Killing Bliss (26 page)

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, deciding on a mini-retreat to get her act together. But when she bent to gather up her clothes, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her to the rumpled bed.

"Not before I do this." He kissed her forehead, her face, under her ear, ran a hand down her back and over her naked butt in a long possessive caress. "Thank you, Addy," he murmured close to her ear. "Last night was spectacular." He let her go.

"Ditto," she said, and jumped to her feet before she weakened—or did that tying-him-to-the-bed routine.

"Ditto?" he echoed. He raised his brows, a smile and a frown dueling across his morning-stubbled face. "That's it? Ditto?"

"It was good... okay? But until we finish what we started last night—"

"I thought we finished damn well."

"You know what I mean." She pulled her mouth into a serious line, ignored the heated blush searing up from her collarbone.

He looked as though he were going to argue, nodded instead, his face tightening to acceptance and at the same time reluctant. "Yes, I know what you mean." He gestured toward the bathroom. "Go take your shower." He got up and slid into his jeans—no briefs. "I'll give Redge a quick morning bathroom break, then I'll have mine." He pulled a shirt on, called Redge from his corner behind the kitchen counter, and headed for the door. "Then, Mizz Wartenski, we can talk all you like."

He walked out without another word.

Chapter 17

Fifteen minutes later, Addy, showered, dressed, and hot coffee in hand, watched him come up the cabin path, and her stomach instantly filled with butterflies and leftover desire. Her heart felt like a rose pressed in a Bible. That scared her more than anything. This wasn't the time for hearts or flowers.

Dear God, tell me I'm not stupid enough to fall for the first man who gives me an orgasm.

God must have been busy, because he didn't answer. She blew out a noisy breath, took a long swig of too-hot coffee, and walked away from the window to sit at the table.

Cade came in, Redge at his heels. "Hey," he said, and smiled.

He did that a lot, she noticed, and his smiles always had that just-for-you quality that made the hair on the back of her neck ruffle. "Hey back," she said, and drank some coffee to douse the stars she knew were in her eyes. "I made coffee."

"My kind of woman, but I'll have that shower first. Keep it hot."

Five minutes later, he stepped into the room toweling his dark hair. He wore jeans, a blue shirt, unbuttoned, and he hadn't shaved. He made Addy's mouth water, but didn't take her off course.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat across the table from her, and calmly leveled those unnervingly intelligent eyes on her. "Chapter Two. Let's hear it," he said.

"I think, if it's okay with you, I'll start with the favor I want from you. Work back from there."

"Fair enough."

"I have some, uh, friends coming to Star Lake. They'll be here in a day or so."

"Uh-huh."

She took a breath, ignored the boulder of conscience rolling through the thickness in her chest. "It's Beauty and Gus."

Cade's brows shot up, and he set his coffee on the table. Frowning, he said, "Let me get this straight. Last night you told me you hadn't seen either Gus or Beauty since the murder, and now they're dropping in for a summer vacation?"

"Not a vacation, exactly. And not exactly dropping in." She took a deep breath, reached across the table and took his hand, gripped it tight "They're coming here to kill Frank Bliss, and I want you—need you—to help me stop them."

* * *

At Sea-Tac, Grover waited nervously for Bliss near the bookstore on the main concourse, not sure he'd recognize him after the years he'd spent in jail.

Everything that had gone wrong in his life was this man's fault. Everything. If Frank Bliss hadn't called Sandra that day, told her Grover was "humping his prostitute mother and had the state paying for it," things would be different. Belle might still be alive, and Josh would be in the loving care of his grandmother.

Grover tried to forget, control the twisted needs that had once made him betray everything he believed in, but Bliss wouldn't let him.

The weight of him, what he knew, circled Grover's neck like a mile of spiked iron chains. Having Bliss in your life was like dying slowly, a drop of blood at a time.

Dear Jesus. He had Sandra. Wasn't she enough of a burden for any man?

His jaw trembled, and his mouth went dry. He'd suffered enough. He would suffer no more, no matter what he had to do. He would stop Bliss. Forever.

First he had to calm down, get information—about the girl. He licked his lips, forced himself to focus while he still could. At the moment, no headache drilled into his thoughts, and other than the terror that bunched at the base of his skull like stones, his thinking was clear.

Bliss thought him weak and spineless. All true enough, but years with Sandra had instilled a useful slyness and the talent to deceive. He hoped they would serve him now. Bliss always called him Groveling Grover or good-old-Wayne. He would expect him to be diffident and ingratiating; he wouldn't disappoint.

"Hey, Wayne-man, how the hell are ya?"

A hand slapped his back, then clapped on Grover's shoulder and squeezed. He looked up and into the blue eyes of the man he planned to kill.

"Frank. Nice to see you again." The words cut his tongue on the way out.

Bliss snorted his disbelief, his underlying disapproval, then smoothed a lapel. "Yeah, sure it is, Grover."

On a closer look, his revulsion at Bliss's touch was replaced by a sharp stab of envy. Frank had his mother's good looks, he noted, tall, golden-haired, and leanly muscled, handsome by any standard. Wayne had never come close to physical beauty—as Sandra, and his mother before her, reminded him at every opportunity.

"You look well," he added, remembering Frank's vanity and not above playing to it. But the truth was, he did look fit and very strong, which troubled him.

Bliss laughed. "Yeah, like you care how the fuck I look." He patted his flat stomach. "Doesn't hurt to spend seven years in the gym, though." He poked Wayne's soft belly. "You ought to try it sometime, Grover. That gut of yours could use some trimming."

Wayne ignored the slur, nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Now where can I take you?"

"Got the money?"

Wayne nodded.

Bliss put out his hand. Wayne clasped it as though it were intended as a handshake and leaned forward. "Considering the amount of security in the airport, both in uniform and out, I don't think it's wise to exchange the funds here." He shook Bliss's hand and let it go.

Bliss glanced around, then looked back at Grover, his expression speculative. "Getting some smarts in your old age, huh?" He picked up the bag he'd put at his feet, held it out for Wayne to carry. "Let's hit the nearest bar then. I could use a drink." He clapped a hand on Wayne's back. "And you can fill me in on all the exciting things that go on in the life of the underpaid social worker."

"This way." Wayne took his bag, tamped down his jittery nerves. He didn't need a drink, he needed a chilled brain and icy nerves, so he wouldn't tremble when he pulled the trigger.

* * *

A half hour later, they were in the back booth of a place called Jaeke's, a tavern a few miles north of Sea-Tac.

Bliss ordered a beer, a double burger, a side of deep-fried onion rings, and dug in. "You know, I haven't been able to get enough real food since Smithfield. Christ, that place had the worst goddamn cook ever to ladle slop in a prison kitchen." He swigged back some beer and tossed a glance at Wayne. "So, how's things going anyway?"

The question was half-civil, and Wayne replied, "Could be better."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" He took another bite of his burger and cocked his head. "Where you getting your rocks off these days anyway, Grover? You still into getting your lily-white ass whipped?" He pulled a disgusted face. "Weird, that crap. You wouldn't catch me letting a woman beat on me. No fuckin' way."

Wayne's stomach curled into a hard ball, and his face flamed. Thank God the bar was dark enough that the piece of dirt sitting across from him couldn't see it. He said nothing.

"You must have hated losing Ma like that. Brett and I could vouch for the fact the bitch was good at doling out the pain. Must have been one long boner for your kind. But a stroke of luck the way things turned out." He shook his head, lifted his lip in a half smile. "Mama bought the farm, and Brett and me inherited it. Funny, huh? Hell of a lot like having your cake and eating it, too." He laughed, obviously pleased at his own joke.

"Your mother wasn't all bad, Frank." Wayne reverted to counselor mode, gripping the table edge to the point of pain, terrified his rage—or fear—would burst like an abscess, and he'd leap across the table and strangle him. No, that wouldn't do. He needed information, needed to know the name of the girl, needed to know if Harding was on her tail. Needed to protect himself, now more than ever.

"You know, Grover, you're right. Old Belle definitely had her moments, taking in all those needy kids like she did." Bliss snorted softly. "Matter of fact, she's the reason I'm about to pocket a half mil—maybe more, if I play it right."

"How's that?"

"Because a certain high-toned hooker who currently goes by the name of Fallon West, but was once known as Dianna Lintz, is about to lead me to the end of the rainbow."

"The pretty one," Grover said softly, another piece of the puzzle slipping into place. He tried not to look anxious.

"Uh-huh. Beauty herself."

"Where did you find her?" Stay calm, Grover, stay calm.

"San Francisco. Vain little bitch was stupid enough to show up on TV a couple of years ago on the arm of some rich geriatric type. I had a few friends on the outside, so it wasn't hard to track her down. And when I found out she was a hooker"—he gloated—"hell, nothing's easier to find than a working gal, them being creatures of habit, after all."

Grover's blood iced in his veins.

Bliss and Harding hadn't found the same girl.

Susan said the girl Harding found was "right in her backyard." And if Beauty were coming here, to Seattle, she had to be meeting Addilene somewhere. His head throbbed, and he closed his eyes, rubbed at his temple. Behind his eyelids was only blood.

No...

A voice from somewhere in the depths of his building headache murmured that the girls should live, go on with their secret lives...

But the risk.

His stomach contracted in fear and his head thrummed.

Bliss, busy ogling a young girl wearing only enough to avoid imprisonment, turned away. "You know who else is gonna be at the end of that rainbow?" He turned back to Grover, smirking.

Grover, busy worrying about the girls, how he'd kill them, if he could kill them, didn't quite hear him. So he shook his head, took a drink of beer. He hated beer, and this early in the day, it made him nauseous.

"A badass we all know and love. Our very own Gussy-baby—the last person on earth you want to clap eyes on."

Vanelleto. Grover's mind went sand blank, and his blood jellied in his veins. If Bliss found him, no doubt Harding would, too. And Gus Vanelleto was the biggest threat of all.

Frantic, his heart cartwheeled in his chest, and his gut cramped painfully.

Get a hold of yourself, Grover. Breathe.

He took his own advice and brought himself down. Everything was okay. For now, all he had to do was keep on top of things, maybe let Bliss live a little longer—until he led him to Vanelleto, at least. Yes, that would work. And to make him do that, he needed to gain his confidence. But how? All he wanted to do was run.

When his hand trembled, he secured it around his beer glass. "You'd better be careful, Frank," he said, when he'd leveled off enough to speak. "You remember how, uh,
tricky
Gus was." Read that cunning—and dangerous.

Bliss put down his burger, took a napkin from its metal holder and dragged it across his mouth. "Yeah, like you give a rat's ass what happens to me. Give me a break."