Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  Already.

  Aw, hell. What did he expect? He’d spent nearly three years in hell without a woman. Why wouldn’t he go off when he was with someone so special?

  “Hey, watch it,” he warned, the words coming from deep in his throat.

  Her hand clutched him tighter, then moved back and forth. A debilitating heat invaded every pore of his body. Christ almighty. What she could do to him without half trying. The sensation was so arousing he couldn’t keep from moaning out loud.

  “I need you,” she half whispered, half moaned into his ear.

  Adam lifted her into his arms, her head nestling between his head and shoulders. He plowed through the pool to the steps. The dogs jumped to their feet, tails wagging. He emerged and water cascaded off them. He walked toward one of the cushy chaise lounges nearby. Water sluiced off them now in small streams.

  He lowered Whitney to the chaise. The dogs circled his feet and he nearly stumbled. “Sit! Stay!” He didn’t spare the time to check to see if they all obeyed.

  He carefully angled himself across her body to spare her the full impact of his weight. Stretched out, the full length of his body against hers, Adam didn’t move for a second. He permitted himself a moment to enjoy the exquisite sensation of her warm, soft skin against his. In the dim light, her pupils were dilated and her long lashes dewy with water.

  Sexy as hell.

  The fragrant scent of her shampoo wafted up from her damp hair. One bra strap had slipped off her shoulder, and he pulled it down. With the black silk strap came the sheer fabric that almost concealed her full breast. Exposed to the soft moonlight, her skin took on a pearly sheen. He lowered his head and gently kissed her soft skin.

  Whitney’s hands found his butt and urged him closer and closer as she moved provocatively beneath him. “Yes, oh, yes.”

  He bit back the impulse to rip off the flimsy thong and bury himself to the hilt inside her sexy body. “Hold on,” he told her, his voice rough with pent-up desire. “Let’s make this special.”

  She ran the tip of her tongue across the skin along the curve of his neck, promising delights he could only imagine—if his brain could focus. A bolt of primitive heat lanced his groin. He’d told her to hold on, but it was all he could do to keep himself in check.

  He lifted his head from the one breast he’d already exposed. He found the hook in the center of the bra and unfastened it. “Nothing like a front-loader.”

  Whitney might have tried to laugh. He couldn’t be sure as he gazed down on her breasts, bared to the starlit sky. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the garment over his shoulder. He was vaguely aware of the dogs scuffling for the bra as if it were some chew toy.

  She arched under him, and the searing pressure of her body against his erection nearly sent him over the top. Every muscle in his body taut with need, he forced himself to concentrate on the breast he’d just uncovered. His lips circled the erect nipple, and he sucked hard, drawing it deep into his mouth.

  “You’re really good at this.” She emitted a breathless sigh, her nails digging into his bare buttocks.

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  When had she shoved down his swim trunks? He managed to find the strength to stand up. His butt was half-exposed while the front of his suit looked like a tepee. He yanked down his trunks and kicked them aside. Then he bent over and eased off the barely-there thong Whitney was still wearing.

  For a moment, he stood there admiring her. Her glorious body fairly glowed in the light of the most amazing moon he’d ever seen. A lover’s moon.

  Adam lowered himself to the chaise and settled over her, his throbbing erection finding the apex between her thighs. With a deep growl, he nuzzled her with the hot tip of his shaft. He slowly parted the moist folds and eased inside her by degrees. She was small, a tight fit, but he found the stamina to hold back until her body gradually accepted his.

  She raked her nails across his bare back, murmuring, “Hurry, hurry.”

  With one swift movement, he surged forward and buried himself inside her hot, welcoming body. She responded instantly, moving up and down with each of his thrusts. Hips pounding, he hammered against her.

  He heard a groan rumble from his chest as white-hot heat speared through him. His mind-shattering climax ripped through his skull, then shot down his spine. Trembling, he managed to hold it together and keep on moving for another few minutes until he felt her inner body tremble with release.

  She cried, “You’re the best!”

  He mustered the strength to mutter, “Not the best, but close enough for government work.”

  He collapsed on his forearms to keep the brunt of his weight off her. Huffing like a racehorse, sheathed with moisture, he struggled to get his breath while his heart slowed.

  She stoked the damp hair at the base of his neck and whispered, “Be serious. I’m crazy about you, too.”

  ASHLEY WAS WAITING FOR Preston in Dr. Jox’s parking lot when the personal trainer drove his Camry into a space as far from the building as possible. She knew his theory. People didn’t take advantage of everyday exercise opportunities. Use the stairs, not the elevator. Walk fast, not slow. Park as far as possible from your destination.

  “Hey, you’re early,” Preston called as he eased his large body out of his car, his backpack slung over one powerful shoulder.

  Ashley had the top down on her metallic-blue Mercedes convertible. She’d been sitting in the parking lot for over twenty minutes, thinking. “Let’s go for a ride. I don’t feel like working out.”

  Preston stood beside her car, a puzzled expression on his face. He dropped the backpack onto the small shelf behind the passenger side of her two-seater. “All right, but I need to watch the time. Arnold Wilcott has the slot after you. He’s never late.”

  Preston climbed in and was fastening his seat belt when Ashley backed out and laid rubber on the asphalt. “Slow down unless you want a ticket.”

  Ashley didn’t trust her voice enough to reply. She wanted to scream, to hit something, break something. But she hadn’t a clue what would do any good. She hated losing control. It was like walking down the runway again, being in a beauty pageant and letting the judges decide your fate. When her mother died, Ashley had thought that life was behind her. Wrong.

  “Upset about something?” Preston asked.

  “Yeah, a little.” She did her best not to sound as angry as she felt, but the weight of this was crushing her spirit.

  “Wanna talk?”

  She pulled into a parking space with a view of the harbor and turned off the engine. “I’m sorry. I’m always dumping my problems on you.”

  Preston shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head. “I don’t mind.”

  Ashley could see Preston meant it. Sometimes she thought he cared more about her than Ryan did. Of course, Ryan had monumental problems while Preston led a stress-free life as a personal trainer.

  She held up her hand. “Remember my ring?”

  “You found it. Awesome! Be more care—”

  “I never lost it. After I left you yesterday, I searched everywhere. I even went to the garbage collection agency that services our neighborhood. Nothing.”

  Preston’s eyes narrowed, and she wondered if he guessed what she was going to tell him. Had she been a fool? Did other people see through Ryan?

  “Know what happened to it?” she asked.

  He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he prompted, “What?”

  “Guess. Tell me what you think.”

  He studied her a moment, and she saw the unwavering compassion in his eyes. “You found it…I don’t know…somewhere you’d forgotten you’d put it. Like a different drawer or something.”

  Ashley shook her head, sending her hair across her shoulders in waves she could see out of the corner of her eye.

  Preston shot her a questioning look. “Your husband found it and put it somewhere and forgot to tell you.”

&
nbsp; “You’re closer now.”

  He leaned toward her. “Why are we playing games?”

  Ashley stared at him a moment and asked herself the same question. This was no joking matter. Preston was her best—her only—friend. Why not come out and tell him?

  He touched her shoulder in a tender way that nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Ryan took the ring,” she said, bitterness echoing in every word. “He sold the diamond—without telling me—and had a fake stone put in its place.” She waved her hand under his nose.

  “Is that so bad, if he really needs money?”

  “I wouldn’t mind—had he told me. But the bastard had me on my hands and knees double-checking the entire house for the ‘lost’ ring. Then it magically appeared under my dresser.”

  Ashley released a pent-up, exhausted sigh. “I couldn’t sleep all night. I kept thinking about how thoroughly I’d searched the closet. The ring hadn’t been there. Ryan conveniently found it when my back was turned.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “I started thinking about the unpaid bills and things I’d found in his office and I was sure he’d sold my diamond.”

  “Doesn’t he have any other way to raise money?”

  “No. He’s taken loans out on everything.”

  Preston rolled his eyes heavenward. “But you were going to buy a new house.”

  “He said he planned to roll over the equity in the house and use it plus a piece of land to buy the property. After sifting through his records, I doubt the bank would have gone for it. I think Ryan was just humoring me.”

  Preston picked up her hand and studied the ring. “Are you sure this isn’t the real deal? It looks great to me.”

  “This morning, I went to a pawnshop to see what I could get for it. I didn’t want to pawn it but I thought that would be the fastest way to verify what I suspected.”

  “That’s smart.”

  “They wouldn’t give me a dime because it’s a fake,” she cried. “Why didn’t Ryan just tell me?”

  “He didn’t think you would understand, and he was embarrassed.”

  “I know money’s tight right now with the new practice and everything, but why couldn’t he discuss it with me? That’s what a relationship is all about.”

  Preston nodded his agreement. “Maybe he had a bad experience in his first marriage. That’s why he doesn’t feel comfortable talking over problems with you.”

  “Possibly. It’s hard to know. He never mentions Whitney unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Why don’t you just come out and ask Ryan about the ring?”

  She hesitated, reluctant to confess the truth. “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what? He won’t hit you or anything, will he?”

  “No, no. Of course not,” she assured him, but in the back of her mind she remembered what Whitney had said the other night. Ryan did have an explosive temper. Apparently, he’d done something to Whitney.

  “Okay, so, like, talk to him.”

  “I’m afraid of ruining our relationship. We never fight or argue. At least, we didn’t until I took the dog. Then Ryan went postal on me.”

  Preston was silent for a moment before telling her, “The way I see it, if you don’t talk to him, the relationship is ruined anyway.”

  There was more than a kernel of truth in what he said. Ashley hadn’t been in a long-term relationship until now. She couldn’t remember her parents talking about anything except her competing in endless beauty pageants. No wonder her father had walked out. As a teenager, she hadn’t understood it, but now, she was an adult. A marriage couldn’t be healthy without two-way communication.

  Too late, she realized she should have called her father when her mother had suddenly died. Bakersfield was only a couple of hours north of here. He easily could have driven down. She hadn’t called because she’d assumed he didn’t care. Now she saw the situation from a different perspective. She knew her parents loved each other, but her mother had been obsessed with Ashley winning a beauty title. Her father had understood what a pipe dream it was and how little Ashley would gain from the title should she win.

  She considered talking to Ryan tonight, but they were going out with Walter Nance and his wife. Ryan was determined to impress the head surgeon in his new practice. He’d told her to look spectacular. If things went well, Ryan might be in the mood to have a serious discussion afterward. She stopped herself. Why did so much of their life together have to depend on his moods?

  “If only I could help Ryan in some way. You know, offer up a solution to the money problems when we talk.”

  “The solution is getting that woman—Whitney—out of your lives.”

  Preston was right, and she knew it. Ashley felt for Whitney. She’d lost Ryan, nearly lost her dog, then a fire destroyed everything. But that was no excuse for ruining Ashley’s life.

  On the spot, Ashley made a decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret. Ryan had enough on his mind. She could take care of this on her own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ADAM PARKED HIS car in the visitors’ section of the lot behind the coroner’s office. He looked around to see if anyone had followed him. When he’d left the house this morning, he’d carefully surveyed the street to see if any strange vehicles were parked close to the house.

  Nothing.

  Not that he expected anyone to be tailing him, but he couldn’t stop worrying about Whitney. There wasn’t any reason for concern, he assured himself. Whoever had thrown the pipe bomb had been after Miranda. Still, Whitney was constantly in his thoughts.

  Since the night of the pipe bombing, he’d been worried someone might mistake Whitney for her cousin. He was even more troubled now, but he didn’t know why. Okay, maybe he did. Making love to her had triggered a very masculine instinct. Protectiveness. When you cared about a woman, you wanted to protect her.

  Whitney had come to mean a lot to him in a short period of time. Once he would have questioned this, but after facing death—and surviving—he knew how quickly life could change. Falling for a woman this soon no longer surprised him.

  He walked into the building and down the stairs to the level where Samantha Waterson had her office. He’d received a text message this morning that the assistant coroner wanted to see him.

  “Hey,” Samantha greeted him when he appeared at her office door.

  “Hey, yourself.” Adam walked in with a smile for the redhead. “I received your message.”

  She waved him into the chair next to her desk. “I received the advanced tox report on your uncle. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Adam stared blankly at her for a moment. He couldn’t believe this. He’d been so sure a toxicology screen would turn up something. “Nothing?”

  “Nope. Traces of ibuprofen. That’s all. Aspirin or Tylenol turns up in ninety-eight percent of all tox screens. It’s the most common drug in America.”

  Adam recalled Quinten Foley’s visit. They were dealing with sophisticated people who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. He didn’t know of any reason they would want to kill his uncle, but then, he didn’t have all of the facts.

  “Is there anything that wouldn’t show up on a tox screen?” he asked.

  “Sure. Lots of things. Rohypnol, for starters.”

  “The date-rape drug?”

  “Yes. It’s out of your system in twenty-four hours. If a victim isn’t tested immediately, it’s almost impossible to prove in court that a defendant slipped a woman the drug.”

  “How would Rohypnol figure in my uncle’s death?”

  “Victims go into a blackout state and don’t remember anything. He could have been given the drug, then forced to exercise so vigorously that his heart gave out.”

  “I’m not sure…someone would have to have known heart trouble ran in the family. Even if they did, there’s no guarantee it would work.” He shook his head. “Anything else?”

  “There are
lots of designer drugs around. Remember the steroid substitutes invented to get around baseball’s steroid ban?” she asked, and he nodded. “Like those designer steroids, there are a number of drugs that can elude toxicology panels. The one that comes to mind in this case is curare.”

  “That stuff that Indians in the Amazon used on their arrow tips?”

  “Exactly. It’s sold under a variety of names by drug companies. It’s most commonly administered when a doctor is operating on someone’s lungs. The drug causes paralysis so the lungs don’t move during the operation. If your uncle was given an overdose, all his internal organs would have shut down. The process could have mimicked a heart attack.”

  Calvin Hunter had been involved in dangerous arms transactions. Considering those deals, the men wouldn’t have wanted to find themselves involved in an investigation. They would have used something untraceable.

  “I guess this is a dead end,” he said with heartfelt regret in his voice.

  “There’s one other possibility,” Samantha told him.

  He refused to get his hopes up. “What’s that?”

  “Dr. Alfonse Taggart at Stanford is working on new tests specifically designed to detect drugs that current tox panels don’t show. In this case, I would send him slides of the liver. Curare in any form impacts the liver. I didn’t notice any inflammation and it didn’t come up on the tox panel either, but maybe Dr. Taggart can find something. It’s a long shot.”

  “Thanks. I owe you,” he told her.

  IT WAS NEARLY NOON BY the time Whitney arrived back at the house. She punched in the alarm code and entered the home followed by the dogs. During her rounds, she’d stopped in at Dog Diva. Daniel, the owner, had given her the names of two women who also worked as pet concierges in the area.

  She’d spoken with one of them. Lyleen Foster sounded promising. She lived nearby and had an excellent reputation. She could take on several dogs, but not all of them. It was going to be necessary to split up Miranda’s clients.