Full Speed

by Janet Evanovich

  "What?"

  "Sounded like things got pretty hot in there. You were trying to get him undressed and into bed."

  Jamie gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

  "Oh, brother," Muffin said. "I don't think I want to hear this."

  "I heard it all," Max said. "I was afraid something like this would happen."

  "Max, I don't think this is a good time to discuss what happened between Jamie and Harlan," Muffin told him. "I think we need to be a little more sensitive to her feelings."

  Jamie looked at Max and shook her head. "Relax. Nothing happened."

  "What?"

  "Harlan got sick. I was trying to loosen his clothing so he could breathe. If I was trying to get him to lie down it was because I thought he was going to pass out." She gave him a sidelong glance. "You seem to really want to know all the details."

  "Where you're concerned? Absolutely."

  "Well, forget it. We need to figure out who killed Rawlins."

  * * * * *

  Ward Reed sat quietly in the living room of Harlan's suite as the detectives examined the man's body. The medical examiner had already been summoned, and they were awaiting him to pronounce Rawlins dead, despite all obvious appearances. An officer carefully wrapped the plates of food on the table while another dusted the room for fingerprints.

  A young detective with a neat beard stood in the kitchen questioning the officer who'd first responded to the call. Finally, the detective joined Reed.

  "I'm Detective Sills of the Knoxville Police Department," he said. "You're Ward Reed?"

  He nodded. "I was Harlan Rawlins's bodyguard," he said.

  Detective Sills sat down. "I've read your statement, Mr. Reed. You say you escorted a woman to the reverend's room this afternoon?"

  "That's correct. I unlocked the door and let her in."

  "And she said her name was Jane? She never gave you a last name?"

  "No."

  "Reverend Rawlins was to have lunch with her?"

  "Yes."

  "Was Reverend Rawlins alive when this Jane person arrived?"

  "I didn't see him, but I heard him call out to her as I closed the door and put the Do Not Disturb sign on it."

  "You also said you had seen Jane at the last church service."

  Reed nodded. "And she visited the reverend in his home yesterday as well."

  "Is it possible he might have listed her full name in his appointment book?"

  "If he knew it, he would have, but he referred to her only as Jane when he asked me to notify the security guard at the front gate of the appointment. I can check."

  "I'm sending a couple of my men over. They'll go through the reverend's things and question the guard."

  "You'll give me time to break the news to Mrs. Rawlins first, right?"

  "My men will have to follow you over, Mr. Reed. We'll want the reverend's office and personal belongings secured immediately." The detective made notes on his pad. "Did Reverend Rawlins often meet women here?"

  "Do I have to answer that question?"

  Sills shrugged. "You can answer it either here or at the station."

  "Am I a suspect? Do I need an attorney?"

  "This is normal procedure, Mr. Reed. Your answers will help in the investigation. As one of his most trusted employees, I'm certain you'll want this case solved as quickly as we do."

  Reed sighed heavily. "Yes, he often met women here."

  "Did you personally escort these women up to meet the reverend?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you remember their names?"

  "It was really none of my business to know their names or why they were visiting, and I never felt the need to inquire. Had I thought the reverend was taking a risk, I would not have brought them up."

  "You'll call me if you happen to remember any of their names?"

  "Of course." He checked his wristwatch. "Is this going to take long? I really need to get back to the house and break the news to his wife."

  "Be patient, Mr. Reed, I promise I won't keep you any longer than I have to. Do you think you could give an accurate description of this Jane person to our artist at the station? I'd like to have a composite drawing. After you speak to Mrs. Rawlins, of course."

  Reed nodded. "I'll do my best."

  The medical examiner, a heavy-set man whose double chin bulged over his shirt collar, walked into the room. "I'm done," he said.

  "What can you tell me?" Sills asked.

  "He's deader'n hell."

  Sills sighed and muttered, "Thanks a lot."

  The heavy man nodded. "I found pills on him, looks like amphetamines and barbs, but we won't know for sure until the crime lab checks them out." He shrugged. "But it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what killed him. His throat was slit right through the carotid artery."

  * * * * *

  "Holy hell!" Dave said, pointing at the TV.

  "What now?" Max said.

  Dave sat in front of the TV, a magnifying glass in his hand. He'd been checking his wound again, despite the fact a doctor in the emergency room had assured him it didn't look like a bite and there was no need to be vaccinated for rabies.

  Max followed Dave's gaze to the TV set, where the Knoxville chief of police was holding up a composite drawing of Jamie in her disguise. Max didn't realize Jamie had followed him into the room until he heard her gasp out loud.

  "Oh, my God," she said.

  "It gets worse," Dave told them. "The medical examiner was just on, and you won't believe what he said." Max and Jamie looked at him. "Rawlins's throat was cut from ear to ear."

  "Jesus," Max said. "He wasn't like that when we last saw him."

  Jamie nodded. "Somebody came into the room after we left. Before the police arrived."

  "Why would somebody slit his throat?" Max asked. "He was already dead."

  Dave looked up. "Here's one even better. What if the killer had been there the whole time? Just waiting," he added. "Hell, he could have been hiding behind the shower curtain."

  Jamie felt a sudden chill. "Somebody wanted to make certain he was dead. That somebody wanted to make one hundred percent certain that Harlan Rawlins never drew breath again."

  "Or talked," Max added.

  * * * * *

  "Jamie, can I come in?" Max said, knocking softly.

  He heard a click, and the door opened. Jamie stood there, her arms folded across her stomach. She wore cutoff jeans and a thin white T-shirt.

  "Are you OK?" Max asked, trying not to stare at her breasts, but he could see her nipples against the shirt.

  Jamie shrugged and backed away from the door. "I've been better."

  Max went inside. Fleas was lying on the floor beside her bed, having been relegated to that part of the house because of Dave's allergies. Although the dog didn't raise his head, his eyes followed Max as he stepped closer to Jamie. "I feel crummy, too, Jamie. I know Rawlins was a thief and a liar—"

  "Not to mention an adulterer," Jamie added. "He probably abused his wife as well."

  "Probably."

  "I feel bad about Rawlins," she said, "but that's not why I'm freaked out. I'm scared to close my eyes, Max. I keep thinking about what Dave said. The murderer could very well have been in the hotel room when Harlan and I were there. I don't remember if the shower curtain was closed, but it would have been a perfect place to hide. What if—"

  "Stop asking yourself what if," Max said. "The killer wasn't interested in hurting you; he wanted Harlan."

  "I can't shake the feeling that he's going to get me next. Every time I close my eyes I imagine him standing over me by my bed. Watching me. I don't think I'll ever be able to close my eyes again."

  Max walked over to the bed and pulled the covers aside. "Why don't you lie down, and I'll sit with you?"

  Jamie lay on the bed. Max tried not to stare at her long legs.

  He sat down on the edge and regarded her. "This is why I didn't want you to come with me," he said. "I was afraid something like this would happe
n."

  "I know. But all I could think about was getting my big story. Now Harlan's dead. I don't have the story, and I wasn't able to get any information from him before he was murdered."

  "You got an invitation to his private residence," Max said. "He invited you to lunch. I think he would have told you something if he hadn't died."

  "You're just trying to make me feel better."

  "No, Jamie. I believe Harlan desperately needed someone he could talk to. I believe he trusted you." Max reached up and pulled a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm glad we got rid of that wig. Your hair is too pretty to cover up." He let his hand rest against her cheek for a moment.

  Jamie swallowed. His touch was so tender she felt something in her stomach flutter. "We have to find out who killed him, Max."

  "I definitely think Santoni is responsible."

  "He could have hired a woman to pass herself off as a maid. That way she could have had access to the room."

  "Most women don't kill with a knife, and from the description on the news it was very brutal. Of course, a knife is quiet and comes in handy when one has to worry about noise, so that would change things. It could have been a man dressed as a woman."

  "What about Ward Reed, the bodyguard?" Jamie asked. "He certainly had opportunity. Maybe Santoni got to him, offered him a ton of money."

  "Or maybe Reed was already working for Santoni," Max said.

  "What makes you think it wasn't Santoni himself?"

  "I don't know that it wasn't, but most mob figures in his position would have hired it out because the risk would be too great. Not that Santoni isn't a risk-taker," he added. "He's taken so many risks that most of his family is against him. All I know is, whoever killed Harlan knew exactly what he was doing."

  "Meaning this person has killed before and is going to kill again."

  "Not necessarily. I think he got what he wanted. Let's not talk about it anymore tonight, OK? You need to try and rest." He stood.

  "Max?"

  "Yeah?"

  Jamie was almost embarrassed to ask. "Would you sleep in here tonight?"

  His look softened. "Are you sure Fleas won't mind?" he asked, as though hoping he could tease her into feeling better.

  "He'll understand."

  "OK." Max cut the light, rounded the bed, and kicked off his shoes.

  Jamie felt the mattress dip under his weight as he lay down on the bed. He reached for her, pulled her close. Jamie lay there, her back flush against his chest. She could smell his aftershave, feel his breath on her neck. She allowed his warmth to seep in, allowed her body to relax for the first time since they'd found Harlan dead.

  "Damn, Swifty, you feel good," he whispered.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." Max adjusted his body so that she wouldn't know just how good she did feel against him.

  Jamie's body responded to his nearness, the protective arm that held her close. She felt safe for the first time since finding Harlan sprawled on the bathroom floor. She shifted on the bed, trying to get closer.

  "Don't do that," Max muttered, in a pained voice.

  Jamie was acutely conscious of his body against hers, the hard lines that made her feel so secure. She and Max might have differences from time to time, but she knew instinctively that he would protect her no matter what. It gave her some satisfaction to know that he was as conscious of her body as she was of his. She smiled in the darkness. She was thankful she could find something to smile about after her day. "Don't do what?" she said after a moment.

  "Dammit, Jamie, you know what you do to me.

  "No, tell me." Even as she said it she wondered why she was teasing him. Perhaps she was simply looking for escape in Max's arms, or maybe she liked knowing Max desired her.

  "I think it's obvious," Max said after a moment.

  Jamie heard the smile in his voice. "Max, I know we don't always see eye-to-eye. I know you find me disagreeable at times."

  "Uh-huh."

  "But I appreciate your being here with me."

  "Why wouldn't I? You know how I feel about you, Jamie. It's not like I haven't told you."

  She took a deep shuddering breath. "I know you care about me, Max, but I think a big part is due to ..." She paused.

  "My attraction to you? Of course I'm attracted to you." He tightened his arm around her. "You make me crazy sometimes."

  She heard the huskiness in his voice and something more. A need. She knew how he felt. She had tried to fight her attraction to Max from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, had tried to fight her feelings. But there was no denying it. She had never been so drawn to a man, and that's what scared her.

  God, where was her self-control? she thought.

  Max rose on his elbows and turned her over so that he was facing her in the dark. "Man, oh man," he whispered.

  Jamie could barely make out the outline of his face, but she knew he wanted to kiss her. And, dammit, she wanted it as much as he did. It didn't seem to matter what was happening in her life; Max could just look at her a certain way or touch her and everything else faded into the background. She was obviously not a disciplined person where Max Holt was concerned.

  Max found her lips. Jamie didn't hesitate to let him in; she was just as eager as he was for the kiss. He slipped his hand beneath her T-shirt, and her stomach did a massive somersault. Nope, no discipline, she thought. The man was intent on turning her on, and she was more than obliging.

  Max broke the kiss, but his mouth never stilled, moving over her face in sweet lingering kisses that made her feel shivery one moment, anxious the next. She arched against him, heat seeking heat, feeling as though she couldn't get close enough. Max eased her lacy bra upward, exposing both breasts. He covered one with his mouth. Jamie closed her eyes, thinking maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to let her resolve weaken from time to time. This seemed like a good time.

  His hands were warm against her cool skin. Her stomach fluttered and she could almost feel her bones turning soft and mushy.

  His gentle massage sent erotic messages low in her belly. Damned if the man didn't have a way with his hands.

  Max ran his hand lightly down her abdomen to her inner thighs, and Jamie knew she was a goner. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Max's hand moved higher and he turned it over so that his palm lay flat between her thighs.

  Jamie sucked in her breath. She tried to think, but all logic had gone out the window. She had tried so hard to be strong. She had wanted reassurances from Max, but maybe he was right. Maybe she expected too much. There weren't any guarantees in life. Or maybe she was just rationalizing because, well, because she wanted him to make love to her.

  As if sensing a subtle change in her, Max pulled back, and his hands stilled. "You're doing it again," he said. "You're thinking too much."

  "I can't help it."

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  "Um, I don't know."

  He gave an enormous sigh, pulled her T-shirt in place, and rolled onto his back.

  She should never have let things go this far, she thought, only to back out in the end. What was wrong with her? What the hell was wrong with her?

  "Max?"

  "Go to sleep, Jamie," he said softly.

  * * * * *

  Max was reading the newspaper when Jamie stumbled from the bedroom the next morning in her crumpled T-shirt. Fleas followed closely, and when Jamie stopped to open the front door, he bumped into her. Jamie turned, and they just looked at each other.

  "Is there a problem?" she asked the dog.

  He inched out the door as though he had all the time in the world. On the front steps he shook his head and his long ears made a flapping sound. He sat down and began licking himself.

  "That is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life," Jamie told him, and closed the door. She turned for the kitchen, nodded once at Max, and made for the coffeepot. She was determined to act as though nothing had happened the night before.

  "Your eyes don't look so good, Swifty," Max sa
id.

  "I didn't sleep well," she said, avoiding eye contact.

  "I guess that makes two of us. I was wondering. Maybe I should drive you back to Beaumont. You'd be safer."

  She turned and gaped. "No way. Not until we find out who killed Rawlins." She spied the newspaper in his hand. "Oh, damn."

  "I went out earlier to get the paper. You made headlines, Swifty."

  "That's why you want me to go back, isn't it? You're afraid somebody will recognize me."

  "No. The picture isn't even close." He held it up. "See for yourself."

  Jamie hurried over and studied the drawing. The wig made a lot of difference; bangs covered most of her forehead, giving her face a rounder look. The slightly upturned nose was close, but the eyes were all wrong. She drew a sigh of relief.

  "Nobody is going to recognize you as this woman," Max said. "Did you give anyone your last name?"

  Jamie shook her head. "Nobody asked. Not even Rawlins."

  "Probably because you told him you had a sexual addiction." Max shook his head as though he still couldn't believe she'd done it. "Most people would want their anonymity protected. He would have been sensitive enough to know that."

  She gave a shaky breath. "You're saying it's safe for me to go to Wal-Mart?"

  He suddenly looked amused. "God forbid I try to stop you from shopping." His eyes took on a tender look. "If it helps to get out, I'll take you. You're safe as long as you're in a crowd."

  She had wondered about what to do about meeting Michael for breakfast. "I'll be fine on my own."

  He didn't argue. "You're not the only person the police are looking for. A bellboy is being questioned about a man who offered him one hundred bucks to borrow his clothes and push the food cart into Rawlins's room. Fortunately, Dave was in disguise as well." He paused. "We can continue using the name Trotter, and since Jane is such a common name, I don't see a problem there, either."

  "Sounds like everything is going to be OK then."

  "For the time being."

  Jamie didn't miss the edge in his voice.

  * * * * *

  Jamie slid into the booth across from Michael Juliano. She stiffened when she noticed the folded newspaper beside him. She was just being paranoid, she told herself.

  He smiled at her. "Good morning. Or is it?"

  She froze. "What do you mean?"