by Ken Casper
“That would get me pretty hot under the collar,” Jeff insisted.
“It would Jordan, too, but he wasn’t without weapons. My guess is that he countered with a threat to expose their cabal.”
“The pen versus the sword. Okay, I’m with you so far,” Jeff said. “Go on.”
“Rialto would have been furious at Jordan, so he calls Tyrone and either asks or tells him he’d better convince his brother to back off. I imagine Rialto’s leverage against Ty was gambling debts—or maybe an affair Ty couldn’t afford to have exposed.”
“Would he have gone along with Rialto’s request?”
She shrugged. “No skin off his nose, and he’d have to protect himself. His father would have a stroke if Ty went to him with more gambling debts after swearing he was going straight. Ty might have talked to Jordan on their run, if the weather hadn’t been so hot. He probably figured he’d get a chance to plead his case later.”
“If Tyrone had leveled with him about what was at stake, would Jordan have backed off?”
She shook her head. “If we were talking about a social scandal or a human interest piece, he might have delayed publication for a day or two. But this story involved national security. Jordan would have felt he had no choice. And don’t forget he was a newspaperman. Holding back on a story of this magnitude could give his competition a chance to scoop him.”
“Would Tyrone have understood that?”
She paused to consider. “He’s dishonest, but he’s not stupid. He’d also know his brother would never compromise his principles. Ty’s problems were of his own making. Jordan would have felt disgust for his brother and sympathy for his family, but that wouldn’t have deterred him from doing what he felt he had to do.”
“Okay, so where does that leave us?” Jeff asked.
“We know from the telephone records that Rialto talked to Ty for only a minute, then hung up and called Cal Griggs.” She scrolled to those entries on the screen. “That conversation lasted more than two minutes. Since Cal and Ty played racquetball a few minutes later, it’s fair to assume Griggs was already at the gym. But was he with Ty? Did Ty know Rialto and his racquetball partner were talking to each other?”
“This still doesn’t answer the question about precisely how Jordan was murdered or by whom.”
“I may have part of the answer,” she said, but there was no satisfaction in the comment. “The medical examiner’s office has come under state investigation for mishandling forensic evidence. I’ve asked my people in the department for a list of vulnerable cases. I’ve also asked Derek to compile the same list. Jordan’s autopsy I should be on both.”
“You’re not talking about just mishandling evidence, then,” Jeff said. “You’re talking about corruption and conspiracy.”
“Jordan’s drink bottle was poisoned, Jeff. I don’t know with what, but I’m going to find out. Then the question will be who did it, Griggs or somebody else.”
“Or Tyrone,” Jeff added.
She released the mouse because her hand was shaking. She didn’t want to think of Jordan being murdered by his own brother. It would be too much, maybe more than she could endure.
“I hope he wasn’t involved in any of this.” Her voice flattered. “Melissa has endured enough humiliation. Finding out her cheating husband is also a murderer, a fratricide, will be devastating. As for his parents—” she let out a ragged sigh “—I’m not sure how they’ll cope with it. Marcus is in poor health already, and Amanda . . . she’s strong, but this may be more than she can handle.”
The afternoon sun, slicing through the blinds, cast the room in sober, prisonlike stripes. Jeff reached across the table. She placed her hands in his.
“We’ll figure out who did it and how,” he promised. “In the meantime, I’m here for as long as you want me.”
Catherine studied the man leaning toward her. He was committing himself to her unconditionally. For as long as you want me.
She tried to imagine just how long that might be and realized she didn’t want to see an end to their relationship, couldn’t imagine watching him go out the door one day and not come back. She’d had one great love in her life, a man whose memory she would always treasure, but…
Her guilt for wanting Jeff had her doing mental gymnastics. She wasn’t dishonoring the memory of the father of her child but honoring what they had together by pursuing it again.
Rationalizing, she decided. She was justifying what she would never have contemplated before, but time and circumstances had changed. She was alone, and she didn’t want to be.
When Jeff’s mouth found hers, she had no choice but to melt into the kiss. Thoughts and logic fled like seabirds in a storm. She was possessed now by sensations, by the magical feel of his body pressed against hers, by the taste of his mouth on hers and the giddy joy welling inside her.
Then he did something she hadn’t anticipated. He picked her up in his arms, throwing her off balance, not just physically but emotionally, as well. She hooked her elbow around his neck.
“I think we’d better find that guest room.”
“No,” she said, so sternly he stopped and stared at her, misinterpreting her objection. In his eyes she saw disappointment, then acceptance. His muscles shifted in preparation for putting her down.
“Not the guest room,” she murmured. “My room.”
He studied her with longing. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she whispered.
He turned down the hallway to the double doors at the end. He let her turn the knob when they got there, let her push the door open. He pressed his lips to her temple before crossing the threshold.
Afternoon light cast the spacious room in silver hues. The square-canopied king-sized bed dominated the far wall, the maple paneling behind it a golden reflection of the sun pouring in through the wide expanse of south-facing windows.
At the foot of the bed Jeff lowered her to the thick carpet, their arms still entwined. When they kissed this time, she threaded her fingers through his thick brown hair. Her breath caught as he began to undo the buttons of her blouse. In the process, his hands brushed the sides of her breasts. Her nipples hardened.
It took far too long for them to get out of their clothes, yet she treasured every slow, meandering sensation. She ached for release while savoring its anticipation. When the last garment had been kicked aside, they stood and stared at each other—and smiled.
She whipped back the decorative duvet, exposing satiny rose-hued sheets. He came up behind her, placed his hands on her bare shoulders and nipped at the base of her neck. She curled into his touch, shivered with delight as his hands cruised down her arms, then turned her to face him.
He cupped a loose fist under her chin. “Cate,” he began in a seductive whisper.
She crossed his lips with a finger. “Shh. No words.” No promises.
She stretched out on the bed and beckoned him to join her.
He lay beside her and began caressing her skin, the peaks and valleys of her body. She smiled as he held his breath, bit his lips and closed his eyes when her hands skimmed over his chest. She dragged her nails along his naked ribs, coursed down his stomach. Beneath her palm she felt his muscles constrict, tighten, throb.
Grinning, he rose to his knees and splayed his hands at her sides. She welcomed him when he lowered himself just enough for their bodies to make light contact. She accommodated him when he entered her and closed her eyes, enraptured by his torturously slow rhythm.
She cried out when the first wave hit her. Heard him suck air between his clenched teeth. She saw him grimace, suspended in the abyss between pleasure and pain. He captured her mouth with his. Hot, hungry and wet. Her pulse hammered.
Her hips rose to meet his. She felt a kind of giddy glee as she read the sweet agony she was meting out Then she watched him turn inwards, and for a moment was jealous of his solitude, until his eyes shot open, reuniting them. This time when she went over the edge, she took him with her.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
THE ROOM WAS STILL FILLED with light when Catherine roused an hour later. She stirred, turned away from the window and was jolted wide awake. She was lying in her own bed, the one she had shared with her husband for most of their married life, with a man who was obviously not Jordan. Again a flicker of guilt raced through her, but when she put her hand out to touch Jeff’s shoulder, she experienced another emotion. Hope.
A year ago she had tried to reconcile herself to a life alone. Her husband was dead. Her daughter had abandoned her. Her parents had long ago deserted her, and her in-laws despised her. She’d dedicated herself to her work, tried to take solace in it, but it was no substitute for having someone to touch, to talk to, to be with.
Then she found Jeff. Could there be a more unlikely partner, either as an investigator or a lover? She’d humiliated him, destroyed his career. He was six years younger than she, and yet somehow they connected. She stretched under the dark sheet covering them, aware of the heat of his body. Yes, they’d definitely connected.
He opened his eyes when she touched him. His lips curled in a playful smile. “Hi,” he murmured.
“Hi, yourself.” The temptation was too great. She gave in to the urge to snuggle up beside him, to place her leg over his and rest her forearm on his chest She kissed his cheek, then luxuriated in his warmth.
“Are you hungry?” He brushed a strand of golden hair from her face.
“Ravenous.” For him.
“I thought maybe I could fix you dinner.”
“Where?”
“Here. Seems to me I saw a dead chicken in the freezer when I was getting ice.”
She chuckled. “I hope it’s dead. Hate to think of it shivering in there all this time.”
“Do you have any Marsala wine?”
She raised herself on one elbow. “Marsala? You’re talking serious cooking, aren’t you?”
“Eating is one of the great pleasures of life. There are others, of course.” He nibbled her ear, sending shock waves to places she had no idea were in direct communication with her ears.
“We could have our appetizer here in bed and adjourn to the kitchen for the rest of the meal.”
“Hmm. Would that be the entree or the dessert, do you think?”
She was on top of him when she became aware of a muffled voice. The door burst open.
“Mom?”
Catherine whipped around in a panic.
Wearing her gray-and-white nun’s outfit, Kelsey stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other over her mouth. She bolted down the hall.
CATHERINE LEAPED from the bed, dashed into the bathroom, grabbed blindly for her robe and shot out the door. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.
“Kelsey,” she called out. “Kelsey, wait.”
Expecting to hear the sound of the front door slamming, she raced into the living room and was relieved to find her daughter still there.
“Wait, please, let me explain.”
Kelsey spun around and glared through tear-flooded eyes. “There’s nothing to explain, Mother. I know what sex is. Grandma was right. You are a slut.”
Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stopped. Then, rage exploded in her with more violence than anything she had ever experienced. She’d been insulted many times over the years, called things designed to cut deep, and sometimes they had, but never had words inflicted pain this intense.
She began to shake. Had this person, standing within arm’s reach, not been her daughter she would have slapped her across the face with all her might. Had Amanda been here, she might have throttled the woman.
Catherine knew she had to say something, but what? Any denial would ring hollow, any defense would sound like an excuse.
“When did she tell you that?” she asked, and wondered if her daughter could hear the anger in the question.
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not, if you believe her, which you obviously do. I’m just curious. Is that why you chose to become a nun, so you could atone for your mother’s sins?”
This time Kelsey flinched. The two women glared at each other, the chasm separating them for the moment unbridgeable.
Because her knees were wobbly, Catherine staggered to the chair by the telephone table.
“Answer my question. Just when did your grandmother inform you that I was a slut?”
Kelsey turned to the door. “I’m leaving.”
Catherine shot out of her seat and blocked the door. “You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question. When, Kelsey? It’s important.”
Kelsey worked her jaw. “Last week, when I went to see Grampa about the editorial in the paper. I wanted him to make Uncle Ty stop saying those things about you.”
Catherine closed her eyes. Her daughter had tried to stand up for her and been rewarded with this slander. She gazed at the troubled girl, the child she had loved, still loved, without question.
“But he wouldn’t, would he?”
Kelsey bit her lip. “No. He said they had a civic duty. I told him that was bullshit.”
Catherine was shocked. Even before she’d taken the veil, Kelsey never used coarse language. Like her father, she considered it unnecessary.
“He said he knew things about you that I didn’t but he refused to tell me what they were.”
“So your grandmother enlightened you.” How generous of her. “What did she say?”
“That when you were dating Dad you came on to Uncle Ty, but he rejected you. She wondered how many other men you’d been screwing “
Catherine felt sick to her stomach. She’d always known Amanda didn’t like her, that she considered her something of a fortune hunter, but she had no idea her antipathy was so vicious. “And you believed her.”
“Not then.”
“But you do now.”
“What am I supposed to think?” Kelsey cried.
Catherine drew close and put her arms around her daughter. Kelsey froze up, but didn’t pull away. Grasping for the smallest straw of encouragement, Catherine took it as a positive sign.
“Listen to me, Kelsey. No matter what you think of me at this moment, I want you to know that I love you, and that I was never, ever unfaithful to your father. I loved him with all my heart, and I would never have done anything to hurt him.”
“What about just now?”
“Kelsey, your father is dead—” She knew the instant the words tumbled from her mouth, they were a mistake.
Kelsey pushed away.
“Go home and pray, and think back on our life together,” Catherine said, her tone defeated, filled with hurt. “All of us, you, your father and me. Think about us as a family. If in your heart you truly believe I was a bad mother and a bad wife, then maybe the convent is the right place for you. You’ll never have to face the agony of being in love with a man and losing him. You’ll never have to suffer the heartbreak of being hated by your own children for not being perfect.”
The tears she had held back would no longer be contained. They rolled down her cheeks unchecked.
“I regret that you walked in on Jeff and me, but I won’t apologize for it. My conduct doesn’t meet your moral standards, and for that I am truly sorry. I’ve never claimed to be a saint.”
Compressing her lips, she turned and walked away.
AFTER CATHERINE HAD torn out of the master bedroom, Jeff threw on his shirt and pants and ventured cautiously after her. He stood behind the dining room door to eavesdrop on the conversation between mother and daughter. He’d caught only snatches of it, but enough for him to realize neither woman was pleased with the responses of the other.
He retreated to the bedroom and was sitting on the edge of the easy chair by the window, tying his shoes, when Catherine came in.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up. “I never meant to come between you and Kelsey.” He’d never imagined a nun would walk in on his lovemaking, either. “I’ll leave.�
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He wanted her to tell him to stay, but he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t. Regardless of what she might feel for him, her daughter came first. He had a few arguments he could use to persuade her otherwise. That her daughter was an adult who should be able to respect other people’s choices. That Catherine was a single woman, who had the right to live her own life. He could even point out that Kelsey had violated her mother’s privacy. But he didn’t raise any of them. They were all true and Catherine understood them without being told, yet they didn’t matter.
He felt her watching him as he straightened his clothes. He glanced at her several times. Her eyes were red, her cheeks damp with tears, but her expression remained fixed. Maybe in private she would break down into a sobbing cry, but not in front of him. He wondered what that stoicism was costing her.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get any more information . . . about anything,” he said at the door.
She walked toward him. He waited, not sure what to expect. She stopped in front of him, raised a hand, touched his cheek and closed her eyes for a moment.
He placed his hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Cate.” The moment lingered. Finally he turned and made his way to the front of the house, painfully aware that she was following him. He reached for the doorknob.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said to his back.
He didn’t have to see her face to know she was saying goodbye. He heard the sadness in her voice, desolation that matched the ache in his heart.
His head bowed, he paused, then opened the door and left.
DEREK WAS PULLING into the police chief’s driveway when Kelsey came racing out the door and ran to her car. One glance at her puffy, red-rimmed eyes was enough for him to see she was upset. Had something happened to her mother? Had she received bad news? He drew to an abrupt halt, left the engine running, jumped out of his vehicle and sprinted to the Honda. Kelsey’s face was contorted with anger, and her hand was shaking as she tried to jam her key into the ignition.
