Red Tide

by Tymber Dalton

  Ed wasn’t done. When she tried to push him away, he grabbed her hands and laced his fingers through hers, pinning her arms to the bed. She lifted her head to look at him. His playful blue gaze peered up at her over the swell of her mound before a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then he closed them again and sucked on her clit, pulling another orgasm from her just as powerful as the first.

  She clamped down on his hands and held on through wave after wave of pleasure. It wasn’t until he finally released her with a gentle kiss to her navel that she could finally catch her breath.

  She grabbed him and pulled his mouth down to hers. The taste of her juices on his lips thrilled her. She was his, now. As long as he’d have her.

  Grabbing his cock, she tried to line it up with her slit when he stopped her and sat up. “Condoms?”

  Fuck! She shook her head. “I’m on the Pill. Plus, I got tested after I left John.”

  He grinned and bent down to kiss her again. This time when she found and wrapped her fingers around his cock, he let her position him, rubbing the once again engorged head up and down along her wet slit.

  Bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of her, his gaze never left hers as he slowly sank his cock deep inside her.

  “I love you, Mitch,” he whispered.

  She nodded. “I love you, too.” Tears of happiness welled up, unbidden. Mitch knew in her heart that she loved Ed, had loved him for years, and in the shadow of the terror from earlier in the day she finally felt a peace that had eluded her for years.

  With her arms wrapped around him, she kissed him and met him, thrust for thrust. She loved the way he stretched her, the feel of him sliding deep inside her body. His thrusts quickened, deepened, and she knew from the tensing of his face that his release was near. He groaned, cried out, and finally collapsed on her as she hugged him tightly to her, her fingers stroking his back.

  Later, he lay down beside her, their legs and fingers entwined, and talked for a while. They made love once more before falling into deep, satisfied sleep, their bodies pressed together like spoons.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jenna sat on her darkened balcony, drink in hand, deeply bothered and silently contemplating her situation. John appeared to be telling her the truth, but her conversation with Donna had sown the seeds of doubt in her mind. How much did she really know about the mysterious John Tyne?

  He had left a few minutes earlier. In the morning he would return and they would go to a car show in Kissimmee.

  He was a man she really felt she could eventually fall totally in love with. Perhaps she’d already started doing just that. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to make a mistake. She wanted to talk to his friends, get to know him through their eyes, but he’d rarely mentioned them much less invited her to meet them.

  Jenna tipped back her glass and drained the rest of her cocktail. It was late, and she needed to get to sleep. She went into the bedroom, turning the TV to the eleven o’clock news as she prepared for bed. She was undressing when the announcer caught her attention.

  “And the sleepy little Gulf coastal community of Aripeka, on the Pasco-Hernando county boarder, was rocked by a car bomb explosion today. For the second time in less than a week, charter boat captain Mitch Jackson is embroiled in an adventure right out of a crime novel.”

  Stunned, Jenna sat on the end of the bed and watched the report. “As you’ll recall, Ms. Jackson and her business partner, Ed Grey, recently discovered the body of suspected drug smuggler Julio Barres on the wreck of the fishing vessel, Emmerand. Also discovered on board were eighty kilos of cocaine.

  “Police will not comment on whether or not the bomb placed in Ms. Jackson’s Ford Bronco was related to the discovery last week, but an anonymous source at the Pasco County Sheriff’s Office did mention Ms. Jackson is in the process of filing for divorce from her estranged husband, John Tyne, a Tampa advertising executive. When asked for an official comment on this, the Pasco County Sheriff’s Office spokesman replied that any connection between the bombing and Mr. Tyne would be pure speculation at this time, but that they are following all possible leads.”

  Jenna felt numbness creeping in, her seeds of doubt now full-fledged saplings. Still, she had to know for sure. When the story finished she sat, unsure what action to take. John was on his way back to Tampa, a fact for which she now felt extremely grateful.

  She dialed directory assistance and requested Mitch’s number. She wrote it down on the pad next to the phone and stared at it, wrestling with the decision to call or wait until morning. She finally decided to wait and went to bed, tossing and turning for a long time before finally succumbing to sleep.

  * * * *

  In the CD player, Meat Loaf was belting out “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” John sang along at the top of his lungs. What he lacked in tone, he made up for in volume.

  He drove the speed limit, in no hurry to get home. I-4 was practically deserted, the night was clear, and his heart felt light. “Bill” had proven quite reliable in the past. John was sure today would be no exception. Before John dropped the keys in the mail slot of the deserted-looking house in Hyde Park, he had carefully wiped them to remove all traces of his fingerprints.

  By now, at least one of his worries should be taken care of.

  He almost ignored his cell phone when it beeped, then finally decided to answer it on the fourth ring.

  “Yes?”

  The male voice on the other line wasn’t familiar, but the password was.

  “Jack, this is Bill.”

  John immediately knew something went wrong. He silenced Meat Loaf in the middle of his prayers for the end of time.

  “What happened?”

  * * * *

  John pulled into the rest stop near Lakeland and considered his options. For the past ten miles, since getting the call from Bill, he’d made sure he wasn’t being followed, pulling off and reentering at three different exits, looking for tails.

  He got out of the car and stretched, wondering how to handle the situation he knew faced him in Tampa. Undoubtedly, there would be police at the Carrollwood house waiting to question him. At least he had Jenna as his alibi. Now that something had gone wrong, the number he’d dialed would no longer be valid, and he’d dumped the throwaway phone at one of his earlier stops, but there was still the “what-if” factor to deal with.

  He used the bathroom and returned to the car. It would be a simple matter to disable the Porsche’s engine and call AAA to come get him. He had the premium program that would pay to tow it back to Orlando. Even though the dealership he’d bought it from was in Tampa, it would provide an extra alibi for him and buy valuable planning time before his eventual meeting with investigators.

  In the back of the Porsche he kept a small tool kit. He found just what he needed, a jumper wire about ten inches long with small alligator clips on each end. John looked around, saw no one watching, and popped the hood. It was a quick matter to locate the car’s electronic brain and short-circuit it. He felt a slight pang of remorse and silently apologized to the expensive machine, then tried to crank it. There was no spark. It wouldn’t fire off.

  Perfect.

  An older couple in a wheezing Chevy station wagon loaded to the gills with luggage pulled in two spaces from him. The man asked him if he needed any help, but John waved him off.

  “That’s okay. I’m going to call the auto club. They’ll tow me back, but thank you for the offer.”

  The man nodded. “No problem.”

  Excellent. Another alibi.

  He placed the call. The wrecker arrived thirty minutes later. On the way back to Orlando, he called Jenna on his cell phone. When she answered, her voice sounded deep and thick with sleep.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetie. It’s me.”

  There was a pause. “John? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, the Porsche broke down on me. I’m having it towed back to Orlando. I hate to wake you up like this, but could you pick
me up at the dealership and take me back to my condo?”

  “Hold on.” He heard her rummage for a pen in the drawer of the bedside table. “Okay, give me the address.”

  He read her the address and she recited it back to him. “I’ll call you when we’re almost there. I’m sorry, Jenna.”

  “No, it’s okay. Do you want to stay here tonight?”

  It was almost too perfect. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course not. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  He hung up the phone and smiled. The tow truck driver looked over at him.

  “Boy, that girl of yours must be a real saint,” he laughed. “My wife’d be pissed at me, I called her this time of night. She’d tell me take a cab or hitch.”

  John smiled. “Oh, she’s a real angel.”

  * * * *

  Jenna stared at the ceiling for a moment. Thank God John hadn’t been there while the news was on. Sometimes he made her feel like he could read her mind, and her suspicions were something she didn’t want him to know about. Not yet, at least.

  She started a pot of coffee and pulled on a comfortable pair of shorts and a T-shirt to await his call.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mitch awoke before dawn the next morning to a raging headache and an empty bed. She tried sitting up to look at the alarm clock and nearly screamed from the pain in her aching muscles. She finally managed it, and saw a note, a glass of water, and her bottle of Percocet sitting on the bedside table.

  The note was in Ed’s neat print.

  Mitch, sleep today. I’ve already rescheduled today’s charter for next week. The deputies are still downstairs. Relax and get some rest. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I love you. Ed.

  Her hand caressed the last line.

  I love you.

  Mitch took one Percocet and chased it with several gulps of water. She started to stand and thought better of it. The thought of lying back down so the medicine could work looked like a pretty good idea.

  I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.

  When she opened them again, bright sunlight filled the room and she smelled bacon frying in the kitchen. Starting with her feet and ankles, she began carefully stretching, trying to work the pain and stiffness out of her protesting muscles. She finally got to her feet just as Ed walked in the door carrying a tray loaded with food.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” He set the tray on the bedside table and kissed her.

  “If you can call it that. What time is it anyway?”

  “Well, I went to the shop a little before six, made some calls, and got back here about seven thirty. You were sawing logs like we were preparing for a blizzard.” He laughed. “It’s almost nine now.”

  “Nine? Holy crap.”

  “Well, you had a rather hard day yesterday. Let’s be realistic.”

  She snickered, unable to resist the opening. “Well, a hard night, at least.”

  He grinned. “No, I had the hard night.” He wrapped his arms around her and carefully hugged her before sitting next to her. “You feeling okay?”

  She nodded. “Stiffer than hell.” She looked up at him. He cocked his eyebrow at her and the laughter came again.

  He finally stood up. “You know, we really need to quit doing this or we’ll never get anything done.” He smiled. “You ready for breakfast?”

  Her stomach growled in response. “Absolutely.”

  Ed turned on the TV, and they ate in bed. The phone rang and Ed walked out into the living room to listen to the recorder. When Sam Caster started to leave his phone number, Ed picked up and talked to him.

  “Okay, see you then. Bye.” He hung up and walked back into the bedroom. “Sam wants to get official statements from both of us this afternoon.”

  Mitch groaned. “Ugh. When?”

  Ed transferred the tray to the floor and stretched out next to her, propped up on one arm. “Not until one.”

  She smiled. “One?”

  He nodded. “Four hours.”

  “I think they’ll fly by.”

  She giggled as she reached up and drew his lips down to hers. She felt his cock immediately harden against her hip through his shorts. He quickly shucked them and sat up, straddling her.

  “What do you want to do to kill the time?” he asked, his blue eyes playfully twinkling.

  “I can think of sixty-nine things off the top of my head.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really?” He changed position, pinning her to the bed as he buried his face between her legs. That left his stiff cock bobbing right over her lips.

  She dug her fingers into his ass and pulled him down so she could reach him. First she laved her tongue over his balls, gently sucking on them and making him moan against her clit. When she captured his cock and sucked it deep into her mouth, he moaned again, louder this time, the delicious vibrations of his voice rumbling through her clit and triggering her first orgasm.

  His cock twitched in her mouth as he knew he had her and kept her coming over and over again. He furiously worked her swollen clit with his tongue as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She wanted to make him come, but he seemed to be holding back and focusing on her.

  Giving up, she closed her eyes and succumbed to his mouth, barely able to do more than hang on for the ride and suck his cock as he had his way with her.

  When she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he sat up and switched positions again. He slung her legs over his shoulders, his gaze burning into hers as he rubbed his cock along her slit.

  “You want this?” he hoarsely asked.

  She eagerly nodded, her body still trembling from the last orgasm.

  He plunged in, deep and hard, triggering one more orgasm from her that made her cry out.

  “That’s it, baby,” he said with a grunt. He fucked her hard and fast, trying to catch up with her, driving her up the bed until his body tensed and he let out a cry of his own.

  Breathless, he limply collapsed on top of her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, holding him, never wanting to let go.

  * * * *

  They drove into the sheriff’s department parking lot a little before one. They were getting out of Ed’s truck when Ron pulled in next to them.

  “So, Fireball Jackson, how are you feeling?”

  “Really stiff, but I think I’ll live long enough to make John’s life miserable.”

  Ron laughed. “All kidding aside, Mitch, you really shouldn’t go around saying that. We don’t have any proof that he’s behind this, and it leaves you wide open to a lawsuit. Besides, he might decide to get nasty about the divorce if you cause him too much trouble.”

  “Well, we certainly don’t want that,” Ed said as he caressed her hand.

  Ron paused. After studying them for a brief moment, a broad smile broke across his face. “Ooohhhh. AAAHHHHhhhh. Congratulations! It’s about damn time the two of you got together.”

  Ed laughed. “Now, Ron, how could you possibly know that?”

  “Because the two of you look like you just got laid.”

  “Ron!” Mitch gasped in feigned shock, then laughed.

  Ed glanced at his watch, trying to hide his embarrassment. “We really ought to be getting inside. Sam’s waiting for us.”

  Sam led them to a conference room and got them situated. A tape recorder sat on the table, and he set it up to record their statements. He started with Mitch, then Ed, leading them through the events of the afternoon and their thoughts on the motive behind the attack. When they finished, Sam reached over and hit the stop switch on the recorder and sat back, rubbing his eyes.

  “I hate to tell you this, but if I took this to the State Attorney’s office, he’d laugh me right out of there, regardless of whether or not he believed any of it.”

  “Sam, I know there used to be a spare set of keys to the Bronco at the house. He could have given them to someone to get into it. He did it. I know it.”

  “There just isn’t enough for u
s to get a search warrant. And the damn thing is, by the time he finally gets home, it’ll be too late for us to get one. He might have already disposed of any evidence.”

  Ed felt furious. In the time it took for Sam to talk to them, he had convinced himself that John Tyne probably was behind the attempt on Mitch’s life. “Sam, isn’t there something you can do?”

  The detective shrugged. “He has an alibi. By looking at the divorce decree, no jury is going to believe that angle. Our hands are tied.”

  The divorce decree. Mitch had an idea.

  “Ron,” she started, “since I don’t have a signed decree from John, and there’s been no formal judgment, and since there aren’t any restrictions on me going into the house, legally, anything I took from there would be mine, right?”

  Sam quickly stood up. “Whoa! Hold it right there. I don’t want to hear any more of this. If you come to me later on with some concrete proof that John’s involved in something illegal, then I’ll see where I can go with it. But I don’t want to be any part of a plan to gather that evidence in case I can use it. His lawyer would try to get it thrown out on some technicality, saying we were trying to entrap him, or using husband-wife privilege, or some bullshit. You bring me something I can use and I’ll take it from there.” He stood and left the room.

  As soon as the door shut behind Sam, Ed was the first to speak. “No. Absolutely not. N-O.”

  “Ed, wait a minute.”

  “She’s got a point,” Ron interjected. “John could try to argue that since she’d moved out and signed the agreement it wasn’t legal, but since she did originally install the computer she could possibly claim she was trying to get some information she’d left on it.”

  “But what if he is the one who tried to kill her? What if he tries again? What if he comes home while she’s there? No!”