by Susan Crosby
She frowned. “I told you before. During her first round of chemo, when I took her to her doctor’s appointment.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I asked her how she dealt with a man who wouldn’t share his feelings.”
“I remember you saying that, but I thought you were talking about my father.”
“Why would I care about that?”
He didn’t know, but she hadn’t told him the question had been about him. “What did she say?”
“That I would learn not to take it personally. That men, especially cops, think they’re doing women a favor by not sharing what they see on the job and how they react to it. I knew I couldn’t live with a man who didn’t share the bad along with the good.”
He realized then why he’d loved her once. She’d tried to get him to open up. She’d tried hard.
She laid a hand on his arm. He couldn’t pull away without making it seem too important.
“I left something out when I told you about that talk with your mom,” she said, her voice hushed. “She said that no matter what I did or how hard I tried, sometimes I wouldn’t be able to reach you. And that sometimes if I tried too hard, it would have the opposite effect, and you would go to someone else, someone uncomplicated and undemanding.”
Her words stunned him, especially since they’d come from his mother. “Meaning I would cheat?”
“Only that the possibility existed. I realized I didn’t want to live with that or deal with that.”
“I would say that possibility exists in every relationship, not just a cop’s.”
“True. But I’d seen the truth already. You took care of your parents—you alone. You hardly ever let me help. You thought I couldn’t handle it.”
“You couldn’t. You told me it was too much for you.”
“I meant the way you shut down and shut me out.” She dropped her hand from his arm. “Look, Joe, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up. It’s over and done.” She turned away.
The meaning behind her words finally sank in. He grabbed her arm. “Are you saying my father had an affair?”
“Your mother didn’t say so specifically.”
Added to the possibility his father had been part of a cover-up over Mateo Alvarado’s murder, the idea that he’d cheated on his mother numbed Joe. Impossible. His parents had been best friends as well as partners. Jane had misunderstood his mother, that’s all. She’d been speaking in generalities.
“I really am sorry, Joe. I only meant to say hello and that I’m glad you’re happy again.” She walked away.
He didn’t watch her. He didn’t see anything until Arianna put herself directly in front of him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “Nothing.” He flung an arm around her shoulders and headed back to their seats, realizing he was doing exactly what Jane said. He wasn’t sharing his feelings.
But this wasn’t the time or place for this particular disclosure. Maybe later. After they finished their investigation and there was no reason for her to stay at his house any longer. Maybe then.
Maybe.
Arianna sat on the bench beside the koi pond in Joe’s backyard that evening while Joe returned a couple of phone calls. She’d waited all afternoon for him to tell her he’d talked with his former fiancée, but he hadn’t brought it up. Not that Arianna knew for sure, but the conversation she’d observed between Joe and the blonde was too intense to be anything superficial. Arianna had hung back so that they wouldn’t see her, so they could deal with whatever serious business was there between them, but also because she hadn’t wanted to be introduced to the woman who’d broken Joe’s heart.
Compounded by a difficult visit with Joe’s father before the game, when Mike had been more confused than Joe recalled seeing him, Arianna was ready for the marathon he’d promised. More than ready. Eager. Anxious. She wanted him to forget about Jane and whatever that woman had said to put the look of shock Arianna had seen on his face. She wanted him to forget everything tonight except pleasure.
“Nice evening,” Joe said, joining her on the bench by straddling it, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest.
“Beautiful.” She rested her arms on his and closed her eyes.
“All day,” he said close to her ear, “I’ve been intrigued by this tiny bit of black lace.” He hooked a finger into the V of her blouse and exposed more than a bit of her bra.
“Good,” she said, smiling.
“Tease.”
“You promised me a marathon. You don’t think that was the ultimate tease?”
“You’ve been thinking about it?” he asked.
“Only every second.” She felt him unbutton her blouse, not hurrying, then with his thumb and forefinger he rubbed the teardrop-shaped gold pendant that lay just above her cleavage. He slipped his little finger under the edge of her bra and followed the line down to the clasp then up the other side. She let out a shaky breath.
She tried to turn around. He wouldn’t let her.
“Relax,” he whispered into her ear.
She laughed, a small, quavering burst of air. “Then don’t keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I fully intend to keep doing it. But you need to relax and enjoy it.”
He stripped her blouse off her and set it across the bench in front of her. “Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “It would be even better if you took off your shirt.”
He stripped it off and tossed it on top of her blouse, then he nestled her against him again, skin to skin. She kicked off her shoes. Her skirt had shifted high on her thighs. He grabbed the fabric and tugged it even higher, until her legs were exposed to the night air.
He ran his hands along her thighs. “These are classified as weapons, aren’t they? I like it when you wrap them around me and squeeze tight. I feel locked in.”
He dipped his fingers under her skirt, ran his fingertips lightly over her panties. She lifted toward his hand but he only toyed with her.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she said, feeling out of control and yet not wanting to have any control, either. She wanted to get lost in his arms.
“Crazy’s good.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that.”
Joe wanted to dominate. He wanted not just to share the experience but to overwhelm her, to take her places she hadn’t been, higher and deeper, and keep her there for longer than she’d ever experienced or ever would again.
Her bra clasp gave him little trouble. Soon his hands were filled with her breasts. He needed those hard nipples in his mouth right now.
“Stand up,” he whispered urgently.
She didn’t hesitate but stood on the bench, facing him. He reached around her, unzipped her skirt and let it slide to the bench. She kicked it aside and waited.
He ignored the ache in his loins that was demanding satisfaction, pulled her down to straddle his lap, finally tasting her breasts, ignoring her nipples until she guided his head and held him tight, begging him.
The begging was nice, inspiring him to drag everything out longer. He figured she didn’t beg often. When he had his fill of her, he laid her down on the bench. She gasped at the initial touch of cold wood against her back then seemed to forget it as he slipped her panties off.
“Joe,” she said, her voice full of need.
“Relax.”
She laughed, a strangled sound, flattering him. He dragged his fingers down her body lightly again and again. Finally he indulged himself and let his fingertips drift between her thighs. One thing he’d learned—a light touch beat out a heavy one any day.
He explored her gently, keeping a slow, steady pace, deepening a touch when she made a needy sound, moving on when the sound turned to one indicating imminent satisfaction. Not yet, Arianna. Not yet.
He put his mouth on her and she went still, only a long, low moan coming from her. Then she moved, up toward him,
enough to let him slide a finger inside her. She lurched higher. He lifted his head.
“Don’t…stop,” she said, urgent and demanding, trying to pull him back.
But he was afraid she would make too much noise and his neighbors might hear. He slid off the bench, removed the rest of his clothes then sat again, pulling her onto his lap.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” she murmured against his mouth.
“What a way to go.”
He felt her lips form a smile before her tongue got into the game. He held her head in place, keeping her mouth covered as he lifted her, then brought her down on him. Her mouth opened. He pulled her back, stopping the threatening sound with his own mouth.
She angled away. “Good,” she whispered. “This is so good.”
She moved against him, her nipples brushing his chest, her belly gliding along his. She felt glorious. Tight and wet and slick. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried not to think about how she was the most dazzling woman he’d ever met and that, even after more than a week with her, he could hardly believe he was making love with her now. He felt her clench inside, around him, her tempo increasing to an urgent level. As she burst into a climax he grabbed her head and pulled her mouth to his, swallowing the sounds.
The wooden bench cut into his legs, distracting him, for which he was grateful, but making him even more aware of her.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked, her movements slowing.
“In a minute. In the house. I don’t want anyone to overhear.”
He took her by the hand. Watching her walk naked beside him would rank at the top of his memories. The way her body moved, her confidence, the need he still saw in her eyes—all of it registered.
In his bedroom he jerked back the covers. They could have freedom here.
He followed her down onto the bed. She reached for him.
“I’m not done yet,” he said, grabbing her wrist, stopping her.
“I don’t know whether to be terrified or thrilled.”
He noted the lack of terror in her eyes. “You can let me know later.”
“I’ll do that.”
He kissed her, a long, searching, searing kiss that built then lingered then swelled again. He touched her, the freedom almost painful. He tasted her, a feast he would never forget. She was everything he’d dreamed of and nothing like he’d dreamed. She finally stopped trying to take control, to please him, but gave herself up to it—to him. It satisfied him enormously. Eventually he let her reach the top, then after a while, rise above it. She didn’t scream exactly, but she would’ve been loud enough in the yard to have the neighbors wondering.
He didn’t let her come down all the way but plunged into her, then stopped. She rose to meet him. He moved slowly, methodically. She tried to increase the pace. He resisted. He had no idea where his ability to resist came from. Some soul-deep need to cherish her as no one had, to plant in her a memory she could pluck from the air now and then and think of him. He didn’t want her to forget.
But finally even he had to acknowledge the need and purpose and let himself find oblivion. He almost didn’t last long enough to bring her to climax again, but he did, then he followed with an explosion that lasted for hours or days or months. An eternity, at least. Then he woke up on the other side of heaven with her still in his arms, not a dream, after all, not even elusive, but real and warm and all woman.
“You are a generous man,” she said quietly, shifting a little.
He moved aside, taking his weight off her, but not losing contact. “No. Completely selfish.”
“You need to check your dictionary.”
“This is just the beginning,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
She arched her back and sighed. “I’ll take over for Heartbreak Hill, Marathon Man. See if you can make it over the rise.”
He grinned leisurely. “Here. I’ll pass you the baton.”
Sixteen
The next morning, the front door to Mary Beth Horvath’s house opened before Arianna or Joe had a chance to knock.
“I figured you would be back,” Mary Beth said, inviting them in as if resigned to the ordeal. “Thank you for waiting until my family was gone.”
“If there was more to say, why didn’t you just tell us before?” Arianna asked, taking a seat on the same sofa as before, glad that Joe was beside her.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. I should’ve known better. Mike Vicente’s son and Mateo’s daughter? You wouldn’t quit until you had all your answers.”
“Did you love my father?” Arianna asked, surprising herself. It wasn’t the first question she’d had on her mental list. She felt Joe react to it, too, felt the heat from his body as he moved a little closer. In comfort? Or to remind her to stick to the facts of the case?
“Yes,” Mary Beth answered, apology in her eyes.
“How did you meet?”
“He and his partner got me away from my boyfriend before he beat me to death. Your dad came to the hospital after to make sure I wasn’t going back to Rollie, my boyfriend.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how it happened with Mateo. He was just being nice. He helped me find a new job and a place to live. He’d come by the store every day I was working to see that I was okay and that Rollie hadn’t tracked me down after he’d been let out of jail. Mateo was like my knight in shining armor, and I just kept falling for him…. He talked about you a lot.”
Arianna realized she didn’t want or need the details of her father’s affair.
“Tell us what happened the day of the murder,” Joe said, somehow picking up on her feelings.
Mary Beth’s shoulders drooped, as if settled to her fate. “Mateo came into the store at lunchtime, as usual. A few seconds later Rollie and a friend came in, but I didn’t see them because I was crouched under the counter opening a new carton of cigarettes to get Mateo a pack. When I stood up I saw Rollie. He’d pulled a gun on Mateo. The friend had one trained on me. Rollie took your dad’s gun, then he shot him with it. Just like that. Shot him. Point blank. Then he shot me.”
“With his own .22,” Joe said.
“I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew I’d been shot and left for dead. Mateo’s partner…”
“Fred Zamora,” Arianna said.
“Yes. He came running through the door right after they left. Then I was unconscious until a couple of days later in the hospital.”
“So, Fred saw the shooters.”
She nodded.
“And recognized one as your ex-boyfriend, because he and Mateo had broken up a fight between you before.”
“Yes. He came to the hospital after I regained consciousness and told me I needed to say I barely knew Mateo, that he was a cop who came to the store every so often, but that was all. That it needed to look like a robbery. He told me to say I couldn’t remember anything, that way no one could challenge me about it.”
“Did he tell you why?” Joe asked.
“Because if Mateo was shot in the line of duty, not a love triangle, his widow wouldn’t have the public humiliation of our affair. Fred said I owed Mateo that much. And you,” she said to Arianna. “I owed it to you. I knew that. He loved you so much.”
Arianna’s stomach twisted. It made her sick to think of her father talking about her with the woman he was sleeping with. I didn’t know you at all, did I, Dad?
“Then my father discovered the truth,” Joe said.
“At some point. I don’t know when.”
“He would’ve learned about the fight Mateo and Fred broke up between you and Rollie just by running your name in the computer. He would’ve known that they were the responding officers,” Joe said. “Made the connection. Known Rollie was a potential suspect.”
“I suppose. Your father came to me after a couple of weeks, just when I got out of the hospital, and said they got the killer.”
“They?”
“I don’t know who he meant.”
“Then how did he know who t
he killer was if neither you nor Fred Zamora identified him?”
“I never asked for the name, and he never told me. But he looked at me like he knew I’d been holding back. Then he walked out. I never saw him again. And Rollie disappeared.” She closed her eyes, exhaustion lining her face. “That’s all I can tell you. Honest. There’s nothing more.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “Please go now. And please don’t ever come back. I’ve paid for what happened, in ways you don’t know. I will pay until the day I die.”
Arianna headed for the door. Mary Beth was right. There was nothing left to say.
In Joe’s car a few minutes later tension thickened the air, hot and heavy. She waited for him to start the conversation, but he didn’t. He gripped the steering wheel. His jaw clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched. She swallowed against the ache in her throat. Was she better off knowing what she knew now? Would ignorance be better? It would be easier, of course, but better? She needed time to let everything sink in before she could answer that question.
Their silence continued as they entered Joe’s house. He went directly into the dining room and started boxing up all the paperwork pertaining to the case—his father’s notes and his own. She stacked hers, intending to take them with her.
Should she gather her personal items, too, the things she’d brought in order to stay overnight with him?
Suddenly Joe went rigid, his hands resting on the back of a dining room chair, his head bowed. She waited.
Finally he spoke. “So. You have your answers.”
“Yes.” The word echoed in her chest, hollow now. “My father was shot by his mistress’s jealous boyfriend—former boyfriend. It was planned. A cold-blooded murder.”
“Do you wish you’d never gone searching for the truth?”
“I was asking myself that on the way here. I don’t know how I feel about that yet.” She moved closer to him. He straightened, almost backing away. “How about you?”
“I don’t have answers, only more questions.”
“Yes.” She put a hand on his arm, like touching steel. “What will you do?”
“I will wonder forever if my father was involved in a cover-up, as it appears.”
