by Julie Miller
“Did you send a unit to keep an eye on Charleen Grimes?”
Max pulled away from the car at the approach of his lieutenant, Ginny Rafferty-Taylor, straightening to a civilian version of attention as his team leader came up beside him. “Yes, ma’am. If she goes anywhere besides home or her shop, or does anything suspicious, we’ll know about it.”
“In the meantime, we got a copy of that list of drug test patients and research and production staff from Endicott Global. Katie’s going over it with a fine-tooth comb to see if Charleen’s name pops—or any other family or business associate who could have gotten her access to the drug.” The lieutenant tucked her short, silvery-blond hair behind her ears and leaned her hips back against the car the way he had a moment earlier. “You did good work today, Max.”
He slid his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans and shrugged his frustration. “I haven’t solved our case yet.”
“Take the compliment. We’ve been working this murder for six years now. This is the first forward progress we’ve made in almost that long.” She nodded toward the conversation wrapping up near the building’s front door. “Miss March filled me in on the threats Howard Bratcher made against your badge, too. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. I didn’t settle for just anybody on my squad. You were all handpicked for your various expertise.”
“I gave Bratcher a fat lip.” He eyed the purple bruises already appearing on Rosie’s pale skin as she paused beneath a streetlight before crossing the street to join them. He felt his fingers curling into fists again. Was that supposed to be his area of expertise? Laying a guy out flat for nearly squeezing the life out of a woman? “I suppose I have an anger management class in my future?”
“You were protecting someone you care about.” The lieutenant leaned in and whispered, “Besides, didn’t I ever tell you I have a soft spot for big guys who are good with their hands?”
“No.”
She squeezed his arm before walking away to her car. “You should meet my husband sometime.”
Max chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rosie exchanged good-nights with the lieutenant before joining Max at the car.
“Cold?” Max brushed his hands over the goose bumps dotting her arms.
She shook her head and shivered anew. “Confused, maybe. Disappointed in my inability to function out in the real world.”
“That’s harsh.”
“Tonight made me feel like I’m not meant to be anything more than a prize to be stolen or swindled. Howard was so angry. Just like Richard.” She raised her gaze to his. “Why couldn’t I see it? Why did I think Howard was my friend?”
“Because you’ve got a heart, Rosie March.” He opened the car door and pulled his black leather jacket from the backseat to drape around her shoulders. “Here. I think it’s human nature to trust people, to want to see the best in them. Especially if that’s the way they want you to see them. Most people keep their deepest thoughts and insecurities and shortcomings hidden. Good people and bad.” He freed a couple of tendrils from the collar of the jacket. “I’m glad the bad things in this world haven’t warped you like me yet.”
She linked her fingers with his and held on when he would have pulled away. “I’m always going to believe you’re a good guy, Max. Thank you. I can never repay you for listening to me, believing me. Jimmy would have been proud of you for standing by me and helping me get Howard out of my life.”
“Just promise me if you meet anyone else named Bratcher, you’ll run the other way instead of making friends.”
At last, she smiled. “I promise.” She braced her free hand against his chest and stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You did great, Sergeant. Thank you.”
“Why does that sound like goodbye?” He tugged on her fingers and led her around to the passenger seat. “I live in your basement.”
“But I thought—with Howard under arrest...”
This mission wasn’t over yet, as far as he was concerned. “There’s still a killer out there I’m looking for. And we’ve stirred up enough of a hornet’s nest today that I’m not letting you out of my sight until we identify the woman who was in Bratcher’s bedroom that night and I can close my case.” He opened the car door for her to get in. “Buckle up.”
Her smile eased his concern a fraction. “Yes, sir.”
By the time he’d circled back to the driver’s side, Trent was jogging up to meet him. “Hey, brother.”
“What is it, junior?”
His partner handed him a DMV printout of Glasses Guy, the man Rosie had ID’d from the society page photo. “Meet Leland Asher’s nephew, Matthew.”
“Son of a gun.” He handed the printout over to Rosie. “Look familiar?”
“That’s him. Is he part of his uncle’s organization?” She handed the paper back. “What’s his connection to me?”
“It may not mean anything. We can’t tie him to any criminal wrongdoing,” Trent answered. “But he does visit his uncle in prison.”
“So he could be a courier for getting his uncle’s messages in or out of Jeff City.” Max quickly skimmed the rest of the information on the page and muttered a curse. Matt Asher drove a Chrysler sedan, not a green pickup. “So he doesn’t have a connection to the Bratchers, either.”
Trent shook his head. “He’s got an alibi for most of the nights the stalker was at Rosie’s house.”
“Which is?”
“Believe it or not—therapy. He sees a clinical psychologist. I’m guessin’ he’s got family issues. We’ll keep an eye on him to see if any messages are passed between him and Uncle Leland when he visits him in prison. But right now, we’ve got nothing on him. We can’t touch him. Plus, the kid’s only twenty-two. He was barely old enough to drive when Bratcher was murdered.”
Max looked up to his partner and thanked him.
“Not a problem. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Send somebody over to watch Rosie’s house tonight. I need some solid shut-eye.”
Trent waved to Rosie to reassure her, as well. “I’ll be there myself as soon as I process Bratcher.”
“I owe ya.”
“Don’t worry, brother. I’ll collect.”
* * *
MAX AND THE DOGS heard the quiet whimpering over the rainfall sounds of the shower coming through the bathroom door. He didn’t know about Duchess and Trixie, but he wasn’t sure how long he could stand that heartbreaking little mewl before he busted down another door to get inside and do something about it.
The house couldn’t be locked up any tighter. He had his Glock strapped to his belt. The blinds throughout the house were drawn to dissuade the Dinkles’ and anyone else’s curiosity about the copper-haired recluse, and he knew Trent was parked in his truck out in the driveway tonight. So no way had anyone gotten past all those lines of defense to hurt her.
Still... He knocked softly at the door. “Rosie? Honey, are you okay?”
“Just a minute.” Although he could easily jimmy the old door lock, he scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw, waiting impatiently through some sniffling and shuffling noises. Then the running water stopped.
A few seconds later, the latch turned and the door opened.
“You girls, stay,” he ordered. Not waiting for an invitation, he slipped inside the white-and-black-tiled bathroom and closed the door behind him.
“What is it?” Rosie asked, clutching the lime-green towel that hung from the scalloped swells of her breasts down to the top of her thighs. His pulse rate kicked up in hungry awareness, so he wisely hung back by the door. “Is something wrong?”
“I hope not.” Ignoring the long, wavy strands of wet copper that clung to her shoulders and sent tiny rivulets of water down her arms and into the shadowy cleft between her breasts, Max focused on the ugly marks marring the skin around her
neck. He brushed his fingers across the blue-and-violet bruises there. “Are you in pain? Is your throat still sore? The paramedic said that gargling would help.” He ran through the checklist of possible complications related to her assault. “Are you having any trouble breathing or swallowing? Maybe I should have run you to the ER instead of bringing you home.”
She offered him an unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. I’m sore. But the hot water helps.”
So, no physical pain. That would have been easier to deal with. With the pad of his thumb, he wiped away a tear that lingered on her cheek. “And this?”
She turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm. “You once said that I could tell you anything, that you’d listen.”
“That’s right.” He made a valiant effort to avert his gaze from all that creamy bare skin peeking out above and below the edges of the towel. But the burn scars and bruises at her neck were a sobering reminder to his traitorous body that she wanted to have a serious conversation here. “Is everything okay?”
“You said I should look you in the eye and ask for what I want.” She tilted those soft gray eyes to his and he lost his heart to her a little more. “I want you to stay.”
“I wasn’t planning on going back to the basement.”
“No. I’m not saying this right.” Her gaze dropped to his chin, then bounced right back. “Stay here. With me.”
The walls of restraint that were keeping his libido in check took a serious hit. But he didn’t want to misunderstand. “Honey, don’t tease a man. Are you asking me to take you to bed?”
She nodded and reached up to trace her fingers along the line of his jaw, waking dozens of very interested nerve endings there. “I want to do more than cuddle tonight, Sergeant. I want to feel like a normal, desirable woman. I want to feel good hands, safe hands...your hands on me. I want to erase—”
“I get the message.” Max already had her in his arms. His mouth was on hers, his tongue driving inside to claim her taste for his own. He drove her back against the tile wall, imprinting her curves against his harder body. Her hands slid up to his face and hair and his slid down to grasp her hips and pull them into the cradle of his thighs.
His jeans felt thick. His shirt was an impediment. And that towel definitely had to go.
With their lips clinging to each other, their hands explored places that were tender and hard. Silky and soft. Cool and hot. He got his belt off and his holster safely set aside on the vanity before she reached for the zipper of his jeans.
“Not yet, honey.” He caught her wrists and moved her hands to his chest, encouraging her to go after the buttons on his shirt while he shucked out of his boots and jeans.
By the time he was as naked as she was and he’d fished a condom out of his wallet, her lips had discovered the taut, eager nipples of his chest and a bundle of nerves behind his left ear. He’d feasted on her lips and filled his hands with the heavy weight of her breasts. He tongued his way from one curve to the next, stopping only to turn the shower back on and adjust the temperature to a soothing warmth before he palmed the back of her thighs and lifted her into the shower with him.
“Max,” she gasped, her thighs clenching when the water first hit her skin.
“Easy, honey.” He pulled her into the heat of his body and switched positions, taking the brunt of the spray on his back. “I want to make this as good for you as I can.”
Then he grabbed the bar of soap and really went to work. She wanted to forget that Howard had touched her? That Richard had abused her? Max wanted to imprint himself all over her body. He put his hands every place he could touch—her feet, her legs, that sweet round bottom. He washed her stomach and back and arms and breasts, running the creamy soap over her beautiful skin. Then he moved the soap between her legs to wash her there.
Her thighs clenched around his hand. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her forehead fell against his chest. “Oh, Max. Max.” She said his name, over and over, in breathless whispers against his skin. Soon, he set the soap aside. With the heat of the water and the heat of his hand pressing against her most tender flesh, he felt her tighten, quiver. And when he slipped a finger inside her, then two, she cried out his name and convulsed around his hand.
How could any man not think this brave, vibrant, responsive woman was anything but sexy and desirable?
But it wasn’t enough. For either of them.
The shy siren with the beautiful body slipped her arms around his neck and pressed every decadent inch against his hot, primed body. Not even the water sluicing over his head and shoulders could come between them as she pulled her mouth down to his and asked for what she truly wanted.
“You, Max. I want you inside me. Now.”
His fingers shaking with the need of his body, he reached around the shower curtain and ripped open the condom packet. All he remembered were her hands learning his body, her lips demanding kiss after kiss. He happily obliged her exploration until he could take no more.
“Now, honey.”
“Yes.”
He picked her up and her legs wrapped around his hips as he eased himself inside. He held his breath for a moment, filling her, expanding her warm sheath to accommodate his desire. With his strong hands holding her securely between the tile wall and his body, he began to move inside her. Slowly, at first. A thrust, a kiss. A thrust, a nibble of her ear. His lips moved lower with each thrust and she arched her back, offering him her body. He closed his mouth over the proud peak of her breast, swirled his tongue around her pearled nipple and she gasped.
His body demanded faster, harder, and hers accepted, welcomed, blossomed with his need.
The one glitch came when he pressed a kiss to the scar on her collarbone. Her fingers tried to push his lips away. “Don’t,” she whispered. “They’re ugly.”
But Max insisted on gently kissing each mark. “Every inch of you is beautiful to me.”
And then the need became too great. The rhythm between their bodies synced and moved together. The water ran, the heat consumed him. And with a final thrust that blinded him to all but the crazy, inexplicable love he had for this woman, Max poured himself out inside her.
A few minutes later, after catching their breaths and another quick rinse in the cooling shower, Rosie turned off the water. He wrapped a towel around his waist and another around her, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.
He shoved a pair of bed-hog dogs onto the floor and laid her down. Max climbed in beside her, pulled the covers up over them both. Spooning his damp, spent body next to hers, he pulled Rosie to his chest, buried his nose in the sweet scent of her hair, and they drifted off into a deep, healing sleep together.
Chapter Eleven
Max awoke to a dog licking his ear and an empty pillow beside him.
A brief moment of panic—that Rosie had somehow been taken from him while he slept, with that dreadful sense of finality he’d felt the morning Jimmy hadn’t shown up for their fishing weekend—roused him completely. But the panic quickly ebbed when he smelled the coffee brewing in the kitchen and heard the strains of an orchestra playing softly from another part of the house. Rosie was fine. Just an early riser, eager to get a start on a new day. Hopefully, not a woman who was having regrets about the night before.
And then there was the poodle who’d taken such a shine to him. Pushing aside Trixie’s tongue, Max sat up. She switched the licking to his hand until he spared a minute to give her a tummy rub. “Really? Is this going to be a thing with you?”
He set the fuzzy morning greeter on the floor and got up to use the bathroom, retrieving his shorts and jeans and pulling them on. He tucked his holster into the back of his belt and pulled out his phone to put in a quick call to Trent to get a status report.
“Morning, sunshine,” Trent teased. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you, I’m guessin’. Anything I need to know about?”
“Everything’s quiet out here. I got a call five minutes ago from Jim. He said Charleen Grimes left her condo, drove through a coffee shop, then went to work. Apparently, they’re having a big summer clearance sale at her boutique if you’re lookin’ for a new dress.”
“No, thanks.” Max shook his head and went to the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee. Even after a stakeout, the younger detective was too chipper in the morning for his tastes. “Anything else?”
“You need to call Katie. She’s got some information you’ll want to hear.”
“Got it. I’ve got my coffee now, so you can leave. Thanks for keeping an eye on things.”
“Not a problem.”
Max drank half his coffee and ate a cinnamon roll that he hoped Rosie had left out for him before dialing Katie’s number.
“Good morning, Max.” Was everyone he knew a morning person?
“Morning, kiddo. Trent said you had something for me?”
“You bet. I tracked down a short list of dark green, extended cab pickup trucks with black trim—sold in the KC area in the past month, so it would still have dealer stickers and not a registered license plate yet.”
“How short is the list?”
“Three trucks. Here’s where it gets interesting.”
Normally he was amused by Katie’s flair for drama, but this morning he just wanted to get the info and get back to Rosie. “Tell me, sunshine.”
“All three were purchased as fleet vehicles for Endicott Global.”
Max opened his mouth to swear but decided Katie didn’t need to hear him any more than Rosie did. But that Wells woman had lied to them with a straight face. The CEO fit two of the three puzzle pieces—she had access to the drug that killed Richard Bratcher, and a company vehicle had been spotted near Rosie’s house. “You did good, kiddo. Thanks.”
