Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (14 page)

“I think a couple of aspirin will do the trick. Oh, maybe not.” She gasped as he placed his lips between her breasts and darted his tongue along her fresh, clean, and soft skin. She shook her hands free and sank her fingers into his hair, while he clasped his around her waist and shifted her down onto the sofa, until she was fully laid out.

He kissed every bruise in turn, his quick tongue on her hips making her writhe against him, urging him—no, demanding him—to take what was his. “Ross, please,” she begged when his fingers hovered dangerously close to her luscious and moist pussy.

“Jess.” Her name was a whispered caress to her left thigh. With his throbbing cock, his ragged breathing, and his blood flowing through his veins like wildfire, Ross knew one look at the amber flecks glowing within her blue eyes would have the barriers he’d erected around his heart collapsing like a deck of cards. Damn, he wanted the woman bad, loved her so much it hurt, but there was no way he was going to fall again. Too much was at stake. His heart. His sanity. Her life…Now there was a sobering thought.

Withdrawing, he slipped one arm under her waist, the other under her knees and lifted her as he rose to his feet. He carried her through to his bedroom and laid her tenderly on the bed.

The sight of her pleading eyes, pouting nipples, and legs spreading in wanton invitation nearly brought his downfall. Nearly. Closing his eyes, Ross gathered his resolve, then reopened them and went over to the door, resting his hand on the handle. “Goodnight, Jessica.”

“What?” she asked, flustered. “What do you mean goodnight? And what’s with calling me Jessica? You never do that.”

Ross ignored her and walked from the room, the closing of the door fortifying the newly erected barriers.

* * * *

Jessica watched Ross leave.

She knew his behavior was down to her lack of honesty. Okay, so she shouldn’t have lied to him, but her reasons had been valid, hadn’t they? She firmly decided not to go after him, choosing, instead, to pull his pillow toward her and wrap herself around it as if it were his body.

Then, as she breathed in his smell, she allowed the tears to fall.

Last time,
she vowed. Last time she would cry over Ross. Because she knew how to win him back. Win his trust. Win his love. And his heart. Make sure he had no doubts that the only woman for him, both in his life and his bed, was her.

She decided something else, too. Apart from telling Ross about Magnum Investigations—call her stupid, call her stubborn, but she’d rather go through the pain and embarrassment of a colostomy than admit being a failure—but from tomorrow she was going straight.

And, yes, somebody still wanted her dead. But surely with Ross’s help, because he was involved whether she liked it or not, and because she knew it wasn’t in his nature to walk away, it would only be a matter of time, a week at the most, before that threat became well and truly confined to the garbage.

Chapter 8

Ross couldn’t sleep. The sofa was uncomfortable. The room was too stuffy, despite the window being open. His jeans were cutting up the crack of his ass. More importantly though, on the other side of the wall, the sounds of a woman crying her eyes out.

Knowing it was useless but doing it anyway, he rammed the cushion over his head and closed his eyes, willing himself to shut down. He stuck it out for a full minute before he tossed the cushion aside and rolled to his feet.

His backpack still rested against the wall where he’d dumped it. He removed and changed into a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of sweats. Then, slipping his bare feet into his running shoes, he pocketed his keys, wallet, and the Magnum, and left his apartment, part jogging to Jessica’s and part using the subway.

It was only once Ross arrived at Jessica’s apartment that he realized he had no keys to let himself in with. The front door was secure, with yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed over it. Oh, well, he supposed he could kick it down. But then another way in came to mind.

Two minutes later, he was standing in her bedroom. Obviously once forensics had finished their examination of the scene, nobody had thought to board the window up, the idea of somebody climbing up the fire escape for the second time that night perhaps too inane to take seriously.

Another thing he’d forgotten was his compact flashlight. He walked around the edge of the room, so not to disturb forensic evidence, and flicked the light switch by the closed door. His eyes were immediately drawn to the large bloodstain on the carpet by the foot of the bed. He guessed he should have felt remorse for inflicting serious injury, even taking another man’s life. He didn’t.

A pile of letters and a large manila envelope on the nearby dressing table then caught his eye. Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the envelope. Inside, he found the photograph Jessica had referred to. He sucked in his breath when he recognized the entrance to his block. She’d failed to mention that. Was she ever going to be straight with him? But more to the point, was she safe at his apartment?

He cast his mind back to when Jessica had been at his before that night in his bed. Two weeks ago. When she’d asked for his help…

Adding a splash of Coke to the JD he’d just poured, he handed the glass to Jessica and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. He studied her over the rim of his own glass. She appeared edgy, fidgety, as if his floor was made up of hot coals. “Are you okay? Nothing’s wrong with the agency, is there?”

Almost immediately, her feet stilled. “No, of course not. My mind’s just on a new case. A rather delicate case. Are you busy at work at the moment?”

“Sure am. Up to my eyes. But I’ve got two weeks booked off the beginning of next month. Gonna see Mom and Dad for a few days. I’m free after that. Does that help?”

“No, not really.”

Her sigh was heavy, wistful even, so he finished his whiskey in one swallow, placed the glass down and reached for her hand. “How about I help when I’m off duty?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So what’s this delicate case then?”

“Blade Harknett’s partner believes he’s playing away. They want evidence.”

A frown wrinkled his brow. “Senator Williamson’s aide? But he’s gay.”

“So?” Her tone was accusing as she snatched her hand away. “Whatever his sexuality, he’s still a lying, cheating scumbag.”

“Hey, hold on a minute,” he said, going on the defensive. “You know me. I haven’t a homophobic bone in my body. I was merely making an observation. I mean, the majority of your many cases must be men wanting their women investigated, and vice versa.” Her expression turned unreadable. “So what can I do?”

“Well, as a reporter, I’m more used to getting up close and personal, but, of course, now I’m a PI I need a more subtle approach.” She smiled, and his heart went haywire. “I know you’re an ace at surveillance. Maybe you can teach me a few tricks?”

He poured another measure of whiskey and chinked his glass against hers. “Put it like that and how can I say no?”

How indeed…

Ross shook himself back to the present and again looked at the photograph. It had been taken on the night they’d made love. Her clothing—the skin-tight jeans and white shirt—and a bottle of JD clasped in her hand, bore testament to that.

He frowned as something else Jessica had failed to mention came to him. As far as he was concerned, he was the only person to see her take Harknett’s BlackBerry. But now, it was obvious somebody else had seen it, too. Who though? Since he didn’t believe in ghosts, he quickly ruled out Harknett. He was very, very dead. So maybe Jessica’s suggestion of somebody wearing a latex mask wasn’t such a cockamamie idea after all. It was not only the perfect disguise, but it also had the desired effect of scaring the crap out of Jessica. He, of course, hadn’t been scared, just temporarily stunned.

It still begged the question of whom, though. However, for the moment, and until he viewed security camera footage at the bar, if there was any, the question would go unanswered.

He laid the photo down and flicked through the pile of letters. A couple pieces of junk mail, the others being final payment demands for credit cards, utilities, mortgage arrears on her apartment, and the leasehold to the Magnum Investigations’ office. For some reason, he pocketed that letter. He dropped the rest on the dressing table and went over to the walk-in wardrobe. His fingers curled around the handles. He was just about to open the doors when a voice behind him virtually made him jump out of his skin.

“Are you stalking me?”

Ross spun around to face the man who’d spoken. For a moment, he wondered if he needed to book an appointment with an optometrist. He could have sworn the bedroom had been empty. Another moment later, he gathered his senses, wits, nerves, and anything else that had abandoned him. “I could ask the same of you, Detective Rafferty.”

“Scott.”

Ross took the offered outstretched hand but dropped it immediately. It was cold. Ice cold. The eyes were black, soulless. Like those of the great white. And with the muscular, six-foot frame encased in a tailored, charcoal-gray suit, Rafferty had the physique of a shark, too.

“Poor circulation,” Rafferty offered by way of an explanation.

“Why are you here?” Ross asked, detecting, for the first time, the noticeable dip in temperature within the room. Was it his imagination or was that chilled air emanating from Rafferty himself?

“Why are you?”

“I asked first.”

The glint of white teeth confirmed the shark description. It was better than the one Ross was beginning to entertain.

“Going over the crime scene,” replied Rafferty.

“In the dark?”

“Not since you turned the light on. So, you’re here…?”

“Collecting some clothes for Miss Ferris,” Ross lied. He’d always thought himself as a good judge of character, but with Rafferty, it was damn near impossible to judge him at all. Nothing about the man gave him away. Even the short, dark-brown hair that was graying at the temples held no clues as to his age. He could have been anywhere between thirty and two hundred thirty. Which was ridiculous. Rafferty was a closed book, and though he’d offered his hand in friendship, it didn’t mean he could be trusted.

“Ah, the lovely Jessica Ferris.” Rafferty’s smile widened. “Hot, isn’t she? If you don’t mind me saying so.”

He did. “No. Why would I?”

“Is she with anybody? You know, relationship-wise?”

She was. Him. “Not that I know of. Why, you interested?”

“I’d have to be dead not to be interested.”

Ross wasn’t sure if Rafferty was being metaphorical or not. “But being the officer in charge of the case,” he pointed out, a warning tone creeping in, “it would be unethical for you to become involved with a witness.”

Rafferty smiled his sharklike smile again. “Where is Miss Ferris? I need her statement. Yours, too.”

“She’s safe.”

“Where?”

“You can have our statements in the morning,” Ross told him, ignoring the question.

“Why not now?”

“We’re busy.”

“Doing what?”

“This and that.” As enlightening as their conversation was, Ross had a more pressing question to ask. “The front door is locked and taped, so how did you get in?”

“Since I’ve yet to master the art of walking through walls, the same way you did.”

Rafferty’s answer bothered Ross somewhat. People do not walk through walls.
Ghosts, on the other hand…
He shook his head, jerking himself back to the real world. There was no such thing as ghosts, for Christ’s sake!