective side was really sweet.
“Detective, please come in.” Quickly, she let him inside and shut the door on prying eyes.
“Quite a circus out there,” he commented, fishing in his shirt pocket for a notepad and pen.
Lambert’s observation didn’t require an answer, and Liv refrained from venting her frustration on the subject as she ushered him into the living room. The detective took a seat in Alex’s favorite chair while she and Jason settled on the sofa. Though Jase kept an appropriate distance, the detective glanced at him in curiosity before addressing Olivia in a kind tone.
“Mrs. Quinn, how is your husband this morning?”
The inflection in his voice made the question sound more like he was really asking where Alex was rather than how he was doing. A cop-to-interviewee psych-out that was probably as natural to him as breathing. Liv set her mug on the coffee table as she answered. “In bed. He had a restless night, but I’m sure he’ll be up soon.”
“A hell of a thing, what you two are dealing with. Well, let’s get started, and hopefully he’ll join us later.” Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gazed at her, expression unreadable. “I’ll start by confirming what we pretty much already knew. The starter on your husband’s Jaguar was rigged with a simple explosive device. Quick, clean and professional.”
Liv was extremely glad to be sitting, or she would’ve fallen. She’d been expecting this, but hearing the horrible truth was a blow. Perhaps she’d been clinging to some stupid notion that the car had been . . . defective. Right. A strange, forlorn sound like a whimper escaped and she stared at her clasped hands, the knuckles white.
Jason scooted closer on the sofa, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
“Will it? Someone obviously knew what they were doing, Jase.”
“Not enough to know that Alex uses the starter on his key ring,” he pointed out. “Which means the culprit hasn’t been watching very closely. Sloppy. He’s not a pro.”
Detective Lambert’s brows lifted and he inspected Jason as though attempting to look inside his soul. After a pregnant moment of silence, he clicked his pen. “Didn’t catch your name, son.”
“I didn’t give it.” He smiled, taking the sting out of his terse reply. “I’m Jason, their next-door neighbor.”
Lambert nodded, began to write. “Last name?”
Was it her imagination, or had Jason tensed? He appeared relaxed, except for his tight mouth and a hard glint in his brown eyes she’d never seen before.
“Strickland, sir.”
“Jason Strickland,” the detective murmured, almost to himself. “How long have you known the Quinns?”
“A few days.”
The detective lifted a brow, glancing between Jason and Liv. “You seem very comfortable together for having known one another a short time.”
“Yes, sir. We hit it off right away.” To his credit, Jason didn’t appear the least bit uncomfortable about that, nor did he look away from the detective’s penetrating stare.
“I see. What brings you to St. Louis, Mr. Strickland?”
“My uncle passed away and I’m here to settle his estate.”
“Thinking of staying on?” His pen scratched on the pad.
“Maybe.”
Liv didn’t miss how Jason volunteered only the information he was asked directly, nothing more. Lambert didn’t miss it, either.
“What’s your occupation?”
“I’m between jobs at the moment.” Jason broke eye contact for a fleeting instant before locking gazes with Lambert again. “Times are tough. You know how it is.”
“Not exactly, Mr. Strickland. There’s always somebody breaking the law. Job security.” He gave Jason a toothy smile. “You know how it is.”
A corner of Jason’s mouth quirked upward. “Not exactly, Detective.”
The tense undercurrent between the two men was so strong, Liv felt compelled to dispel it somehow. She latched on to the first idea that came to mind. “Coffee, Detective Lambert?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll take his cup,” Alex said, groaning as he inched slowly down the stairs, holding on to the rail with his good hand.
Liv shot to her feet and hurried to help him. “Oh, honey, should you be up walking around?”
He gave her a sound good morning kiss on the lips and a rueful grin. “Seemed like a good idea before I got vertical.”
“Too stubborn for your own good. Here, put your arm around me.” She hugged his waist and he did as told, letting her guide him to a big, soft recliner. Lowering himself into the chair, he gritted his teeth in pain. Only then did she notice his free right arm. “Where is your sling?”
“Took it off. Damned thing was driving me crazy. But I’m still wearing the wrist brace, see?” He held it up briefly, then nodded at the younger man. “Good morning, Jason.”
“Mornin’. Man, you look like shit.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “Why, thanks. Don’t worry about my self-image. It’s fine.” He turned his head toward their visitor. “Hello, Detective . . . ”
“Lambert,” the man reminded him. “You were conscious very briefly when we spoke last night.”
“Detective, I’d say it’s nice to see you, but under the circumstances I’d be lying. No offense.”
“Occupational hazard. None taken.” The detective glanced at each of them before continuing. “Since you’re here, let me get right down to business. First, in the interest of privacy and the fact that we’re dealing with an attempted homicide, not to mention your acquaintance with Mr. Strickland being recent, I’ll have to ask that he go elsewhere for this part of the discussion.”
“Sure, if you think it’s best, but I don’t think—”
Jason
stood and held up a palm, cutting off Alex’s protest. “Hey, it’s cool. I’ll be right next door if anyone needs me.” He grabbed his keys from the coffee table.
“I’ll walk you out,” Liv said.
“No need. I’ll catch up with you guys later, yeah?”
She gave him a smile. “All right. Thank you for everything.”
His gaze heated, straying from her to Alex. “What are neighbors for?”
Liv watched him go, hoping Lambert hadn’t caught his subtle meaning. But from the interested expression on his face, he likely had. Alex provided a distraction by grumbling for his coffee, and she gratefully excused herself to get him a mug.
Nerves assailed her as she poured the steaming brew. What did the detective have to say that couldn’t be said in front of a third party? God, she hated this.
No, she hated whoever had tried to kill her husband.
Padding into the living room once more, she handed Alex his mug. Jason was right; he did look terrible. The swelling around his eye was better—at least the pupil was visible—but the bruise was an angry purplish-black. The scrapes on his face and arms were raw, and though his sweatpants and T-shirt hid them from view, she knew his torso and legs sported bruises, as well.
She’d like to snuggle next to Alex, but there wasn’t room in the chair and she didn’t want to jostle him. So she returned to the sofa and waited for Lambert to continue as Alex gingerly sipped his coffee.
“Mrs. Quinn, last night you stated that you couldn’t think of any reason someone might want to kill your husband, is that correct?”
Lambert kept his voice neutral, conversational. But Liv sensed a slight change in his demeanor. A wolf on the scent. She shivered and nodded.
“Yes. I mean, Alex is a well-known social figure in St. Louis, and he’s defended several high-profile clients. He’s had his share of sensational cases, but for someone to want him—”
She couldn’t say the word. It stuck in her throat along with the rising bile.
Lambert paused, flipped a couple of pages in his notebook. “Do you know an attorney at your husband’s firm by the name Ken Brock?”
“Not very well, but we’re acquainted,” she said slowly. Where had he gotten Ken’s name?
“And are you aware that Mr. Brock is having difficulty accepting your husband’s decision to appoint a junior partner, Jenna Shaw, as second counsel on the Henry Boardman trial?”
The blood drained from Liv’s face. Obviously, Detective Lambert had been a busy man this morning. She should’ve realized he’d pay a visit to Quinn and Quinn to speak to Alex’s employees, and she’d been stupid to lie last night when he’d asked about disgruntled employees. Scrambling, she attempted to salvage where this was heading.
“Office politics, detective. Alex is the boss and as such can assign cases and duties as he sees fit. If we named every employee who’d been angry with him for some reason or another, however petty, we’d have quite a list.”
“Jesus, I’m not that bad,” Alex muttered, mostly to himself.
Lambert ignored him. “One of them might lead to the person who wants your husband dead. Or not, but it’s my job to follow all possible leads. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I was aware of Ken’s feelings on the subject, but I didn’t think it was important. He hasn’t made any threats against Alex,” she stressed.
“That may be,” he mused. “However, I’m more interested in a claim Mr. Brock made regarding your husband’s relationship with Jenna Shaw.”
The bottom dropped out of Liv’s stomach. Speech deserted her. She had no idea how to respond without mucking things up even more.
Alex came to her rescue. “What claim is he making, Detective?”
Lambert turned his attention to Alex. “Mr. Brock says he overheard you and your friend, Kyle Murphy, speaking of the open sexual arrangement you have with your wife. He claims you and Miss Shaw are having an affair.”
Liv stared at Alex, stunned. Hurt. He’d been bragging about his sexual conquests to Kyle?
Alex pressed his lips into a thin line, rubbing his temple and staring into his coffee. For several seconds there was complete silence, except for a lawnmower starting across the street. The tick of the wall clock.
“I don’t know I’d classify it as an affair,” he said quietly. “I’ve had sex with Jenna. I might again, or I might not. Yes, Liv and I recently agreed to an open marriage, but it’s nobody else’s business. Nobody’s.”
Lambert’s eyes widened the merest fraction, a hint that Alex managed to surprise a cop who’d heard most everything. “It’s mine when someone tries to roast you like a wiener at a Fourth of July campout, Mr. Quinn. The emotions provoked by extramarital relations are highly volatile at best, dangerous at the worst. I’ve seen the results before, and statistically, the spurned spouse or significant other is almost always the culprit in a crime of passion such as murder, or attempted murder.”
“Are you accusing me of blowing up Alex’s car?” Liv asked, voice rising. “Of—of trying to kill my husband?”
Alex’s eyes flashed with anger. “That’s absurd.”
“I’m not accusing anyone, folks, just trying to get at the facts.” He flipped to a clean page in his pad and addressed Liv. “Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday between ten a.m. and eight p.m.?”
“Of course I can!” Couldn’t she? “I was home until shortly after two, then I ran by my restaurant, Giancarlo’s. I stayed there about an hour and a half; then I picked up my dry cleaning, went to the grocery store and came home. I think it was close to five thirty when I got back.”
“You were home for the rest of the evening, until you were called to the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone verify your being here?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Our neighbor, Jason, came over at six and was with me until I received word about Alex.”
“Is Mr. Strickland part of your open arrangement, Mrs. Quinn?”
God, the man was relentless. Alex looked ready to tear his throat out. “Yes.”
“Hmm. Explains a few things. Did you and Mr. Strickland have sex last night?”
“No, we didn’t.” She forced herself to look him square in the eye, chin up. “But Alex is aware of our relationship. We’re both being open about everything.”
And then some. She prayed they’d get out of this conversation before Lambert learned the rest. While she stood by their arrangement, the details were for their knowledge alone.
“Detective, my wife had nothing to do with the explosion,” Alex said, his tone uncompromising. Absolute. “We love one another very much, which is why we’re taking steps to spice up our marriage. You’re going down the wrong path while someone is plotting to finish what they’ve started.”
“I wonder, Mr. Quinn.”
“About what?”
“The timing. You stated the agreement with your wife is recent. Then someone tries to kill you. It’s a logical path to tread.”
Alex shook his head. “Not in our case, I assure you.”
Lambert clicked his pen, closed his notebook and shoved both into his front shirt pocket as he stood. “Loose threads all lead somewhere; it’s just a matter of tugging the right one. I’ll leave you two alone for now. Call me if you think of something, no matter how insignificant it seems.”
“Will do.”
Alex struggled to rise, but Liv waved him down. “I’ll see him out.”
Lambert walked out with a polite good-bye. Liv closed and locked the door after him, worrying over his logic.
A bargain of mutual sexual pleasure.
Followed by a murder attempt.
Could the two be tied somehow?
She couldn’t see how. Her thoughts turned to Alex.
Oh yes. She had a bone to pick with her sexy, bigmouthed husband.
Seven
Oh, boy. He was being stalked. And not by a car bomber, but a gorgeous, black-haired, extremely pissed wife.
Liv returned from seeing out the detective and stood over Alex, fists on her hips. The position pulled her breasts snug against her tank top and caused her shorts to ride high, hugging her sex. His cock perked up at the sight.
“So, you and Kyle have been discussing our sex life, yucking it up like a pair of horny teenage boys?”
“No!” He tried to sit up straighter and winced at the pull on his sore muscles. “It wasn’t hard for him to guess what was going on with me and Jenna, and he’s been riding my ass ever since. Kept teasing me about how you were going to throw me out and offered me a place to crash when you did.”
“And naturally, you couldn’t resist regaling him with the naughty details.” Blue eyes flashed, frying him more effectively than any bomb could have.
“Not true. I wanted him off my back, so I told him you weren’t going to give me the boot. I said we have an arrangement. That’s all.” He saw her expression soften, the anger draining away. “I’d never gossip about our private lives, sweetheart. My confessions are for your ears alone.”
She hesitated, unsure. “This is still my show?”
“All the way.” He should’ve known she was afraid of losing control of their game. Frankly, so was he.
For the time being, however, worry fled in the wake of new awareness. Mollified, she knelt in front of his chair, between his legs, resting her hands on his thighs. Her fingers branded him through the soft, cottony fabric and his hips rolled in reflexive response to her nearness. Amusement colored her voice as her gaze fixed on his lap.
“Problem, dear husband?”
“God, yes. Liv . . . ”
“Hmm?” The little tease ran a finger along the stiff ridge of his erection.
He almost whimpered. “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?”
“Tell me what you want.” She licked her lips, giving away her anticipation.
“Touch me, please,” he whispered. “I need to feel you licking and sucking my cock. It’s been so long.”
“You’ll have to promise not to move too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I promise! Please, baby, before I have a heart attack.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” Reaching for his waistband, she tugged his sweats and boxer briefs down together.
