by P. D. Martin
Marco gets up and offers me his hand again. “No tricks this time.”
“Never.”
I take his hand and he easily pulls me to a standing position in tight to his body. We’re close again. Too close for work colleagues and too close for friends. I become extremely aware of the fact that he’s still holding my hand. I gently pull away.
“Let’s hit the showers,” I say, then realize the line’s come out all wrong, like an invitation for him to join me in a shower. My cheeks flush. “I mean, I’m going to have a shower.”
Marco smiles. He lets go of my hand but speaks before the contact is totally lost. “How about dinner, Sophie?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“And why not?”
I’m silent, thinking of a response.
“So it’s settled. I’ll see you out front in twenty minutes.” He grabs his towel and then he’s gone, leaving me a little shell-shocked.
I walk to the change room. So that’s it. My first date with Josh Marco…and I’ve only got twenty minutes to cool down and make myself look respectable. I decide on a lukewarm shower, hoping this will calm down the redness in my face. I lather myself quickly but thoroughly. I want to smell just right.
My mind is cluttered with thoughts about the date. Already I’m making assumptions and trying to make decisions. Will we kiss each other? Should I sleep with him? Should I simply excuse myself to avoid the whole situation? Why are relationships so complicated? And that’s before I even start seeing someone.
I towel-dry myself and catch a glimpse of my reflection. Despite the coolish shower, big red blotches still cover my face and my hair is clumped together in sweaty strands. I should have washed it but it takes so long to dry. I have some magic to work to make myself look decent, let alone attractive.
Once I’m dry, I turn on the cold-water tap and hold my wrists underneath the icy stream for a couple of minutes. Cooling down is my first priority. Then I dry my hands and open my locker. What have I got to work with? I’m relieved to find some fresh underwear, though it’s a basic light blue cotton set. Nothing fancy. I pull on the panties and fasten the bra, jiggling my breasts into the cups. I put on some deodorant before grabbing the skirt of my suit and stepping into it. Next I pull on a black, three-quarter-sleeve cross-top. The stockings stay in my locker, I’m way too hot for stockings. I slip into my heels.
Makeup. I check the time. It’s been fifteen minutes already. My skin is still blotchy, but it’s gradually calming down. I spray a fine mist of toning solution on my face, hoping it will cool down my face. A thin layer of tinted moisturizer follows, spread evenly over my pale skin. A dusting of powder finishes the base and hides most of the redness. I smear pale pink lipstick on my lips and cover it with gloss. My face is done. I don’t bother with mascara as I get my eyelashes and eyebrows tinted every six weeks. One of the necessities for blondes.
Hair. The problem child. I pull it out of the elastic that tied it back during my workout and shower, and shake my head from side to side to see what I’ve got to work with. Better than I was expecting. Most of the sweaty parts are now on the underneath and it’s only around the front hairline area that it needs work. I rummage through my locker until I find my hair dryer and plug it in. I gently blow-dry the front area, with the dryer on low. My body temperature rises again, but it can’t be helped. It doesn’t take long to dry the front roots and soon I’m brushing my hair and fastening it with a barrette. I stuff my workout clothes back into my gym bag and push it into my locker. I’ll take them home for a wash tomorrow.
Time for the final verdict. I stand in front of the mirror and look myself up and down with the critical eye of a woman. Not bad. The heel and skirt show off my shapely legs, a trait that all the women in my family share, and the fitted skirt and V-neck top outline my slight curves. I pull my neckline down slightly to reveal a little bit of cleavage and move closer to the mirror to do a final check. My hair hangs almost perfectly straight, with just a small upturn at the bottom. My naturally strawberry-blond hair has added color with a few blonder highlights and some thin, orange-toned highlights. Parted on the side, the clip holds back the heavier side and I push the other side behind my ear. My facial features are compact—my fine nose and thin lips are traits that I dislike, but my light blue eyes and high cheekbones make up for them. My skin tone looks quite smooth, with only a little redness left in my cheeks. A healthy glow?
I walk out the front door. Marco is standing outside, hands in pockets, looking just the right combination of businessman and athlete. The sight of him leaves me wondering if the only decision I’ll be making tonight is “your place or mine?”
I’ve actually done incredibly well to resist him for six months. Especially when his personality, so far, seems just as good as his physical appearance. Of course, in my experience most guys in the law-enforcement business aren’t as straightforward as they appear. Plus, they tend to be pretty macho, which is a real turnoff. It’s hard to find the right balance between masculine strength and macho bravado. So far Marco seems to be treading that fine line right down the center. He is a little secretive though, which plays on my natural curiosity.
We choose an Italian place in Dumfries and within fifteen minutes we’ve both parked. Five minutes later we’ve ordered. The waiter returns with two glasses of Chianti. The ambience is romantic, a little too romantic for my liking. Dangerous.
I guess Marco senses it too, and we’re both silent. I can almost hear us both trying to think of a topic of conversation. Stupid, really, we’ve never had difficulty before. It’s just that I can’t seem to think straight.
“So what did you think of your first look at East Potomac Park?” Marco tries.
“Pretty.” I pause. “Except for the dead body.”
“That’ll always spoil a first impression.”
We both laugh a little.
“Are your folks still coming out in the spring?” he asks.
“Looks that way. I’ve put in for my leave, just waiting for Rivers to approve it. I can only get a week though.”
“Well, you haven’t done your time yet, not like the rest of us Bureau boys…and girls.”
“No.” I smile at his last-minute addition. Women are moving their way up the ranks of the FBI, but we’re still outnumbered by almost six to one. It can be pretty boysy. But law enforcement’s like that all over the world.
A beat of silence again.
“So, where are you going to take your folks?”
“I’ll show them around D.C. a bit, then I think we’ll go to New York and Boston for a couple of days. They’re flying in via Hawaii.” I roll my eyes. “Then L.A. to visit Dad’s family.”
“Does he miss the States?”
“Not anymore. He said he did at first, but that once we were born his family was in Australia anyway.”
“We?”
I take a sip of wine and compose myself. “I meant me. Once I was born.”
Marco pauses and looks as though he’s going to pursue the matter. No one here knows about my brother. About what happened to him all those years ago. It’s in my file obviously, but I don’t volunteer the information. Even at home not many people know about it. I never even told Matt. Even with him I didn’t drop my final layer of defenses. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of it.
Time for a topic change.
“No doubt they’ll give me a hard time about my new job.”
“At least they’re consistent,” Marco says with a smile.
During the Henley case I told Marco about my parents’ distaste for my chosen career. They thought I was heading along such a sensible path when I studied psychology, but I never lost sight of my ultimate ambition—to save people.
“My parents hated it when I was on the force in Melbourne and they hate it even more now that I’m thousands of miles away.”
“And hunting serial killers.”
“Yeah, that too.” I smile.
“You ca
n never please parents.” Marco shrugs.
“Yours too?”
“Oh, yeah.” He drags the words out. “My dad’s devastated I’m not following in his footsteps. But who’d want to be a politician?”
“I’d have to agree with you. Is he retired?”
“Not yet. He keeps promising Mom ‘next year,’ but next year never comes.”
“Is your mom patient?”
“She has to be to put up with him.”
I smile. “And you never thought about politics?”
“Not really. I’ve seen what my folks have been through.”
“He’s governor somewhere, right?”
“Uh-huh. Governor of Massachusetts at the moment, but he had high hopes.”
“Top office?”
“You got it. And when it was obvious he wasn’t going to make it, I was his second chance.” Marco takes a sip of wine. “Like I said, no pleasing parents.”
“There’s time for you yet.”
“You and my folks could be a team.”
I laugh. “No, I think I’d have to take your side on this one.”
Marco changes the topic. “Hawaii’s nice.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Yeah.”
“For work or pleasure?”
“Work.”
“Bureau? Air force?”
“Air force. I was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base for a few months.”
“Which island is it on?”
“Oahu. Right next door to the Honolulu Airport.”
“Nice.”
“It’s not a bad work location.” He smiles.
I imagine kissing Marco. Kissing Josh Marco. But the spell is broken when the waiter puts down our meals.
The first few mouthfuls are eaten in silence, and hurriedly. We’re both starving after the workout. But it’s more than that.
I keep eating, keep my head down, afraid to look up. Afraid of Josh. Why am I so nervous? I’m being ridiculous.
I look up. “How’s your risotto?”
Josh maintains eye contact and smiles. “Good. Do you want some?” He pushes his plate slightly toward me and I take a forkful.
I return the gesture. “Gnocchi?”
“Sure.”
He pierces one piece of gnocchi with his fork, pops it into his mouth and follows it with some wine, all the while holding my gaze.
“So, what did you do in Honolulu?” I say, trying to hide my nervousness.
“Nothing much. Training missions mostly. And some real missions too.” He pauses.
“Oh, right. This is the ‘if I tell you any more I’ll have to kill you’ moment.”
He takes a sip of wine. “Something like that.”
I narrow my eyes, unable to tell whether Josh is dramatizing or if perhaps he really was involved in some top-secret missions when he was in the air force.
“Nothing more to say on the subject?” I pursue it.
“Not much more to tell.” He takes some more risotto, grinning in between chewing.
Bastard is enjoying the secrecy. I won’t give him the satisfaction of asking him about it again. My stubborn streak takes over.
He breaks the silence. “So, run me through the D.C. case.”
I’m reluctant to fill our first date with shoptalk, but I’m too nervous to think of a better topic. We spend the rest of the meal talking about the D.C. murders and trying to come up with something new. But there’s nothing new to be found. Not yet. We’re still waiting on forensics from the park, of course. Maybe Marty will find something.
We’re drinking coffee when another moment of awkwardness interrupts our conversation. Looking at Marco, silent, I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact that it’s been over seven months since I’ve had sex and every inch of me is tingling in anticipation of what might happen tonight. My resistance is falling by the wayside. My feelings for Josh are undeniably powerful. And Sam’s right—I’ve always felt this way about him.
We pay the bill, with only scattered conversation. No plans are verbalized and out in the cold air my defensive wall starts to rebuild itself. But Josh is too quick, and he grabs my hand, holding it gently. The wall crumbles.
“Josh?” But instead of voicing my concerns, silence falls and once again our bodies move closer. I smell the familiar scent of Josh’s aftershave, Acqua de Gio, and I like it. He presses his hand into the small of my back and leans down until our lips meet. It’s gentle, hesitant at first. I move myself closer into him and put my arms around his neck as we kiss again, this time parting our mouths. Again, it’s gentle, tentative, hesitant on both our parts. Then the third kiss is more intense and overtly sexual. Our bodies are pushed close against one another as we kiss again.
“Wow,” Josh says.
I nod, happy that we’re both feeling the same thing. I’d forgotten how wonderful first kisses are—I was with Matt for seven years, after all.
“Want a ride home?” Josh says.
But we both know that isn’t the real question. My car’s around the corner, just like his.
I hesitate, my head fighting my heart and sex drive. “Sure, why not.”
The car ride is filled with silence and sexual tension. The first kiss has whetted my appetite and I want more. But will it only be a one-night stand with awkward moments at work, and our professional relationship, not to mention our friendship, ruined? Maybe that’s what Josh is into. But I don’t want that. Not from Josh. I’d go outside of work if all I wanted was sex.
We get to my place and I hesitate again. Josh doesn’t push the matter.
I press my lips together, unsure. “You want to come up?”
Josh answers quickly. “Okay.” He puts the car in Park.
We walk briskly up the stairs, eager to be in each other’s arms. I fumble with the lock and pick up the large envelope that’s underneath my door.
“Sam,” I say, placing the envelope on the dining table as we move inside. “It’s her D.C. profile.”
Josh comes in, and we both look at each other, uncertain.
“Josh, I don’t want things to be awkward. At work, I mean.” I finally manage to voice my biggest concern.
“They needn’t be.”
I pull away and move into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?” My eyes dart around the room, anywhere but at Josh.
“If you’re having one I will.”
I don’t really want anything else…except Josh. I walk back to him and wrap my arms around him. We kiss. A deep, lustful kiss. We don’t stop as we fumble our way to the bedroom, losing items of clothing on the way. By the time we reach the bed, Josh’s shirt and belt are off and both my jacket and top are off too. I’m surprised to see and feel a hairless chest, especially given his Italian heritage. I run my fingers over his smooth skin and squeeze my hands down his biceps.
He slows things down, running his hands up my spine and then down and across to my stomach. He kisses my neck. Gentle wet kisses intermingled with the heat of his breath. I breathe heavily in response, kick my shoes off and undo his pants. He runs one hand through my hair and unzips my skirt. I step out of it as Josh steps out of his trousers. We’re both down to our underwear. I push him onto the bed.
“It’s going to be like that, is it?” he says, half joking but obviously excited.
With seven months of celibacy and sexual tension…you bet it is.
CHAPTER 07
I peel my eyes open and am greeted by Josh’s face. He’s propped up on his arm, watching me.
He kisses me gently on the shoulder. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“You were having a bad dream.”
“Was I?” I ask a little too quickly. “What was I doing?”
“You were tossing and turning and talking, but I couldn’t make out the words.”
“Mmm.” I don’t remember it. Not last night’s.
“You often have nightmares?”
“Yeah,” I say, hesitant to reveal this fact to Josh.
“The cases?”
“I think so. I usually can’t remember the dreams. You sleep okay?”
“I got a bit of shut-eye in there somewhere.”
I smile. We both woke up a couple of times for repeat performances, not being able to get enough of each other. I roll onto my back and splay my arms out. “I’m exhausted.”
“Me too.” Josh’s free hand runs over my stomach. Perhaps I haven’t tired him out enough. But the touch turns into a cuddle and he draws my body close to his and gently kisses my neck.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“A quarter after seven.”
I sit up. “Shit, I was supposed to go over that profile for Sam. I told Rivers it would be on his desk this morning.”
“Do it at the office.”
“I’m supposed to be doing it after hours. In fact, Rivers pulled Sam off the case and he thinks I’m doing the whole thing.”
“Really? I didn’t pick you for a rebel.”
“I’m just helping out a friend.”
“Why don’t I drive us in, you can go over the profile in the car.”
“That still won’t be enough time.”
“At least you can have a quick look at it.”
It’s my only option. Besides, my car’s still in Dumfries.
The car ride is filled with silence as I read then reread the profile, making notes in my diary. There’s more. More to the killer.
My first stop at Quantico is Sam’s office. I’ve got a lot to talk to her about, personal and professional. I’m going to tell her I dreamt of Jean and Susan, and what happened to them. I wonder what she will make of it.
I wind my way through the corridors. The building is still quiet and my heels clip the linoleum floor loudly. About half the offices I pass are dark and unopened, while the other half show signs of people just settling in. Sam’s office is dark and locked.
I was counting on her being here so I could spill my guts. She must be running late. A huge pressure is building inside me and I need to release it. Where the hell is she?