No Chance in Hell

by Jerrie Alexander

  “Might have been the cat I saw up at the store.”

  “Could have been.” Marcus’s gaze locked on her chest. She’d obviously pulled a T-shirt from her suitcase without paying much attention. The outlines of her breasts and nipples made his mouth water.

  “I like it when you look at me like that,” she virtually purred the words.

  “I’d like it if you never put that bra on again. Would I sound crude if I say that I can’t get enough of your body?” His zipper dug into his growing erection.

  “Interesting.” Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his jeans. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “We really should work on the files.” He closed the distance between them, slid his hands under her shirt and lifted her breasts in his palms. “Perfect fit.”

  “You think?” Her hands slipped around his shoulders.

  “We’ll work extra hard later.” He started to pick her up again, but she slid her hand down the front of his jeans. She found plenty to hold on to, because he was hard as a rock again.

  “Where were we?” she asked.

  It occurred to him, in a fleeting thought, that he couldn’t remember feeling this strongly about a woman in years. She’d found a tiny opening in his heart and had walked right in, bringing fun, humor, and gut-wrenching need back into his life.

  She nipped the tip of his nipple, snapping his attention back to her. “I’m trying to seduce you. Focus.”

  Chapter 20

  Chris woke to the aroma of coffee brewing. The bedside clock read seven fifteen, making her wonder how long Marcus had been up. Had he rested at all? She’d slept like a rock, having been thoroughly satisfied and weak. She stretched her arms overhead and pointed her toes. She discovered a few sore places that hadn’t been there before last night. Marcus was an inventive and voracious lover. A grin spread across her face. He wasn’t the only one who’d been brazen. Somewhere around midnight, she’d lost count of the number of orgasms she’d had.

  Marcus might be quiet in public, but in bed, he held nothing back. How would he act toward her after last night? The first time they’d made love, he’d reverted to the stoic private investigator. It was as if he’d hidden behind the job. He wasn’t the kind of man who hopped in and out of bed with women. Could she give him the space to figure out how to move on?

  The only way to find out was to join him. She showered, braided her hair into a rope hanging down her back, and dressed.

  She met him coming up the stairs. “Good morning.” She’d worked hard not to deliver that sentence as a question.

  “It is, for a fact.” He kissed her, put a cup of coffee in her hand, and then led her down the steps.

  A heavy rock floated off her shoulders. Her heart relaxed. His brown eyes had a twinkle in them this morning, replacing the hard edge they usually wore. Different aromas mingled and filled the air. What better combination could a girl have to start the day than fresh coffee, Marcus after a shower, and frying bacon?

  “Hungry?”

  “Starving,” she answered.

  “Come sit down. It’s just about ready.”

  Chris did as he said, watching as he divided the eggs and bacon. Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, he could have been a model. Not so much for a high-fashion magazine, though. Marcus was stunningly handsome in a masculine way. His movements, the self-assured way he walked shouted that this was not a man to screw with. His incredible biceps, so large she couldn’t wrap both hands around one, served as punctuation marks to his body language.

  Diablo appeared at her side. She dropped her hand and scratched. He rested his head in her lap and stared up at her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” Marcus said. He turned, holding a plate in each hand. “I should’ve known by the tone of your voice that you were talking to the dog.” He chuckled at his own joke, set her food in front of her, and then moved to the other side of the table. “Diablo had his scrambled eggs first.”

  “I can’t lie. He’s stolen my heart.”

  “I’m glad. When this case is over, I think we should talk more about who has stolen what and from whom.” With a wink, he lifted his fork.

  She was dying to ask exactly what he meant, but she’d already discovered that you didn’t push Marcus into talking if he wasn’t ready. Instead of prying, Chris dug into her breakfast. “You’re a good cook.”

  “Yeah. If you’re willing to eat breakfast or grilled steaks for the rest of your life.”

  “Sounds like a balanced diet to me.” She finished breakfast, stood, and gathered the dishes. “You fixed everything. I’ll clean up.”

  He nodded. “It’s a deal. I can be finished with this last file by the time you’re done.”

  “How? We didn’t get halfway yesterday.”

  “I was up early.”

  Chris turned off the water and took the four steps to stand next to him. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “I rested after I worked through the rest of the victims’ families.” He turned in his chair, pulling her to stand between his thighs.

  “Then you didn’t sleep at all. There was a lot left to do.”

  “I’ll sleep when this is over.” His hands slid under her shirt and stroked her bare skin. “You’d better finish the dishes, or we won’t be leaving at checkout time.”

  “Why can’t we just stay here?”

  “Company policy.” He laughed when she raised her eyebrows. “Seriously, we keep a client moving. It’s too easy to get comfortable, even complacent, if you stay in one place.” His fingers walked up and down her spine.

  A simple touch of his skin to hers, and her knees were weak. She leaned down and kissed him tenderly on his forehead, the tip of his nose, and then his lips. “I won’t be long.”

  She went back to the dishes but had to ask if he’d uncovered anything helpful. “What have you learned?”

  His gaze lifted from the tablet and met hers. “Nothing that gets us any closer to the killer. Most of these victims’ families are still alive. One’s dad never returned from Vietnam, but was declared dead years ago.”

  “So we didn’t find a connection in the families, which in reality means we learned a lot. Everything points to the fact that my family is the only one who’s been wiped out.”

  “Looks that way. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll make an appointment with my lawyer so I can ask him to facilitate getting my birth records.”

  “It’s a good idea. I can get that done through Lost and Found’s attorney. It might be faster. No appointment necessary.”

  Chris had tried to accept the facts. Tried to block out the pain and anger. How could she not have figured it out? She put away the last of the dishes and went upstairs to pack. When she came down, carrying her suitcase, Marcus shoved his cell in his pocket.

  “The attorney moved our request to the top of his list. There’s nothing to keep you from getting your birth records. He has some papers for you to sign giving him limited power of attorney to act on your behalf.”

  “I didn’t expect it to be this easy.”

  “The fact that your birth mother and your adopted parents are deceased removed any and all obstacles.”

  Chris glanced around the cabin. “Can we stop by the attorney’s office on the way back to Dallas?”

  “His assistant is expecting us.” He studied her for a second, and she steeled herself against telling him that she hated to leave.

  “Come here a second.” He met her halfway, pulling her into his arms. “I know this is frustrating, and it seems like we’re not making any headway. The process of elimination can be maddening sometimes.”

  “Then we’d better go.”

  “Of course, you’re right.” He hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. “I’ll bring you back here someday.”

  “It’s a date.” Chris swallowed. The lump in her throat stayed put. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly.

  Less than ten minutes later, their stuff had been loaded, Diablo had
been taken to the nearest tree, and Marcus had parked outside the little store. With a promise to be right back, he carried the keys to the cabin inside and dropped them off.

  Chris could see a glimmer of hope for a relationship between her and Marcus. If it ended badly, she’d walk away, knowing they tried. A pinch in her heart issued a warning as to just how painful that would be.

  ****

  DaVinci opened the door and stepped back to allow the sexual sadist to enter. He hadn’t been able to get past Michelangelo’s revelation that he enjoyed raping women before killing them. The idea was repulsive to DaVinci. Long ago, he’d accepted the fact he was asexual. Intimate physical contact with either gender didn’t appeal to him. The violence he’d endured in two different foster homes had been more than enough to turn him against that kind of degradation.

  Michelangelo made himself at home. He lounged on the couch, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. “So how are your knuckles today?”

  “Swollen but not as sore.” This wasn’t why his mentor was here. He’d brought news about these so-called friends he’d hired to find Christine. “What have you learned?”

  “I have people watching her home and the detective’s workplace. No one could locate them last night, but they will stay on it until she’s located.”

  “I want her alone.”

  “That won’t be easy. You said her bodyguard is always with her.”

  “He won’t be if he’s dead.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” He smiled as he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. The conversation lasted only a minute or two. “My boy, I just underwrote the cost of killing this detective. I expect to be reimbursed.”

  “Of course, as long as they follow instructions and don’t harm Christine.” The image of Michelangelo brutally raping a woman flashed through DaVinci’s mind. The time to end their relationship was near, and a plan was forming on the best way to end it.

  “DaVinci, you keep drifting away. I worry about you.”

  “There’s no need. My nerves have been a little raw.” DaVinci was open for a lecture.

  “You’ve always been inclined to exaggerate, but that was a huge understatement.”

  “If we’re not extremely careful, our creating and competing will be over.”

  “It has to end eventually,” his mentor said casually. “I’d prefer it happen before the police link us together.”

  “Then it’s important that you use my nickname when you refer to me around these people you hired. I’ve always thought the use of the aliases was childish, but now I see the value.”

  “If that’s how you want it.” Michelangelo stood, crossed the room, and attempted to put his arm around DaVinci’s shoulders.

  He shuddered, wondering if his mentor had ever had sexual thoughts about him. “That’s exactly how I want it.”

  “Stay close to your phone. The minute Christine is located, you’ll get a call. It’s imperative you reach my hunting cabin as quickly as possible. As soon as my men are comfortable, they can take down the bodyguard and secure Christine, and we’ll move. I will bring her to you myself.”

  “You’ll make sure she’s not harmed?”

  “Of course,” Michelangelo said. “She is yours to kill.”

  “As long as you remember that, we’ll be fine.”

  “My boy.” Michelangelo’s back stiffened. “You try my patience.”

  “So you’ve said,” DaVinci joked.

  Michelangelo handed over a single key and removed a piece of paper with a hand-drawn map from his coat pocket. “Put the past behind you. I bought this place for its privacy and only use it on occasion. No one has ever left there alive except me. I expect you to clean up after yourself and bury her in the woods before you leave.”

  DaVinci walked him to the door. “When I’m finished and back in town, we’ll have dinner, and I’ll reimburse you for expenses.”

  “Excellent. I can’t wait to see pictures.”

  He closed the door and wandered through his apartment. How many graves were in the woods? When had Michelangelo started killing in secret? He’d made a stupid mistake saying that no one had ever left his hunting cabin alive. DaVinci knew who would be buried out back with Christine, and it wouldn’t be him.

  ****

  Dalton Murphy sat at Ty’s old desk with his back turned to Marcus. The FBI agent was bent over a stack of paperwork. He had his cell held to his ear. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Marcus and Chris had arrived. Marcus decided to wait until the phone conversation ended to interrupt.

  Diablo, on the other hand, felt the need to investigate. He swung wide and stopped about four feet in front of Dalton. Marcus watched closely, relaxing when the dog turned and trotted to the break room. Dalton ended the call and turned to face him.

  “The dog looks good. He must’ve decided I was one of the good guys.”

  “He certainly wasn’t disturbed by your presence. That desk fits you. Ever think about leaving the bureau?”

  “Every day.” Dalton laughed as he stood and shook Marcus’s hand. He turned to Chris, took her hand but held on instead of shaking it. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you took my advice and came to see these guys. They’re good at solving puzzles.”

  Marcus huffed out his disagreement. “We’ve gotten nowhere. Not one bit closer to finding who this killer is than the day Chris walked in here.”

  “Tell me what you decided after sorting through the victims’ backgrounds.” Dalton paused. “Sorry, I forget I’m not in charge here. Think we should round up Nate before we discuss the case?”

  “I’ll get him,” Chris said, extracting her hand and going up front.

  “Is she responsible for the gleam in your eyes?” Dalton asked Marcus.

  “I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t try it. You failed the test.”

  “What test?” Marcus asked, adding a snarl to the end of the question.

  “You didn’t like that I hung on to her. You never took your eyes off her hand the entire time. The longer I held it, the deeper you scowled.”

  “I’ll have to remember you’re also a behavioral analyst.”

  Dalton grinned wide. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Marcus considered telling Dalton to butt out, but didn’t. “I like her. A lot. But my lifestyle and hers are too different. I work for a living, and she’s from old money. I can’t blame her for going back to the right side of town when this is over. It’ll have to be her decision.”

  “You’re giving me the runaround again. I happen to know you’re part owner of Lost and Found, Inc. You’re inventing excuses.”

  Thankfully, Chris returned with Nate and Kay in tow. Marcus ushered everybody into the conference room.

  “You guys got the ball rolling on Chris’s adoption papers?” Nate asked.

  “We did. Chris gave the lawyer her information and the power of attorney to act on her behalf. His office will call Kay when they’re in his possession.”

  Dalton leaned forward on one elbow. “I wasn’t aware you were adopted.”

  Chris gazed at the ceiling. “I can’t understand everyone’s interest in that fact. I’ve explained that my life began the day the Hollands took Chelsea and me home with them.”

  Marcus slid his hand under the table and patted her on the knee for reassurance. “We’ll take a look at Chris’s birth records and let everyone know what we find. Dalton, what’s your take on the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Holland?”

  “The results are inconclusive. The medical examiner’s report on Mrs. Holland indicated enough diazepam in her system to easily have caused her death. Plus, police found an empty prescription bottle in her hand. All fairly bland information until you consider that she didn’t leave a note, was wearing her housecoat, and was found sitting in the living room.”

  A pain slashed through Chris’s heart. They were discussing the woman who’d raised her, played with her, sang songs to her, and nursed he
r when she was sick. This conversation reminded Chris that the sense of loss never really went away.

  “You want to take a break?” Marcus asked.

  “No.” Chris rejoined the conversation. “We just got started. What’s wrong with the way my mother was dressed?”

  Marcus sensed the tension rolling off Chris. He wished he could spare her the pain of revisiting her mother’s death, but Dalton had something on his mind. They had to hear him out.

  “A large percentage of females who commit suicide leave a note,” Dalton continued. “They either apologize or try to put the blame on someone else, like a cheating husband. ‘You broke my heart, and I can’t go on,’ that sort of accusation. They usually dress for death, and they’re normally sitting in the living room with the TV on. Before you jump to conclusions, remember I said some women, not all.”

  “My mother was very fastidious. She would’ve put on her best Sunday dress, plumped up the pillows on her bed, and then lay down.” Unsure she could bear to listen much longer, Chris rubbed the back of her neck. “Why didn’t I notice that she hadn’t dressed?”

  “For the same reason the police didn’t,” Marcus said. “They weren’t looking for a homicide.”

  Nate stood and started pacing. “We have a bunch of nothing.”

  Marcus held back a frustrated growl.

  “Does anyone know a hypnotist?” Chris asked.

  All heads turned her direction, Marcus’s included. “What questions do you want answered?”

  The room was dead quiet for a second.

  “I’ve toyed with the idea since I blanked out Chelsea’s killer’s face. To be honest, I’ve been a coward, afraid to let someone take control of my thoughts. There’s so much of my childhood that I don’t remember. If there’s something buried besides the description of the killer, I want to know.”

  “Couldn’t hurt, as long as we use someone we trust,” Dalton said, breaking the silence. “I’ll check with the agency office here in Dallas. See who they recommend.”

  Marcus gripped Chris’s shoulder. “It’s strictly up to you.”

  “Can we do it today while we’re waiting for my adoption records?”