Hero For Hire

by Laura Kenner

  She shook her head. “It all sounds so…so chipper. ‘Sunshine-fresh, hand-squeezed juice?’ I don’t want happy food in the morning.”

  Will yawned and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. “I know what you mean. Give me coffee, maybe a bagel, and then I’ll get something more filling later when I finally wake up.”

  “Coffee and a bagel. That sounds good. Do they offer something simple like that?” She squinted at the menu.

  It was a perfectly natural act for Will to shift closer to examine the menu alongside her. It was an equally natural act for Sara to lean forward so he could see it more easily.

  They met shoulder to shoulder, which came dangerously close to cheek to cheek. She tried to pay inordinate attention to the menu but he became much too distracting, especially when he kissed her.

  She didn’t expect the kiss, but strangely enough, she wasn’t surprised by it Sara didn’t have time to cope with surprise when she had a whole volley of other emotions shooting through her. As her brain repeated its dire warnings about the perils of getting involved during vulnerable times, her heart swore that this was the right guy, the right time. Her body joined forces with her heart and it was two against one.

  Will pulled back, breaking contact. He steadied himself, putting one hand on the bedspread and inadvertently contacting her leg beneath it. He blushed and moved his hand to an unoccupied spot. “Tell me to stop,” he said in a slightly breathless voice.

  Sara swallowed hard. “No.”

  He flinched. “Is that ’No, I don’t want you to kiss me,’ or ’No, I won’t tell you to stop’?”

  Rather than try to explain, she leaned forward and kissed him, again. Only this time, they were past the introductory stage, past the pseudo-chaste method of introducing two sets of unacquainted lips.

  Suddenly she was desperate to touch him, to have him touch her.

  “This is wrong,” he muttered as they kicked the bedclothes out of the way and fought to reach each other.

  “I know.” She wound her arms around his neck and he lifted her bodily into the center of the bed without ever breaking off their kiss.

  He clawed at the knotted belt of her robe, freeing the material and stripping it from her shoulders. “We shouldn’t…”

  “Of course not…” She arched in ecstasy as he showered his kisses slowly down her neck and past the hollow of her throat and finally to her breasts where he caressed and teased her until she was ready to scream.

  But before she could utter a sound, he moved like lightning, his lips covering hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Meanwhile, he trailed his hand past her navel and toyed softly with the brush of curls between her legs.

  She fumbled with the stud at the waistband of his jeans and succeeded in forcing it open. Using his free hand, he helped her push the fabric past his hips.

  Under his expert skill, she became suddenly helpless, overwhelmed by the deliciously conflicting responses he induced within her. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to fight the unbearably pleasant sensations as long as she could. The longer she resisted, the more intense they became.

  “You’re perfect,” he growled as he rose up long enough to strip off his underwear.

  The urgent need inside her built to a level she could barely endure. But to her dismay, Will pulled away from her. She reached out, trying to pull him back. “Please…don’t go.”

  He snatched up his jeans and she thought surely this was a sign that he meant to leave. But instead, he tore into them, pulling from his back pocket a wallet and from it, a condom.

  Will fumbled with the wrapper, his hands shaking, his breath coming in big gulps. She tried to help and between the two of them, they tore the package open, the condom tumbling into the jumbled bed clothes.

  They scrambled through the sheets and blankets, looking for the wayward condom. “Where is it?” he gritted between his teeth.

  Their quest seemed futile, hampered by their inability to stop kissing each other between search attempts.

  “We have to find it,” she said around a gasp for air.

  Suddenly he growled in triumph, holding up the missing disk. Sara cheered and threw herself at him in celebration.

  “Just a…minute…There!”

  They returned to their previous intensity, having suffered little interruption in their momentum. He plunged into her, his hips starting a demanding rhythm that mimicked the frenzied palpitations of her heart. Digging her nails into his back, she followed his undulating lead, the pleasure-pain building to the moment when she thought she could stand no more.

  Their physical worlds splintered into a thousand shards.

  At first, Sara floated on a sea of bliss, savoring the aftermath of pleasure. A sense of well-being overwhelmed her to the extent that she forgot her troubles, even her own name. Then, suddenly, she became intensely aware of the man who rolled off her, the man panting for air, the man wearing a goofy grin of satisfaction.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

  “I know,” she agreed.

  “You’re my client,” he offered as if that, alone, were explanation. “It’s a mistake.”

  “I know,” she repeated. She snaked her hand into his and held it firmly.

  He drew a deep shuddering breath and a palpable silence filled the room. Sara’s sense of logic tried to create a string of weak arguments and accusations in hopes of berating the overbearing, ill-timed needs of the body. But she easily pushed them aside and leaned up on one elbow, offering him her very best come-hither look.

  “One more time?”

  He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. For one frightening moment, she thought he was going to get up and walk away—out of her bed, out of her life.

  Instead, he groaned and reached for her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday morning, later

  They may have made mad, passionate love, explored each other’s bodies, shared intimate thoughts and secrets, but when it came to getting dressed, they did it in separate rooms, behind closed doors.

  Sara stared at the wall separating them, wondering what she would see if she had X-ray vision. Did Will still have on his sappy grin or had it faded as the reality of what they had done set in? She knew she had no regrets, but what about him?

  A shiver danced across her shoulders.

  Okay…she had a couple of regrets, but they weren’t about him. After the condom broke, bringing an abrupt end to their third wave of passion, they’d slipped under the covers and started talking. There, she’d discovered that he was indeed everything he had pretended to be when they first met. They’d even gotten into a rousing discussion about the Redskins, an unusual postcoital topic, but strangely satisfying.

  After all, she could never love a man who didn’t appreciate the Redskins….

  But cold reality had penetrated their bubble of security. They both knew Raymond was in the hospital, in unknown condition, and in possession of some very important information—such as which of his blackmail victims had killed Celia and tried to poison him.

  Sara tugged on her pants. If anybody was going to get the information out of Raymond, it would be her. He might be able to clam up in front of the police, even stonewall the best lawyers in the state of Virginia, but he was putty in her hands. Especially if she got them around his neck.

  There was a soft knock at the door. “You dressed?”

  “Come on in.”

  Sara expected the inevitable discomfort, the inability to know what to say and when to say it If you made love for the first time at night, then there were certain rules of “morning after” etiquette to be followed. But what rules applied when you made love for the first time…in the morning?

  Will solved the problem by breezing into the room, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and flopping on her bed with his shoes in hand. “First stop, the hospital?”

  She nodded. “Hopefully Raymond will be up for some questioning.”

&nb
sp; “I called the hospital but they won’t release any information about him. Trainor probably has a gag order in effect to stymie the reporters.”

  Sara felt her nerves begin to knot. “Reporters? Do you think there’s something in the papers about this case?”

  Will shrugged. “Trainor can stall them for only so long. Celia’s death didn’t make yesterday’s paper, but I bet it’s in today’s edition.”

  Ten minutes later, they sat in Will’s car, their complimentary Continental breakfast untouched. They both stared at the small article.

  Slain Woman Found In Hotel

  The body of a private investigator was discovered Saturday morning in a hotel in Blackwater in Fairfax County. The woman has been identified as Celia Strauss, an associate with a local investigation firm. Earlier, there were conflicting reports on how she died, but today, a spokesman for the Medical Examiner’s office said she died of gunshot wounds. The police say they already have an unidentified suspect in custody.

  Unofficial sources say that the suspect is a prominent Blackwater attorney, but the police will not release any information pending further investigation.

  Will refolded the paper. “Bergeron’s lucky the police decided to protect his identity. If they’d released his name, this story wouldn’t have been buried on the third page of the Metro section—it would have been splashed all over the front page.” He raised his hand and sketched an are in the air as if picturing the headlines. “Prominent Black-water Divorce Attorney Suspected of Woman’s Gruesome Death.”

  “Don’t joke about it.” Sara shut her eyes, hoping the image of the stark words would fade from her imagination.

  “Sorry.” Will started the car. “I’ll admit I’m willing to consider at this point that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t kill Celia.”

  Sara opened her eyes and stared at him. “What made you change your mind?”

  “I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “I know he’s an insufferable son of a bitch who might be provoked into doing something rash, like try to strangle someone, but I don’t think he’d walk away, then come back to finish the job with a gun.”

  “Which means…”

  “Which means somebody else came in and shot her after he left. He must have run because he was frightened that he might be the next victim.”

  Sara’s mind jumped ahead. “But he ordered dinner for two, which means he expected company. Do you honestly think he’d sit down and chat amiably over dinner with someone he suspected might be a killer?”

  “No way. That means the killer is someone he thought he trusted. And that person poisoned him. The important question becomes who. Who is this mysterious person? Is it the same person who set fire to my office and almost killed you?”

  Sara ran her finger around the lid of the coffee cup she’d brought from the hotel. “I thought you were convinced Raymond attacked me.”

  Will shook his head. “I did until last night when I started to create a time line for all of this. According to the message, Bergeron called the restaurant right at five, which is around the same time you were being attacked. I don’t think Raymond could have thrown you in the closet and then calmly used my phone to call in a delivery order.”

  Sara pried the lid off the container and took a tentative sip of coffee. “Mike uses caller ID. In fact, he’s the one who talked me into getting it for our restaurant. It’s becoming a standard operating procedure for anybody taking delivery calls. If the number that showed up on the display had a Virginia area code, but the delivery site was in D.C., they would have noted that on the order and I’m sure the chef would have mentioned it to us, especially if it was your telephone number.”

  Will tightened his two-handed grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “So Bergeron might not be running away from the police as much as he’s running away from this second suspect. But who in the hell is it?”

  “Raymond must know—at least, now that an attempt has been made on his life.”

  “But will he tell us?”

  She took another fortifying sip of coffee. “Only if he’s more frightened of us than he is of the other person…”

  Sunday, mid-morning

  “RAYMOND, SWEETHEART, can you hear me?” Sara waited for a response, then turned to the doctor. “He is going to be all right, isn’t he?” She stared at the elaborate tangle of wires that connected him to a bedside machine.

  The doctor, a different one from last night, nodded. “Yes. We’re merely being cautious. We have to monitor for cardiac irritability in cases involving fluoride poisoning. However, Mr. Bergeron has no history of heart problems so we’re not expecting any real complications.”

  Sara tried to look adoringly at Raymond. She hated playing the role of the grieving fiancée, but it got them past the red tape and into his room. She admitted to herself he still appeared pale, but he certainly looked better than he had only the night before.

  She put on her best “concerned loved one” face and gave the doctor a trembling smile. “Can we just sit here a while and be with him?” She acknowledged Will with a nod, not bothering to identify him.

  The doctor nodded. “That’ll be fine. If he wakes up, don’t let him get too excited. He’s had a rough time and needs to rest as much as possible.”

  Will patted Sara on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Doc. We won’t bring up any unnecessary unpleasantries.”

  The doctor’s attention dropped to the handcuff, which locked one of Raymond’s wrists to the metal railing. “See that you don’t.”

  As the door closed behind the doctor, Sara glanced down at the Sunday newspaper, which had been carefully laid at the end of the bed. The top section had been folded to reveal the crossword puzzle, which had been partially solved. Sara recognized Raymond’s handwriting. She silently pointed it out to Will, who understood the implications.

  He stepped closer to the bed. “The doctor’s gone. You can open your eyes, shyster.”

  To Sara’s surprise, Raymond opened his eyes, giving her a pale but insolent wink. “I thought I had everybody fooled.”

  “Think again.” Will moved swiftly, grabbing Raymond by the throat before the man could react With one hand shackled to the rail, he lacked the strength to pry Will’s fingers loose and he began to gasp for air.

  Sara pulled at Will’s rigid arm, playing her role to the hilt. “Will, don’t! You’ll kill him.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? It’s what he did to Celia.” Will leaned down closer to Raymond. “You got her into a convenient position, then squeezed the life out of her. Why shouldn’t I do it to you, now?”

  “I—didn’t—kill—her,” Raymond managed in choking gasps.

  “No?” Will released Raymond’s throat. “Prove it.”

  Raymond massaged the red marks, which were beginning to color his skin. He pointed to the paper. “In there. The police said she died of gunshot wounds. All I did was choke her, but I stopped before it was too late. She was alive when I left.”

  “Then why did you run away?”

  “Because I was scared. Angry. Drunk. I went back to the hotel, hoping to sort things out with her. But I heard someone talking about the dead woman on the fifth floor. They described the scene and it was obvious it was Celia. I thought I’d killed her. I ran.”

  “You call this proof of your innocence? It sounds more like the story the prosecution is going to present.”

  “I thought I must have been so drunk that I only thought she was alive when I left. I honestly believed I’d killed her until I read the paper today. It says she died of gunshot wounds. I tried to strangle her, not shoot her.”

  “How do you know that you weren’t so drunk that you went out, got a gun and came back to finish her off?”

  “I don’t have to prove I didn’t do that. The police have to prove that I did. I’m willing to admit the truth. I attempted to strangle her, but nothing more than that. Her killer is—” he paused, evidently to choose his words carefully “—out there. Somewhere.”

&
nbsp; Will crossed his arms, pulling back from his threatening stance. “Okay, for the sake of argument, if you didn’t do it, then who did?”

  “I can’t be sure. Right offhand, I can only think of one person who might be angry enough at Celia to kill her.”

  “Who?”

  The gleam in Raymond’s eye meant he was going to change tactics. Sara recognized all the signs. He was going from defense to offense. Whether the truth would come out was anybody’s guess. She gripped the blanket, pleating it between her fingers.

  His gaze hardened. “Sara.”

  “Me?” she exploded, forgetting that they were supposed to be scaring him, not vice versa.

  “You’re the only person I know who might get angry enough to kill her. After all, she seduced me….” His voice trailed off when he spotted the glint of rage in Will’s eyes. Instead of stopping, Raymond continued, gaining confidence as he gained momentum. “Or maybe it was you, Magnum. Celia told me you and she once had a rather volatile, torrid relationship.” Raymond’s lip curled back in an ugly smile. “Maybe you didn’t like seeing her turn those magnificent radars of hers in someone else’s direction. Maybe you killed her out of jealousy. See? I’m not the only suspect.”

  Sara watched Will fight for control. As much as she would like to slap the silly grin off Raymond’s face, she was more concerned about Will, worrying that he might forget his tough-guy Bogart routine was supposed to be merely an act.

  As usual, Raymond couldn’t leave well enough alone. “No wonder you never made it as a lawyer, Riggs. You stepped right into that one. You couldn’t bluff your way out of a paper—”

  Will lifted his hand and Raymond flinched, then flushed when he realized the simple gesture had shattered his composure as well as interrupted his soliloquy.

  Instead of striking out, Will merely held up his forefinger.

  “One. Crandell. The videotape cost him ten grand.”

  Raymond remained motionless in the bed.

  “Two. Gordon-Garcia. The pictures cost him seven grand.”

  Raymond’s blush faded, leaving him paler than before.