Gillis shrugged. “I’m not sure what I’m asking here, but do me a return favor and just be—I don’t know—sensitive when dealing with her.”
“You got it,” Dean said. Sensitive? No kidding. He shook his head, watching Gillis move back to the gun range, thinking how very sensitive June’s satiny skin was, how she reacted every time he touched her.
Whoa, Hawk. Wrong kind of sensitive. Maybe he should attend some sensitivity training with Sanchez. His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He checked the readout. Finally. The call from North Florida.
“Hammer,” he answered. The smell of scorched coffee seared his nostrils.
“Detective Hammer, this is Jeff Fisher, assistant warden at Raiford. You inquired on the status of Al Kublin, and Warden Moore asked me to follow up with that information.”
“Yeah?” Damn chickenshit warden afraid to give me the bad news so he had his lieutenant make the call.
Fisher cleared his throat. “I believe Warden Moore informed you that Kublin had difficulty adjusting to prison life, became a danger to himself and others and was transferred to Sunrise, the state psychiatric hospital in Melbourne.”
Fisher took a deep breath, and Dean wondered if the assistant was reading from a prepared script.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Fisher continued, “but Kublin disappeared from the grounds of Sunrise three weeks ago.”
* * *
JUNE RELAXED IN her macramé chair in Laz’s aviary, listening to the muted sound of Uncle Mike arguing with someone on the phone in the living room. She couldn’t understand the words, but sensed her uncle’s growing anger. So did Laz, and the tension made him nervously shift on his perch.
She reached out and stroked his feathers. “It’s okay, sweetie.”
The macaw issued a guttural squawk in reply.
Mike had driven her to work today on his way to a business appointment. Four short blocks. How ridiculous. She missed her walk. But she had done what Dean requested and taken the bus home.
The thought of Dean caused a long, slow, pleasurable pull on her center. She loved her uncle—she really did—and normally enjoyed his visits. But Mike showing up last night had been the worst timing ever, because Dean was finally going to make love to her. The tug in her belly traveled south, and she felt herself grow moist.
God, but she wanted Dean. She enjoyed sex as much as anyone, although she’d never felt this wild impulse to rip off a man’s clothes. She’d had sex occasionally with old what’s his name—she really had to quit calling her ex Rick that—and the experience had been pretty ordinary. No fireworks. He’d enjoyed it a lot more than she had.
But just picturing Dean’s body made her wet.
Still clutching the phone, Uncle Mike knocked on the glass door and pointed toward her cell phone inside next to the sofa. Junie raced inside and answered.
“It’s me,” Dean said.
“I was hoping it was,” she replied, returning to her swing.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good. You’ll be pleased to know Uncle Mike drove me to work and I took the bus home.”
He released a sigh. A little dramatic, she thought.
“Thanks for that,” Dean said. “I’ve got some news.”
She pushed against the wall to make the seat sway. “Bad news, I’m sure. That’s the only kind I ever get.”
“Our friend John Smith, also known as Al Kublin, went bonkers in Raiford and was transferred to a psychiatric hospital.”
June planted a foot to stop the swing. “Oh, my God. Did they release the man who killed my parents as all cured?”
“He escaped three weeks ago.”
It shouldn’t make a difference, but she felt better her parents’ murderer hadn’t been deliberately set free. “Then Uncle Mike’s identification is correct. John Smith is Al Kublin?”
“I never had much doubt but needed to confirm. Because of privilege, the hospital won’t release information, but I’m getting a warrant and going up there as soon as I can. Probably Wednesday.”
“How long will you be gone?” June asked, hating the idea he was leaving town.
“It’s a long trip, but I’m hoping to do it in one day. I’ll take my rookie to share the driving.”
“Okay,” she murmured. “Where is this hospital?”
“Sunrise in Melbourne.”
“Sunrise?”
“Right. Why?” Dean’s voice became alert, interested. “Does that ring a bell?”
“Maybe. How long ago was Kublin transferred to the mental hospital?”
“Five years.”
“The timing works, then. About four years ago I received a phone call from someone in Sunrise wanting me to come visit. I didn’t recognize the name and don’t remember it, but it could have been Kublin. Someone from the facility called me back almost immediately to apologize. They said it was a mistake, promised it wouldn’t happen again.”
Dean was silent for several long moments. “Assuming the caller was Kublin, why would he contact you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll keep thinking about what Kublin wants with you, right?”
“That’s mostly what I think about these days.” After a pause she added softly, “That and you, Detective.”
“God, June,” he breathed, his voice husky.
“Yeah?”
“You’re making me crazy.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are. You’re all I think about.”
“Good. But I want you to solve Sandy’s murder, too.”
“That’s a promise. When is your uncle leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll be in touch.” He disconnected, and June stretched her arms overhead, feeling as if she’d just had phone sex. Unsatisfying phone sex. She wanted, no, needed the real thing. With Dean. She needed it badly.
Her uncle rapped on the door again, so June went inside.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked. “You sounded pissed.”
“The president of Enclave’s condo association,” Mike answered, settling himself on the sofa.
“Uh-oh.”
“She denied knowledge of DiNovio’s dead-bird trick, but I wanted to make it very clear that you weren’t to be hassled again or there would be legal consequences.”
“Is the association going to take any action against my aviary?”
“No. Not unless something else happens.”
June released a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Uncle Mike. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
He waved away her apology. “It’s not your fault. You’re really having a rough time, aren’t you?”
“Things have been a little crazy,” she admitted.
“Do you want to come to New York?”
“No. My life is here, Mike. I’m not going to run away, take the easy way out. That’s what my parents did.”
He shook his head. “I wish you didn’t feel that way.”
“Me, too.” She remained silent a moment, then asked, “Have you remembered anything else about Kublin?”
“Yeah, one thing, although I don’t see how it could help find him. Kublin loved sailboats, even lived on one for a while. He invited your father to go sailing shortly after he’d purchased the boat. I was in town and went along for the ride.”
Mike closed his eyes, and June wondered if he’d been transported back to that day with his older brother.
“That was a wonderful afternoon,” Mike said. “Sunny, windy. We flew over the water. Your dad loved it.”
“When was that?”
Mike shrugged and opened his eyes. “Maybe two years before the fire.”
“I’ll tell Dean. Maybe the police can check out m
arinas.”
“I doubt they have the manpower for something so vague,” Mike said, rising. “Well, I’ve got an early flight.”
“Do you want me to fire up the Cobra and drive you to the airport?”
“Not necessary. I’ll call a cab.”
She nodded, having known he’d refuse. “By the way, Dean loves your car.”
“I think he loves you more than my car,” Mike said with a wink and disappeared into the guest room.
Love? June blinked and remained on the sofa. She hugged her knees into her chest. Whatever existed between her and Dean—powerful as it was—couldn’t be love. Not this quick. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. She’d been with Rick for two years before...before what? She’d never loved Rick. He was just...safe. Kept her life on an even plane: no ups, no downs.
She sighed. A waste of time.
Dean was the polar opposite of safe on a whole lot of levels. He made her feel deliciously tingly and alive. It might not be her definition of love, but it sure was something.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TUESDAY AFTERNOON DEAN waited for June near the bus stop by Brickell Animal Hospital. He kept the Crown Vic running and parked so he could see her exit the building. She didn’t know he was coming, but he had poor impulse control when it came to June. For all he knew she could have other plans.
Maybe it would be better if she did.
Nope. Too late. He was past the point of no return with the lovely Miss June.
He felt himself relax when she appeared on the sidewalk with a purse slung over her shoulder, and edged the car forward. She’d changed from her vet assistant scrubs into a skirt and blouse, something he’d suggested to make her less obvious to a sniper. Good girl.
She hesitated by the bus bench, glanced toward the roofs of the high-rises and with a frown stepped back into the cover of a nearby tree.
He nodded in approval. Excellent.
When he’d gotten as close as he could, he rolled down the passenger window and beeped the horn. She grinned when she recognized him—that welcoming smile making him feel damn good—and scurried into the car.
As soon as she’d closed the door, he accelerated into light traffic.
“Are you my new chauffeur?” she asked.
“I am today.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir,” she said, buckling her seat belt.
“Is your uncle gone?”
“He flew to JFK this morning.”
Dean nodded. Thank God. “Have you got any plans this evening?”
“Nothing important.”
“How about dinner?”
When she didn’t answer, he threw her a look and found her watching him with another smile and faint blush on her cheeks.
“What?” he demanded. “Not hungry? Too early?”
“Well, the thing is,” she began, and he was convinced she was deliberately making her voice sultry, “I am hungry. Very hungry.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay. Good. Me, too.”
“But what I want can’t be found in any restaurant.”
“No?”
“No,” she emphasized. “So why don’t you come upstairs with me and see what we can find...to eat?”
Dean took the turn into the Enclave faster than he should have. Next to him, June laughed in what sounded like pure delight. He braked to a quick stop and raced to her side of the car to grab her hand. He tried not to pull her too fast, but she had to hurry to keep up.
He needed to get her somewhere private, and soon.
“Hi, Junie,” Magda called.
“Hi, Maggie Mae,” June responded breathlessly.
When the doors to her elevator opened, they all but leaped inside. When the doors silently slid shut, he pushed her against the polished wall and lowered his lips to her open, welcoming mouth. So warm, so sweet, like honey. She pulled him closer. He growled as she rotated her hips against his, instantly making him hard, and he pressed into her soft middle.
She laughed, the sound soft as the wind, and pulled her delicious mouth back. “I hope Mr. DiNovio doesn’t need the elevator,” she murmured.
“The hell with DiNovio,” Dean managed, placing his hands against the wall on either side of her head. He groaned when she began kissing his throat, sliding her lips upward, toward his mouth, nibbling on his chin. The woman made him lose any logic, any sense. “Just tell me no one is waiting inside your front door.”
With her gorgeous lips hovering close to his, she whispered, “Only Lazarus.” Then she kissed him, and he ground into her again. He wanted to devour her.
As if in a fog, he heard the elevator doors slide open. He pulled back and they moved into the foyer. Breathing hard, June had trouble with her keys, so he took over. Inside, she worked on disengaging the alarm with trembling fingers while he made a quick check of the unit.
When he got back to her, she clicked the dead bolt home and gazed up at him. “The alarm is on,” she murmured.
He wished he understood the emotion burning in her eyes, but knew she wanted this as much as he did. Her purse slid off her arm. Leather met the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
They were close but not touching. Her chest rose as she took a deep breath. His hands twitched as he longed to feel her glorious breasts cupped within his palms. His erection hardened.
They stared at each other, neither speaking. For a fleeting moment he told himself to step back, do the right thing, not make June’s already complicated life more difficult.
She shook her head. “Not this time, Detective,” she said softly, as if reading his mind. She closed the tiny distance between them, reached for his hand and pressed it against her right breast.
All coherent thought fled. Watching June’s face, he pulled her blouse from her skirt. He needed to feel bare skin, but met a lacy bra and slid his hand inside to delicious soft warmth. He teased her already taut nipple with his thumb, and she closed her eyes, arching into his strokes.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and he kissed her, taking her soft, warm words into his mouth.
They moved into her bedroom. He sat on the bed and positioned her between his legs. He wanted to take her now, quick and hard, needed it bad, but far better to take time with June. Undress her slowly. Reveal her secrets. Give her beautiful body the attention she deserved.
She smiled at him, a little uncertain, but letting him do what he wanted.
He began with her blouse, slipping each button loose, tracing his fingers over her soft skin—that oh-so-sensitive skin—with each release. He made quick work of the bra, a lacy, satiny wisp of a thing.
June noticed.
“Got some experience with that, don’t you, Detective?” she wondered as her breasts finally sprang free.
He answered with a greedy mouth on her left nipple. As he suckled, she moaned and swayed slightly. She wanted to collapse, but he supported her with his arms.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he said, his mouth moving across her belly, licking, kissing, tasting. To steady herself, she placed her hands on his shoulders.
He unzipped her skirt, let it slide off her hips and pool on the tile around her feet. He stared at panties that matched the bra and breathed in her musky female fragrance.
She was more beautiful now than he’d imagined. He needed to bury himself in her. He moved his hands to the panties, intending to rip the lace away, but she placed her hands on his to stop him.
“My turn,” she said and pulled him to his feet. He smiled down at her as she unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly. Or it seemed that way with bare breasts inches from his fingers, ripe, pebble-hard nipples beckoning his attention. He cupped one breast, loving the feel of its soft weight against his palm. She paused her movement and took a deep breath, which pushed her amazing flesh deeper into his ha
nd. They were close enough that his erection jerked against her soft belly.
When his dress shirt finally fell away, moving quicker now, she pulled his T-shirt overhead and flung it aside. Eyeing his chest with an appreciative smile, she placed a hand on each of his biceps as if judging their strength. After a gentle squeeze, she slid her hands to his shoulders and allowed them to glide over his pecs and down to his abdomen in one slow, languorous stroke.
“June,” he breathed, closing his eyes against the intensity of his need, hardening almost to the point of pain.
Those talented fingers fell to his belt buckle, which she deftly released, swiftly took care of one last damn button on his pants and lowered his zipper. He sucked in a breath. Needing to feel her touch, he pushed into her hand as his pants dropped.
“Mmm,” she murmured, stroking his erection through his briefs with one finger. Without warning, she stepped into him, sliding her hands beneath the briefs to cup his buttocks and pulling him against her soft center.
She raised her mouth, swollen lips begging for his, and said, “Now that we’ve unwrapped our presents—”
He crushed his mouth against hers and lifted her onto the bed. He stretched out beside her, pressing his body against hers. No more games. No more waiting.
He slid his hand beneath her panties and found her wet and more than ready. He pleasured her with a few slow, teasing strokes. She whispered his name, arching her hips against his questing fingers. Unable to wait any longer, he quickly removed the lacy barrier, hearing a tiny rip. June laughed, the sound strangely erotic, and moved a hand toward his briefs.
And then they were bare flesh to bare flesh, the way he’d wanted to be with June from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
He sheathed himself and entered her, and suddenly everything in this upside down world righted itself. He began a slow, easy rhythm. With her eyes closed, she answered each thrust with her own. He watched her face as a wave of tension tightened, built, crescendoed. He became lost in June, her passion, his own, until he had to also close his eyes against the power of what was happening between them.
The wave crashed over them with a release that left him drained, yet somehow complete. And deliriously, ridiculously happy.
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