Restore My Heart

by Cheryl Norman

  Sally floated in Joe’s arms, barely registering the mattress as she sank into the bed. He gazed down at her with such adoration, she nearly cried. Just for tonight, she’d be the woman for Joe. She’d measure up.

  Somehow, they both were out of their clothes, stretched out side by side on the bedspread. He ran a finger along her jaw, tracing first her face, neck, then shoulder. “So lovely,” he whispered.

  “Um, thank you.”

  His mouth followed the trail of his hand, kissing and licking her flesh until she nearly screamed in frustration. She needed him to take her, possess her. But Joe had other plans. He seemed intent on making the night last, lingering over every inch of her body. Not that lingering was bad. No, lingering was good. Lingering was very good.

  Sally slid her fingers through the dark curls covering Joe’s chest. He spent serious time on the racquetball court, judging from his solid muscles. Her hand met no excess of flesh around his abdomen. She wanted to touch lower, to stroke him as she had before. But Joe’s tongue found her nipple and her thoughts scattered.

  Just when she’d reached the point of sensation overload, Joe lifted his head from her breasts. Even in the dim bedroom, lit only by the street lamp outside, she saw the heat in his eyes. She met his mouth, kissing him deeply, holding back nothing. Tonight she’d give him everything but the words. He’d know by the depth of her passion how much she loved him.

  He’d walk away. They both knew it. But he’d have a difficult time forgetting tonight. She’d see to it.

  “I need you inside me.”

  “Soon,” he murmured against her lips, not breaking the kiss, while his fingers caressed, probed, and drove her wild with need.

  His kisses grew bolder, stronger, while his hands worked their magic, until her body tightened from the building tension. She splintered into a thousand pieces, crying out her release into Joe’s mouth. Her hyperventilating finally settled into soft panting.

  “Now, Joe.” Sally reached to the floor, fumbling around for her fanny pack.

  “Okay, baby. First, protection.”

  “Got you covered.” She pulled the condom from her fanny pack. “Pun intended.”

  “Put it on me?”

  She ripped apart the foil packet. “With pleasure.” After rolling the latex over his erection, she lay back, spreading open her legs to him.

  He didn’t disappoint. Moving between her legs, he used his fingers to guide his penis into her slick opening. In one strong plunge, he buried himself. Pain mixed with delicious heat as she moved to accommodate his thickness. Forgotten was the awkward teenage tryst in the back seat of a Volkswagen. This was her first time. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  Joe’s body stilled. “God, Sally, did I hurt you?”

  “Not really.”

  He caressed her face, stroked her jaw. Tasting her lips, he gave her the most tender of kisses. “I want this to be good for you, babe.”

  “It’s just a female thing. I get emotional.” And she loved him so much.

  “You’re tight. I should’ve given you time to adjust—”

  “Shh.” She placed her fingertips over his lips. “I’m not hurt. It’s sort of like a piston with a new set of rings.”

  “Am I the piston in this metaphor?”

  “Yeah, or maybe the push rod.”

  “Push rod. I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “Meet me on the upstroke?”

  “All right.” He kissed her again.

  Together they found their rhythm, building the pressure inside her until she could no longer wait. She bucked against him, in tune to his every stroke, harder, faster. Thankful that her bed didn’t squeak, she still worried that if her dad were awake, he’d be able to hear. Then she didn’t worry about anything as she claimed her climax. Ripples of pleasure inside her triggered Joe’s release. Biting into his shoulder, she muffled her cries of completion as he sucked in a loud breath.

  He collapsed against her. “Oh, Sally, baby.”

  They lay in blissful silence in an intimate embrace. Joe’s heart pounded against hers, his rapid breathing matched her own. Her wildest fantasies of sex with Joe fell short of the real thing. He’d definitely redlined her body’s tachometer.

  She kissed his neck. “Was that incredible, or what?”

  “The most incredible, sweetheart. I swear, the most incredible.”

  Their breathing slowed. They savored each other with tender stroking and gentle kissing. Touching the red marks in his shoulder, she murmured, “Oh, Joe, I’m sorry.”

  “For what? A little love bite?”

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “It doesn’t hurt. Actually, I’m flattered.”

  “You should be. You drive me totally wild.” Still intimately joined, he grew hard again inside her. She smiled against his neck, heady with her powerful effect on him. “Could we do it again, please?”

  He chuckled softly in her ear. “I’m certainly up for that.”

  Sally leaned over the hood of an Oldsmobile 442, holding the starter in position while Justin bolted it down underneath the engine. For the first time since going to work for her, he’d asked for her help. She hoped it was the shape of things to come. This was her dream, working on automobiles with her dad.

  “That’s got it,” he called out from the floor.

  “Okay, I’ll connect the juice.” Gripping the box-end wrench, she tightened the nut that secured the battery cable to the solenoid.

  Admittedly, auto mechanics was the only work she knew, except for bookkeeping she’d learned at Sullivan Business College. She’d only pursued her Associate Degree upon deciding to buy out Uncle Sal, knowing she’d need a business background. Working, saving, and studying, she’d committed herself to Mustang Sally’s. She’d even sell her precious Mustang for additional capital if it came to that. But working the business with her dad would make all her sacrifices worthwhile.

  “That should do it.” As Sally pushed away from the fender, she winced.

  Ouch. Today’s aches and pains had more to do with her wild night of sex than her injured leg. Heat suffused her body just thinking about Joe’s talented hands and delectable mouth. And hard, masculine body. Oh, yes. Cherishing the memory, she refused to dwell on his inevitable departure from her life.

  She watched the clock, waiting for the work day to end, when she’d meet Joe at the Universal Joint. By then, he’d have turned over the Darrin to Special Agent Ferguson. That should put an end to the attempts on their lives. If only she could put an end to the drain on her business.

  Before Dan Alsop had opened his shop, Mustang Sally’s had customers waiting in line. In the auto restoration business, demand greatly exceeded supply. Unfortunately, her new competitor had launched a campaign to lure away her customer base, undercutting her prices and eliminating a lot of work with his great finds. Sally needed him to be guilty of fraud and murder. If he was, could the FBI prove it and prosecute? If he wasn’t, who’d killed Roy and Vic? And Leo?

  The ringing of the telephone jarred her from her thoughts. She hobbled to her office to answer. Ellen Kennedy’s cultured voice greeted her.

  “Sally? I’d like to make an appointment for routine maintenance on my Packard.”

  “When is convenient for you?” A pang of guilt clutched Sally, remembering she and Joe had yet to admit to the counterfeit engine. “Will you be driving it over?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask. Could you possibly arrange to have it picked up?”

  “Absolutely.” Snatching a pen from her desk, Sally checked her grease-stained month-at-a-glance desk calendar. “I could send Justin over Friday morning. Does that work for you?”

  “Justin?”

  “His name’s Justin Clay. I call him Dad.”

  Ellen laughed. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Just remember, Ellen, my dad is a widower.” Sally grinned at Ellen’s friendly banter. She’d felt an instant affinity toward the woman, a feeling Ellen seemed
to reciprocate. “A rather handsome widower.”

  “That’s right. You told me the other night. While on the subject of handsome men, have you and Joe Desalvo worked out your differences yet?”

  Sally’s skin burned just thinking about the night in her bed. They’d most definitely worked things out— and in. “I’d say our friendship is mended.”

  “Good. Tell Justin I’ll have the garage door open Friday morning.”

  Sally jotted the appointment on her calendar, along with Ellen’s telephone number, and ended the call. Just as she pushed herself to her feet, the telephone rang again. Flopping back into her chair, she answered.

  “Miss Clay? Special Agent Ferguson. I ran that plate for you.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Are you familiar with the Federal Drivers Privacy Protection Act?”

  “Yeah, yeah. So you can’t tell me, right?”

  “Under the circumstances, I’ll share. It’s registered to Daniel Boone Alsop.”

  “Daniel ‘Boone’ Alsop? Talk about a creative alias.” Sally chewed her bottom lip. “So Barbara Bloom is having an affair with Dan Alsop. Since Leo and Vic are both dead, looks like Barbara is the inside person for Alsop’s scam.”

  “I told the homicide detective about Alsop’s late night visit with the recently-widowed Mrs. Bloom. Looks like they have a new suspect.”

  “If Barbara and Vic are lovers, that’s a good motive for Vic’s murder.” Sally swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. This wasn’t an episode of Murder, She Wrote. This was Vic Bloom. The guy had been practically a godfather to Joe. “So will this take the heat off Joe as a suspect?”

  “At least it gives them another suspect. Speaking of Joe, is he there?”

  “Joe? No, I thought he was meeting you.”

  Ferguson hesitated. “So did I.”

  Fear raised the hair at her nape. “Have you tried his house?”

  “I reached his voice mail.”

  A shiver danced up her spine. Joe wouldn’t leave without hearing from the FBI. Something was wrong, very wrong. “May I call you right back?”

  Sally jotted down Ferguson’s cellular phone number, disconnected, then looked up the number for Leo Desalvo. Lucinda answered on the first ring.

  “This is Sally. Have you seen Joe?”

  “Not since he got that message from the police. He was meeting them to pick up the Darrin for the FBI.”

  Blood roared in her ears. “Where was he meeting them? Where? Do you know?”

  “Sally, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

  “I just hung up from the FBI, Lucinda. They’re looking for Joe so he can turn over the car to them.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY

  Joe’s head weighed a ton. How his neck continued to support it mystified him. The mother of all headaches hammered his skull. He forced his heavy eyelids to open, then reached to massage his temples. His hands wouldn’t move. They were bound together behind his back with nylon braided rope. What the hell?

  A quick glance around identified his surroundings as the rear of a mini-van, complete with darkened side and rear windows. Spots danced in his vision at the shooting pain in his head. The smell of raw gasoline gagged him. Struggling against nausea, he strained to listen to the steady rumbling and vibrations confirming that the van was in motion. His back to the driver, he debated turning over. The movement would alert his abductor that he was conscious, but at least Joe would be able to see him.

  He closed his eyes against the pain. He didn’t have to turn and look. He remembered. The man who’d boldly met him in the police station parking lot was the same man he’d seen kissing Barbara Bloom, the driver of the pickup truck who had nearly killed Sally.

  Sally.

  Anguish swept through him at the thought of her. She’d be waiting at the Universal Joint, wondering why he didn’t show. After what they’d shared last night, would she think the worst? That he’d had regrets and was running scared? He’d promised not to hurt her. Would he be able to keep his promise? Would he ever see her again?

  She’d try to run a check on the pickup truck’s tag number. Would she succeed? Would it matter?

  Don’t panic, Joe. Keep your head.

  The van jolted to a stop. The rear door of the van creaked open. Late afternoon sun poured in and clawed at his eyes. He blinked, momentarily blinded.

  “You’re awake. Good.” The man grabbed Joe’s arm. “Come on. On your feet.”

  Joe groaned. Every muscle protested the movement, as if he suffered a hangover. Had he been drugged? The guy had walked up to Joe, shaken hands with him, posing as a detective for Jefferson County. Joe, relaxed and off-guard, reacted too late to the assault. He’d sucked in the odorous fumes of the cloth jammed into his face. Chloroform?

  Stumbling out of the van and onto the rough ground, Joe searched his surroundings. He tried to speak, to ask, Who are you? What do you want? But dry cotton filled his throat. “Water,” he rasped.

  “I’ll get you a drink. Get inside.” He grabbed the nylon rope, pushing Joe to a garage door in the basement of a house.

  Joe’s brief assessment yielded a nearby country road and a two-level home with a steep driveway leading to a basement garage. Déjà vu. He knew this place, although he’d seen it only in the dark.

  This was Dan Alsop’s house.

  The man he now assumed was Dan Alsop prodded Joe to a metal chair. “Sit.”

  Still weak from whatever had rendered him unconscious, Joe obeyed. More rope materialized. Alsop wrapped it tightly around his ankles. “I’ll be back with a drink of water.”

  He disappeared upstairs. Joe’s eyes adjusted from the afternoon sun to the dimness of the basement. His gaze swept the utilitarian room, taking in the metal press and chemical baths he’d seen earlier via flashlight.

  Twisting, he managed to identify the vehicle behind his chair, not surprised to find the dark pickup with the oversize tool box in the bed. Well, Sally, don’t bother running that license plate.

  Sally. Joe tried to swallow the lump in his dry throat. What were all those barriers keeping them from being together? He could no longer remember. Oh, yeah. His career. He’d lose his shot at a vice presidency if he didn’t get his nose back to the grindstone. And Sally couldn’t move to Atlanta because—

  Oh, right. She had a business to run in Louisville. Besides, she wouldn’t be a happy Mrs. Desalvo if Joe left her at home all the time to work late and entertain clients.

  Mrs. Desalvo? Wow, where had that come from? He experimented a bit with the name and discovered he liked it: Sally Desalvo. Nice ring to it. Ring. If he could escape this nasty mess alive, he’d buy Sally a ring. He’d convince her to marry him. A sudden shift in his emotions calmed him. Careers were empty dreams. Nothing else mattered.

  If nothing else mattered but convincing Sally to spend the rest of her life with him, that could only mean—

  “Here’s your drink.”

  Joe blinked up at his captor. Dan Alsop had removed his jacket and tie, his costume as a county detective. His shirt stank of day-old perspiration. He held a flexible straw to Joe’s mouth. Joe sucked greedily, emptying the glass of water, then regretted it when his stomach roiled in protest.

  Alsop stomped upstairs again. Instead of returning to Fantasyland, Joe focused on an escape plan. He’d need to get away before he could entertain the idea of a future with Sally. Or any future.

  Tugging at his ropes, he succeeded in creating a tiny slack, along with a burning pain. The nylon rope had rubbed his wrists raw. The murmur of voices upstairs stilled him. He strained to quiet his breathing in order to hear. Was Alsop on the phone? Did he have an accomplice?

  A woman spoke in low tones, her throaty voice a testament of years of cigarette smoking. “What were you thinking, Dan? This is kidnapping. Now you’ll have to kill him, you dumbass.”

  “You said no killing. I was just to scare him and the girl.”

  �
�Yeah, and you nearly killed a little old grandmother.”

  “That was an accident. Besides, I got away, so don’t call me a dumbass.”

  “Yeah? What about Vic?”

  Dan raised his voice. “I didn’t kill Vic! I told you.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Baby, we talked about this last night. I may bend the law a bit, but I’m no killer.”

  Bend the law a bit?

  Assuming that was Barbara Bloom upstairs, Joe was in deep trouble. They needed him to take them to the Darrin. Without it, the FBI would have to find another faked collectible. With it, Joe Desalvo was dead meat. They couldn’t afford to let him go.

  Their footsteps thundered down the stairs. Dan yanked at his arm. “It’s almost dark. Let’s take a little ride, kid. See if we can find ourselves a Kaiser Darrin.”

  Special Agent Adam Ferguson’s promise to find Joe failed to calm Sally’s panic. No one in local law enforcement had contacted Joe about retrieving the Darrin. Sally needed to talk to Lucinda and Grandma, who’d taken the bogus call. An overwhelming sense of urgency pushed Sally to join the hunt on her own. But she’d have to get past her bodyguard father.

  “Justin, I need to run an errand.”

  He slammed down the hood on the Olds. “I’m not drunk and I’m not stupid.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re upset. What’s happened?”

  With a resigned sigh, Sally told him. “I have to find Joe. He’s in danger.”

  “And put yourself in danger, too?” He moved to her, gripping her shoulders, as if he wanted to shake her.

  The concern in his eyes threatened what was left of her composure. Her father did love her. Joe’d been right. She cleared the sob in her throat. “If I have to.”

  “Then I’m comin’ with you. Close the shop.”

  Within minutes they were speeding toward the Desalvos’ home. Her father drove his pickup expertly through the afternoon rush hour traffic. He’d maintained the old Ford even though he hadn’t driven it a lot in the past few years. Under different circumstances, Sally would’ve enjoyed the ride. Justin Clay still had the driving skills of a racer, seamlessly taking the truck through its gears, fearlessly passing slower traffic.