by Brenda Novak
20
The pain in Francesca’s arm half woke her. Then something else disturbed her sleep. Someone talking in a low voice in another room. Problem was…she lived alone.
Butch! A jolt of panic shot through her—until she opened her eyes and recognized where she was. Jonah’s motel room. She’d been so drugged up from the pain medication, she’d stayed over.
Raising her arm to shield against the harsh light slicing through the blinds, she squinted to see if any blood had seeped through the bandages, but it didn’t seem to have.
Relieved, she slumped onto her pillows, listened to the air-conditioning chug and contemplated what she had to look forward to this morning. Finch and Hunsacker had called to check on her while she was getting her stitches last night and set up a meeting for 10:00 a.m. But she could tell from Finch’s peevish voice how that meeting was likely to go.
She’d have some difficult questions to answer—like why she’d made the decision to go back onto Butch’s property. She’d explain that she’d been hoping to come up with some evidence that might save lives, which was the truth. But she doubted they’d be sympathetic, especially Hunsacker. As a private investigator, she often bent rules she couldn’t or wouldn’t have bent as a police officer. Knowing which rules could be flexible, and when to test them, was what made a good P.I.
Rolling over, she kicked off the blankets and sat up. She needed to use the bathroom, but Jonah was in there.
Should she knock or wait until he’d finished his conversation? She didn’t think he was using the facilities. She was pretty sure he was just doing his best to be quiet since she’d been sleeping. So she padded barefoot to the door and lifted her hand to knock. But when she heard him mention a woman’s name, she hesitated.
“Look, Lori, I’m fine with it. I’ll write the letter when I get home. I hope you get the baby. But I don’t appreciate you calling my mother. Although this should go without saying, leave her out of whatever happens between us.”
Who was Lori? His most recent girlfriend? Someone he was still dating but didn’t classify as a girlfriend? And what was this about a baby? Had he fathered another child?
The answers to those questions were none of Francesca’s business. Lowering her hand, she scurried back to the bed and tried to ignore the conversation. But now that she was aware of it, she couldn’t avoid hearing the rest, particularly when he raised his voice.
“It’s not up to you to decide that,” he said. “I’ve kept your little secret all these years, the least you can do is have some courtesy when you want something from me…. What’s the rush? Anything I have to say probably won’t matter, anyway. It’s been too long since we were married.”
Francesca sank onto the edge of the bed. He’d been married and divorced since they were together? Somehow she hadn’t expected that. She was quick to remind herself that once she’d turned him loose, he had every right to do what he pleased. It just came as a surprise—and added fuel to her determination to keep some emotional distance between them. He was racking up quite a number of failed relationships….
Not that her romance record was much better. She hadn’t been married or had any children, but she’d drifted from one man to the next. Even Roland, someone she’d dated steadily for over a year, hadn’t meant enough to her to continue the relationship once he started pressing for a permanent commitment. Her feelings never passed “lukewarm” for anybody.
Except Jonah. From the beginning he’d been unique.
“I’ll send it to you when I get home,” he said again. “Until then, I’m tied up with an important case…. No, I can’t meet you…. That’s not true…. I have to go. I’ll be in touch,” he said, and the silence told her he’d disconnected.
Trying to feign sleep so he wouldn’t realize that she’d picked up on so much of his conversation, Francesca crawled toward the pillows, but he came out of the bathroom immediately, catching her before she could settle in. At that point, she thought he might comment on his phone call, since he had to know she’d overheard it, but he didn’t.
“Want to shower?” he asked. “I’d like to grab breakfast before our meeting today.”
She deliberated whether or not to ignore what she’d heard, but couldn’t quite convince herself to do so. “Who’s Lori?”
Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans with the fly half-buttoned, he rummaged through the closet for a shirt. “No one important.”
“You don’t consider an ex-wife important?”
He selected a clean T-shirt. “Not anymore.”
“How long ago were you married?”
“Long enough that I’d rather forget all about it.”
As unreasonable as it was, jealousy lanced through her. “You have a child with this woman?”
He threw her a scowl. “What, were you taking notes?”
“I couldn’t help overhearing.” That was true—sort of. “We don’t have a child together. Thank God.”
But he’d definitely referred to a baby…. “Why all the secrecy, Jonah?”
“It’s not secrecy. There’s just no reason to go into it. These days you and I have a professional relationship, remember?” he said with a facetious wink.
“Fine. Be that way.” Getting up, she went into the bathroom, but by the time she’d stepped out of the shower and brushed her teeth, curiosity had gotten the better of her again.
“I’ll trade you,” she offered, poking her head into the room.
He stood at the desk, shoving his wallet and change into his pockets, but at this he turned. “What are you talking about?”
“You answer one question of mine, and I’ll answer one question of yours.”
Evidently less interested than she’d expected him to be, he powered down his laptop. “What makes you think I have any questions?”
She should’ve dressed in the bathroom, but she’d been so preoccupied she hadn’t thought to bring any clothes in with her, so she pulled the towel she’d wrapped around her higher. “You cared for me so little that you’re not curious about anything that’s gone on in my life since we were together?”
Scowling, he glanced up; he’d been about to slide his computer into its case. “Do you really believe I didn’t care, Francesca?”
She smiled to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to believe. “That’s a question, isn’t it?”
Kneading his forehead, he blew out a sigh. “I know I shouldn’t get involved in this, but…it won’t be the first time I’ve done something I regret.”
“Then we have a deal?”
His obvious suspicion created a marked hesitancy. “What do you want to know?”
“How long were you married?”
“One year.”
“Only one year?”
“Thirteen months, to be exact.”
“How long ago?”
“Uh-uh-uh.” He wagged a finger at her. “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.”
Concealing her frustration with a shrug, she said, “Fine. Shoot.”
“Who’s the man standing with you in front of the Lincoln Memorial in that picture on your bar?”
“His name’s Roland Perenski.”
“I don’t care about his name,” he said with a grimace. “I want to know his significance to you.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Then you should’ve asked, because a second question is breaking the rules, as you’ve already pointed out.”
He came around the bed. “You cheated me on that answer.”
“No, I didn’t. I answered honestly.” But it wasn’t the answer he’d been after, and she knew it.
“Okay, one more question,” he said.
“Each?”
“Each.”
“No problem.”
“Roland is…”
She pretended to adjust the bandage covering her stitches, which was now a little damp, thanks to her shower. “One of my ex-boyfriends.”
“How long ago were you together?”
“Sor
ry. My turn.” She bestowed the sweetest smile she could muster on him. “When were you married?”
“Before I ever met you.”
This came as a total shock. “But we were only twenty-three when we met! How could you have already been married? And why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He cocked his head to one side. “Wait a second—are we trading more questions?”
She pursed her lips as she considered whether or not to continue.
“Well?” he prompted. But before she could answer, he went back to the desk. “Never mind. This is pointless.”
She followed him as far as the aisle between the two beds. “That was a quick reversal. What’s the matter? Got a few secrets to hide? Like the fact that you were married when we were dating?”
He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t married when we were dating. That one’s for free. But Twenty Questions is now officially over.” Pivoting, he stalked toward her. “Unless…”
As he advanced, she backed up until her spine touched the wall, but the subtle lift in his tone had caught her like a baited hook. “Unless what?”
“Unless you’re willing to trade something else.”
She couldn’t believe he’d been married and never told her. She had a million questions. But what would he demand in exchange? “Like what?”
His gaze fell to her lips. “A kiss.”
Again wishing she’d gotten her clothes and dressed before starting this conversation, she hugged the towel to her body. “No,” she said with a shake of her head.
Lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, he leaned in until his lips were only a fraction of an inch from hers. “Is this the same woman who was willing to get into the back of the van with me last night for a hit-and-run? The same woman who said making love wouldn’t mean anything?”
Her throat was suddenly so dry she had difficulty swallowing. They were treading on dangerous ground again. “I said it doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Neither does a kiss.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic. But the butterflies rioting in her stomach made her feel too vulnerable to take that kind of intimacy in stride. “Maybe not. But…” But what? She already knew she wouldn’t refuse. His proximity jammed all the frequencies in her brain. “If I agree, you have to satisfy my curiosity about your marriage. Even if that means three or four questions.”
She noticed a brooding quality in his expression, which surprised her. He’d asked for this and yet he didn’t act as if he was getting what he wanted—he acted as if she was leading him to the hangman’s noose.
“Lori isn’t a subject I like talking about,” he said. “One kiss per question. Take it or leave it.”
21
He was a fool to whet his own appetite. No question about it. For some reason, he’d rather torture himself with what used to be—what could’ve been—than steer clear of physical contact. Kissing Francesca would be a poignant, perhaps painful, reminder of all he’d lost. But Jonah couldn’t persuade his worthless heart to accept the no-touch policy he’d tried so hard to follow.
He’d always had to learn his lessons the hard way. Apparently, this one would be no different….
“Who’s going first?” she breathed, her amber eyes filled with an unsettling mixture of doubt and desire.
“I am.” Maybe he’d pay for this later, but God, what a way to go. It’d been so long….
Propping his hands against the wall on either side of her, he bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers. He didn’t want to come on too strong. All he needed was one taste, he told himself. But when her palms cupped his chin and her lips softened, he couldn’t have pulled away even if the motel was on fire.
Jonah had enough sense left to realize that he was sliding down a very slippery slope, but the kiss had started out so perfect—gentle, slow, controlled. He was determined to finish it just as perfectly, to give her a moment of tenderness to remember him by, a bittersweet farewell to the relationship they’d once shared.
Or maybe that wasn’t his real goal. Maybe, if he was completely honest, he’d admit this was his way of showing her that he could exercise some restraint, that he wasn’t out to use her or any other woman. But then her lips parted, welcoming his tongue, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hang on to his restraint….
She groaned. He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t thought she’d let him know she was enjoying this, but that encouragement sent an onslaught of testosterone into his bloodstream. Chest rising and falling, he explored the warmth of her mouth in a leisurely manner, hoping to drive the pleasure higher, to make her want him with a desperation that rivaled his own….
And then her body arched into his and she moaned again.
He almost moved his hand, almost went for her towel. But his cell phone rang, and the personalized ring identified the caller as Finch or Hunsacker. The detectives were probably confirming that they’d be at the meeting.
Pulling away, he turned so she wouldn’t be able to see that he was shaking. He’d missed the call and didn’t plan to return it until they were in the car, but the interruption had brought him to his senses, reminded him of his responsibilities—and his limitations where she was concerned.
“It’s your turn,” he said as he strode to the bed to put on his shoes. “What did you want to ask me?”
If he’d been interested in sharing any details about Lori, he would’ve mentioned his ex ten years ago. But a deal was a deal. He’d gotten even more than he’d wanted. The least he could do was reciprocate.
Francesca didn’t answer right away. When she did try to talk, she had to clear her throat first. “Why—why did the two of you break up?”
He recognized the doubt in her voice. She wondered if he’d cheated on Lori, too. After what he’d done, there was no way to reclaim her trust, no way to rectify his mistake. Knowing the past would always stand between them made him crazy for kissing her. He couldn’t have what he’d once had; he’d already destroyed it. “Not what you’re thinking.”
“So what was it?”
Did she believe him? Probably not. Why would she?
“Jonah?” she persisted.
He managed a sardonic smile as he looked back at her. “I wasn’t her type.”
Hunsacker rested his hands on his bulging stomach as he sat next to Jonah and across from Francesca in the conference room they’d used before. He hadn’t spoken yet, merely nodded when they filed into the sheriff’s station. But something was up. Francesca could feel it. Instead of being angry, as she’d assumed, he seemed pleased with himself. Far too pleased.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“You’ll see when Finch gets here,” he replied.
Clasping his hands loosely in his lap, Jonah leaned back and studied Hunsacker from beneath half-closed eyelids.
“What’s with you?” Hunsacker asked, bristling beneath Jonah’s unyielding scrutiny. “What’s with you?” Jonah replied.
Hunsacker stretched his collar as if Jonah made him nervous. Jonah would make anyone nervous with the hard-ass expression he was wearing. He could tell something was up, too.
The door opened, and Finch walked in, carrying a file. He dropped it on the conference table, but didn’t sit down. “How’s the arm?” he asked, nodding toward the big white bandage covering her stitches.
Knowing he wasn’t truly concerned, only trying for a decent start to what would likely be a less than pleasant meeting, she shrugged. “It’ll heal.”
“Could’ve been a lot worse. You’re aware of that, right?”
She braced for his full reaction. “Nice segue.”
“Dog like that could’ve torn out your jugular,” he went on. “Then where would you be?”
“With a severed jugular, I’m quite certain I’d be dead.” Careful not to put pressure on her stitches, she leaned on the table. “That means we should be able to charge Mr. Vaughn with attempted murder.”
“You think so? When you were warned, by us and by
the Beware of Dog signs, to keep your distance yet returned to his property, anyway?” He folded his arms. “Tell me. If you’re so scared of Mr. Vaughn, why did you go back?”
“Because I’m determined to stop him before he kills anyone else. And I want to be able to quit looking over my shoulder.”
“You think what you did last night will help?”
“Whether or not I should’ve been there, what he did was illegal. You can’t order your dog to tear someone apart just because that person’s on your property.”
He rested the bulk of his upper body on his knuckles. “The ‘order’ part is where I’m having trouble, Ms. Moretti. From my perspective, it looks as if you ignored our directive to stay beyond the fence and went snooping around, even though there was a watchdog in the yard.”
“Typical P.I. bullshit,” Hunsacker muttered.
Finch threw his partner an irritated glance, and ignored the interruption. “At that stage, you were accidentally locked in when they closed for the night.”
Jonah uncrossed his ankles. He’d been sitting silently, letting Francesca take her lumps. They’d both known what was coming, but he seemed to have reached the end of his patience with how they were proceeding. “I told you what happened last night. It was no accident. So if you want to berate her, at least stick to the facts.”
“And I wasn’t snooping,” Francesca argued. “I was trying to hear a conversation between Butch and his wife.”
“Eavesdropping is just as bad!” Hunsacker snapped.
That was enough to make Jonah jump in again. “Come on. What she did took guts. If she’d come away with some piece of information that nailed Butch you’d be calling her a hero. You can’t have it both ways.”
Unwilling to let Jonah draw their fire—what had happened certainly wasn’t his fault—she spoke before the investigators could respond. “I got the name of his mistress. That opens up a lot of possibilities.”
“Does it?” Hunsacker said. “What possibilities? Because I’ve already visited Kelly Martin’s place. She has nothing but wonderful things to say about Butch.”
