Kiss Them Goodbye

by Stella Cameron

  “Like he’s trying to pretend he’s something he’s not,” Spike said. “Making a profile to hide behind.”

  “The flower and the kiss are hokey,” Vivian said. “Amateurish.”

  “Uh-huh, but the way the perp uses a knife is surgical. He’s a pro. I think we’re dealing with someone who’s had a lot of practice…or a lot of training. Could be he’s well-known in the business but hopes he’ll be mistaken for a nonprofessional.”

  This was stuff Vivian expected to read about in the paper, not encounter in rural Louisiana. “Training makes it sound like you could be talking about someone from…I don’t know, special forces? I can’t imagine some guy covered in mud and wearing camouflage crawling around Rosebank.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “Have you seen anyone crawling around? No. But two people have died there, apparently in daylight. And there’s no suspect in custody. Would it be so way out to think this was a professional job?”

  “Like a hit?” Vivian said softly.

  Spike rubbed his jaw. “Hell, I don’t know, but anything’s possible. What I wouldn’t give to find that stamp.”

  “I bet.” Hashing over the details sickened her. “I doubt if he’s going to make that easy for you.”

  Spike looked sideways at her and his gaze flickered again. The atmosphere between them, still and tinder-dry, smoldered. “I have to make sure this guy doesn’t kill again, Vivian. I only hope I can. It would be easy to decide both murders were part of an isolated incident and start to relax. But why only them? Why any of this? There could be another killing at any time.” He shook his head. “And you and I didn’t imagine being pushed into Bayou Lafourche. Then there’s the Martin boys. They won’t just go away. Hell.”

  She pushed her hands across the table and Spike held her wrists tightly. “Ellie Byron had a nasty shock early this morning,” he said.

  Vivian sat straighter. “I was going to talk to you about Ellie and what Detective Bonine said about her. He warned me to stay away from her but didn’t tell me why.”

  “Bastard,” Spike said. “He was snoopin’ around at the station, supposedly waiting for me, when Ellie turned up. I wasn’t there so she poured out her story to Lori. He doesn’t have a clue what it means but if Errol can keep all of us away from her, he will.”

  “What happened?” Vivian asked, with the too familiar scrunching in her stomach again.

  Spike’s eyes were narrowed and he stroked his thumbs absently back and forth on her wrists. She jumped at the sensation. He gave her a lopsided smile and her own lips parted in response. Spike said, “Bonine doesn’t have the right to step on my turf and start giving out orders. You’ve seen how he behaves when the shoe’s on the other foot.”

  “Deal with that later,” Vivian said, only too aware that Spike was doing the natural male thing and protecting his territory. “Ellie? What about her?”

  Spike knew Vivian was right to make him concentrate, not that they weren’t both aware of how the tension between them complicated that. His job was to keep people safe and now that there had been this incident with Ellie in Toussaint, the danger was no longer “somewhere else.” “Fortunately Bill Green made her go to Cyrus—she wouldn’t speak to me right off—and Cyrus took her to the station.”

  He told Vivian Ellie’s whole story, sparing nothing, especially not the puncture made through her photographed body.

  “It’s so scary,” Vivian said when he’d finished. The tale had shaken her. “Poor Ellie. I don’t like thinking about her being there alone tonight after going through that. Why would someone do that? I wonder if it was something to do with my uncle’s books.” She told him a story of how Ellie and Guy Patin had been friends and finished by saying Ellie thought a book intended as a gift for Vivian had been stolen. He didn’t make a big deal out of her not telling him earlier.

  “There could be a connection, couldn’t there?” she said. “Maps of the area with Ellie’s photo. And a layout of the Rosebank estate? The house, you mean, or the grounds?”

  “A lot of detail of the grounds?” He thought there must definitely be a connection. The big break could be coming and his job was to make sure it wasn’t at Ellie Byron’s expense.

  “Lordy,” Vivian said, with a sense of foreboding. “The fete. Wazoo’s fete is supposed to be tomorrow? She and her friends have been busy arranging it so Mama and I wouldn’t have any extra pressure. I keep forgetting about it. Did you?”

  “Uh-huh.” He surely had forgotten and it seemed to him that with the Patin women’s new windfall, they wouldn’t be needing raffles and dunk tanks in future. “That’s a lousy idea right now. Anyway, Bonine and crew won’t go for it.”

  “Apparently Bonine thinks it’s a great idea and says he’s going to drop in—with that poor Frank Wiley. Mama says word’s out it’s going to be a real extravaganza.”

  “In other words, Bonine thinks it’s a fine idea to have scores of people destroying any last hope of finding useful evidence. He’s never behaved as if he really wanted to solve this case.”

  Vivian was annoyed at herself for being too preoccupied to think about the fete. “It may be wisest to carry on tomorrow. Could be the best way to convince people what happened is under control—even if it isn’t. Morgan and Susan should appreciate that. They hate living next to a crime scene.”

  “True,” Spike agreed. “You might think folks wouldn’t want to be at Rosebank after what’s happened but I kind of think the ghoul factor will make sure there’s a crowd. Do you know if Ellie will be there?”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “I’m going to make sure she’s never alone.” Damn it to hell that he’d be out of his jurisdiction again, and that he didn’t have some trained people to use as off-duty eyes. With luck Cyrus would be there and Mark, Bill and Joe would keep their eyes open once they were asked. He’d even swallow his pride and have a word with Ozaire if necessary.

  “I must get home and be with my mother.” Vivian got up.

  “Homer’s there,” Spike reminded her. “And Gary Legrain. I’d say Charlotte was real safe.”

  “This guy wasn’t someone passing through,” Vivian said. “He’s under our noses, I only get more convinced that he is.”

  One of the many things he liked about Vivian was her logical mind. “That makes two of us.” But he surely did like many things about Vivian. He’d like to take her apart and explore some of those right now.

  She smiled at him but her features tightened. He saw the instant when a total, sexy awareness wiped the worry from her eyes. He couldn’t breathe so regularly himself. Wildness hovered between them, barely in check. He narrowed his eyes and reacted to an erotic recoil. His thighs came together hard and he dreamed of being naked—with her.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen for us,” she said breathlessly, coming to his side of the table. “But the fates were smiling when they sent me your way.”

  Vivian put her arms around his neck and kissed him, a sweet, maddeningly gentle kiss before she pressed her face against his neck.

  Spike stroked back her hair and ran his hands over her shoulders. She smelled wonderful—and tasted wonderful. He took her by the waist and began to sit her on his lap but she pushed away. She smiled at him with anything but gentleness in her eyes. “If I sit there, we could get carried away.” Slowly, she slid her hands from his neck, over his shoulders and down his arms. He caught hold of her hands but, still slowly, she pulled her fingers free. “I’m goin’ to finish up the dishes and get home.”

  “I doubt it,” he said in a low voice.

  Tossing her hair from her face, she backed away. He forced himself to wait, to give her a few moments to feel in control.

  Standing in front of the sink, Vivian dried dishes and reached over her head to put them away in cabinets. Spike enjoyed seeing her supple body stretch, and the way her dress skimmed higher over her hips.

  He got up quietly. They’d lowered the blinds, so she wouldn’t see his approaching r
eflection in the windows. Sneaking up behind her just as she lifted a pile of plates over her head, he reached around her and tweaked her nipples.

  Vivian wobbled and said, “Don’t do that. I’ll drop these.”

  “Oh, I’d just advise you to concentrate on the plates. Those are Homer’s favorites.” Rocking his hips forward he settled the hardest part of his body between the cheeks of her lovely bottom and kissed her neck. She smelled warm and all woman. She smelled like dark places and wet skin, slipping and sliding.

  By the time she’d managed to push the china on top of several other pieces, he’d delved under the neck of her dress, under her bra, and cupped her breasts. With his thumbs he made circles over the ends of her hardened nipples and she acted as if her legs would fail.

  Rid of the dishes, she tried to swing around. Spike wouldn’t let her. “I knew you could do it, cher,” he said, holding her right where she was with her back to him and nibbling at an ear. “You are so talented.”

  “You cheat,” she said, her voice husky. “You waited till I couldn’t do anything to stop you and took advantage.”

  “And you hate it?” he said, pinching her nipples while her hips rocked back and forth. “Okay, I won’t do that anymore. I’ll do this instead.” And before she could make a move to stop him, he pulled her skirts up around her waist, leaned to keep her from moving and ducked to run his hands up the backs of her smooth thighs and over that rounded bottom. A white thong didn’t cover a thing, as far as he could see. Spanning her ribs under the dress, slipping the bra undone so the weight of her breasts rested on his fingers, he kissed each cheek, turned his face, opened his mouth wide and felt his mind bathed in a muskiness that turned it dark and hot.

  “Stop it, Spike!” She wiggled suddenly, violently. “What if Homer and Wendy walk in?”

  “They won’t. Homer knows I’ll let you drive me over there, then the three of us will come back at the same time.”

  “Shut up and love me,” she said. “My God, I want you.”

  For a slender woman, she had a lot of strength. He didn’t try very hard to stop her from wrenching to face him. She clamped his face in her hands and kissed him like a madwoman, until he returned the attack.

  He stumbled and they clutched at each other, slammed into the table and spun away. They reached a wall, not that he knew what wall. But the lights went out and he hadn’t touched the switch. Vivian laughed deep in her throat. His shirt buttons parted company and she wrestled his belt undone.

  “Whoa,” he muttered, although he wouldn’t change a thing.

  He unzipped the back of her dress and pulled it from her shoulders. She shucked off the bra and managed to shimmy the whole mess down and kick it aside.

  Vivian fastened her mouth on his and her hands shook so she couldn’t manage his zipper. He did it for her but had a moment’s anxiety that he might let everything go before he’d satisfied her.

  “Wait,” he muttered, tearing his lips from hers. He spun her slick body around and buried his face in her neck again. He stalled for time, even a second could mean everything. His butterfly touches on her breasts drove her wild. He pushed a knee between her thighs to steady her.

  She leaned against him and rested the back of her head on his shoulder—and he pushed her breasts together while she moaned.

  Sensations and instinct carried Vivian along. She raised her arms and locked her fingers around his neck. Her all-but-bare bottom pressed against his penis and it pressed back, thick and straining.

  With the heel of one hand he smoothed hard down her belly and pushed his fingers between her legs. She breathed faster and faster and repeatedly dipped as if she would collapse. Spike smoothed deep with teasing strokes that flirted around the edges of where she really wanted to feel him. Restraint cost him plenty but he played on, occasionally closing his hand over her mound and applying pressure until she gasped and tried to make him move back to rub between distended lips.

  He didn’t make her wait much longer, he couldn’t. He trembled with the strength it took to hold back. His fingers slid into place and he increased his speed until she arched back against him and climaxed. She hadn’t completely stopped shuddering when she dragged his hand away and revolved in his arms again. With her frenzied help, he wrenched his pants down.

  A weak light over the stove glistened on their skin.

  Vivian looked down at him. She took him into both of her hands and massaged.

  “No, Vivian,” he whispered.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, but let him do the necessary while she held tight to his neck.

  He barely got his hands on her waist before she hooked a knee over his hip. Spike tore her thong away and wrapped her legs around his waist. No time for finesse. He jerked himself inside her. The heat and urgency burned him up. Vivian rose and fell on him. They wrung each other out. And they hung together then, panting, Vivian crying in racking sobs he knew had nothing to do with being sad.

  He wanted to lie down, and did slide down the wall, with Vivian in his arms, until he sat on the floor with her in his lap.

  She rubbed her breasts against him. He started to quicken again and flicked the head of his penis over the swollen flesh between her legs.

  From a great distance came the sound of the front doorbell.

  Spike groaned and rested his face on Vivian’s shoulder. “Who would come to that door? No one ever does.”

  “They can go away.” She pushed back, knelt and took him into her mouth for a long, urgently sucking kiss.

  The doorbell rang and this time it kept on ringing.

  “Of all the bitchin’ luck,” Vivian said and Spike snickered at the language. Vivian didn’t swear.

  He reached for her but she dodged his hands and hopped up. She grabbed her clothes and started pulling them on. “I don’t think they’re going away. You might want to put something on.”

  “Ouch,” he said, wincing. He’d stepped into his pants. “Look what you’ve started—all over again.”

  She looked and turned on the light to get a better view. “I see it,” she said. “I want to be right back there.”

  Spike groaned, tucked in his shirt and got his belt fastened. Just as he’d expected, footsteps sounded on the gallery steps out back and someone rattled the screen door.

  He ran his hands through his hair and saw Vivian shake hers. It had a way of falling into place beautifully. “Do up my bra, please,” she said and he obliged. She slipped out of what was left of the thong and stuffed it quickly into her bag.

  Spike opened the back door and looked out.

  “Praise be,” Cyrus said, yanking open the screen and herding Wazoo in front of him. “I’ve looked all over for you. Things are happening and you’re the one to make decisions.”

  Wazoo scuttled into the kitchen and took herself off into a corner where she huddled and looked scared.

  Cyrus closed the door behind him and took in the scene in the kitchen. He frowned and Spike felt his mind was being read.

  “Hmm,” Cyrus said. “I guess a whole bunch of things are happening. Remember that talk we kinda started, Spike?”

  Spike hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

  “Good. We’d better get it finished. Soon.”

  Chapter 37

  Might make a man feel a little more respected if the should-be penitents didn’t keep staring at each other with hot eyes. Cyrus took note of Vivian’s flushed cheeks and swollen mouth—and of Spike’s wrinkled uniform, and his equally well-used-looking mouth, and felt a wholly inappropriate irritation.

  “I think I might as well talk to the two of you,” Cyrus said. Vivian showed no sign of being anything other than a willing participant in what he’d interrupted. “Now, Wazoo, please don’t cower.”

  “Miz Vivian, she gonna kill me,” Wazoo said. “Then Miz Charlotte do the same t’ing.”

  “Wazoo,” Vivian said. “How silly. You couldn’t do anything to upset us more than a little. Oh, maybe you’ve called off the fete for tomo
rrow, if so, don’t worry about it, we’ll do it sometime in the future.”

  “I ain’t called it off, me. It’s going to be the biggest fete this place ever see and we gonna raise all kind of money to help out at Rosebank.”

  Cyrus glanced at Vivian who looked as uncomfortable as he’d expected. On the other hand, how easy could it be to say you’d inherited a fortune and didn’t need help anymore? Well, he would never have to find out. St. Cécil’s bumped along but there was never enough money.

  Wazoo did the unthinkable. She cried, sat herself down on the floor and rocked.

  Dealing with crying women was part of his duties, but it didn’t get easier. “Now, Wazoo, this isn’t goin’ to be that bad. You know Miz Vivian is goin’ to try to understand what you’ve done. She’ll do the right thing even though she will be disappointed in you.”

  ”Cyrus,” Vivian said, and he guessed that so far he wasn’t doing too well with Wazoo.

  “I won’t have no home again, me.” Wazoo’s voice grew higher. “And I won’t have my lovely job. I’ll have to creep away into some swamp and live on rats too old to run away. My shoes’ll wear out and nasty things will eat up my feet—”

  “Wazoo,” Vivian said sharply. “You’re overdoing it.”

  “Not me, uh-uh.” Wazoo shook her head hard enough to make Cyrus’s neck ache just from watching. “I’m too bad. I’ll have to go to prison first, of course, because you’ll turn me in, you ain’t got no choice. Criminal like me.”

  Spike went to Wazoo with the resigned manner of a man accustomed to sorting out problems of all kinds. “Up you come,” he said, and lifted her by the shoulders. “Should I arrest you right now, or would you like to plead your case first?”

  Cyrus couldn’t hold back a grin but Vivian didn’t look too happy. “That’s enough of that,” she told Spike. “Come and sit down, Wazoo.”

  Dragging her sneakers, Wazoo let Spike take her to a chair at the table. There she slumped, her face hidden in her hands. “I did it,” she said. “I don’t know what come over me, but I couldn’t stop myself.”