Sawyer, Meryl

by A Kiss in the Dark

  "I love computers. I've taken several classes. I hope to change jobs soon and work with computers."

  Inside the video room he put the tape in the machine and sat beside Val at a monitor. "We'll be able to enlarge and freeze frame—the works." He didn't mention that the sophisticated equipment would also tell him if anyone had tampered with the tape. "Here it goes. Point out all the people you know."

  She had a soft, melodic voice. He listened as he watched, occasionally hitting the freeze frame button to take a better look at someone. "That's me in the lame dress," Val told him.

  He punched the freeze frame, then pressed the enlarger. "Wow!" She had her hair piled high in a loose cluster of curls. With a single caress the mass would fall into some lucky devil's hands. Before he could stop himself Paul said, "Nice, but I like your hair down and no makeup."

  "You do?" She actually smiled.

  He didn't know what to say. When was the last time he'd felt so off balance with a woman? He opted for the truth. "I like the natural look. That's why I came over to your place to get the tape. I wanted to see you again."

  "I've never been more embarrassed," she confessed. "I could have taken the tape to your office, but I wanted to see you too. I wanted to look good so I put on the masque and curled my hair. I never thought you'd show up without calling."

  "You wanted to see me? I'll be damned. I didn't think you were the least bit interested."

  "I'm not very good at this." Her voice dwindled to a whisper; he had to lean toward her to hear better. "You're easy to talk to. Besides, you ate two helpings of my tofu lasagna."

  The narcotic effect of her tentative smile shook him. "I planned to ask you over for dinner. I made zucchini enchiladas."

  "How about tomorrow?" He tried to keep his tone light.

  "Sorry." She zinged him with another smile. "I'm on the night shift, checking out reports of soggy fries in Milpitas."

  Paul chuckled. Val had a sense of humor, but she was insecure. "How about Saturday night? I'll take you to—"

  "No. I want to make you dinner."

  "Okay." He leaned toward her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She turned her head, parting her lips, obviously expecting a real kiss. How could he say no? He pressed his lips against hers and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her eagerness shocked him for a second, but he quickly took advantage of the situation until she pulled away.

  "Who were you with that night?" he asked, then listened to how Royce got Val a date with the parsley king. Honest-to-Pete, it was hard to believe the lady didn't have a steady boyfriend.

  "There are the Farenholts"—Val pointed at the screen— "and there's Royce's bag next to the napkin and place card."

  "Good. Let's check subsequent frames to see when it was moved. Royce told Mitch she put her bag by her napkin but later found it on a chair."

  There was a lot of footage of sweet-looking women wearing gowns from the fifties. They turned out to be nuns who were friends of Sister Rosemary, who was doing the filming. Finally, there was a shot of Mitch. Paul was fascinated by Mitch's intent expression. The camera followed his gaze. He was staring at Royce Winston.

  He pondered the screen a moment, then asked, "How did Royce feel about Mitch when they met—what was it? Five years ago?"

  "Yes. It was a little over five years ago. Royce was crazy about him. She called me the night before she left for Italy to tell me she'd met the 'right' man. She even came back from vacation early just so she could see him. But then her father was in the accident that killed his best friend. The next time she saw Mitch, he was prosecuting her father."

  Paul tried to imagine what would have happened if Royce and Mitch had dated. Yeah, it might have worked. Mitch was a true lone wolf, an insular man who valued his privacy above all else, but Royce might have changed him. She had an Italian flair, an animated zest for life. Just what workaholic Mitch needed.

  "It wouldn't have worked, anyway." Val seemed to read his mind. "Royce will never find the right man because no man will ever be as good as her father." The tape was continuing to run, and Val added, "There's Talia looking at the jewels."

  "And Caroline Rambeau. Who's the guy with her?"

  "Some Italian count. I don't remember his name."

  Paul thought the count looked slick, that polished, processed appearance that was supposed to be Continental.

  "Royce thought his accent was phony," Val offered.

  "She spent years in Italy. I'll check on him."

  "Hold it," Val said and he hit the freeze frame. "There's Eleanor and Ward alone at the table with the purse. Does it look like it's been moved?"

  "Watch this. I stored the earlier shot of the bag. Let's superimpose the two." On a separate monitor the shots merged. "It hasn't been moved." He advanced the tape, thinking the special instruments showed the tape hadn't been altered. In the next shot the Farenholts were talking with friends, but Ward's eyes never left Caroline.

  "You know what strikes me odd?" Val pressed the freeze button.

  Paul shook his head, thinking of the way she'd kissed him. He was ready to wind this up and take her home.

  "Caroline Rambeau is beautiful. Next year when she's thirty-five she'll inherit millions. Why would she stick around waiting for Brent?"

  He shifted in his chair and his thigh touched hers. Uhh-ohh. "She must love him," Paul said. "They're dating again. That creep Ingeblatt has them plastered all over his rag."

  "I don't buy it," Val said. "Most women hit their mid-thirties and their biological clock—as Royce would say— becomes a time bomb. Caroline should have married by now."

  "Maybe she's different. After all, her parents died when she was in her late teens. The Rambeaus and the Farenholts were best friends for years. Maybe they're all the family she has."

  Val shook her head, her glorious hair shimmering in the blue-white glow of the TV monitor. "I still think it's odd that she would hang around even when Brent announced he planned to marry Royce."

  "Sounds like you think she's the one who framed Royce."

  "No. I went with Royce and Brent one night to the

  Farenholts' and Caroline was there. Caroline truly seemed to like Royce. But the Farenholts—particularly Ward—were cold. I was surprised. It wasn't like Royce to let anyone treat her that way."

  "Brent's money might have—"

  "No. Royce told me all Brent has is a small trust. The money is Eleanor's," Val said. "Brent won't inherit it until she dies. Anyway, money has never meant much to Royce. But it has kept Brent tied to his mother's purse strings. Ward, too, I guess, since it's Eleanor's money in a separate trust even Ward can't touch without Eleanor's approval."

  "Don't hold any charity benefits for Ward and Brent."

  "No, but in their circles they're nothing without Eleanor's money. I guess she loved Brent enough not to oppose his marriage to Royce, even though she preferred Caroline." Val gazed at him, her beautiful eyes serious. "Something doesn't make sense."

  "True." He wished he could discuss the case with her; she was sharp, homing in on the complexity of the relationships the way he had and sensing something wasn't right. But he couldn't talk to her until he'd ruled her out as a suspect. Still, just sitting beside her knowing she was interested in him without realizing who he really was tightened the knot in his groin.

  Val pressed the button and the video advanced. This time the camera focused on Talia. She was hovering near the jewels.

  "Any chance Talia is the guilty one?" he asked as the tape kept running, showing Royce introducing Val to Mitch.

  Val hesitated a fraction of a second. "No."

  "Tell me what you're really thinking." He took off his sport coat and tie, then dropped them in his lap. If she looked down he'd be embarrassed.

  "Do we ever really know anyone? You think you know someone until something happens," she said, and he knew she was referring to her divorce. "Talia was so thrilled to be dating Brent. Suddenly, Brent dropped her. Royce wouldn't go out w
ith Brent until Talia insisted. I don't think Talia would do anything to hurt Royce. After all, when she needed help, Royce was there—a true friend."

  Paul had his doubts but said, "Let's see what else is on this tape. Isn't that the actress coming into the ballroom?"

  "Yes. It was really overcrowded by then. They must have been violating the fire code at this point."

  "Absolutely. It's getting hard for the camera to focus on just one person. Tomorrow, I'll freeze frame this and jot down the names of everyone near the jewels." Right now, he wanted to take her home, and get back to kissing. Or whatever.

  "Look." Val stopped the camera, then pressed the en-larger. "In the corner of this shot, isn't that Wally? Isn't he standing in front of the Farenholt table?"

  "It's him. He must have been looking for Royce before he left," Paul said, but he was thinking he ought to check on the uncle. "Enlarge the shot."

  The enlargement showed Mitch in the corner of the frame walking toward the table. Suddenly, the camera turned away.

  "Could Mitch have done it?" she asked.

  "No," he said emphatically. There was a dark undertow to Mitch's personality, enhanced by his mysteriousness about his past, but he'd never do something like this.

  "He came up to Talia and me just after Royce was arrested and volunteered to help her. He said he knew she wasn't guilty. How could he know that?"

  "Val, there are two factors behind every crime: motive and opportunity. The number-one reason crimes are committed is for money. Mitch has plenty of money."

  "He planted the jewels so she'd need a lawyer and come to him. Someone else is behind this drug thing."

  Not only was Val beautiful but she was smart. His original suspicion was that these were two separate crimes, one well planned, the other a spur-of-the-moment opportunity.

  "You know," he blurted out, "there's a job here in the credit card fraud unit working with computers. Why don't you fill out an application?"

  She fired him a smile that turned up the heat in his pants yet another notch. "Thanks for the tip. I'll call tomorrow."

  He didn't want her to know he owned Intel Corp just yet. He wanted to know how she felt about Paul Talbott the man, not Paul Talbott owner of Intel. Hiring her wasn't his best idea when she was still a suspect, but he'd be damned if he wanted her running around Milpitas—at night, for God's sakes—checking out greasy French fries at Tomaine Tommy's.

  She touched his arm. "Mitch is in love with Royce."

  In lust might be a better term, Paul thought, feeling slightly sheepish because he wished he were in bed with Val.

  "Rewind the tape, Paul. You missed something earlier."

  If he missed something, it was her fault. He hadn't earned his reputation botching cases, but then, he'd never been this distracted. He rewound the tape, stopping where she told him at the footage of Mitch coming up behind Royce and putting his hand on the small of her bare back.

  "Freeze it," Val said.

  Wow! He'd never seen a sexier shot. Royce's back was to Mitch and her unguarded expression revealed the thrill of his touch. Mitch looked as if he was going to rip off her clothes, throw her down on the table, and make wild, passionate love to her in front of everyone.

  Paul turned to see what Val thought and saw she found the frame every bit as erotic as he did. Her lips were parted, ready to yield even before he kissed her. This time he wasn't as gentle, the heat pulsing in his groin, getting the best of him.

  His tongue eased between her lips and her mouth opened more as she leaned against him, her soft breasts pillowed against his chest. How lucky could he get? No bra.

  The thrusts of his tongue took on a purely sexual rhythm. A low, feminine moan urged him on. She was as hot for him as he was for her.

  She pulled back, her eyes glistening in the light of the TV screen, her sensuous lips moist. "I knew you'd kiss like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like you want me—really want me."

  He heard the anguish in her voice and professionally sized up the situation. She needed to feel loved, desired. Most people were mentally divorced long before they were legally divorced. She probably hadn't felt loved in years. What a waste.

  He took her small hand in both his big ones, then kissed her soft palm, never taking his eyes from hers. He guided her hand to his crotch and pressed it against his erection, encouraging her to close her fingers over the thick shaft.

  "Of course I want you. It took you exactly one kiss."

  "Oh, Paul." She rubbed his sex through his trousers. Her pupils were dilated, and her mouth slightly open, the pink tip of her tongue skimming over her lower lip. "I love your body."

  He dipped under her sweater, finding her soft, warm skin. He explored with the tips of his fingers until he reached her full breasts. He brushed her tightly spiraled nipples with the rough pad of his thumb, and she moaned again, a low, satisfied sound. She had his trousers undone before he came to his senses.

  "Val, I'm not prepared for this. I don't have a condom."

  "I have some in my purse." A rush of pink heightened the color in her already flushed cheeks. "I was hoping you'd have dinner and stay. Cosmo says women should take responsibility."

  "God bless Cosmo."

  While she took out a condom, he thought about leading her to his office where he had a soft leather couch, but she was kissing him again, her hands in his pants. He switched off the TV. Who needed Mitch and Royce?

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered.

  He couldn't either; she didn't seem to be the type to make love in a chair. But years of experience told him people were capable of anything. It was always a serious mistake to underestimate.

  He worked her leggings and panties down her slim thighs and she kicked them aside. "Come, here." He pulled her onto his lap, his erection nestled against her bare bottom.

  He kissed the sensitive curve of her neck, telling himself to make this good. He didn't have a lot of experience in chairs, so he planned quickly as he stroked her inner thighs. He eased slowly upward, his fingers finding the moist curls. Hot, slick, she was more than ready, but he refused to rush. He stroked her, reveling in her soft moans, then he inserted one finger deep inside her, his thumb still fondling her.

  "Hurry, hurry," she pleaded.

  "I'm not ready." A fib. He was more than ready, grinding his pulsing erection against her as she wiggled on his lap. He withdrew his finger just enough to tease her before entering her again, this time with two fingers. With smooth, sure strokes, he made certain she was totally aroused.

  He lifted her to her feet and positioned her in front of him, standing, straddling his legs. One firm hand on her buttocks, he pulled her down until the tip of his shaft was probing her.

  "I knew it. I knew it," she moaned.

  Paul didn't bother to ask what she knew; he needed all his self-control now. He lowered her slightly, entering her just a little. "Take off your sweater." Both hands on her hips, he held her in place as she tossed the sweater aside.

  The room was dark, lit only by moonlight. Her skin was pale, delicate looking with high, full breasts and taut nipples. "How could any man give you up, Val? How?"

  He didn't wait for an answer. He thrust upward just as he pulled her down, penetrating her to the hilt.

  She grasped his shoulders with both hands, "Oh, Paul," she moaned against his lips, "I knew it."

  Knew what? He took possession of one hard nipple, sucking slightly while his tongue swirled around the delicate tip.

  "Ride me, Val. Hard. Put everything you've got into it."

  She moved against him, pulling away, then coming down over and over. He was imbedded deep inside her when he felt her contract and slow her pace. He let himself go, clutching her, thrusting fiercely. He held her for some time after he'd climaxed, gasping for breath. Where had she been his whole life?

  CHAPTER 10

  Royce sat in the chair, allowing the technician to adjust the headset for the lie detector test.
It was an odd contraption that fit over her head, with special lenses trained on her eyes. Off to one side she could see Mitch and Paul talking with the doctor who'd administer the test.

  Mitch and Paul had taken her for a drug test before coming here, and Mitch had been totally professional. It was almost as if she'd imagined being in bed with him the way she'd dreamed someone had tried to kill her. Almost.

  But she knew better. There was no excuse for the way she'd thrown herself at Mitch. What had happened had been her fault.

  Oh, go ahead. Admit it. She found Mitch physically attractive. Never mind what he'd done; her body didn't care. The talk she'd had with Wally had sobered her, though. When the chips were down—and, boy, were they down now —you could count on your family. Her father had loved her. She refused to betray his memory.

  "We're ready," the doctor told her. "I'm going to switch on the laser." The blue-white beam of light could have shot through the eye of a needle with room to spare. It hit her, causing her to blink several times before she adjusted to it. "The laser records minute changes in the pupil's size."

  "If I lie, it'll contract," she said. Paul had explained the process on the way over; Mitch hadn't talked much.

  "Yes," the doctor answered, "and the laser will detect the change. Mitch and Paul are at monitors. They'll be asking questions too."

  "This session will give us background info," Paul put in from the table nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mitch next to Paul, studying her.

  "I'm ready," she said, anxious to get this over with. The idea of conducting a publicity campaign was foreign to her, but Mitch insisted most cases were won or lost with jury selection. Going into the trial Mitch wanted prospective jurors already to be doubting her guilt, and the only way to influence them was to alter public opinion.

  The doctor began with a series of questions about her background, then said, "Tell me why you believe Eleanor Farenholt committed this crime."

  "She never liked me. When I opened my purse and found the jewels, I swear, she was gloating."

  "And you believe she planted the drugs."

  "Yes. Everyone knew where I'd hidden a key. I doubt she planted the drugs herself, but she must have paid someone to do it."