25 CONNOR
My fingers traced Sam’s soft skin as she lay on my chest. I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore whatever shred of common sense had survived the last twenty-four hours.
“You made quite a mess.” Her voice broke the silence we’d shared for about half an hour.
“You weren’t complaining about my redecorating a few minutes ago.”
She propped herself up on my chest, giving me a teasing look.
“I was talking about the papers scattered all over the place.”
My eyes wandered over the notes from our research.
“This shit is eating me alive,” I grumbled.
“Do you still think Ammit killed Bob?” Sam asked bluntly.
“I don’t know. Not anymore.”
“What changed?”
I sat up and Sam settled back on top of me.
“I’m convinced the pieces found in the warehouse are Ammit’s. No question. But I’m not convinced Ammit is back.”
“If not him, then who?”
“A copycat, maybe. Or something more complex,” I huffed.
“Why do you think that?”
“Whoever killed Bob made sure to hit him in the exact same spot and went to a lot of trouble to make it look like Ammit, but I’m not sure the weapon was the same. Or if it was the guy I almost killed a few years back.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m not a medical examiner, but I’ve seen a lot of bodies. Some of Bob’s wounds seemed hesitant, disorganized. Like there was a progression—in commitment. In intensity.”
“Someone inexperienced, maybe?”
“Yeah. But things escalated with the girl in the alley,” I said. “Killing someone is exhausting. The energy it takes to crack open someone’s chest could completely drain a killer, but he still killed another person that same night.”
“So Ammit didn’t kill Raafat?”
I scratched my beard. “I’m not ruling it out. Maybe this is even more complex than I thought.”
“Did Gretta find anything on Hazel in her New York files?” Sam snuggled closer against my chest.
“Nothing yet.”
“And I thought my parents’ case was difficult.”
“You’re doing well…”
I pulled her close, pressing her body against mine.
“I don’t usually have partners.” I kissed her. “But you’re in my top three.”
She bit my lip.
“And who am I competing with for the podium?”
“Well, there was Tobbi—he had excellent taste in music and got me tickets to an Audioslave show.” Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, and there was Gretta… she was crazy… but she made killer muffins for our shifts.”
Samantha straddled me.
“So I help you with an international case, give you my best orgasms, and I’m competing with Audioslave and Gretta’s muffins?” She ran her hands through her hair, giving me a full view of her body. “I give up. There’s no way we can work together.”
“You’re right, my charming, brilliant Evie. You deserve the top spot.” I flipped her over, settling on top of her.
“If I’m Evie… does that make you Rick O’Connell? Or Tutankhamun?”
“Are you calling me a mummy?”
“You know what? He was pretty hot.” She smiled mischievously.
“So this ‘older guys’ thing goes back to the nineties?” I teased.
Sam laughed out loud and I wondered what was so funny.
“I was born in 2000.”
“Shit.” I laughed. “I guess I really am getting old.”
“Getting?”
“You like pushing my buttons, don’t you?” I kissed her, nibbling her lip. Then I leaned in close to her ear. “You know that has consequences…”
“I’m a girl of facts and data, detective. And I know every action has a reaction.”
I pulled her in to kiss her again, but she stopped me.
“I need paper and a pen.”
“Now?” I grumbled.
“Save that energy for later. We’ve got work to do. I need to write down everything we lost.” Sam gave me a quick kiss, jumped out of bed, threw on my shirt, and headed to the counter where she launched into her mental marathon.
I pulled on my boxers and joined her. We spent the next few hours piecing our case back together. If a massive blackout hit Egypt, our place would be the only one with lights—that’s how much energy Sam had. It was hard to keep up with her mind as she scribbled away in that notebook.
The woman was a machine. And that was sexy as hell. I was so screwed. And I couldn’t wipe the damn smile off my face.
“That's it!” she exclaimed when we finally pieced together an overview of the case, despite all the gaps in our files. Luckily, we'd spent so much time reading those pages that we could reconstruct them in reasonable detail.
“If we weren't looking for a single killer, I could easily say this whole thing is the work of more than one person,” Sam commented, staring at the board. Her words unlocked something in my mind.
“What if it is?”
“What do you mean? Have you lost your mind?” She looked confused.
“I haven't been making progress because I've been trying to build a case against him.” I pointed to the illustration of Ammit in the center of the board. “I've been thinking about what you said—about this being a chance to look at everything with fresh eyes.”
“And what is the great detective Connor O'Brien seeing?”
I stared at the photos on the board. The details of every death we had access to. The notes we'd made.
“Omar died just as he was about to be confronted.
Raafat may have been murdered to keep us from getting the khopesh buyer's name.” I stared at Cassie's photo—Cassandra Houston.
“She was a pawn, used to manipulate me. To take me out of the game. She made sure people saw us together. I doubt she had any idea what was waiting for her.”
“And why did they dye her hair? Why the hell did they make her look like me?”
“For the same reason they killed Bob. To destabilize me. Discredit me.” I stared at my friend's photo. “Bob knew as much as I did. If this were purely about silencing people, I'd be dead. But I'm not. I was kept alive for a reason—one I'm sure we'll figure out soon.”
“So it's personal.”
“I don't think it started that way.” My mind was racing, processing multiple threads at once. “But something along the way made it personal. That's why we can't see the pattern.”
“Bob said he was on a job when they found Ammit's pieces. Right?” Sam's mind seemed to be firing on all cylinders. “What if Bob found more than that?”
I pulled out the photos Bob had given me—they'd been in my bag, which is why they survived the attack.
“If that's true, maybe Ammit's pieces weren't the only secrets revealed that night.”
“We need the complete report,” I said. “And I already know who's going to help us get it.”
“Legally or my way?” Sam had a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Who said those are the only options?” My words seemed to spark something in her. “I'm an old wolf, princess, but I've still got plenty of tricks.”
“And when do I get to see them? I admit it's kind of sexy watching you grumble while you work.” She approached like a cat stalking prey, touching the gray hairs on my bare chest. Fully aware of what that did to me. And loving every second of it.
“Later.”
“You're not thinking about taking me to bed again, are you?” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, encircling my neck.
“No.” I lifted her up, holding her by the thighs as they wrapped around my waist. “I was thinking about putting you on that counter.”
I carried her to the counter and set her down. Morning light was starting to spill into the apartment, illuminating the mess we'd made and her bookshelf.
“And making you a good cup of coffee.”
“Ah… coffee…”
“Yeah, coffee.” I ran my hands along her thigh, almost reaching her sex, but pulling away before I touched her. “I'm not a boy anymore.”
“Oh, I noticed,” she teased. “No boy could do what you do.”
Sam handed me the French press from the wall cabinet behind her.
“Age has its benefits.” I took the press from her hand and kissed her lips.
“I noticed,” she said, blushing. “You're the oldest guy I've ever slept with.”
“Guess we both had a first that night,” I teased, putting water on to heat.
“Right. What did you say at Azur again? 'You're not my type, Samantha'?”
“Before or after you called me a 'crazy old man'?” I shot back.
“You weren't going easy on me,” she grumbled, and I settled between her thighs.
“Because you were driving me crazy.” I brushed my nose against her neck. “That dress was messing with my head.”
“Completely over the top.”
“You were stunning.” I brushed my lips against her skin, and she drew a deep breath. “I had to control every inch of my body to keep from tearing that dress off before we even made it to the street.”
“You hid it well,” she murmured, responding to my light touch.
“A talent I picked up on the job.”
“I hate your job.” She leaned into my lips, kissing me slowly, using her legs to pull me closer. “Are you really in that much of a hurry to drink that damn coffee?”
She stared at me with her golden eyes full of provocation.
“The coffee will have to wait.”