As she turned her attention toward going over the finer ins-and-outs of what Christopher would have to do in order to properly preside over the nuptials, Kitty realized it had been on Kip’s suggestion that she show the mansion to the picky Gretchen Downey.
Chapter Eight
It had required blood, sweat, and tears to lift the sixty-pound magnet out of the floor, but Sterling and his team had managed. When he’d first stared down at it beside Kitty he would’ve never guessed the circular magnet was twelve inches deep, but it was and because of it, it’d taken five men and a miniature crane to extract it from the marble hole.
Sterling eyed it, as the lead forensic analyst used a microscope to hunt for its serial number. The magnet sat on top of a folding table in the center of the ballroom, which was ablaze from the setting sun on the horizon far beyond the glass walls.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
Or perhaps he shouldn’t have let her go.
It was impossible to decide.
He took a step back and produced his iPhone then snapped several shots of the magnet, though the forensic pathologist was in his way. He was no expert on magnets, but given its shape and size, he was reminded of chop shops, and the industrial magnets that were powerful enough to lift an automobile into the air as a crane maneuvered the vehicle onto a pile of scrap metal.
Kip Cartwright didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who rubbed shoulders with the shady types who ran illegal chop shops or questionable auto body joints that would have such equipment. In fact, none of the Cartwrights or Downeys appeared to have those kinds of connections. But people had secrets. Marcus was the greatest example of that. And Sterling knew that assuming would get him nowhere.
He emailed his photos into the precinct, CC’ing his lieutenant and instructing his partner, to whom the email was addressed, to run down all the auto stores in the area to see who owns, sells, and uses this precise magnet. It’d be good to get a jump on the vendors, while he waited for the serial number to show up, if it hadn’t been filed off prior. That was the gorilla in the room. Was the killer so thorough as to remove all trace?
Like a catchy tune you couldn’t get out of your head, Kitty came to mind, though Sterling was at a total loss as to why. Had he fallen so deep in his affection for her that a metal hunk could easily conjure her image? If so, he was in trouble.
That red dress had been insane, and there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind she’d chosen it for his benefit, or to torture him, or to make him feel moronic for imposing the break between them. She’d succeeded on all fronts. Clever woman, mischievous doll.
Why couldn’t he spend the night?
The excuse he’d given, his sleep issues, were thin at best. And more and more he’d craved curling up with her. He hadn’t liked leaving in the middle of the night. He’d much rather stay, but he hadn’t been able to let himself.
Why was he holding out? He knew he loved her.
But something inside him was preventing Sterling from admitting as much. It wasn’t genuine denial. He was honest with himself at least. He’d come to terms with his infatuation-borne love. But he still couldn’t reveal his true feelings to Kitty. If he did, he feared they’d snowball into something so big he wouldn’t be able to control it.
Sending her off after she’d given him the biggest break on this case had been an act of pure cruelty. They’d both known it. He’d seen it in her eyes. But in true Kitty form, she’d smiled, thanked him, flashed a bit of skin, and then flitted off to her Fiat in the parking lot. The woman was strong as hell.
“Got it!” Yelled the lead forensic pathologist, as he stood bent as a question mark over the magnet.
Sterling rushed over, urged him aside and then snapped a few close ups of the serial number. After he slipped his iPhone into his back pocket, he pulled a small note pad from the front of his jeans then a pen and jotted the number down as best he could read it.
When he straightened up, he felt eyes on him and quickly turned toward the doorway.
Kitty was standing awkwardly in the mouth of the ballroom, but looked like a stunning vision as her red dress swayed over her thighs with the inertia of her silent entrance. She held her head high once their gazes locked and soon Sterling realized she’d brought a party of people with her.
“I have a wedding rehearsal here in three days,” she announced. “The bride’s family has foot a tremendous bill reserving this estate, and I intend to stay on schedule.”
Sterling grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside into a quiet corner, but couldn’t stop the decorators from spilling into his crime scene.
“You’re killing me with this,” he whisper-yelled, as she tried to yank her arm free.
“Facts are facts, Sterling. I have as much a right to be here as you. More in fact. I’m sure the homicide department didn’t lay out fifteen grand to have full reign of the place.”
“Are you trying to get back at me for something?”
She met his gaze, but her hazel eyes turned dark and severe.
“Your career isn’t more important than mine, Sterling.”
“I didn’t say it was, but we need more time.”
“Actually, you don’t. I looked into it. Your precinct deemed this room and mansion inhabitable as of twenty minutes ago. Clear your boys out. Now.”
He suddenly remembered the stern woman he’d met on the sidewalk outside of Happily Ever After months back. Her determination, the inflated sense of authority and bossy nature that had attracted him was back in full force. And for some reasons that conjured their first kiss, the slap she’d delivered with sass and self-righteousness. They hadn’t been together long, but the memories were stacking up.
“What do I have to do to get another hour in here?” he asked, trying not to beg or plead, though he knew his widening eyes were betraying him.
Kitty smirked in a way that made his blood turn electric. Looking at her sent tingles up his spine.
Then her gaze softened and she said, “There’s a bedroom upstairs.”
Chapter Nine
It hadn’t been easy driving such a hard bargain, but Kitty didn’t lose any sleep over it, mainly because she’d drifted off in Sterling’s arms. Their spontaneous romp at the mansion had done wonders to loosen him up, and to her surprise, after he’d cleared his team out of the ballroom and she’d assisted the decorator with getting the estate in order, Kitty returned to her quaint blue house on Orchard Street and found him waiting in his car.
He hadn’t explained his reason for being there. He hadn’t uttered one word, and the glint in his eye as he’d watched her unlock her front door told her there was no need to ask.
They’d climbed into bed and fallen asleep easily. He’d held her all night. At times Kitty had stirred and woke and felt him there, softly snoring, muttering the occasional grumble, and then quieting down.
When the first rays of the dawning sun brightened her bedroom and lifted her into wakefulness she expected his side of the bed to be cold, but it wasn’t. He was there as he had been all night.
What changed? She wondered. Then she realized this was probably just another puzzling aspect to Sterling Slaughter. The man was like an onion. He had many layers, but they were all the same. This was simply another version of him running hot and cold with her, another conflicted way to push her away then pull her back in. She reminded herself he very well could turn cold on her this morning. She warned herself not to get too comfortable or assume this would be the new normal for them. Nothing about Sterling was normal.
Kitty debated slipping out of bed to give him space and let him wake up alone, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Instead, she inched toward him. He was sleeping on his side, the broad wall of his back and shoulders to her. She formed her body against his, draping an arm over his chest and pressing her hand between his warm pecs to feel his heartbeat. Her nose was near the back of his neck. She could smell his hair and skin. She told herself to savor this moment. It might not come
again for a long time if ever.
Sterling let out a groggy groan then found her hand and held it. He rolled towards the ceiling and began rubbing his eyes then shifted to his back, scooping her as he moved, so that she was cradled on his chest and draping over him, an arm across his abdomen, a leg over his waist.
“Did you sleep Ok?” she whispered, gazing up at him, staring at the dark dusting of scruff along his jaw.
He drew in a deep breath and she rose and fell with it. “I think so.”
“Why did you stay?”
He chuckled, worked the sleep out of his eye, and said, “You’re not going to dissect and overanalyze this, are you?”
“Probably.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent.”
Kitty eyed the tattoo that spanned the side of his neck down to his shoulder and wrapped around the back of his arm. She hadn’t studied it before or really taken the time to understand the image as she was doing now.
“It’s a falcon,” he said in a tone raspy with sleep.
Kitty traced her fingertip along the bird’s wing, which ran vertical up the side of his neck. Its body ran over his shoulder and its left wing down his arm. It was beautiful, a real work of art, but also a gentle image that didn’t seem to quite fit his maverick personality.
“Should I get a tattoo?” she asked.
He laughed at that. “Don’t kid yourself, Doll. You’d regret it.”
She wasn’t sure why. In fact, it struck her as odd that Sterling could commit to such permanent drawings on his skin, but not a real relationship, which left no marks. If anything, she was the one who should have a tattoo. When she loved, it lasted forever. Not that she’d ever been in love before...
Was that what this was? Was she in love with Sterling?
She feared to imagine.
He gave her rump an affectionate squeeze then pulled her on top of him, so she lay flush against him and they could look each other in the eye.
Sterling had a rugged way of becoming more attractive every time she looked at him. The daylight that poured through her bedroom lit up his eyes and they’d never looked greener. His straight nose and taut lips framed in dark stubble made her melt, as she played her fingers through his thick, gray hair.
“How old are you?” she asked, running her gaze over his hairline.
“Not old enough to be gray, if that’s what you’re wondering. My dark brown hair turned when I was a teenager.”
“Really?”
He motioned to shrug, but she had him pinned.
“Stressful upbringing, you could say.”
“Stressful? What happened?”
He darkened at that, gaze falling to her lips. “I’ll tell you some day. It’s a long story.”
She had more questions, but sensed he probably wouldn’t answer them. It crossed her mind to explore the rest of his tattoos, get to know him better in that sense, but she didn’t want to give up their cozy position.
She realized she was smiling.
He brushed her brown, choppy locks behind her ears then used his grip to guide her to him until their lips pressed, holding in a motionless kiss. Kitty reminded herself to close her eyes like he had, but she liked looking at him. His skin smelled sweet and salty. They breathed each other in for a moment before he urged her back to look at her again.
“I need you to push the wedding back,” he said, which completely threw her. “At least a few days, but a week would be ideal.”
She turned cross and lifted onto her elbows to get some space to stare down at him.
“Is that what this is about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why you stayed over?”
“Kitty—”
“So I’d be in a good mood and agree?”
“You’re connecting the wrong dots—”
“No, I’m right. You stayed over, because you thought I’d say yes if I was happy you’d spent the night.”
“You’re not going to want to go through with the ceremony if it’s only going to result in someone getting arrested in the middle of the wedding.”
“Who’s going to be arrested?” She asked, suddenly alarmed that he knew who the killer was but hadn’t disclosed it to her.
“Come on, you know I can’t tell you that.”
“But you can threaten the whole wedding will be ruined if I don’t do what you want?” She was getting upset and felt her eyes sting with tears. She did what she could to blink them away, but her mouth twisted into a frown.
“I’m not threatening you,” he corrected. “I’m giving you a heads up so you can make the right decision.”
“I’m not going to push the wedding back,” she stated, feeling suddenly determined to catch the killer herself in time for the bride and groom to say I do. She groaned, exasperated by him. “Just admit that’s why you stayed the night!”
She was getting up now, slinking out of bed, because she couldn’t stand to be near him. How dare he!
“Don’t be like that, come on,” he said, lifting onto his elbows and watching her scramble to wrap a robe around her to cover up.
“I have to get ready for work,” she stated, flatly.
“Kitty—”
“I’ll make coffee,” she said, interrupting him with a sharp tone. “Take your time. I wouldn’t want you rushing to solve your case.”
He frowned at her sarcasm, but she didn’t see. She was already padding down the hall.
He called after her just as she slammed the bathroom door and turned the shower on. She didn’t need to hear his excuses or sweet-talking.
As she lathered up she set her mind to catching the killer. Once again, she felt motivated to one-up Sterling and save the wedding. You’d think by now he’d appreciate her help, give her an ounce of credit, and take her side in terms of doing everything within his power to preserve the wedding plans she’d worked so hard to organize. But once again, he’d pitted himself against her and his careless actions threatened to destroy what she held dearest.
Kitty turned her attention to the mysteries of Marcus Joseph’s apparent double life. It was safe to assume he was a gambler, and a cheater at that. And he was more closely tied to Kip Cartwright than she’d initially realized. The fact that it had been Kip who’d suggested she present the mansion to Gretchen was highly interesting. Christopher was a shady character, the kind of guy you could hire to buy an industrial magnet. You could probably hire a guy like Christopher to do just about anything, which made Kip all the more dangerous. As far as Kitty was concerned, the groom’s father was her number one suspect. She just had to prove his guilt and use it as leverage against him to force him to confess. The wedding was in three days. Kitty had every reason to feel optimistic it would be just enough time.
By the time she returned to her bedroom Sterling was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief then got dressed quickly, slipping into peach ballet flats and matching sundress. She rushed through applying her makeup and blow-dried her hair without being meticulous. She had calls to make and clues to find. There was no sense in being overly precious about her appearance.
When she reached the kitchen to make the coffee she’d promised but had forgotten, Sterling was standing at the counter and pouring into a black mug from the carafe.
“Oh, you’re still here,” she said with dry observation.
He turned to her and handed her the mug, which she chose to be insulted by. He knew she took her coffee with cream and sugar. She coldly ignored him, as she collected the condiments from the fridge and doctored her coffee just so.
“I don’t want to leave with you mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” she lied.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “Then I don’t want to leave with you thinking I only slept over to manipulate you.”
She said nothing.
“I didn’t.”
She’d have an easier time staring him down if he’d bothered to get dressed. Sterling standing in nothing but his jeans was hard to
stay cross at.
“I stayed because more and more I’ve been feeling like I want to be around you.”
She tasted her coffee as though it was more interesting to her than this conversation.
“More and more I’ve been feeling down after I get home from being over here. I thought the break would be a good idea, but the reality of it bummed me out.” He stared at her, but her gaze was locked on her coffee. “Hello? Does this mean anything to you?”
She wanted to drop her obstinacy and jump on him, but if she’d learned anything about Sterling, it was that if she ran toward him he’d run away. It was only when she pulled away herself that he came toward her.
“Let’s see how it goes,” she offered, coolly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you only want what you can’t have.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to be late for work.” She set the mug in the sink, though it was half-full, and turned, but he grabbed her arm.
“Kitty, I’m... I...”
“What?” she snapped.
He held her gaze and for a moment she wondered if he might say something big. He let go of her arm instead.
“Have a good day at work.” He sounded defeated, tired and disappointed.
“I will,” she told him.
She was out the door fast, but only because if she paused at all, glanced back at him even for a second, she’d cave. She’d try to make things good with him and it would only result in him pulling away again.
Theirs was a dark dance.
Kitty arrived at Happily Ever After and immediately got the air conditioners fired up and blowing. The store had turned muggy overnight, and the flowers were wilting. She made quick work of watering every pot and rotating them in the window then went back to her desk and sat.
Sterling would probably worm his way back into the mansion today so she decided to do what she could to corner Kip without going there.
She flipped through her Rolodex and plucked out Mrs. Harriet Smalls contact card.
Harriet was a spritely woman in her early seventies, who’d made her fortune as a fitness guru, marketing her easy-to-do exercise DVD’s to senior citizens. The workouts featured Harriet, a white-haired woman with a beaming smile and a crazed look in her eye, demonstrating low-impact cardio moves mixed with basic yoga. Harriet traveled often, attending fitness expos and cardio conferences throughout the country.
MURDER at the ALTAR (The Wedding Planner Mysteries Book 3) Page 6
