Thrill Me to Death

by Roxanne St Claire

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you tonight,” he said. “Before we found Marta.”

  Irony strangled her. “The very act that was supposed to bring us together drove us apart,” she said sadly. “I bet he’s looking down from heaven, mad as hell.”

  Max smiled. “Coop? I doubt it.” He touched her cheek. “I bet he’s laughing his ass off because it took us so long to get it right.”

  She looked into his eyes and could see her reflection in their dark depths. “You think we got it right, Max?”

  He leaned into her mouth and brushed his lips over hers. “I think we’re finally gettin’ there, kid.”

  The kiss was whispery soft at first, then flared hard and hot. He pushed her up the next few steps, and the statuette fell out of her hand and clunked down the stairs. She grabbed his shoulders and let him guide her up the stairs, their mouths still connected in a heated kiss.

  Arousal slammed from her head to her toes, so strong it buckled her knees. They both gave in to the weakness in their legs, collapsing on the top step together. He tore at the buttons of her shirt, she stabbed her hand into his pants, closing over him and eliciting a grunt of pleasure.

  He kissed her again, opening her blouse and sliding his hand behind her back to unsnap her bra. As he did, he rolled over and pulled her on top of him. Her hair fell into his face as her clothes fell onto the floor and he palmed her breast.

  She fumbled with his buckle and freed him, shoving his pants away to stroke him. They rolled again across the top landing, blood singing, breath rasping, sweat prickling their skin.

  “This isn’t what I want,” he ground out.

  He pulled himself up, closed his pants, and scooped her up in his arms. “Not here. Not rolling around in the hall.”

  Carrying her, he strode toward her bedroom, determined and unstoppable. He kicked open the door and laid her on the bed. There he straddled her half-naked body, lowering his head to kiss her gently, deeply. He slowly ran his hands down her arms to her fingertips, threading their hands together, and drew her arms over her head, holding her wrists together with one hand.

  Then he brushed her lips with a kiss. Flicked the hollow of her throat with his tongue. He looked at her again, his jaw taut with the fight for control. Excited by his relentless study, she lifted her hips in invitation.

  “Look at you,” he murmured raggedly. “Look at you.”

  She slid her fingers under the headboard as he licked her cleavage, one long, slow stroke with the tip of his tongue. He trailed a path to one breast, circling the bud, gently teething her, then suckling while he claimed the other with his hand. She let go of the bed and buried her fingers in his hair, moaning his name, asking for more.

  He rose to his knees, stripping off his clothes, the sight of his mighty erection dizzying her. She curled her fingers into the bedding, staring.

  He took off her jeans and panties, then burned her from top to bottom with his eyes.

  Her lips parted and she closed both hands over his erection, unable to find her voice. He grunted with the kick of pleasure, sliding in her fingers, letting her caress him.

  Then he pulled her higher on the bed, placing himself between her legs, where arousal had left her moist and ripe for him.

  “I’m lousy with words, Cori,” he said, poised to enter her. “You understand that, don’t you? Words and feelings…I can’t.”

  “But you are, right now.” She touched his cheek.

  “Only with you.”

  He plunged into her, deeply, completely, owning her body. He pushed to the hilt with a raw, lusty groan, sliding in and out with a slow, achy rhythm.

  Her body tightened around him, constricting with the pleasure and intensity of their connection. He drove into her, grinding and helpless as though a dam had broken, releasing so much pressure that it had control of him.

  She clasped his hips with her thighs, planted her mouth against his shoulder and shuddered his name as she spiraled into an orgasm, losing her sanity and grip on everything except Max.

  He came the instant she did, burying himself into her with a deep growl of pure bliss.

  Then he fell on her, rasping for air, heavy and spent and exhausted.

  “You want to know why I took this job?” he whispered.

  “Because you promised my father you’d take care of me.”

  “No.” He breathed the word into her ear. “Because I have never, ever stopped loving you.”

  Max woke when Cori sat up. “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t you hear the phone?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. What time is it?”

  “Just after three. You were dead asleep.” She reached for the cordless on her dresser. “Maybe Marta is awake and this is Dan.”

  “Dan would call my cell,” Max said ominously.

  She stared at the caller ID and looked up at him. “It’s Breezy.”

  “At this hour?”

  Cori shrugged and answered. “What’s the matter?” she asked Breezy without saying hello.

  “Help.” The word was a breathless sob. “Cor, I need help.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “It’s Giff.” Her voice cracked.

  “What about him?” Cori demanded, reaching for Max’s hand.

  “He’s…he’s lost his mind. He’s threatening me. I ran outside to call you, and I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.”

  “Where is Giff? Does he know where you are?” She started climbing out of bed, reaching for clothes. “She’s in trouble,” she whispered to Max.

  “I’m hiding in the backyard, in the gazebo. Oh, God, Cori. I’m so scared. He’s gone crazy.”

  “Call 911. We’ll come over, but you need to get the police there.”

  “No. No. I need someone to talk sense into him. He just needs to be calmed down. You could do that. Come over and talk to him.”

  “What happened?” Gifford never lost his cool. “What started this?”

  “Cori, please. Just come over and talk to him. He always listens to you. Talk to him about William. That’ll help him.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Max gave her a hard look.

  “We’ll be right over,” she corrected.

  “Don’t bring that bodyguard!” Breezy said quickly. “It’ll freak Giff out.”

  The connection died and Cori pulled on her discarded jeans. “My friend needs me,” she said. “She needs me to talk to Giff.”

  He pushed the covers back. “All right. Let’s go.”

  They were dressed in less than thirty seconds and jogging down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step, Cori’s foot hit the gold statuette that had fallen to the floor. Maybe Giff knew why William had it. Maybe Giff knew her husband better than she did.

  She scooped it up in one move, then grabbed the handbag she’d dropped near the front door and left.

  Chapter

  Twenty-two

  C ori was silent, except for the occasional direction for the fastest way to Coral Gables. Silence suited Max fine. They’d said enough for one night.

  She knew, now. About her father. About his feelings. The rest was up to her. He focused on the rain-slick highway. Even at this hour—especially at this hour—a few crazies were recklessly weaving and flying on US 1. He concentrated on the traffic, not the fact that they were headed directly toward the suspect’s home in the middle of the night.

  “Turn left here, on LeJeune,” Cori instructed.

  “What’s the security situation?” he asked.

  “They live in Cocoplum. Gated, guarded, waterfront. Their house backs up to a marina that leads to the bay.”

  He had agreed not to call the cops because if they showed up, Giff might clam up. If Max could get him alone, he could probably get a confession. “Who else lives in the house?” he asked. “Any staff?”

  “No one. Her housekeeper comes in the daytime.”

  For a few minutes, the only sound was the rhythmic thump of the
wipers and the hiss of tires on the wet pavement.

  “Max,” she finally said, quietly. “I can look at my dad’s choice in one of two ways.”

  He glanced at her, listening.

  “I can choose to believe that he was a hero who saved your life.”

  He cruised through a yellow light. “How can you look at it any other way?”

  “Or I can think of it as a betrayal. That he killed himself.”

  He shook his head. “One of us was going to die that morning, and Coop decided it would be him. It was a selfless act of love. Stupid as hell, but heroic.” He reached out and closed his fingers around her hand. “He loved you. And he was so proud you were in law school—destined to argue your way right to the Supreme Court, he told me.”

  She turned and looked out her window. “I guess I wasted his sacrifice, didn’t I?”

  “If we’re doling out blame, I deserve some. I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have stayed away almost a year.”

  “Why did you?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Guilt, I guess. Anger. Work. General stubbornness.” He stopped at the red light and looked at her. “And I never dreamed you would marry someone else.”

  “It happened fast,” she said. “He was there at the right time, in the right place, and I took the comfort and support he offered.” Then she squeezed his hand. “I loved him, too, Max. In a different way than us. I loved him and he…” She shifted the statuette she held on her lap. “I never had any reason to doubt he loved me.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Max said gently.

  “No, you’re not. You’re placating me.” When he didn’t disagree, she dropped the statuette in her bag. “What about the tea Marta drank? When do you think the analysis will be back?”

  “Not soon enough.”

  “You know, I can see the suicide theory,” she conceded, “but it doesn’t explain who shot at me or attacked me in the spa.”

  “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

  “Giff?” She shook her head. “Oh, Lord, I hope not.”

  He shot her a quick look. “He embezzled ten million dollars, we’re virtually certain of that. He may have killed your husband.”

  She dropped her head back, closing her eyes. “And you think he paid off the ME to file a false autopsy report, and then had him killed?”

  “It’s possible. And he probably arranged for the trailer to be burned at the mall site. Now it sounds like he’s gone off the deep end.” He rounded a traffic circle and slowed down at the marble, gated entrance to Cocoplum.

  “I’m on the list,” she told him. “Just give them my name.”

  A minute later, they were cruising down the main road, past uplit palms and sprawling palaces of stucco and glass. She told him to turn into a cul-de-sac where a few of the homes were tucked behind walls, but most were visible from the street.

  Nearly every one was darkened for the night—until they got to the pink monstrosity at the end, where every light blazed from an array of arched windows and Roman columns.

  “That’s weird,” Cori said. “Why are all those lights on?”

  “Any chance you have a key?”

  “It’s on that ring in the ignition,” she told him. “But let’s knock first. They’re obviously home.”

  Nothing was obvious. “If there’s no answer, I’ll go in.”

  Cori took a few steps toward the side yard, squinting toward the back where sailboats and motor yachts bobbed in the marina.

  “Breezy said she was outside. Should we go back there first?”

  He took her hand and tugged her toward the door. “If she was hiding from him, he might be out there. Waiting for you.”

  They rang the bell twice, with no response. Max held the key chain out and she plucked the correct key and gave it back.

  “Listen,” he said. “If Gifford is really panicking, he’s probably weak enough to give me a confession. Let me handle him, okay? You take care of your friend.”

  “What if he really hurt her?”

  “Then I’ll really hurt him,” he said quietly. “Is there an alarm?”

  “Yes. To the left of the front door. The code is 7936.”

  He pulled out his gun, then slid the key in the door, holding up a hand to keep her back as he stepped in and looked around. He turned the alarm off and listened for a moment.

  “Anybody home?” he called out. He motioned for Cori to come in and took her hand.

  “Breezy?” she hollered. “Are you here?”

  Silence.

  “Their bedroom is upstairs, but let’s try the back patio first.”

  Just as they started in that direction, they heard a low rumble. Max held a hand up as he listened. “Garage door?” he suggested.

  Instantly they heard the whine of an engine. Max leaped to the front door and Cori followed, just in time to see a late-model Jaguar catapulting out of the garage and flying down the driveway. As it passed Cori’s Mercedes, the left side of the Jag scraped the other car, tearing off the side-view mirror and making a horrendous screeching noise as metal scraped metal.

  Cori turned and started toward the back of the house.

  “Breezy? Are you here?”

  Max grabbed her arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Maybe she’s here. Maybe she’s hurt. That was Giff’s car.”

  “Call her on her cell,” he said, handing her his phone.

  She punched in Breezy’s cell phone number. Instantly, they heard a mechanical tone from the kitchen. Cori took off with Max right behind her.

  The phone sat on the dark granite counter, bright pink and trilling the digital version of “Hello, Dolly.”

  “Damn it,” Cori muttered, picking it up.

  A movement of light caught his eye outside. “What’s that?”

  Through the wall of French doors, he could make out a bright orange dot glowing in the middle of an elaborate gazebo.

  “She’s out there smoking,” Cori said, rushing toward the door.

  Max beat her there in an instant. “Me first.”

  She was on his heels as they crossed the wet flagstone around the pool and approached the covered gazebo. Although the landscaping lights weren’t on and the rain clouds had obliterated the moon, the house was bright enough to shed a yellow aura over Breezy as she sat facing the marina, puffing away as though her only care in the world was getting that nicotine in her body.

  “Breezy,” Cori called softly as they got closer. “Are you okay?”

  Breezy sucked in a drag, and blew it out slowly.

  “Breezy!” Frustration colored Cori’s tone. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s going blind and shouldn’t be driving.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Cori reached the gazebo and dropped onto the curved stone bench next to Breezy. She reached toward her friend, but stopped, probably because of the stone cold expression on Breezy’s face.

  Breezy’s lifeless gaze slipped past Cori to Max. “Would you go get him, please?”

  “Excuse me?” Max burned her with a glare, then stepped into the gazebo out of the misty rain, his gun still in his hand.

  “He’s in no condition to drive. I just told you, he’s going blind.” She puffed again and finally looked at Cori. “I’m sorry I got hysterical. He’s having a very hard time with his illness and, frankly, he scared me.”

  “I had no idea he was ill, Breezy.” Cori closed her hand over Breezy’s. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

  She flipped her cigarette into the wet grass. “I’m fine. But I’d rather my husband’s bloodied remains were not strewn all over US 1 tonight so, would you please”—she looked up at Max again—“go and get him?”

  “Call the police,” he said, his voice as icy as hers. “That’s their job.”

  “He’s ready to confess. He’s on his way to the Peyton offices to write up his letter of resignation.”

  Cori glanced at Max, then asked, “Confess to what?”

>   Breezy looked skyward. “You know as well as I do, Cor, that he sucked millions out of the Peyton coffers. What you don’t know is that he had only the most noble and altruistic motives.” She flicked her hair back and revealed her earrings. “It wasn’t so I could have more of these.”

  “Why did he do it?” Max’s question held no sympathy.

  She looked at Cori when she answered. “He promised Galen before he died that he would help Galen’s twin sister in California—whom he didn’t even know about when they adopted, mind you—if she came down with the same disease. She hasn’t, but he told me tonight that not only is he going blind, but that all the money is gone. Pffft. Spent. He tried to ease the blow of that with sex but, what a surprise, it didn’t work.” She shrugged and laughed humorlessly. “Then he threatened to kill me if I told you, and that’s when I called you.”

  “You said you were scared.”

  “I was, but I handled him. When I told him you already knew about the money—I figured you do, based on that brief conversation when you were in Sonoma—he calmed down.” She gave Max a tight smile. “I assured him that he wouldn’t go to Alcatraz, just some country club prison for bad executives.”

  There was no minimum security for murderers—but now wasn’t the time to tell her.

  “Why didn’t he tell William about Galen’s sister?” Cori asked. “We would have covered her medical bills, or whatever she needed. Surely he knew that.”

  “Pride. And now the irony is after paying for all those medical tests and bills, he’s the one who’s really ill.”

  “We’ll take care of him, Breeze,” she said softly, then turned to Max. “I want to stay with her. Please, please do me a favor and go find Giff. You know where the office is, on Biscayne Drive. Please, Max. Go get him. There’s no danger here.”

  He wanted to nail Giff, wanted to be the one to yank a confession out of him, but not at the price of leaving Cori. “No.”

  She stood up, approaching him. “I’m begging you. This is really important to me. Giff may have stolen money, but he’s Breezy’s husband and he was my husband’s closest friend. Regardless of what’s happened, I want to help him, but I need to stay here.” She shot a pointed look at Breezy who did look borderline nuts at the moment. “Please. Go get him before he has an accident and kills himself. Or someone else.”