Murder Mayhem and Mama

by Christie Craig

  “You’re lucky. I wish I had a sister,” Cali said. As soon as Susan passed security, Brit led Cali out of the airport.

  They stepped out of the elevator and into the parking garage. “I thought we’d order in tonight,” he said as he hit the clicker of his SUV. “What do you want? Chinese? Italian? Me?”

  His tone grew soft. His gaze met hers. Then he pulled her into his arms and, leaning her against the passenger door, he kissed her.

  His hands traveled up her ribs, dangerously close to her breasts. When the kiss ended, he leaned his forehead against her and took several long breaths. “Alone at last.”

  “You don’t work tonight?” Cali asked, a little out of breath herself. Every place he’d touched her, and some places he hadn’t, pulsed with pleasure. The memory of his touch on her bare skin in intimate places had the pulse of pleasure increasing.

  “Not until tomorrow.” The heat in his eyes made promises.

  She wanted those promises. She didn’t know what would happen after Stan had been brought in, after she learned to deal with her mother’s death, or after Brit learned to deal with the loss of his partner. How much of this magical feeling was situational? When the situation changed, would things change between them? Either way, right now she wanted to let herself feel this.

  “Good.” She smiled. “You need a full night’s sleep.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Sleep is so overrated.”

  She kissed him, leaning close—all of her against all of him. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth. He gently pressed his hips against hers and she met him in the sensual motion. Footsteps and the sound of rolling luggage broke them apart.

  He grinned, his eyes dark with want and his lips wet. “I’d better get you home before you have your way with me right here.”

  She felt her cheeks grow red and heard his chuckle.

  “I think I’m figuring you out. You can have sex, but you can’t talk sex.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Before it’s over with, you’re going to be talking dirty to me.”

  Before it’s over with…? Brit’s words rang in her head. Was he too wondering how long this could last?

  ~

  “Shit,” Brit mumbled as he spotted Quarles’ truck parked in his drive way. Then he spotted the man on the porch, his cell phone in his hand. Brit’s cell phone started ringing.

  Quarles looked over his shoulder at the SUV and closed his phone. Brit glanced at Cali as he pulled to a stop. “Have you ever seen a grown man cry?”

  She bit down on her lip and offered him a shy smile.

  Frowning, he got out of his SUV. “What’s up?”

  Quarles looked toward the driveway as Cali stepped out of the SUV, then he met Brit’s eyes with sympathy. “Sorry.”

  Brit didn’t attempt to hide his frustration. “You should be.”

  “It’s Rina,” Quarles said. “She disappeared from the safe house. I stopped by the precinct, and the officer watching her called in while I was there. He thinks she took off in search of a hit. Said she looked like she was having a meltdown.”

  Brit raked a hand through his hair and glanced back at Cali. He wanted to tell Quarles he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Rina and insist he call someone else to track her down. But he couldn’t.

  ~

  Lady Luck liked him today. He found Rina the first place he and Quarles looked—a rundown bar where a lot of hookers hung out on their down time. In the back of the smoky room, she half sat, half lay sprawled out over some guy’s lap. As Brit and Quarles approached the booth, Brit noted Rina’s unfocused stare. She’d found what she came looking for. And the man with his hand up her dress thought he’d found what he was looking for, too.

  Clearing his throat, he flashed his badge. The man jumped to attention. He pushed Rina off his lap. She landed with a thump against the side of the booth.

  She pulled herself up and dropped both her elbows on the table. Her half-gone gaze met Brit’s, and she smiled. “Hey. You shouldn’t be jealous. I offered you a freebie earlier.”

  Brit motioned for the chump to leave. When he scurried away, Brit pulled Rina up by the elbow. “Come on.”

  “I don’t want to go back there.” She tried to wiggle away.

  “You don’t want to end up dead, either.” Brit had to put his arm around her to guide her out of the bar.

  “Don’t you want to fuck me, Lowell?” She put a hand on his chest, attempting to pole-dance herself down his leg, but in her drugged state, she nearly fell over. He caught her.

  “No, Rina, I don’t.” He held her further away. Right then, Brit realized more than ever how deep his feelings ran for Cali. Because he didn’t want to fuck Cali either. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt something this genuine for a woman.

  He’d always liked women, and never stopped short of respecting them. But it had been about sex. He hadn’t been a selfish lover. He offered pleasure when he took his, but with Cali it wasn’t just about pleasure. He remembered how right it felt laughing with her in his bed, talking to her the other morning at breakfast, how seeing her with his sister and that damn cat had melted his heart. And if that wasn’t enough of a difference, he recalled how comforting it had been when she’d squeezed his hand when he’d been about to face his mother. Everything he felt for Cali was different. Genuine.

  Rina looked over at Quarles. “You want to fuck me?”

  Quarles’ eyes lit up. “I’m going to have to pass, as well. But thanks for offering. My ego would have been hurt if you hadn’t.”

  They took Rina back to the precinct and another officer drove her to the safe house.

  “Do you think Rina is going to ask him to fuck her, too?” Brit asked.

  Quarles shook his head. “Nah, he’s not nearly as good looking as we are.” They both laughed as Quarles followed Brit back to his office where they filled out some paperwork.

  “Heard anything on Garland?” Brit sat down in his chair.

  “He’s out of surgery, but they’re keeping him sedated for a while. The doctor said we couldn’t see him until tomorrow.”

  Brit nodded. “Good.” He could now go spend the evening with Cali. His body tightened with anticipation.

  “Did you get Susan to the airport?” Quarles asked.

  “Yeah.” Brit cast a look at his partner, still not too happy about the man’s interest in his sister.

  “She said she’ll be down for Thanksgiving,” Quarles added.

  “She usually comes down for the holidays.” He looked at his desk.

  “You still pissed about me seeing her?”

  “You got a sister?” When Quarles nodded, Brit added, “How old?” He purposely put some sleaze into his voice.

  “She’ll be eighteen next month. The baby in the family.”

  “What if I told you I wanted to get to know her?”

  Quarles’ eyebrows shot up. “I’d say you’re too damn old.”

  “But I like ‘em young. And I’ll bet she’s hot.”

  Quarles frowned. “Okay, I see what you’re getting at. It makes a brother uncomfortable, but that’s just tough. I like your sister. I don’t know where it will lead. But we’re both adults. And if say so myself, I’m not a bad catch. And I’d never, ever screw a blow-up doll, male or female.”

  Brit sighed. “She told you about Edward, huh?”

  “Yeah. Bastard.”

  Brit’s negative feelings about Quarles and his sister lightened. “Just make sure it doesn’t lead to her being hurt.”

  “Hey.” Adams appeared at the door. “Good work snagging Rina.” He stepped inside the office and shut the door. Both Brit and Quarles looked at each other with concern. Adams leaned against the closed door because there wasn’t room for him anywhere else. “About the guy you brought in yesterday—I was out of line.”

  Brit noted that Adams mostly looked at his partner. The sergeant obviously depended on their history to make things right and didn’t feel Brit expected an apology. Brit didn’t.

/>   “You two did good bringing him in.” Adams ran a hand over his unshaven face. The whole damn police force looked sleep-deprived because of the cop shootings.

  Brit actually felt good knowing he wasn’t alone.

  “Did he give us anything?” Quarles asked the question sitting on the end of Brit’s tongue.

  Adam looked at Brit. “Not much. But you were right. He’s not our cop killer. The gun he had and the one used on Keith and Anderson weren’t the same.”

  “Did you compare that gun to the slug that was pulled out of Cali McKay’s apartment?” Brit asked.

  Adams butted against the door. “We did. It isn’t a match. But the guy is connected to the Humphrey case. We got a hit on his prints. His name is Trent Bright. Cousin to Nolan Bright. He swears he doesn’t know anything. That his cousin called him and asked him to meet him at that address. Claimed he thought you guys were trying to rob the place when you approached.”

  “Was that before or after we informed him we were the police?” Quarles muttered.

  Brit grabbed a pencil and rolled it between his palms. “Do me a favor. Have Ballistics compare the bullet pulled out of McKay’s apartment to the one that shot Garland.”

  Adams scratched his raspy cheek. “You think Humphrey shot Garland?”

  “I’m thinking it could be a possibility,” Brit said. “Maybe Humphrey, Nolan and his cousin are in this together.”

  Adams tugged at his belt. “I’ll have it checked out. Now all we got to do is find a way to catch Humphrey.”

  Brit pulled out the computer printout of Cali’s credit card bill. “I think I’ve got that figured out, too.”

  He’d planned to wait until tomorrow, but the sooner he had Humphrey behind bars, the sooner he could see clear to what was really happening between him and Cali. The thought brought just a bit of panic marching through his chest, but Brit no longer felt so eager to deny the emotions. Instead, a part of him whispered, “March on.”

  An hour later, they had everything planned. They’d managed to get four rooms at an out-of-the-way hotel. They wanted the adjoining rooms empty in case trouble broke out. And the next day they’d have the hotel posted on Cali’s bill. The thought of having to spend the next few nights watching the hotel room made Brit even more eager to get home to Cali now.

  ~

  It was almost eight when he walked onto his front porch, juggling bags that contained strawberries, champagne, and take-out Chinese food from his favorite restaurant.

  When he rearranged the bags to slip the key into the lock, he realized his palms were sweaty. He hadn’t been nervous about being with a girl in years, but he felt it now. It wasn’t just the thought of sex giving him pause. It was how she made him feel. And then there was the talk they needed to have. After considering everything, he decided Cali should take some time off from school. Humphrey had already tried to get to her at her school twice. Brit didn’t want there to be a third time.

  He opened the door, and the saucy smell of the food floated from the paper bags.

  “Cali?” She didn’t answer.

  Emotions fluttered inside him like a trapped bird. What if he’d been wrong about her being safe here? What if he’d been wrong about her wanting to be here? The second thought sent him hurrying into the kitchen. He’d hunted her down once today. If she ran again, he wasn’t sure his pride would allow him to go after her twice.

  Then the thought of losing her wormed its way into his gut, and he knew his pride could be damned. He’d go after her again and probably again, if he had to.

  “Cali?” he called louder.

  No answer.

  He checked the extra bedroom. Empty.

  Then his bedroom. Also empty.

  Like it or not, she was gone.

  “Shit!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Empty. His chest ached with indecision, then the whirling sound of his Jacuzzi caught his attention. Moving to the bathroom door, he listened to the water running. He took one of those deep breaths to calm his nerves. Damn. He really did have it bad for this girl.

  He started to knock then an idea stirred. His body responded to the visions playing in his head, and he practically ran back to the living room to open the champagne and wash some strawberries.

  ~

  The knock at the bathroom door had Cali in a panic for about two seconds. Fear evaporated when Brit stepped in, but modesty took over. She pulled her knees to her chest. Thankful the jets in the tub stirred the water, making it difficult to see everything.

  “You’re back,” she said.

  Through the steaminess in the room, he smiled and winked. In his hands, he juggled two flutes of champagne and a plate of strawberries.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” He inched closer and set the plate down on the side of the tub and passed her one of the flutes, its contents bubbling along with the Jacuzzi. His gaze lowered to the water, or rather to her under the water. She knew modesty was a moot point when you had agreed to sleep with someone, but this moot point had always been an issue for her. Only child syndrome, she supposed. She pulled her knees a little closer.

  Brit ran a finger over her cheek. Picking up a strawberry, he held it to her lips. She chuckled nervously and that caused him to smile. As she sank her teeth into the sweet fruit, Brit sank to the floor and leaned over the tub’s edge to press his lips to hers. The kiss tasted of strawberries, champagne and of Brit. Modesty became less of an issue.

  Holding the glass in one hand, she curled her other arm around his neck, threading her wet fingers through his hair, dripping water over the back of his shirt. When the kiss ended, he smiled, his gaze putting off more steam than the tub.

  “May I join you?” He placed his flute down on the edge of the tub and started unbuttoning his shirt. Okay, she saw a trend here. He asked for permission, but didn’t wait for an answer.

  Or did he see the answer in her eyes?

  She wouldn’t have said no. Still, her heart started to race. Not because she didn’t want this, but because she wanted it too much—because suddenly she didn’t know if she could meet his standards. Something told her that Brit had sex down to an art—that he was a master of seduction.

  Sure, she’d almost mastered art. She could stroke color on canvas, sculpt and mold clay, but she was sort of a paint-by-number kind of student when it came to sex. She had read books about it, digested magazine articles about it, hoping to improve her performance and her pleasure. However, the short, unsatisfying fling with Stan told her she needed to buy some more books.

  Her gaze refocused on Brit. Maybe what she needed was hands-on experience.

  He draped the long sleeve denim shirt over the counter. Catching his white T-shirt by the bottom with his thumbs, he pulled it up, exposing his naked chest. Muscles rippled down his stomach as he slipped the shirt over his head. The T-shirt fluttered to the floor. He kicked his shoes off. His hands eased over his hard abdomen, only to stop at his waist. The top of his snugly fitting jeans snapped open. Slowly, he unzipped, exposing the elastic band of a pair of navy boxers. His gaze told her that each of his moves were intentional and for her pleasure.

  To watch.

  To enjoy.

  Her private show.

  And she was turning redder than an over-ripe tomato.

  His jeans slipped down his hips. His boxer underwear inched down his thighs. His sex, freed from his shorts, came out to play and made a grand appearance. Hard and heavy, it bounced up and almost touched the treasure trail of hair moving down from his navel. Her heart hit one big thud and stopped. She jerked her gaze back to the flute in her hand.

  It was a nice piece of …crystal, a tad larger than the average flute. Not that she was an expert on crystals. Or flutes. Or . . .

  She heard him chuckle and figured he laughed at her blush.

  His foot slipped between her and the back of the tub. He lowered himself in the tub behind her. The water level rose. She scooted forward. Way forward. He curled his arm around
her waist and pulled her closer. Close against him. His wet, naked body pressed against her back. She felt his chest, dusted with soft hair, then his abdomen, flat and solid. His legs extended on each side of her, and then she felt his sex, heavy and silky hard, against her lower back.

  “You okay with this?” he asked. “Comfortable enough?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted the glass and sucked in champagne courage. The tingling bubbles fizzed on her tongue.

  “Good.” He kissed her neck. “You feel wonderful.” His palm moved over her bare stomach.

  She gulped another sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles race down her throat.

  He unclasped her banana clip and her hair fell, tickling her shoulders. Dropping the clip on the floor, he gently turned her face to the side so he could meet her gaze. “Still okay?”

  “A little nervous.” She nipped at her lower lip.

  He grinned and ran a finger down her cheek. “Me, too.”

  “You don’t feel nervous.” She shifted slightly where his hardness pressed against her lower back.

  He chuckled. “I’m not that nervous.” Reaching over, he picked up another strawberry and held it to her lips. “Eat. Drink. Relax. We’re not in any hurry.”

  She bit into the fruit, savoring the burst of flavor—a little tart, a little sweet. “Umm.” Her breath caught when she felt his hand glide up to her breasts. His fingers passed over her wet nipples that were tight and so sensitive.

  She leaned against him as his touch sent erotic messages to other parts of her body.

  Clutching the flute in one hand, she let her other hand fall to his leg. She ran her fingers over his kneecap and followed his leg back under the water to mid-thigh.

  Lips against her neck, he moaned. While he continued to tease her nipples with one hand, he reached for the soap with the other. Then his slippery palms glided from one breast to the other. Now she moaned, falling against him. Surrendering.

  One of his hands slipped beneath the water to her hip. The touch moved up and down the outer side of her leg. She let her thighs drift apart and waited to feel his hand move over. Instead, he fed her strawberries, made her feed him one, and they sipped champagne, while the warm water bubbled around them, and he seduced her with his slow touches.