Chapter Twenty-One #3
She’d imagined pouring them both wine to go with the meatballs in red sauce she had simmering. Sipping it while the pasta boiled, while they talked about his day, hers.
She’d had such a good one, toying with the opening of a new book. Then the stockings arrived, with their Christmas tree hangers. She’d gotten such ridiculous joy in putting them up. So she took a picture, sent it to April along with her giddy thanks.
The happiness inspired the spaghetti and meatballs, then he’d been late, much later than usual. And she’d worried some.
She thought anyone involved with a cop worried some.
Now he was here, his mouth hot on hers, his hands all over her body as if he couldn’t taste or touch enough.
Happiness exploded into need.
She shoved at his coat so he reared up long enough to shrug it off, toss it aside.
Where neither of them saw the dog circle it, then curl down on top of it with his increasingly raggedy llama.
“You need to take this…” She struggled with his shirt, then managed to pull it over his head. “Off.”
He did the same with her sweater.
Her hands ran down, hit his weapon.
Breathless, she rained kisses over his face. “You’re still armed, Chief.”
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”
The holstered gun thumped onto the table.
“Don’t wait. Don’t wait.”
“Can’t.”
How could he wait when everything in him pulsed with need for her? When he felt that same desperation from her as well?
He dragged her pants down her narrow hips, and buried himself in her.
Then, in the glow of the fire, in the twinkle of Christmas lights, with a thin, icy rain just starting to sizzle against the windows, she matched him stroke for urgent stroke.
He felt her rise, peak, break, but couldn’t stop. Wherever this mad need had come from, he had to feed it.
As she went lax under him, he gripped her hands, fixed his mouth on hers to swallow her moans.
When release came, it slashed through him, left him weak and dazed so he collapsed on her, struggling to find his breath and his sanity.
They lay silent and still until she glided a hand down his back.
“I’m going to save this particular perfume sample for special occasions.”
“Maybe warn me first.”
“Not a chance.”
He managed a weak laugh, then pushed up enough to look down at her. “I’m more than half crazy about you, Legs.” He shook his head when he saw surprise flicker in her eyes. “You’re a smart woman—part of the half crazy about. You knew that already.”
“It means more to hear it, especially when I’m more than half crazy about you.”
“I guess that makes us even.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m good with it. I didn’t expect to be.”
“What did you expect?”
“Can’t say, because I don’t know. Maybe I figured I’d finish your bookcases and we’d move on.”
“You only have four more to build.”
“Plus a library ladder.” He lifted his head again, watched her. “Then there’s that basement to finish off. That’s going to take a while.”
“I’d need someone handy to help with that.”
“Yeah, you would.”
“I have other things on my list that require someone handy. In exchange I’ll have an unlimited supply of perfume samples, and occasionally make spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Is that what that is? I’m starving.”
“Then we should eat. I haven’t fed Zorro yet either.” She glanced over, laughed. “He’s taking a nap on your coat.”
Gideon looked around, shrugged. “Good thing he didn’t try out my gun.”
Before long, the evening matched what she’d imagined. With wine and conversation as the pasta boiled.
“It’s always fun to start a new book. The possibilities are so open. Then…”
“Work.”
“A lot of work. Fun, too, but work. I really love working here. It’s so quiet, so serene. Since you worked late, I’m guessing your day wasn’t so quiet and serene.”
“Residential break-in toward the end of the day. They took handy, portable electronics, some cash, tore open Christmas presents, took what looked good to them, rifled through the upstairs, got a fake string of pearls, a man’s watch, and a toboggan.”
“A … toboggan?”
He told her about it while she dealt with the pasta and he put together a salad with what he thought of as her fancy lettuce.
“Both of them stoned,” he finished while they ate together. “Playing on the Xbox they’d stolen, drinking beer, smoking weed, and eating Doritos and Reese’s Pieces.”
“Honestly? That sounds like a disgusting combination.”
“They seemed to enjoy it, at least until we got there. They tried claiming they’d bought all the stuff, from some guy.
And gee, they didn’t know how the prescription meds—sitting right out in plain sight and not prescribed to either of them—got there.
Oddly, all of the meds came from clients Masterville worked for, and had taken his dumbass grandson on the jobs. ”
“Good work, Chief.”
“Good luck, and a couple of dumbasses.”
“I feel sorry for the grandparents, the mother. It sounds like they tried, did everything they could.”
It made him think of Dubecki and his rich, indulgent mother.
“Some people don’t much care. See it, want it, take it. Somebody gets hurt by it? Screw them. Now they’ll both likely spend the next decade learning the hard way.
“This is really good, Arden. I can cook next time.”
“Can you?”
“You’ve got that big, fancy grill out there. I can handle it.” He wound some pasta on his fork. “Something else came up today. I know you well enough to understand you’d want to hear it.”
She braced herself. “Is it about Dubecki?”
“First, I’m going to tell you his father died. The funeral’s in a few days. Next, I’m going to tell you I located a woman he went to college with.”
“How did you … That’s what you do,” she said, and picked up her wine. “Did he hurt her?”
“No, but she believes, and I agree, he would have.”
She couldn’t quite define how she felt as he told her the story. Somehow relieved, in part, she hadn’t been the only. Grateful someone else hadn’t been hurt as she’d been. Horrified he’d followed the same sort of pattern before.
“Arden, she’s a redhead.”
“A … oh.” As her hand reached instinctively for her hair, she eased out a breath. “Oh. So he could have a sick thing for red hair.”
“Maybe. Two can be a coincidence. I don’t like them, but they happen.”
“Where did he go after he got kicked out of college?”
“He came into a chunk of his trust fund, took off to Europe. Harder to track, since it’s been a while. It looks like he spent about six months over there. Then he came back, worked for his stepfather. That didn’t pan out. His mother’s family has a foundation, so they gave him a job there.”
“And that didn’t work out.”
“No. He traveled some more, loafed around would be my take, then he moved back to Columbus. And saw you.”
“You think there have been others besides me and the one in college.”
“Maybe she was the first, maybe not. But I don’t think he went years between targets. I don’t think he’s capable of it.”
“Neither do I. You’ll look for others.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Reaching out, she touched his hand. “I know it’s what you do, and add being more than half crazy about me, but thank you. For looking, and for telling me.”
“I may be edging toward three-quarters crazy about you. You make really good spaghetti.”
Because he put her at ease, made her feel safe, she rolled more of her own.