One moment, he was kissing her ravenously, moving his strong, eager hands all over her body, taking everything, holding nothing back. The next, he had completely withdrawn.
“I didn’t mean to do that.” He jerked his hand out from beneath her shirt like a kid caught in a cookie jar. His eyes swept down her body, coming to rest at the top of her thighs, making her all too aware of the sensual image she presented, legs splayed before him, her soft terry-cloth shorts barely covering what was necessary.
“CSI will be here any minute,” he said, pushing himself away from her.
Did he still think she had something to do with that…monster who defiled women? Indignation burned through her like wildfire, and she hated him, hated herself, hated her body’s traitorous reaction to his touch. Even now, she wanted him to continue, to put his hand back under her shirt, or better yet, between her legs, to soothe the torment he’d created.
They waited for his team in bitter silence. When crime scene investigators arrived on the scene, he gave them a few terse instructions and pulled Detective Lacy aside. “I need you to check with residents about a suspicious character hanging around last night.”
She darted a glance at Sidney. “Do you have a description?”
“Not really. Possible Caucasian. Thin build. Average to above-average height.”
Nodding, she hurried away to complete the task. Marc turned back to Sidney. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
Unless she wanted to be stranded, Sidney didn’t have much choice, so she quickened her stride to keep up with him. He was rushing toward his car, which wasn’t unusual, as he was a man who lived at a fast pace. Before they got there, she realized he had another reason to hurry: Crystal Dunn and her omnipresent news crew.
“Get that goddamned camera out of my face,” he ordered, opening the door for Sidney. When she got in, he slammed it, effectively cutting her out of the conversation.
Crystal asked the cameraman to give her five.
“Slumming, Marc?” she asked, standing between him and the driver side, a not-so-sweet smile on her pretty face.
Sidney’s jaw dropped. Although she was inside the car, she could hear every word, and had no trouble catching the slight.
“I went slumming once,” he replied, giving her a pointed look.
“It wasn’t that good.”
Crystal laughed with the confidence of a woman who knew she was being lied to. Sidney wanted to rip her perfectly coiffed platinum hair out by its dark blond roots.
“Look, I don’t have anything for you. Go chase another bone.”
“I guess I’ll go over your head, then,” she said, smoothing her hand over the front of his shirt. “Talk to Stokes.”
His features hardened. “What do you want?”
“An exclusive. With her.”
Sidney’s stomach clenched in apprehension. If Crystal Dunn wanted a story on her, it meant the end of her privacy, her peace, her only protection.
“No,” he said flatly. “This is a murder investigation, not an entertainment opportunity.”
“I’m running it, Marc. With or without her.”
“We’ll see about that. Stokes holds some sway with Carlisle, too, you know. And she didn’t have to go down on her knees to get it.”
Unlike their earlier exchange about slumming, this barb hit its mark. Her expression as brittle as ice, Crystal turned on her pencil-slim heels and walked away.
When he got in the car, she let him stew for a few moments.
“Who’s Stokes?” she asked.
“My boss.”
“And Carlisle?”
“Hers.”
Sidney nodded, needing no further elaboration. If Marc had caught Crystal sleeping her way to the top while they were involved, it was no wonder he didn’t trust women. “Does she know about me?” she asked.
“She wouldn’t want an exclusive if she didn’t.”
“Can I sue the station?”
“You can threaten to. But that only works if they’re planning to say something about you that isn’t true.”
“Even if it compromises your investigation?”
“Even then. Professional ethics aside, what the press finds out about, they can use. It’s my job to protect information we don’t want out.”
He didn’t say it, but she knew he thought he’d failed. Because he was the kind of man who judged his self-worth in terms of self-control, he was probably angrier with himself than with Crystal Dunn. He couldn’t stop the leak of information and he couldn’t prevent the killer from taking more women off the streets.
The fact that he was having a hard time, in more ways than one, did little to assuage Sidney’s anger. By invading her home and violating her privacy, he’d made her his enemy.
If her lawyer was anyone but Greg, she’d be looking forward to making Marc pay.
At OPD, Deputy Chief Stokes was on a rampage.
After Marc dropped Sidney off at her house, he went down to headquarters, dreading the inevitable confrontation. It came sooner than expected.
As he sat down at his desk, Lacy made a gesture from across the room, slicing her forefinger across her throat, indicating his current status as dead meat. Instead of running scared, he got up and walked into Stokes’s office.
Like a good boy, he’d take his medicine and get back to work.
“What the hell is this?” she asked the instant he showed his pseudohumble face.
He looked down at the photos littering her desk. Digital technology, he decided, was a real bitch. The pictures were very thorough, and at an excellent angle, showing all of his sensual trespasses to maximum effect. “Amateur porn?” he quipped.
“Sit down and shut up,” she ordered.
He did.
“You let Crystal Dunn catch you with your pants down.”
His pants had been up, but he thought it best not to quibble over semantics.
“Sexually harassing a suspect, in itself, is bad enough-”
He picked up one of the photos of Sidney’s body plastered against his, her hands in his hair. “Does she look like she’s being sexually harassed?”
Stokes didn’t even glance at it. “As a high-ranking police official, you were in the position of power.”
He had no comeback for that.
“You used incredibly poor judgment and allowed yourself to be photographed in the process. It’s inexcusable.”
“They won’t run it,” he said with certainty. “This is-” he gestured at the photos “-a mistake. A very stupid, very careless mistake. But it’s not a story.”
“They won’t print the explicit ones, no. As long as she makes no complaints.”
“She won’t.”
She quelled him with a look. “Are you psychic now, too?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he’d had more than three hours’ sleep the past two nights combined. “Chief, I apologize for my unacceptable behavior. To tell you the truth, I really don’t know what came over me.” He felt his jaw tighten, and had to force himself to relax. “But I assure you, this stays here. I will not end up in court, or the papers, just because I kissed a woman in public.”
“You kissed a suspect while on duty. At a crime scene.”
He conceded that these were very sound points.
“What they will run is this-Oceanside Police Department Consults Psychic.”
“They’ve done that before. So what?”
“I won’t let you make this department a joke. And having her name in the paper, when we’re in the middle of undercover surveillance, will hardly work in our favor.”
He cleared his throat. Now was not the time to tell her they’d already been made. “She’s not a suspect,” he asserted.
“Oh, really? I don’t need you making decisions for me, Cruz. Especially when you’re letting your dick think for you.”
He winced at the well-deserved insult. “My instincts say Sidney Morrow is not involved. Most homicidal criminals are loners. They d
on’t recruit women.”
“It’s not unprecedented,” she said. “Women can be used as a lure, to draw in victims, to gain confidences. She’s good with dogs, and we don’t know how the killer managed to get past them. She’s the perfect accomplice. Perhaps she’s pulled the wool over your eyes, too.”
“Bring Lacy in here,” he requested.
Sighing, Stokes buzzed her in. They both listened to his account of Sidney’s “vision” in the bathroom, Stokes with her arms crossed over her chest, expression closed.
“Do you believe this?” she asked Lacy.
Lacy darted a glance at Marc. “No, Chief,” she lied, throwing him right under the bus.
Stokes studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “You’ve always been a loose cannon, Cruz. Yesterday you went Rambo in a homeless camp. Today you’re Romeo on a picnic table. Your personal issues are interfering with your police work. Not all women are damsels in distress or targets for seduction.”
That hit him where it hurt. He struggled not to let it show.
“I can’t have a wild card on my team right now,” she decided. “You know that vacation you’ve been putting off? As of right now, you’re on it. Two weeks. Now get out of my sight.”
Refusing to meet Lacy’s apologetic gaze, or Stokes’s assessing one, he pushed himself away from the seat and strode out of her office.
Marc was more pissed off at himself than at Stokes or Lacy, but having his boss tell him he had “issues” was humiliating. If his problems with the opposite sex were so pronounced, why was he the only officer on homicide with a female partner?
“I’m sorry,” Lacy said, hurrying to catch up with him. “I was afraid she was going to take me off the case, too.”
He grabbed his keys off the top of his desk. “Any luck with the door-to-doors?”
“No. The park is popular with joggers and strollers, that’s about it. No one noticed a shady character. There are vehicle records I could pull. It’s a two-dollar charge to park inside, at a pay box, but it’s infrequently monitored. Some people don’t fill out the ticket, or bother to pay. Of course, there are places to park along the street, too.”
“He also could’ve walked from home, if he lives nearby.”
“It’s a residential area,” she said, nodding.
And a needle in the haystack.
She followed him out to his car. “I feel really bad, Marc. Stokes doesn’t have to know everything. I’ll keep you informed.”
“You’re goddamned right you will,” he muttered, getting in and slamming the door. If Stokes thought he wouldn’t continue investigating on his own, she’d completely underestimated his psychological flaws.
She thought he had problems with women? They were nothing compared to his control issues.
Chapter 8
Pacific Pet Hotel had been open for business less than five minutes when Crystal Dunn burst through the front doors, microphone in hand, a pair of bulky cameramen behind her.
The pint-size reporter’s heels clicked self-importantly on the tile flooring as she approached. Her tailored black suit hugged her trim figure, and the ruffled blouse beneath showed only a tasteful hint of cleavage, but she still managed to look more like Barbie than Barbara Walters. Her makeup was flawless: pale skin translucent, hair a golden halo.
“Miss Morrow, is it true that you’ve been employed as a psychic by the Oceanside Police Department?”
Sidney’s throat went dry. She couldn’t help but feel awkward standing next to Crystal Dunn, staring at the flashing red light on the video camera. Even with Crystal’s big hair and high heels, Sidney towered over her. “No, it’s not,” she said, forcing herself not to slouch. “And I don’t want to be interviewed. Please leave.”
Undaunted, Crystal continued her questioning, her baby-blue eyes wide with excitement. “Have you revealed the identity of the serial killer?”
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Sidney decided. Maybe she wasn’t the type of woman who commanded instant respect, but Greg, in a professional capacity, was a bone-crusher.
Making a cutting motion, Crystal handed the microphone off to one of her beefcake assistants and sent them both outside with a brusque dismissal. As Sidney picked up the phone to dial, Crystal shoved a full-color photo under her nose.
Sidney’s jaw dropped.
The photograph was a stunner. Marc was carrying her away from the public rest rooms. Her eyes were closed, head cradled against his chest. He looked every inch the hero, concern clear on his chiseled features, the muscles in his arms delineated under the strain of her weight.
“Nice shot,” she said quietly.
“You like it? I’ve got some even better ones.”
She blanched, knowing Crystal had her. The photo had been taken several moments before their very public make-out session. It was the reason he’d stopped, she realized. He’d spotted Crystal’s camera crew and wanted to spare her the humiliation of knowing they’d been caught on tape. Why?
“This could ruin his career, you know.”
Sidney worried her lower lip with her teeth.
“You give me a sit-down interview, and I promise to keep the most incriminating pictures out of the news.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No way.”
“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Morrow. I have proof of sexual misconduct.”
“Why do you think I care about his career?” she bluffed.
“Oh, please. You’re so soft you probably cry watching Bambi.”
Her temper flared. “Living in the slums has toughened me up.”
Crystal looked her up and down, reassessing her as a competitor.
“I apologize for the lowbrow remark. You’re-” she swept her eyes over Sidney, arching a brow at her attire “-not his type. Perhaps I was jealous.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He broke my heart.”
Sidney believed her, and resented her for being honest. Marc might think Crystal had wronged him, but she apparently felt it was the other way around. “Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn’t,” Sidney said, feeling depressed and confused. “I don’t know anything.”
Crystal made her last play. “Sign the release for this photo,” she said, handing her a pen and paper, “and I won’t destroy him in the papers.”
After a moment of indecision, Sidney signed the form, knowing from the smug look on Crystal’s pretty face that she’d just been manipulated.
The interior of his house was stifling.
Marc turned on the A/C as soon as he came through the door. He tore off his shirt, shoulder holster and sweat-dampened undershirt, wondering when the weather would break. The shady motel room he’d been living out of for the past two days was more comfortable than this. Along the coast, the air was cooled by refreshing ocean breezes. Ten miles inland, where he lived, it was muggy as hell.
Tossing his discarded items on the living room couch, he strode into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, popped off the top and took a long pull. He desperately needed something to take the edge off.
He’d never felt so keyed-up.
Staring out the window above the kitchen sink, he noted that his backyard needed attention. The grass was dry and sunburned, the plants slowly dying. Groaning, he rubbed a hand over his weary face. His fatigue went bone deep.
“Hell with it,” he said aloud, abandoning the kitchen in favor of sprawling out in front of the TV on his leather couch. 10:00, the blinking red numbers on the DVD player read.
“Christ,” he muttered, taking another fortifying swig. Only losers drank beer by themselves on a weekday morning.
Instead of finding something more productive to do with his time, Marc indulged himself further by replaying every moment of his kiss with Sidney in slow motion. It was the reason for his “vacation,” after all. Why not reflect upon it?
Hell, why not embellish, while he was at it?
This time, as he explored her wet, hot mouth
with his tongue, he gave his hands, and his imagination, free rein. He didn’t just reach underneath her T-shirt, he made it disappear, along with her bra, and feasted his eyes on her luscious breasts. He didn’t just brush his thumb across her tight little nipples, he flicked his tongue over them, enjoying the soft gasp of pleasure she made while he tasted her.
His cock stretched and swelled, pushing against the fly of his pants the same way it had pushed against the cleft of her thighs.
Groaning, he lifted the bottle to his lips, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat as he considered his options. There were women he knew-skillful, enthusiastic women-who would come over and take care of him if he asked. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d called a woman just for sex.
More often than not, when he was between girlfriends, like now, he went without. Sometimes, even when he had one, he took matters into his own hands, so to speak. Calling another woman to slake his lust for Sidney didn’t appeal to him in the least.
He didn’t want to touch another woman. He didn’t want to look at another woman. He didn’t want to think about another woman.
He wanted to think about Sidney touching herself.
With his free hand, he released the buttons on his pants, picturing her lying naked on her wrought-iron bed. He saw her as he thought she’d been, eyes closed, head thrown back, breasts jiggling slightly as her hand worked feverishly between her sleek, open thighs.
While he watched, and enjoyed, her brow puckered in concentration and her slick fingers moved faster. Moaning, she arched her back, thrusting her dusky-tipped breasts forward as she shuddered her exquisite release.
God, what he would have given to really have been there. To watch her come.
He stroked himself slowly, extending the fantasy until he was in the room with her. Leaning over her, he brushed the damp hair off her forehead, touched his lips to the fluttering pulse point at the base of her throat, lapped a drop of perspiration from between her breasts. When she smoothed her fingers over his hair, he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, tasting her, inhaling her scent.
Needing more, he lowered his head to the silky black curls between her legs and tasted her there, too, savoring the sweet aftermath of her orgasm.
Dangerous to Touch Page 9
