by Ana Leigh
The rental lockers were on the far northside of town. It was a twenty-minute ride and took another fifteen minutes waiting for the guy who ran the place to show up and open up the locker for him.
There was nothing more than a couple of four-drawer filing cabinets containing old income tax records and paid receipts for the past twenty years. Sands had rented the locker for the past fifteen.
One thing he could say about Sands, the man was consistent – true to form, each year had been color coordinated. If his prints and picture hadn't matched a rapist-killer, Doug would have taken an oath that Marcus Sands was squeaky clean.
He was too tired to go through the hundreds of records and figured he'd come back if he had to. After all, Sands was a victim, not a suspect, and the only mystery about him now was why the killer had chosen him as a victim.
Doug found a metal strongbox in the bottom drawer of one of the cabinets. Since it was locked, and he had no tool to open it, Doug decided to take it with him and check it out tomorrow at the precinct.
The custodian made him sign a receipt for the box and a half an hour later Doug stripped off his clothes and plopped into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
* * *
Doug woke up at seven o'clock the next morning, showered and dressed, and then headed to the precinct. He waited until Vic showed up, and then they put on gloves and forced open the metal strongbox.
Vic whistled and picked up a thick wad of bills. "There must be fifteen or twenty thousand dollars here. Let's run the serial numbers and see if we turn up anything."
"All right," Doug said, "but I don't think the money's hot. Sands was a rapist and murderer. Apparently he didn't trust banks."
Vic snorted. "Maybe because he robbed them."
"He had a pretty healthy income from that trust his grandparents set up. No banks. No paper trail. Remember, he only dealt with cash. I think he stashed his excess cash in that storage locker."
"Excess cash? Tell me what that is, McGuire? Some kind of bonus you single guys get for keeping the female population satisfied?"
"You got that right, partner. For service far beyond the call of duty."
The only other items in the box were four unmatched earrings. "What do you make of these, Vic?"
"Maybe they were his mother's, and he had to sell them over the years."
"Wouldn't you sell both of a set?" Doug reasoned. "I'm no expert but none of these look valuable except this one." He picked up a gold earring shaped in a figure eight with a tiny pearl in each circle. "I think I'll have them photoed and checked for prints."
As soon as they checked in the box as evidence, before starting out to ring doorbells and canvas the residents in Sands's neighborhood, Doug put in a call to Jess. He caught her just before she was due in court. He nodded, when Vic motioned he'd be outside.
Before hanging up, Jess had agreed to meet him at The Precinct for dinner.
He couldn't wait. He hadn't seen her since Summerfest, and that seemed like ages ago. They'd have a quick sandwich, and then go back to her place, put on that CD of hers with the flutes and falling water, and spend the rest of the evening making love. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:30 a.m. If all went well they'd be in bed in ten and a half more hours.
He could last until then if he had to.
* * *
Chapter 15
«^»
There were about six of the guys in the place when Doug arrived and sat down at the end of the bar where he could keep his eye on the door.
Ski came over to him. "Whiskey, Doug?"
"Just a beer."
"How's the case going?" Ski asked, filling a pilsner.
"It sucks." The cold brew felt good going down and he savored the comfort. "We don't even have a hair of a clue. And I mean that literally. The water washed off whatever DNA might have been on the victim's clothing."
"Bummer," Ski said, refilling Doug's glass.
"At least as long as the perp keeps knocking off these guys, it keeps the trail hot."
The door opened and there she was. His heart started pounding like Desi on the bongos – and pumping blood straight to his loins. Damn, he had it bad for her.
And what a sight to his hungry gaze. She filled in the sleeveless white top she had on perfectly, and her slimness and long legs did more for a pair of jeans than any of those flat-chested, no-ass, walking-dead models ever did.
Doug stood up to go over to her and froze when he recognized the guy who followed her in. What in hell was her father doing with her?
Smiling, Jess came over to him. "Hi. I've missed you, Doug." She had a way of saying his name that made him forgive her for anything – even for bringing her dad with her. "I forgot this was Thursday and I have a standing dinner date with my father. I hope you don't mind that I invited him to join us. It's about time the two of you meet, anyway."
"No problem."
Like hell it wasn't. They'd been together for only two weeks and he wasn't ready for the Dinner With Dad bit.
"Doug, my father Ben Kirkland, and, Dad, Doug McGuire."
"My pleasure, sir," Doug said.
"Just call me Ben," he replied as they shook hands.
Doug could see the old guy was as thrilled with the arrangement as he was. At least they had that in common. He couldn't blame Kirkland. He'd be upset, too, if he had a classy daughter like Jess messing around with some bum cop like him.
They moved over to the same corner table where he and Jess had sat the first time he'd brought her there. Recalling that night, and how he'd barged in on them at the Water Street Bistro, that alone would be enough to make Kirkland dislike him.
"What would you like to drink?" Doug asked when they were seated. No hundred-dollar bottle of wine in this joint.
"Whatever you're having," Jess said.
Ben nodded. "Same here. Jess tells me you're one of the investigating officers on these recent murders. How's the investigation going?"
Doug could tell Kirkland didn't give diddly-squat how the investigation was going. More likely he wanted to ask: Who in hell do you think you are to be banging my daughter?
Jess was trying her best to ease the tension between him and her father, and after Kate came over and took their order she finally declared, "Will the two of you lighten up, please. I'm having dinner with my two favorite men, and I want to enjoy it."
Ben Kirkland broke the tension with a grin. "She's right, Doug. I apologize. I admit my nose was out of joint. Jess has spoiled me these past years, and I've taken our Thursday dinners together for granted. It's quite selfish of me. Actually, I've looked forward to meeting you ever since Jess told me the two of you were seeing each other."
So it's not disapproval. Kirkland's just being territorial. Could be, but I don't think so. Mrs. McGuire didn't raise her son to be stupid, Doug thought.
Ben chuckled. "I have to admit though, Doug…"
Yeah, here comes the zinger. It's put on the gloves time. I figured it wouldn't take too long for him to say what he came to say.
"…I did enjoy watching the television bouts between the two of you," Ben said.
So maybe I overreacted. Doug relaxed. The guy didn't sound like he was out for blood. "You and most of Milwaukee, sir."
"Ben," he corrected.
Doug nodded. "Right, Ben."
"Guess I should take the blame. I encouraged Jess to be independent."
Doug's gaze sought hers. "I'd say that's to your credit, Ben."
"I'm not the meal's appetizer," Jess declared. "So will the two of you mind changing the subject."
Ben chuckled. "Actually, I'm a big fan of yours, Doug. I've followed your career for years. Ever since that bank robbery when you went in alone and took out the two gunmen after they'd shot the security guard."
"That was a long time ago. I was still a patrol officer. Since then I've learned to be less impetuous in the line of duty."
"If I recall correctly, you were shot up pretty badly at the time."
<
br /> "Nothing that didn't heal."
"So that's how you got those scars on your…" Jess trailed off with a blush of embarrassment. She glanced at her father. "Ah, Doug and I agreed to never discuss our jobs with each other. It's our way of avoiding any arguments. Right, Doug?"
Jess knew he hated discussions about himself. She now had that little girl "trying to please" look in her eyes that always made him want to sit her on his lap and hold her. He had to touch her, so he reached under the table, clasped her hand and squeezed it.
The conversation flowed smoothly after the ice was broken, and by the time Kate brought the sandwiches Doug and Ben had settled into a comfortable relationship that had him thinking that maybe he could get along in Jess's world.
As time passed the Sheepshead game had begun at the usual table and as much as he enjoyed Ben's company Doug wanted to be alone with Jess. Those flutes and gentle winds had begun calling him again. He wished they could get out of there.
He settled for the next best thing and went over to the jukebox, put a quarter in the slot and punched the button for Patsy Cline's "Crazy." Grabbing Jess's hand, he pulled her over to the dance floor. Their bodies found a fit and they began to move to the music. She felt good, she smelled good and he was really getting turned on.
"You're a great dancer, Doug. Why did you say you weren't much of a dancer?"
"I didn't mean I couldn't dance. I meant I don't dance much. When can we get out of here?"
"Don't you like my father?"
"Yeah, he's a great guy, but that's not the point."
"I know. I can feel what the point is."
"Not as badly as I do."
They were outside saying goodbye to Ben when a local television van drove up and Sherilyn Matthews popped out of it. She made a beeline for them – complete with camera and microphone.
"What a surprise! Mr. Law and Ms. Order, Milwaukee's most popular couple." Sherilyn turned the microphone to Ben. "And your name, sir?"
"Ben Kirkland – the judge's father."
"Of course. I thought you looked familiar," she said. "May I ask what you were doing here at the time?"
"Having dinner," Ben said.
"Dinner? But aren't you the owner of the Water Street Bistro, Mr. Kirkland?"
"Just checking out the competition, my dear," Ben said with a friendly smile.
Doug had gradually nudged Jess out of the picture and they started to leave.
"One more question," Sherilyn shouted. The hungry piranha came after them with swinging microphone and scrambling cameraman.
"The viewing public is following the relationship with interest between the two of you. Considering you're investigating these recent murders, Detective McGuire, isn't this a conflict of interest?"
"Why? Judge Kirkland is not involved with this case."
"But isn't there the possibility the case could come before her when you apprehend the murderer?" Sherilyn asked. "That is if you apprehend the murderer," she added with a snide smile.
"There is no doubt this killer will be apprehended, Ms. Matthews," Jess spoke up sharply. "In the event I draw the case, I would simply recluse myself. Justice is always served, Ms. Matthews." They walked away.
"Oh, how I dislike that woman!" Jess mumbled. "I've never wanted to get into a hair-pulling, down-in-the-mud catfight so badly in my life."
"Hey, I thought if you're going to roll in the mud, I'd have first crack at it," Doug said.
They looked at each other momentarily – read each other's thoughts – then he clasped her hand and they ran to the car.
* * *
Doug could get used to this. He lay stretched out on the bed. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever felt so at peace. Euphoric. Weightless. Floating on the gentle winds of that New Age CD being piped into the bedroom. The seductive scent of Jess swirled around his head, as soothing as the cool air caressing his naked flesh. Mind and body sated – at peace with the world.
They'd been making love for hours. He'd climaxed at least three times that he could remember. Now he couldn't even move a muscle, if the fire alarm went off, he'd have to lie there and perish – but at least he'd go out smiling.
Where hadn't they made love? The living room. The dining room table. The shower. The terrace after showering.
From the instant they'd crossed the threshold their hands and bodies – mouths and tongues – were all over each other. He couldn't get enough of her – she of him. And whenever she'd wrap her arms around him and he'd sink into her, it was like finding a refuge in the midst of a chaotic world plunging out of control.
That's what Jess was to him – a haven to his mind and body.
"I love you, Doug," she whispered softly, her voice blending in with the music that carried to his ears.
Tonight she had said it repeatedly throughout their lovemaking. What in hell did he know about love? Was that what he felt for her, too? Was that why he liked just being with her? Why he enjoyed just looking at her? Was that why sex was always better with her?
He believed that love was emotional; sex was physical. What did one have to do with the other? So why try and relate them? This was a new puzzle to him. And he needed to solve it soon.
Her lips pressed a light kiss on his, her hair brushing against his chest when she lowered her head. He picked up a few of the strands and rolled them in his fingers. They felt like silk.
She began to work his body – gently, leisurely. A light kiss here, the smooth caress of her fingertips there. A nibble. A moist stroke of tongue.
She was kicking a dead horse.
"I'm sorry, honey, shop's closed for the night."
"Doug McGuire crying 'uncle'? I don't think so. Besides, I'm happy in my work." She emphasized her point by lightly trailing a fingernail up his inner thigh.
So what if his muscle jerked in response? A natural thing to happen. He might be down for the count, but he wasn't dead.
He chuckled. "You're wasting your time, Angel Face. I'm afraid I've hoisted myself on my own petard."
He could feel her smile against his flesh, and her warm breath brushed his loins as she spoke. "Forget the Shakespeare, McGuire. This bed's not big enough for all three of us."
"Just wanted you to know I learned something at college besides how to chuckalug a can of beer." He tucked his hands under his head, and closed his eyes. "But have it your way, Judge Jess. Just don't get mad if I fall asleep."
Doug lay contentedly and had to admit it felt good just feeling her touch. Knowing it was Jess. It felt like the gentle brush of a butterfly or that kind of ticklish tingle he'd felt when he used to let a caterpillar creep along his arm. Slow. Tingling. Unthreatening.
It wasn't long before he became aware that the unthreatening tingle had gradually developed into an aching draw in his loins; the gentle fluttering butterfly had multiplied into hundreds of the little devils beating their wings to get out. His loins grew hotter and he felt himself getting bigger and harder as his whole being flooded with passion.
With a groan of concession, he rolled over and crushed her to him. "You're gonna be the death of me, lady," he murmured and captured her mouth with his own.
* * *
Doug had just dozed off when his cell phone rang. Dammit, he was going to throw the freaking thing away. He glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight.
"What?" he snarled, into the phone.
"McGuire, this is Sergeant O'Riley."
"Oh really, O'Riley! Like I didn't know. This better be important."
"We got an urgent call from some guy who claims he's being stalked by whoever killed Sam Bellemy."
"Sure he is. Must have a guilty conscience. How does he know this alleged stalker killed Bellemy?"
"Said the guy already tried to kill him."
"Yeah right. Sounds like a kook."
"He wants to see you and Peterson right away. Peterson's on his way in now."
"Okay. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."
Doug dressed and bent
over the bed to say goodbye to Jess. "You're leaving?" she mumbled, half-asleep.
"Yeah. Thanks for the hospitality, Judge." He kissed her and told her to go back to sleep.
Vic and Doug arrived at the precinct at the same time. "This is crap," Doug grumbled. "Getting us up in the middle of the night to appease some paranoid. Why couldn't O'Riley send a patrol car over to hold the guy's hand?"
"He told me this Rhodes asked for us specifically."
"So he read our names in the newspaper. Big deal!"
Once inside O'Riley handed them a piece of paper with a name and address on it. "Did you run his name to see if this is how the guy gets his jollies?" Doug asked.
"Yeah." O'Reilly tossed them a file.
Doug perused it quickly. "I see there's been a couple of complaints filed against him for hanging around playgrounds."
Vic yawned. "Well, let's roll, partner. If we're lucky we might get back in time to catch a couple more hours of shut-eye."
Despite the cooling effect from the lake, the temperature was still in the eighties. Doug was feeling the heat already, which only added to his irritability.
"This address sounds familiar," Vic said as Doug pulled the Crown Victoria out of the parking lot.
"Yeah, didn't Bellemy's rape victim, Kellie Tate, live somewhere around that area?"
"I think you're right. Say, my family caught yours and Jess's act on the tube earlier, and saw that her old man was with you. Looks serious, McGuire. Set the wedding date yet?"
Doug snorted. "Yeah, right. You'll be the first to know, partner."
"Bev figures it's coming up fast. So does Andrea. She ran to her room in tears."
"Cut the crap, Vic. I'm not hearing wedding bells. I can't even figure out what in hell it means to love a woman enough to want to spend the rest of your life with her."
"Ask your mother. Maybe she can help you out with the answer. Just the same, that Matthews dame wasn't too far wrong."
Doug felt a rise of skepticism. "About what?"
"Conflict of interest in this case."
"Your point being?"
"You might be letting your personal feelings cloud your thinking."