CAPTURING CLEO

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “I think she likes the way you scratch behind her ears.”

  Luther dutifully left the couch and sat on the floor, on the other side of a lazy Rambo. He began to scratch. “Spoiled dog,” he muttered.

  “I’m gone so much,” Cleo said. “When I’m home I like to give her lots of attention.” She stroked Rambo’s back, and Luther scratched behind the dog’s ears. After a moment, Rambo growled in sheer delight.

  Surely Luther had been here long enough to satisfy anyone who was watching. She doubted anyone was watching, anyway. Whoever had killed Jack was probably long gone. It wasn’t a secret admirer who was obsessed with her, it was just someone trying to pin the murder on her so no one would look in their direction. Someone like Randi with an i.

  Without warning, Rambo rose up and lumbered contentedly into the kitchen.

  “She must be thirsty,” Cleo said.

  Luther just nodded.

  Cleo looked at the man who sat on the floor before her. She couldn’t stand this much longer. “You’ve been here long enough, right?”

  “Probably,” Luther agreed.

  “You might as well—”

  He reached out, cupped her neck in one hand and drew her toward him slowly. He gave her plenty of time to move away, plenty of time to tell a joke to spoil the mood or turn her head or order him to stop. She did nothing. She allowed him to draw her mouth to his, and she not only allowed him to kiss her, she parted her lips and closed her eyes in sheer delight, as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  It was amazing, what the simple touch of the right man’s lips could do to a woman. She felt like melting butter. Her knees went weak, her entire body reacted to the kiss. She tingled, from the top of her head to her curled-up toes.

  She held on tightly and let herself be swept away. If she allowed herself to consider love, if she wanted a man in her life—

  It was Rambo, trying to wedge herself between them, that interrupted the kiss. Luther pulled back slowly, looking as dazed as Cleo felt.

  “What was that for?” she whispered. “No one’s here to see.”

  “Since I’m such a lousy kisser, I figured I could use the practice.”

  “Practice,” she breathed.

  “I have to go.” Luther rose slowly.

  Have to. Not want to, not need to. Have to. “Sure.” She didn’t get up.

  “I’ll drive you to the club tomorrow afternoon,” he said as he backed away. “I’ll pick you up about three.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, feeling oddly complacent.

  He walked slowly toward the door and Cleo watched, her hands in Rambo’s fur as Luther slowly took his leave, turning to study her more often than was necessary.

  When he reached the turn in the foyer that would take him out of sight, she jumped up to follow, rationalizing that she needed to make sure he’d remember to lock the front door. Like he’d forget. She caught up with him quickly, before he placed his hand on the knob.

  “Luther,” she said, as he opened the door.

  “What?” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes met hers, and in that instant Cleo’s heart jumped into her throat.

  She smiled. “The tie looks good.”

  When you had a case like this one, you didn’t take Saturday off. Sunday, either, if you had a lead. In the Jack Tempest case, they had plenty of leads. The problem was, none of them actually went anywhere.

  Luther banged on Randi Rayner’s door. Since it was nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Luther was wound so tightly he felt like he was about to explode, he put everything he had into the pounding of his fist.

  Finally, a tinny voice yelled, “Just a minute!” followed by a very unladylike obscenity.

  Mikey grinned. “Why are we here again?” he asked casually.

  “Because Jack Tempest was a snake, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he was cheating on Randi, and Miss Rayner doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who takes that sort of thing lying down.” And she hated Cleo. That much was clear in every conversation he’d had with her, in every heated glance.

  Finally the door opened, just a crack. Randi, fresh from her bed, was raccoon-eyed. Her blond hair stood straight up. The Bride of Frankenstein had nothing on her.

  “Good morning,” Luther said, smiling. “If you have a few minutes, I have a couple of questions for you.”

  “Now?” she whined. “Can’t you come back later?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I have a full day planned.”

  She sighed and looked over her shoulder; in that instant Luther knew she was not alone.

  “Just a minute,” she said, closing the door in their faces.

  Luther turned to Russell and nodded, whispering, “Wait here.”

  He slipped around to the back of the apartment building, stepping around a rusted tricycle and over a discarded basketball that had gone flat. There were no windows on this side of the building, but surely at the back... He rounded the corner just in time to see a cowboy boot at the end of a blue-jeaned leg stick out of one of those windows.

  Corey Flinger, slipping out the window, didn’t look much better than Randi had. His shirt was unbuttoned, the dark hair that had been so well sculpted yesterday at the funeral stuck out at odd angles, and he needed a shave. Luther let him get halfway out the window before rounding the corner.

  “Mr. Flinger,” he said. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

  Flinger glanced back at Luther, lost his balance and fell out the window.

  “Damn,” the man mumbled, as Luther stood over him and glared down.

  Luther offered Flinger a hand and pulled him to his feet. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

  Once Flinger was on his feet, he looked like he wanted to run. Too late for that. “I guess.”

  “I know just the place.”

  Luther leaned against the bar at the club and sucked on a peppermint. He didn’t really want it. What he really wanted to suck on was Cleo.

  He was more and more attracted to her with every passing minute. Bad idea. She’d crawled under his skin in a way no other woman ever had, and he thought about her too much. Hell, he thought about her all the time. For the first time in years, he wanted a woman so much he ached with it. All he needed was a few days in bed with Cleo, which in spite of everything seemed like a very good idea.

  This morning’s interrogation of Corey Flinger and Randi with an i had gotten him nowhere. Flinger was easily intimidated, not too bright, and guilty of nothing more than sleeping with Randi. His alibi for the night of the murder was solid, smashing Luther’s theory that Randi had suckered the poor guy into doing the dirty work for her.

  He’d spent the afternoon here, mulling over how he should proceed. Cleo had been going over the books. For a while he’d sat in the office with her, but the tension had gotten to be too much. She kept looking up, and he found himself staring at her so hard it hurt, while he remembered the way she kissed. If Rambo hadn’t interrupted last night he would’ve ended up making his move right there on the floor.

  He had no right. This was business, an assignment. Making a move on Cleo could cost him his job.

  So he’d eventually left her to the club books and spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Edgar, picking Edgar’s brain about the man who’d sent notes and flowers. According to Edgar, this was not Cleo’s first secret admirer and wouldn’t be her last.

  Edgar seemed inordinately protective of Cleo. Protective enough to kill for her? Eric adored her, openly and with a youthful passion. Did he love her enough to kill for her? Luther wanted to believe that someone not related to Cleo had killed Jack, but he didn’t. He just couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. The killer had murdered a man known for hurting Cleo, but then he’d pointed the finger at her with that grapefruit. That made whatever relationship the killer had with her complicated. A love-hate relationship she knew nothing about.

  Cleo changed in her office, slipping out of her cream-colored pants and sweater and into a
black, clingy dress that showed off all her curves. When she walked into the main room of the club, Luther was sure his heart would stop beating.

  Women didn’t affect him this way. Not ever. They came and went. They served a purpose, and when they got too close he severed the connection. He was already closer to Cleo than he’d been to any other woman.

  A broken heart had driven his mother crazy, hadn’t it? Why else had she told all those stories about his father? Why else had she devoted her life to her only child, to the exclusion of everything else, until it killed her? Thirty-year-old women didn’t have heart attacks for no reason.

  Ray had been miserable for years, all because of a broken heart. Things with Grace were fine now, but for a while it had been rough. And look at Cleo. Jack’s betrayal had made her build a shield around her heart. That smart mouth, the sassy smile, he knew they weren’t the real Cleo, because he’d kissed the real Cleo last night.

  The real Cleo wore flannel and cotton and looked as gorgeous in those baggy clothes as she did in clinging satin. She adored her dog and cared about people and kissed with all her heart and soul. The real Cleo needed someone to love her more than anyone he’d ever met.

  “Hi,” she said, walking slowly toward him. “Sorry I took so long. I hate numbers.”

  “Hire a CPA.”

  She shook her head, sending long black curls dancing. “I don’t trust anyone else with my money.”

  Thanks to Jack, she didn’t add.

  There was already a small crowd gathered in the club. Eric tinkered with the piano. A few couples had ordered sandwiches and beers and talked, while Eric played softly. Edgar got the bar ready for another busy night.

  “I have something for you.” Luther didn’t bother Edgar, but circled the bar to collect the box he’d left there.

  Cleo’s eyes widened as he returned with the large, gaily wrapped box in his hands. “Another gift? Let me guess. Diamonds?” she teased.

  Luther hefted the large box once before placing it on the counter, shaking his head. “On a cop’s salary?”

  He’d tried to do a better job of wrapping this time, and still Cleo picked at the messy spot on the side.

  “I misjudged when I cut the paper,” he explained. “So I just cut another square to cover it up.”

  “I never would’ve noticed,” she said.

  “Just open it, smart-ass.”

  She did, ripping at the paper, laughing when she saw the writing on the side of the box.

  “A coffeepot.”

  “Yep.”

  “For someone who doesn’t drink coffee.”

  He leaned close. “If I’m going to spend time at your house, you will have a coffeepot. Coffee’s in the car.”

  “You think of everything.” She rounded the bar herself, walked slowly to the other end, and reached around Edgar to grab something on a low shelf. She placed the box on the bar and slid it toward him. It scooted down the bar, and he caught it.

  “Too big for a tie,” he said.

  Cleo walked slowly toward him, her amber eyes smiling, her walk painful to watch. He couldn’t tear his eyes way.

  “Open it,” she said as she reached him, standing on the other side of the bar and leaning on it.

  He did as she commanded, wondering what on earth she night have bought him this time. Couldn’t be any more ridiculous than the bright red tie.

  He was wrong. “It’s purple,” he said, slowly lifting the shirt from the box.

  She grinned. “You must have something in your closet besides white, starched shirts.”

  “White matches everything.”

  “Purple is more fun.”

  “I have no desire to dress like a grape.”

  “It’ll look great on you.” She reached into the box and grabbed what he’d missed, a tie just a shade darker than the shirt. “You can wear this with your black suit.”

  “When did you buy these?”

  “I went shopping this morning.”

  “We might’ve run into one another.”

  She picked at the price tag on the coffeemaker. “Unlikely. I didn’t buy your new clothes at Walmart, Malone.”

  He leaned over the counter toward her. “But it’s purple.”

  “You can’t take it back,” she said softly. “I burned the receipt and cut off all the tags.”

  “You burned the receipt?”

  She smiled and nodded, and he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her. He was too far away to hold her, too far away to do anything more than give her a light, friendly kiss. It wasn’t enough.

  “Thank you for the coffeepot,” she whispered when he took his mouth from hers.

  “Thank you for the purple shirt and tie.”

  “Will you wear it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “For me?”

  He sighed in surrender. Of course he would wear it for her. “Yes, I’ll dress like a plum, just for you.”

  He’d do just about anything to make her smile the way she was smiling now, and the realization scared the bejesus out of him.

  It was an oddly warm night for February; they walked toward her door slowly. Luther carried the coffee maker box, and she carried the coffee.

  Before they reached the door, she stopped and looked up. In summertime, the leaves on the trees in her yard shielded the sky from view, but winter had bared the branches. The sky above her was black and dotted with brilliant stars.

  Luther stopped with her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, her gaze remaining fixed on the sky.

  He tilted his head back. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing,” she said again. “Doesn’t it make you feel small?”

  “What?”

  “The sky. It’s so vast and beautiful. Whenever I think my problems are going to overwhelm me, I look at the sky. In a universe so vast, Jack was nothing. A heckler? No more than a speck of dust.” My own heartache? Insignificant.

  When she took her eyes from the sky, she saw that Luther no longer stared above. He stared at her. He stared too hard, as if he saw too much. She broke the shared glance and headed for the door.

  He carried the coffeemaker to the kitchen and placed it on the counter. “I’ll hook this up tomorrow. We’re supposed to be at Ray’s by noon, so I’ll come by about eleven-thirty. That’ll give me time to set up the coffeemaker before we go.”

  “Fine.”

  He started for the door, ready to leave in spite of the reputation he needed to protect, but Rambo got tangled up in his feet.

  “I don’t think she wants you to go,” Cleo said from the doorway.

  Luther lifted his head and stared at her. “What about you?”

  She shook her head, scared he’d leave her here all alone. Scared he’d stay. She was so tired of being scared.

  Rambo padded off to the living room, leaving Cleo and Luther alone again. Luther closed the distance between them quickly, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Hard, deep, without the restraint he’d called upon to this point. Her body fit snugly against his, tight and warm along the entire length, as he devoured her with his mouth.

  “This is a bad idea,” he said, during a brief moment when his mouth wasn’t covering hers.

  “Definitely,” she murmured.

  Luther pressed her back against the doorjamb and trailed his mouth down her chin, down her throat, down to the valley between her breasts. His mouth was warm and soft; he kissed her so hungrily it took her breath away. His hands studied her shape, barely touching her breasts, skimming down her side, coming to rest on her hips. Her body throbbed. Her knees went weak.

  She snaked her hand beneath his jacket, tried to absorb his heat and his passion. It was like looking at the stars. Nothing else mattered at the moment. This was the only thing that was real. The way they touched, the way Luther made her feel.

  Her fingers rocked against his back, pulled him closer, gently studied the muscles beneath his shirt in time with her heartbeat.
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  His hand slowly traveled lower, caught the hem of her skirt and raised it until his hand rested over her stocking-encased thigh. His fingers lingered there, and then he stopped and muttered a few choice words.

  “Do you have a—”

  “No,” she said huskily. “Do you?”

  “No, dammit. Are you on—”

  “No.”

  He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair. Neither one of them was prepared for this. He had no condom in his wallet, she had nothing stashed under the bathroom sink.

  “We can’t...” she began softly.

  “No, we can’t.” Luther took her face in his hands and stared down at her. “I have to ask to be taken off this case.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I...” How much could she tell him? She knew it wasn’t smart to give too much of herself to any man. But deep inside, she was also very tired of being alone. “I don’t trust anyone else but you.”

  He closed his eyes. “Don’t trust me, Cleo.”

  “I can’t help it.” She didn’t want him walking away because he wasn’t comfortable with what was happening between them, and she wouldn’t make it easy for him. “What are you going to do if you quit? Assign Mikey to play my lover?”

  “No.” His fingers brushed her cheeks. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Surely you know that. But I can’t continue to investigate Jack’s murder and stay with you at the same time.”

  “I understand,” she said, going cold. It would be easier for him to walk away than it would be to stay.

  “So I’ll hand the case to Russell and take a vacation. I’m due.”

  Her heart hardened. “That makes perfect sense.” He was going to run from this because he liked her too much. Because he didn’t like her enough.

  “As soon as I’m officially off the case, I’ll be back. Prepared this time, Cleo, so if you have any doubts...”

  Relief rushed through her. “I don’t.” She leaned into him, and he stepped toward her so his body rested tightly against hers again, so snugly she could feel his arousal. “Did you trade in your peashooter for a bigger gun?” she teased.

  “Very funny,” he muttered.