Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Thanks. I appreciate all you’ve done.” She ruffled her hand through her hair, remembering how she’d flung accusations like hot coals. “Wow! I really overreacted. Much as I hate to admit it, I owe Ryan an apology. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”

  “Why don’t you have an attorney look over those papers? If he says it’s okay, sign them. You need to move forward.”

  “You’re right,” she assured him. “I’m ready to start over. I really am.”

  He studied her for a moment, then moved closer. “Are you?”

  Electricity arced between them, so strong she could practically feel its heat. Her breath caught, then rushed out ragged and fast. His intense blue eyes dilated as he gazed at her and waited for a response.

  “Absolutely.” The word fell from her lips as a soft plea. “I want to get on with my life.”

  She wasn’t sure how Adam felt, but she knew she wanted him. After that first scary encounter, she’d been afraid of him, but her impression had changed. He was an attractive man, but more than that, he was a kind person. She couldn’t imagine Ryan running around in the middle of the night searching for a lost dog owned by a woman he hardly knew.

  “Come here.” There was a huskiness to his voice that spiked her pulse. When Adam reached for her, Whitney eased into his arms with a sigh that floated through the air.

  He crushed his mouth to hers, muttering something that sounded like a low growl. Her lips instantly parted and she squeezed her eyes shut. She folded her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his as his tongue swirled into her mouth—hot, greedy. Her breasts molded against the hard planes of his chest and her nipples immediately began to throb. He tasted every bit as masculine and erotic as she’d imagined he would.

  The warmth of his powerful body sent a heady sense of anticipation through her. What would it be like to make love to him? she wondered as he continued to kiss her. During the last year with Ryan, their lovemaking had been sporadic. She’d sensed his indifference and tried everything she could think of to please him. It had been so stressful that she couldn’t remember what it was like to be desired. With a thrill, she realized this man wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  Forget Ryan! He’s so-o-o over.

  Adam’s hands wove through her hair, changing the angle of her head so he could kiss her more deeply. The feel of his fingers on her scalp sent languid heat radiating through the lower reaches of her body. Her toes curled. His tongue kept tangling with hers until she was nearly mindless with the need to have him inside her.

  His hands left her hair and caressed the taut muscles of her back. Too many long, lonely nights seemed like something that had happened to a stranger. For an instant she wondered about Adam’s past, about the haunted look in his eyes. But those thoughts vanished as his hands roved lower and squeezed her bottom, then pushed her flush against his erection. Senses reeling, she arched her back and moved invitingly against the turgid heat of his arousal.

  He edged one hand between their bodies and captured her breast. The nipple was already a tight nubbin, but the heat of his hand made it ache with a need more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. She longed to feel his mouth on her breast, her nipple between his lips.

  His thumb swept back and forth across her nipple, teasing the sensitive bead through the sheer fabric of her T-shirt. A primal moan rumbled from deep in her throat. She honestly couldn’t get enough of him.

  A chirping sound made her pull back. “W-what?”

  Adam gave a snort of disgust. “My cell phone. I’m on call, but I don’t know what could be going on at this hour.” He yanked the tiny phone off his belt. “Hunter.”

  Whitney turned, noticed Lexi had finished eating and was standing at the back door. The retriever always went to the bathroom right after she ate. She let the dog out and stood watching her. The gate was closed, but she refused to take any chances.

  She put a hand to her moist lips. Her heart was still pounding, her knees still jittery. What had she been thinking? She was acting like some wanton woman who’d been on a deserted island for the last year. Granted, few of her peers would fault her, but she had her own standards. Whitney had never been one to throw herself at a man. She heard Adam come up behind her and looked over her shoulder.

  “I’ve gotta go. An emergency at one of our guard posts. Could you take care of Jasper?”

  “Of course,” she replied, resisting the urge to ask when she’d see him again.

  He bent down and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I’ll come back with the lock.”

  After he left, Whitney trudged into the bedroom, so exhausted she could hardly think. Jasper and Lexi followed her. They found Maddie and Da Vinci asleep on Whitney’s bed. Creatures of habit, they’d put themselves to bed earlier in the evening. Surprisingly, the sound of a car and Lexi’s return hadn’t disturbed them. Common sense told her to take them outside—especially Da Vinci, who was prone to “slips,” but she was too tired.

  She nudged them aside so she could have a place on the queen-size bed, reminding herself that over forty percent of dog owners slept with their pets. She wasn’t so strange. Jasper sprang onto the bed and joined the two other small dogs. She scooted sideways to make room for Lexi. She patted the mattress. Lexi stood there a moment, perplexed. She usually slept in her cushy dog bed on the floor. A second thump on the covers, and Lexi sprang up beside Whitney, then settled in.

  Whitney stroked the soft fur on the retriever’s head, her heart stutter-stepping when she thought how close she’d come to losing Lexi. Something hummed inside her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was a cry of relief or despair. A post she’d read on Muttsblog.com sprang to mind.

  When did Fido become Fred? The online question had been followed by a very thoughtful post about how the Fido of the fifties—a house pet—had become Fred—a bona fide member of the family. As society changed, the blogger claimed, pets assumed a new role. Dogs began to fill the emotional gaps in people’s lives as the world became increasingly disconnected.

  When Whitney met fellow walkers—dog owners often walked at the same time along the same route—they referred to her not by name but as “Lexi’s mom.” This implied her retriever had the status of a child. Few of those dog owners in the neighborhood where she’d lived with Ryan knew her name.

  A soft snuffling sound told her Lexi was asleep but Whitney kept petting her. It was true, she conceded to herself. Lexi filled so many voids in her life. From the time they’d bought Lexi almost five years ago, the dog had begun to move into the place that Ryan had once occupied. It was the beginning of the end of their relationship. Looking back, she realized Ryan had begun to withdraw shortly before he brought home the puppy.

  Without family or many friends, there was an empty space in Whitney’s heart that she hadn’t realized existed until now, when Lexi moved into it. She had been on the brink of utter despair when Lexi vanished. The depth of Whitney’s vulnerability had been even worse than when Ryan had left her. She’d almost lost it—in front of Ryan and the bimbo he’d married. In front of Adam.

  “You need a life,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Adam’s face appeared on the screen in her mind. She could almost feel his lips against hers. If his phone hadn’t disturbed them…well, they would have bounced Maddie and Da Vinci onto the floor.

  She considered the situation for a minute, stopped stroking Lexi and rolled onto her other side. A person without friends or family shouldn’t leap like a fool into…into what? A one-night stand? No, not with Adam. A new relationship should be entered into with more caution. After all, she’d already proven how poorly she chose men.

  She needed family and friends. When Miranda returned, Whitney planned to make up for all the time they’d lost, but her cousin might be so absorbed in her marriage that she wouldn’t need Whitney. All she could do was make the effort and see what happened.

  As for friends, Trish Bowrather was the only person with whom she’d h
ad much contact. She was friendly in a dominating sort of way. Still, they had a divorce and Golden retrievers in common.

  In her mind’s eye, Whitney saw Trish’s impressive home and exclusive gallery. The woman might seem to have it all, but Whitney suspected Trish was lonely.

  Whitney said out loud, “Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.” True, it was a trite saying, but it fit her situation. She refused to live a “disconnected” life with only a dog to care about her.

  ADAM ASKED HIMSELF WHY IN hell he was in a guardhouse at the gated development of Ocean Heights. For some reason the guard had simply up and left without even calling the command post. A resident had returned and found the post deserted. Somehow he’d futzed with the computer until he’d contacted HiTech. Butch had attempted to contact Tyler at home and on his cell, but couldn’t get a response. In desperation, he’d called Adam.

  What Adam knew about running a guard post came down to opening the gate for residents, guests and service people. Over the phone, Butch had been able to walk him through the procedures. It was a little after four o’clock in the morning. He didn’t expect much traffic until seven, when the next guard came on duty. If HiTech was making so much money, the least they could do was have a backup guard on call. Tomorrow, he’d take up this and a lot more with Tyler. If backup had been available, Adam would be snuggled in bed with Whitney.

  Okay, snuggled might not have been it. Hot, sweaty sex was what sprang to mind. He could almost feel her beneath him, feel himself driving into her soft, sweet body.

  He wanted a woman; he needed a woman—in the worst way. Not just any woman, he realized. Nearly dying had changed his outlook on life.

  Once he’d believed he had years and years ahead of him to find a woman, have a family. His father’s death—at a relatively early age—had been the harbinger of things to come. But he hadn’t heeded the warning: Life is too short. It had taken his own near-death experience for him to appreciate just how fragile life was. Uncle Calvin’s death sealed his impression.

  “Get your mind off sex,” he muttered under his breath. As it was he was going to have blue balls for a week. He’d left Whitney’s with an erection like an iron pike. He didn’t need to sit at a guard post with another one.

  He called Butch at the command post. “I need our pin number for Total Track.”

  “Anything going on?” Butch asked with a note of curiosity in his voice.

  “Nah. I’m bored. I want to check out a guy I met.”

  Butch gave Adam the series of numbers and letters that would allow him to access the database of the private company used by many security firms and some of the smaller police departments. Total Track kept information from the DMV, utility companies, cable television services, as well as credit card reporting services. The system was used to determine an individual’s current address, place of work, credit status and a lot of other supposedly confidential information.

  Total Track was very expensive but worth it to security companies trying to locate people. Before Adam had been forced to leave for Iraq, HiTech had been poised to go into the security business. But now it seemed to be nothing more than a guard service. He wondered why they were still paying for Total Track.

  Once he was in the system, Adam typed, “Preston Block.” In the next breath up popped the standard information.

  Address: 1297 Thurston Place Unit 4B

  Place of Employment: Dr. Jox Fitness Center

  Automobile: 1992 Camry (blue)

  License: HWZ943

  Adam scanned the guy’s credit history. One credit card. Block made the minimum payment on time each month and carried a balance that was roughly half his limit. Typical. Most people in America carried a hefty balance and paid the minimum each month.

  His Bank of America checking account showed a balance of just under five hundred dollars. Block didn’t have a savings account. No surprise there. America had turned into a nation of debtors, not savers.

  He scrolled down the screen. Holy shit! Preston Block had a sealed juvenile record. For what? In rare cases, a sealed juvenile record concealed a serious crime like rape or murder. Odds were against it. More likely Block had been convicted of petty theft or joyriding in a “borrowed” car.

  He rocked back in the chair and stared at the screen. Block seemed to be a regular working stiff. Nothing unusual except he’d been jogging and came upon a lost Golden retriever.

  So what was bothering Adam?

  He logged out of Total Track and Googled “Preston Block.” The guy had a Web site. Interesting. Adam clicked on the Web site. Up came a picture of Block, appearing even more buff than he had tonight. He’d oiled his muscles like weight lifters did so the guy looked very impressive on the screen.

  Block advertised his services as a personal trainer. “I’ll come to you or you come to me!”

  What a guy. Adam clicked through a series of photographs showing Block working with clients at Dr. Jox Fitness Center. Most of Block’s clients seemed to be women who were so toned and pretty that it was hard to believe they needed a trainer. But that was only his opinion.

  Adam got tired of looking at all the babes that Block made his living training. It was just making him think about Whitney’s sexy bod. He returned to the Ocean Heights screen and forced himself not to think about Whitney.

  Like a chop to the back of his neck, it hit him. Now he knew what bothered him about Preston Block’s story. Okay, okay, what freak went jogging at nearly three-thirty in the morning? That had been the first clue.

  But it wasn’t just that. There was a chink in Block’s story.

  Adam had spent enough time on the streets of greater San Diego as a homicide detective to remember many of the businesses—particularly on the main thoroughfares.

  There wasn’t any Stop ’N Go on Harborside. Why would Block lie about where he bought the leash?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHITNEY CHECKED HER reflection in the towering plate-glass doors of the high-rise in the Marina District where Broderick Babcock had his offices. Her pale pink twinset and navy slacks didn’t seem businesslike enough to visit a criminal defense attorney. Well, it was the best she could do.

  Whitney had walked only the dogs that absolutely needed to be taken out before rushing downtown. She’d called Ryan to apologize and tell him Lexi had been found but he’d already left. She’d nearly choked on her apology to Ashley, but she’d managed to spit it out. Ashley had been “totally thrilled” to hear Lexi had been returned. Whitney told her to contact Ryan immediately. She didn’t want her ex wasting his time calling test labs, searching for Lexi.

  As she swung open the tall glass door and walked into the immense marble-floored lobby, she admitted to herself that a sense of relief had replaced the animosity she’d felt toward Ryan and his new wife. She wanted the divorce behind her. Last night, while she’d been in bed with the dogs, she’d realized how much she needed to begin all over. She told herself not to see Adam Hunter as part of this new life. Put him out of your mind, she kept thinking. But in the next minute, swear to God, his image would pop up unbidden.

  She checked the directory on the wall and found Broderick Babcock’s office was in the penthouse. Silently rehearsing what she would say to the attorney, Whitney rode the elevator to the lawyer’s offices. Another glass door led into a large waiting room decorated with minimalistic furniture in muted shades of cocoa. It was empty except for an older woman behind a desk.

  Whitney entered and the woman with blue-tinged hair and a gray suit looked up with a smile. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Whitney Marshall.” She expected “Marshall” to ring a bell. Apparently, it did not. The woman waited for her to continue. “I have a divorce agreement I’d like an attorney to look over.” She stopped right in front of the desk.

  “We’re a criminal law firm,” the woman responded pleasantly. “I can recommend—”

  “I would really like to see someone here,” Whitney replied. “You see, s
ince my cousin—who’s like my sister—is on her honeymoon with Mr. Babcock, I thought…”

  “Your cousin?”

  “They’re honeymooning. You know, in Fiji.” Was it possible the attorney hadn’t told his office staff? The woman seemed perplexed, but she was smiling. The wedding was supposed to be a secret from his clients. She’d assumed his staff had been told, but she might have blown it by coming here and spilling the beans.

  “Married?” the woman asked as if she’d never heard the word.

  “Yes. I just thought maybe another attorney in the firm could take a quick look.” She waggled the document she had brought with her.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Whitney. Whitney Marshall. My cousin is Miranda Marshall, now Miranda Babcock.”

  “I see.” She rose, saying, “Wait here. Someone will be right with you.”

  The woman disappeared behind double doors that must lead into the inner offices. Whitney took a deep breath and gazed out the window at the amazing view of San Diego Harbor. Looking at an aircraft carrier slowly moving toward the navy yard, she again rehearsed what she would tell the attorney. She needed to inquire about making payments on his fee. That was the important part; she had almost no money.

  The door opened and the receptionist said, “Right this way.”

  Whitney followed her down a long corridor. She glimpsed several people diligently working at desks in various offices. At the end of the hall she saw a large office and beyond it the gleaming blue waters of the harbor. It had to belong to a senior partner, she decided. Her simple settlement agreement wasn’t worth bothering someone so important. Why couldn’t one of the other attorneys look at the document?

  Before Whitney could suggest this, the receptionist stepped into the office and announced, “Whitney Marshall, sir.”

  From behind a glass desk the size of a pool table rose a tall man with black hair burnished at the temples with gray. His dark brown eyes warned her that he missed nothing in his field of vision. They also said he was a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word compromise. What had she gotten herself into?