Chapter 15
“Don’t get mad,” she said quietly as he slipped from her body and rolled to her side.
He groaned. “Nothing good ever came after those three words.”
“I’m afraid,” she said, lowering her eyes.
Immediately on alert, he stroked her body, soothing. “Of what?”
“What I feel for you? That somehow, I’ve built this all up in my head… I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong, it’s just… you know… I’ve been hurt before.”
He nodded. “Would it help to know that my knowing you’re worried that you’re feeling something you haven’t felt before makes me feel better about feeling that way?”
“Immensely,” she said, her dazzling smile almost matching the bright light shining in her eyes.
He laughed and pulled her close. “I’ve been hurt before, too, but I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can picture us as this old couple walking along the seaboard, licking our ice cream cones and both knowing we’d rather be licking each other.” She laughed—a light frothy sound that reminded him of seafoam. “You should also know I found the coolest cloak and dagger mystery game. It starts in Rome and ends in Paris and goes through several other cities. I booked us for this fall, as Europe will be a little less crowded and the weather is better.”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me you see a future for us?”
“Baby, there is nothing at all subtle about that, but if you think it is, then yes, Ms. Sykes, I see a future for us. Don’t you?”
“I do now. Every time I started to think that way, I told myself, ‘that only happens in romance novels,’ or ‘you haven’t known him that long,’ or any one of a thousand other things. But I promise I won’t think those things anymore.”
“That’s my girl.” He glanced at his watch.
“That’s a Rolex, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It belonged to my dad. My mom gave it to him on their wedding day. It had belonged to her dad, given to him by her mom, and so on—back to 1929.”
She sat up, taking his hand and looking at the watch. “That is really cool. I have nothing like that. Well, that’s not true. I have the manuscript my aunt left to me. I typed it into my computer and reworked it. I put it out under both of our names as my first novel, but I kept her original typewritten one.”
“That’s the aunt that left you the money to fund your dream?”
Lori nodded. “You would have liked her, and she would have adored you.”
“What about your own parents?”
“Much like you; they died before I finished college. They were on their way home from the airport after dropping me off and were killed by a drunk driver going the wrong way at high speed.”
“God, Lori, I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, sitting up next to her and kissing her gently.
“Like you, it was a long time ago, but I became really close to my aunt. Her kids were furious with her. They tried to break her last will and testament, but my aunt’s lawyer was good at his job. Before they could bring suit, he sat them down and explained to them the reality and danger in doing so. I’m not sure how he said it, but he intimidated the hell out of them and they backed off. He refused to keep any of the retainer my aunt had paid him, so I took him to dinner. I figured it was the least I could do.”
“Sounds like a good guy. We probably need to get moving if we’re going to meet Ezra and Annette.”
She stood up and walked to the bath, leaning back out of the door. “We’ve got a little time, especially if you come join me.”
“You’re bad, Lori.”
“No. I’m yours,” she said softly.
He joined her in the space of a heartbeat, cupping her face with his hands. “And I’m yours.”
Ryker reached around her to turn on and adjust the shower as he backed her in, closing the glass door and sealing them in a confined space of heat, water, and passion. He pressed her into the tile wall, letting his cock pulse between them as he trailed kisses everywhere—over her face, down her jaw, her throat, and on down as he knelt on the shower floor. Cupping her breasts with his hands, before moving up her body, his tongue snaking out to flick her nipple before giving it the edge of his teeth and biting down ever so gently. Her body flushed with arousal, making her moan.
Swirling his tongue around the distended tip, he soothed it before moving to the other breast and treating it to the same. He moved between her breasts as his fingers played with her clit, teasing and tugging until her body was writhing with need. One thing about his girl—and he now knew without a doubt she was his—she didn’t hold anything back.
He kissed his way up her body, never taking his hand from between her legs. “How wet is my girl’s pussy for her man?”
“Wet. Very. Very. Wet.”
He chuckled. “That’s my girl,” he said, his hands going beneath her ass and lifting her up, using the slippery wall for leverage. “Wrap your legs around me.”
He watched her face as he lowered her, impaling her pussy with his cock. God, she felt like heaven. The abundant slick her arousal had produced made it a silken glide and she moaned as her nipples brushed his chest. He pressed her harder against the wall, using her for his own balance as he withdrew, and then slammed back into her, making her gasp. Again and again, he thrust up hard and then pulled back gently, making sure his pelvis rubbed against her clit.
“Fuck me, Ryker. Fuck me.”
“At least twice a day, every day for the rest of my life,” he promised, pounding into her until her pussy clamped down hard as she orgasmed, pulsing along his length as she cried out.
She was everything he’d ever wanted; everything he would ever need. His arms tightened around her as he thrust up hard a final time, his cock swelling and twitching as the base of his spine tingled and he began pumping her full of his cum. He held still for a moment even after he was done before lifting her off of him, sagging into her body, his forehead touching hers.
“I love you, Lori.”
“That’s good to know, because I love you, too.”
They began to soap each other’s bodies with gentle hands interspersed with kisses. Once they were clean, they got out of the shower, drying each other with the hotel’s towels.
“Remind me why we care who killed Cobain?” she asked with a grin.
“Because you’re a founding member of the Mystery Writer’s Murder Club, and I’m an investigative reporter. Apparently, there’s some rule about us giving a damn about stuff like that.”
“Do we always have to follow the rules?”
“No. And if you want to walk away, we’ll pack tonight and go anywhere you want and never look back.”
Shock registered in her eyes. “You can’t do that. This is your home. The paper is your legacy.”
He shook his head. “You’re my home now. We’ll build our own legacy. The AP has been trying to get me to take over one of their bureaus—I can pretty much choose—we could live wherever you want.”
The shock faded into acceptance of the truth of his words and then blossomed into a deep level of joy he’d only seen when his mother was alive, and she looked at his dad. Oh, they both loved him dearly, but they loved each other more, and he’d been secretly happy they died together as the survivor would have lived on for him but would never again have been truly happy.
“We can figure that out later, but let’s go solve this mystery. I despised Cobain and everything he stood for, but I don’t want the killer to get away or Middleton just to sweep his death under the rug.”
He grinned at her. “Dinner with Ezra and Annette it is.”
* * *
As they were headed down to the elevator, Ryker stopped one of the housekeepers.
“I’m afraid we kind of made a mess of our room.” He slipped her a folded fifty-dollar bill. “If you could give it a little extra care and maybe leave extra towels?”
“Yes sir. I’d be happy to do that. Anything else?”
“No, I think that’ll do.”
Taking Lori’s arm, he turned back toward the elevator, but stopped when Lori dug in her heels. “Excuse me?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“By any chance do you know if Ezra Kane has a typewriter in his room?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. I thought it was odd as he has his laptop and this old, antique typewriter. I wonder if it even works?”
“No idea, but thanks,” said Lori grinning at him.
“Clever girl,” Ryker said as they entered the elevator and the doors closed.
They were already seated when Ezra and Annette both showed up for dinner. Watching them enter the bistro and then being shown to the same table was almost comical.
Ryker leaned over to Lori and whispered, “They look like two kindergarteners who think the opposite sex has cooties.” Lori muffled her laugh and hid it behind her napkin as he stood. “Why don’t you both take a seat? I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“I only met you earlier today,” said Annette. “You indicated you wanted to interview me. I think Detective Middleton would not like to learn you two were continuing to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Middleton doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on, and the last thing he wants to call attention to is the fact that a murder took place here in Bleak Ridge and he hasn’t done jack about it. So, either call him on your way out, or take a seat, Annette.”
Ezra, who was already seated, leaned across to Lori. “He’s kind of a brute, isn’t he? Maybe I should model my next hero on him—a crusading reporter accused of a crime he didn’t commit…”
“No way, Ezra. I had dibs first.”
“You could share…”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Leave or stay, Annette. Make up your mind,” said Ryker in a level voice.
“Fine,” she said, taking her seat.
“Earlier today,” started Ryker, “Jonathon Lockwood joined us at the VIP reader meet and greet. He all but said that Cobain had one or more ghostwriters and intimated that either one or both of you were the ones responsible.”
“Good god,” said Ezra. “Remind me to punch Lockwood in the nose. How could he think I was Cobain’s ghostwriter? My writing is far superior to his, and I loathed the man.”
All eyes turned to Annette, who blushed but then lifted her chin. “It wasn’t me, either. I’m not even a writer.”
“For a man with Cobain’s ego, that might work better, as he’d never expect you to challenge him,” said Lori.
Ryker nodded. “I read—skimmed mostly—his latest novel. It has a female protagonist with a decidedly feminine voice. I also read that he always typed his first drafts on a vintage typewriter as he felt it connected him better with his story. Then he submitted his manuscripts from a copy he had typed into his computer. But what if the ghostwriter was actually the one using the vintage typewriter? He was said to use a new ribbon for each novel, keeping them locked away in a safe.”
“If Cobain demanded the ghostwriter turn over the ribbon, it would ensure he or she would have no tangible proof that they had written anything for Cobain,” said Lori. “Then again, the ghostwriter might want to keep the ribbon for just that reason.”
Ryker nodded. “He or she could have kept the real ribbon and given Cobain a fake. I can’t see Cobain trying to read a ribbon to ensure it contained the entire document. I would think it would be easy enough to fake.”
“That makes sense,” said Lori. “I know Annette has access to both vintage typewriters and ribbons,” said Lori, “and one of the housekeepers mentioned you have an antique typewriter in your room, Ezra.”
“So, all you have to do to clear this up and exonerate yourselves is to let us take a look at what you’ve got. Provided there’s nothing incriminating, we won’t feel any need to share our suspicions with the detective or the MCU, will we, babe?”
“None at all.”
They had them trapped in a neat little net. If either or both refused the challenge, it would make him, her or both appear to be guilty as hell. For a moment, there was dead silence.
“Fine. You can come back to my hotel room. I only have the one typewriter, and I don’t have any spare ribbons with me, so I don’t know what you think you’ll find.”
“Cobain told me he was working on a new manuscript. It’s due to the publisher by the end of next week. Whoever is doing the ghostwriting is having to work on it right now, so the evidence would be there,” said Lori.
Ryker had no idea if she was telling the truth, but if this mystery writer thing didn’t work out, she’d make one hell of an investigative reporter.
“I have nothing to hide, either,” asserted Annette. “You can examine any and all typewriters and vintage ribbons in my shop.”
“Outstanding,” said Ryker. “Let’s order dinner and enjoy ourselves, and then Ezra and I will go next door. Lori can go with Annette, and when I’m done with Ezra, I can join them.”
They ordered, and while they waited for their meal, talking about nothing of consequence, Ryker texted Lori:
Text Lockwood and have him meet you at Everything Vintage. I don’t want you to be alone with her, but I want to be sure she doesn’t have a chance to destroy evidence. I’ll go with Ezra to make sure he can’t do the same.
She texted him back a thumbs up.