“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “I’m Nate Darling. I’d like to speak with Ms. March.”
The one on the left said, “I’m Eden, and this is my sister…”
“…Flora,” finished the one on the right.
In unison, they announced, “We’re the Ichabod sisters.”
They were sweet old gals with little rosebud mouths and round faces and a wee too much rouge on their soft, wrinkly cheeks.
“May I come in?”
Flora said, “Well, if you’re looking for Tabitha, she’s…”
“…not here,” Eden finished.
They nodded simultaneously.
Okay, this was cute, but a little nauseating.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Is this an official call, Inspector?” a woman’s voice intervened.
The twins parted like the Puce Sea to let Tabitha’s mother navigate between them.
“Ma’am.” If he’d been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. Instead, he adjusted his glasses. “I need to speak to Tabby. Do you know where she is or when she’ll be back?”
He watched as Victoria seemed to consider the question. Then, with a long, high-pitched sigh, she said, “She went away for the weekend. To think.”
“Look,” he said in his best grovel voice. “I owe her an apology, sort of, but I can’t deliver it unless I know where she is.”
“Sort of?” Victoria slipped her hands into the pocket of the floral apron she was wearing.
Eden snickered. “That’s a very male thing to…”
“…say,” Flora accused.
The ladies gave him a tsk-tsk, in stereo.
“Help me out here, will you?” he implored. “I just want to talk to her.”
On either side of Tabitha’s mom, Eden and Flora wrinkled their button noses, looking like ancient Barbie doll bookends. “We vote to tell him,” they chirped.
Biting her lip, Victoria gave Nate the once over. Then, to the twins, she said, “Eden, Flora, would you excuse us, please?”
Arm in arm, the ladies toddled off down the hallway, glancing over their shoulders at him just before they went into the kitchen.
With her head slightly bowed, Victoria said, “I’d love to tell you where she is, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. If you show up there, she’ll know I’m the one who ratted her out.”
“I’ll tell her I threatened to arrest you.” He arched a brow and kicked up one end of his mouth. “Have your car impounded? The building condemned?” He nearly gave her his most charming smile, but then he remembered it hadn’t worked on Tabitha and probably wouldn’t work on her mother. “Please?”
“You plan to be around for a while, don’t you, Inspector.” It wasn’t a question. “As in, for decades.”
Without hesitation, he said, “Yes.”
She nodded. “Then you need to know this.” Looking deeply into his eyes, she said, “Just before her fifth birthday, Tabby accidentally got locked in the trunk of my husband’s car. They said she was clinically dead when we found her, but the paramedics revived her and she came back to us.”
He knew about the trunk incident. Ethan’s report hadn’t missed a thing.
“She had been conscious for a long time,” Victoria continued. “Judging from the bruises on her little knuckles, arms, and knees, she fought and kicked with all her might. She must have screamed and screamed, because her voice was so raw she couldn’t speak for two weeks.”
Nate shut his emotions off against the agony of what Tabby had gone through. He couldn’t bear to think about it just now. “Why didn’t anyone hear her?”
Victoria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My husband was mowing the lawn. The noise of the electric mower drowned it out. By the time he was finished…”
She gave a rough laugh and wiped moisture from her eyes.
“You simply cannot imagine, Inspector,” she whispered, “the panic we felt when we realized what had happened. Every parent’s nightmare. Ever since then, for obvious reasons, she’s been terrified of dark, closed-in places.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want your assurance, Inspector, your promise that you’ll always give her lots of space and room to breathe.”
His heart clenched for a moment, skipping right over a couple of very important beats. He swallowed. “I promise.”
They gazed at each other for a few moments, until she nodded. Lowering her lashes, she said, “Her…ordeal seemed to trigger a latent psychic ability, at least that’s what they told us at the institute. When she was eight, we had her tested, and again at twelve. Her abilities are genuine, Inspector.” She stabbed him with a piercing glare. “It’s important that you accept that about her.”
“I’m trying, ma’am. I swear, I’m trying.”
Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out a small card and held it out to him. “I wrote this down when I saw you drive up. When she asks, I’m going to deny everything.”
A little over an hour later, Nate found himself walking along a wooden dock in Sausalito, looking for a two-story cedar houseboat with a chimney pipe and a porch. Checking the number on the card Victoria had given him with the numbers painted on the houseboat, he walked across the slightly arched bridge, its railings covered with pink jasmine in full bloom, past a planter box of red geraniums, and knocked on the door.
It opened.
She simply stood there in a long yellow sleeper T-shirt thing, gaping up at him, tissues in one hand, a carton of ice cream in the other. She looked so adorable—like a swollen-eyed, red-nosed beauty queen—that he nearly forgot how mad he was at her for deceiving him.
Removing the spoon from her mouth, she choked, “Fuck off.”
As she started to slam the door in his face, he wedged his body into the threshold, and she had no choice but to open it again.
“I read Griffin’s diary,” he growled. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d dreamed about killing you?”
“I didn’t think it was imp—”
“I bought you a cell phone,” he snarled. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed it and thrust the damn thing at her. She ignored it.
“Welcome to the new millennium and the world of modern technology, Tabitha. Now, if you pull some other stupid-assed stunt, like meeting a psychotic bozo late at night in a park, you’ll beable to call for help, or at least conk him on the head with it.”
“You have no right—”
“My number is already programmed in!” He was shouting, but he didn’t care. “I’m sorry I’m having trouble believing in your voodoo woo-woo California touchy-feely claptrap. Hey, skeptics have rights, too, and I’m exercising mine!”
“No you—”
“Yes. I. Do.” He emphasized his remarks with a jab of his forefinger to her chest. Then, gesturing to the nearly empty container of ice cream, he drawled, “I was going to invite you to dinner, but I see you’ve already eaten. I’ll bet that’s free-range chocolate frigging chip!”
The spoon and half-empty carton fell from her hands to land at her feet. Her blue eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms under her breasts. “Listen, you—”
“No, you listen,” he plowed on. “I care about you. Okay? I don’t just like you, I don’t just find you attractive, I don’t just have a nodding acquaintanceship with you. I care about you and what happens to you.” He took a breath and gestured with his hand; the one with her new cell phone in it. Quietly, he added, “And…stuff.”
Her eyes widened, and her arms fell slowly to her sides.
Scratching his jaw with his thumb, he said, “More than that, even, I care for you. Not like a kid cares for a puppy,” he mumbled, “but like, well, you know.”
He reached down and took her free hand, placing the cell phone in her palm. She curled her fingers around it and held it to her chest, looking up at him as though he’d just given her a treasure trove of jewels.
“It, uh, takes photographs, has e-mail and text mes
saging. Lots of ring tone downloads. You can even use it like a phone.” He lowered his head and gave her a shy grin.
She swallowed and stared at his gift. “I’m so mad at you…I…I don’t know what…I don’t know how to—”
“Shut up,” he said, stepping toward her. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “Just shut up. You had me at Fuck off.”
She laughed, a little squeak of a sound. “Nate, I—”
His kiss ended the argument. Wrapping his arms around her, he backed her inside the houseboat. The hinges screeched as he kicked the door closed.
Bending, he lifted her easily into his arms, breaking the kiss just long enough to growl, “Where in the hell’s the bed?”
Chapter 18
It is bad luck to get out of bed on the opposite side you got in on.
FOLKLORE
They got as far as the oak stepladder leading to the loft. Tabby slid her arms around Nate’s neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Her tousled strawberry blond hair fell over one eye, making her look dreamy and sexy. Her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of the sleeper T-shirt she wore.
Shoving her up against the ladder, Nate wrapped her legs around his waist, opening her to him. He yanked up the hem of the T-shirt as he bent to kiss her, thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth. She tasted like sweet-salty-chocolate-ice-cream Tabitha.
God, he’d been waiting all day for this…all night and all day and all week and forever.
He hiked the T-shirt up higher and stared at her naked breasts, fondling them, so perfect for his hands. Her nipples were like berries, ripe for his hungry mouth. Bending, he licked one, then nibbled on it, then suckled hard.
She let her head fall back against the ladder as she murmured his name.
Moving his hands across her skin, he grasped her bare bottom and tucked her into his groin, feeling her against him, torturing himself with her heat.
Then her fingers were at his belt buckle, and seconds later she pushed his jeans down far enough for her hand to curl around his shaft. She brought the tip against her, and she was warm and wet and they both gasped at the contact.
He kissed her again, ran his tongue along her teeth, sucked her bottom lip. He felt her fingers stroking him, and his brain begin to spin. The sensation of his head against her soft flesh made him quiver and want to thrust.
Against her parted lips, he huffed, “Condom. Pocket. Quick.”
She made a laughing sound deep in her throat and rocked her hips against him. Again he fought the urge to plunge into her. She had to know what she was doing, tormenting him like this. Her hand slowly made its way over his hip to his back pocket, then took its time reaching inside. Finally, she slid out the foil packet.
He was panting, barely able to catch his breath. The need to thrust into her was just about killing him, and he was damn sure she knew it.
With her arms around his neck, he waited, his every breath an excruciating labor as she tore open the packet, then moved her hands between them to sheath him.
“You’re going to have to pull back a little,” she whispered against his open mouth, swiping his tongue with her own. “C’mon, baby,” she breathed. “Just a little.”
She wiggled her hips, teasing him again, making him nearly lose it right then and there. But he bore down and held on. God, she was hot.
Easing away from her, he watched as she rolled the condom on him, then eased her hips forward again until he was partially buried inside her. With one long glide, he finished the job, sinking in to the hilt. Her back arched, and she sighed in sweet satisfaction.
Bending his neck, he watched himself thrust into her once more, and then again. He reached up and grabbed a handful of her glorious hair, tugging her head back while he kissed her deeply, then ran his tongue down her neck, across her collarbone, down to one nipple.
Around his waist, her legs tightened until he could barely move, and he felt her go still. Every muscle in her body tensed. She stopped rocking against him, while her breath became a raspy saw of sound.
Her head fell back, her eyes drifted closed. He bit her neck and she sighed, a high-pitched sound in rhythm to his thrusts. Finally, she went silent, then a soft gasp escaped her throat and her hips bucked wildly against him.
Thank God. He didn’t think he could hold out much longer. With three hard thrusts, he came, his panted breaths turning to grunts of satisfaction.
After a few moments, he pulled out of her, then reached for her waist and turned her away from him.
“Up,” he ordered breathlessly, and she finished climbing the wooden ladder to the loft. His eyes never left the round globes of her bottom as he followed her up the rungs. When they reached the platform, he wrapped his arms around her and fell with her onto the wide bed that dominated the space.
He held her close, looking down into her happy, sleepy eyes, stroking her hair, and letting his mind go where he’d feared it might since the day he’d met her. Her lips were swollen and she was still a bit winded from what he could only assume was his ardor. She smiled up at him and played with his hair. He felt the tips of her fingers against his skull, and her soft caresses at the nape of his neck.
Moving quickly, he shucked off his clothes, then tugged her T-shirt up her body and off. She lay there, incredibly beautiful and naked and inviting, and he knew he’d never be able to get enough of her.
As he ran his finger along her jaw, he looked into her eyes and saw birthday parties with pinto ponies and red balloons, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas trees, a blue-eyed girl with red hair, a blond boy and a yipping puppy, car payments, mortgages, college funds, cold nights and hot sex and a white dress and a gold ring…and love.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes were filled with concern. With a wry grin, she said, “You look a little green around the gills. Was it someone you ate?”
He all but yanked her to him, cupping her head in his hand, burying his face in the warmth of her neck.
Her arms came around him and he felt her breasts against his chest. Mmm. Woman. Soft. Warm. His.
Snuggling closer, Tabby slid her legs through his and he trapped them, locking his ankles, imprisoning her against him.
“Nate,” she whispered. “I have to get—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He edged his hand up to cup her breast. Bending his head, he placed a tender kiss on her soft lips, then murmured, “You’re not going anywhere for a long, long time.”
“Who wants to see me?” Ethan said, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. From behind his desk, he stared at his admin as though she had announced that the Grand PooBah of the Federation of Planets was waiting just outside his door.
“Mr. Peter O’Hara,” she drawled, her native Georgia accent softening the edges of her words. “You know, as in Scarlett? He says y’all are neighbors and that his daddy was a friend of yours. He’d like a itty-bitty pinch of your time.”
Ethan eyed the woman. Shayla Tanner, thirty-something, blond, beautiful, with a genius IQ. He crossed his arms over his chest. “They teach you that helpless siren routine at Vassar?”
She grinned, and the deep dimple in her right cheek worked its magic. “Hell, no,” she said, the silk suddenly turned to industrial-grade emery cloth, abrasive enough to shred a man’s skin. “But a girl’s got to use what God gave her to get ahead in this world.” She lowered her dark lashes, and her voice. “Are you in for Mr. O’Hara?”
He nodded, anticipation tightening his gut. “And make sure the equipment’s working. I want every word recorded.”
“Video, too?” she said, turning to leave.
“Yeah.”
Ever since he’d dropped Tabitha off last night at two A.M., he’d spent the last eight hours investigating the hell out of Peter O’Hara. Exhausted and in need of sleep, he had damned little to show for his efforts.
Maybe this was just plain stupid and there was no connection between what he’d read in the dream diary and the murder of his gardener.
But his in
stincts told him there was. Too many coincidences; there had to be a link.
Before he had a chance to sort through his tangled thoughts, the glass door silently swung open again, and O’Hara shuffled in. His skin was pale, pasty. His hair needed cutting and he hadn’t shaved in days. In rumpled jeans and a faded Stanford sweatshirt, he looked like he’d just crawled out from behind a Dumpster.
Had a year at the helm of his father’s company wrung the life completely out of him, or was he busy wringing the life out of innocent victims? More importantly, had Walter Perez been one of them?
Ethan stood and extended his hand, and O’Hara shook it in a brief, lifeless clasp.
Keeping his voice even, Ethan said, “I haven’t seen you since your father’s funeral.”
The other man nodded, then took the seat Ethan offered.
“Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? I have some excellent scotch…”
“Nothing,” O’Hara said absently. “Thanks.”
Before the elder O’Hara died, the son had been nothing more than a playboy, a partier of the first degree. Spend the old man’s money as fast as possible had been his motto. But this Peter O’Hara was a far cry from the youthful, grinning, easygoing womanizer Ethan had met in college.
Had the weight of responsibility done this to him, or was it the guilt of being a murderer?
Ethan eased into his own chair behind his desk. How interesting that O’Hara should show up here, today of all days, when he’d planned to pay his Marin neighbor a visit that afternoon.
Out of the corner of his eye, the tiny green light shining from the eye of the ornate Buddha adorning the top shelf of his bookcase told him the camera was recording.
“What brings you here today, O’Hara?”
“I, uh…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I want to upgrade my security system at the house in Marin.” He lifted his eyes to Ethan’s. “Right now it works on sensors, but I want to add video. Can you do it?”
“The servants stealing you blind? Or has somebody been trying to break in?”
Arousing Suspicions Page 18