Chapter 10 #3
“They might not have heard that there was another murder. So far, I’m assuming, the truth of all this is between us and Alfredo and Sal,” Shelly reminded him.
“You’re right. I’ll fill in our people. Or—”
“No, it’s all right. You make the call; I’ll get on the microwave.”
Shelly dug into the freezer and picked out two of the cartons of frozen dinners—very American dinners, she saw. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and green beans.
Whatever. It didn’t matter much that night.
But as she microwaved the dinners, she dug into a bread box and found a large loaf of Italian bread. She set it out on the table, along with a couple of bottles of iced tea that she found in the refrigerator as well.
She listened in as Grant spoke, telling Zach or Skye on the other end about the truth of the day they’d spent, then noting that he was quiet, listening to what was going on at the other end of the call.
“Anything they’ve learned as yet?” she asked.
“No, but they’ve spent more time in forensics, eaten at the restaurant several times, and gotten what they could from George Maynard’s neighbor. And George is still in his coma, but …”
“But?”
“Zach says they’re getting closer to certain people, and that could tell us something.”
“Close, always close,” she murmured. “Well, dinner, such as it is, is served!”
“Anything edible is lovely right now,” he assured her.
They both sat, and Grant was quiet, looking down at his plate of food.
“What?” she asked softly.
He looked up at her. “You’re sure … I mean, damn, that bullet was close today. I can do the street work—”
“Grant! I’m fine. And, seriously, you know it could have been any of us—the shooter was just waiting for that door to open, for someone to come out.”
“Which makes me curious again. What good would killing just one of us do?”
“Scare the others off?”
“Or piss us off worse!”
She shook her head. “Entering the mind of whoever is doing this is proving to be a crazy thing. First, I think we’re looking at a lot of minds, in fact!”
“In fact, what?”
“Maybe the shooter is like the poor fellow who killed himself rather than take a chance that anything might happen to his family!”
“There you go. And he—or she—failed.” He was thoughtful for a minute, pushing his turkey around on his plate. “That means we’re going to need to be ultra careful tomorrow.”
“And we will be,” Shelly said.
They continued to talk as they finished the meal, Grant speaking about the members of the “Blackbird” unit he’d worked with briefly until they’d been called on to work the murder of an American in Brussels.
Then he’d gone on home after the confession that had been accepted at the top of the legal chain in Rome, and there had been little more anyone could do.
Until the murder in St. Augustine.
“And either Jackson or Adam worked some magic to get us here,” Grant concluded. “Hey, I’ll clean up here tonight. You go get a shower and some rest.”
“I can clean, too—”
He laughed. “And you don’t think that I’ll give you your turn?”
“Oh, I’m sure you will!” Shelly rose and started toward the hallway.
“Shelly.”
She paused and looked back at him. “I know you’re saying that you were all right, but … that scared the hell out of me! I can’t deal with a new partner, you know.”
“Neither can I. We’ll both be careful!”
She headed on into her room and then the shower. And once she was there, she felt the water wash over her, and it felt delicious.
Life. Life could be so sweet, and they were especially aware, of course, in their field that life could also be fleeting. It was a special gift, one that brought hardship sometimes, but also moments that could be especially beautiful.
Moments that were to be cherished. And there were people in one’s life …
She emerged from the shower and dried off. And on the one hand, she thought that she was being entirely stupid.
And on the other hand …
That life was fleeting. That what was beautiful needed to be cherished.
She walked out into the hallway and didn’t hesitate. Grant’s door was closed; he was evidently done in the kitchen.
She knocked on the door.
He was in a towel.
She was still wearing nothing but her towel.
He looked at her with consternation for less than a second. They didn’t exchange a word.
She stepped toward him, and he reached out, pulling her into his arms.
Both towels conveniently fell to the ground.
And life was beautiful.
She felt the gentleness of the man, along with the strength and heat of his muscles, the length of his body.
She tasted the sweetness of his kiss, his lips falling on hers so gently, growing firmer with the depth and passion of it as the hunger they shared flared between them.
His hands …
Pure magic as they moved over her.
Then he swept her up in his arms. They landed on the bed together, harder perhaps than he had intended, but that just brought laughter to their lips before they joined again.
Bodies … the length of their bodies, fiery, smooth, all but enveloped in the steam that seemed to grow and surge between them.
Lips … hands … touching, being touched. Twisting, writhing, coming together, caresses more and more intimate with fingertips and lips and …
And finally becoming one, reaching out for the shimmering moment that they waylaid and then crested upon, reaching a sweet ecstasy of pure sensation.
Then breathing, hearts beating so hard, slowing, and still, the two of them together, letting the beauty remain as they drifted downward, back to something that resembled sanity and finally …
Words.
“You’re incredible,” Grant whispered.
“I was a wee bit presumptuous,” she told him. “And I don’t suppose my behavior was in the least professional.”
“Maybe in some instances, but not in this one! We’re chosen for our, hmm, you know, special talents, whatever they may be.
But I think Adam and Jackson have a unique special talent of their own.
They know how to put the right partners together.
In fact, I think we were meant to wind up this way,” Grant said.
“Knowing the beauty of life,” she whispered. “Mortal, physical life, that is.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm,” Shelly said, drawing her fingers down his chest. “Wait a minute! You knew this; you suspected this, and …”
“I didn’t know,” he said. “And … well, I’ve wanted to make a move. But I guess that I hoped you would make a move.”
She laughed. “I guess it doesn’t matter who moved first. And …”
“That bullet today made us both realize that life can end in a flash.”
“And …” She fell silent, frowning. She thought that she’d heard something. Something strange. A scraping sound? As if someone had moved against the wall? Or had she imagined it, or …
No. Because Grant heard it, too.
He was out of bed in a flash, reaching for his jeans. which lay on the floor by the bed.
Shelly shot up, too, heading for the door.
“No, I’ve got this. Your clothes—”
“Screw clothing! I’m going for my Glock!” she told him.
She raced across the hall. Despite her words, she grabbed at a nightgown she had left stretched at the foot of her bed.
It was on in a matter of seconds.
And her Glock was in her hand as well.
She hurried out. Grant was standing by the window with the drape pulled back just a hair. It was dark in the house, but brighter outside because of the streetlights.
He motioned her to the other side; she mimicked his position, moving the drape to the windows there just a hair as well.
Suddenly, there was a burst of gunfire—bullets hit the safety glass. It didn’t shatter at first, but whoever was out there had an automatic weapon, and the fury of the assault at last cracked the glass.
But as the glass blew in and the drapes flew back, Grant nodded at Shelly to rip the curtain.
She did so and stepped back.
And as bullets flew toward her side, Grant took aim.
And the gunfire suddenly stopped.