LifeoftheParty (8 page)

He missed fucking me, yet…

“Holy fuck,” he choked out, his cock slowly withdrawing. He
grabbed the soap, washing off before he wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling
her neck from behind. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She leaned back against his shoulder. “Of course not,” she
said and he kissed her, sliding the soap between her cheeks. As he rubbed she
flinched slightly, finding she was a little sore, more from being severely out
of practice than anything else. But Doug noticed. He fell to his haunches
behind her.

“I did hurt you,” he said, spreading her slightly to examine
her more closely. He kissed her cheeks, first one then the other, before he
turned her around and pressed his mouth to her belly. “Damn,” he said, “I’m
sorry.”

She smiled, gloriously unabashed. With what other man could
she be so intimately acquainted? Was there a better, more secure feeling in the
world than this? She squirted a dollop of shampoo into her hand then sank it
into his hair, scrunching her fingers through it. “It’s that big cock of yours.
A regular menace. Maybe if you kept it in my pussy where it belongs we wouldn’t
have a problem.”

He looked up at her, one brow arched.

“I’m joking, of course,” she said, standing back a bit so
the water could rinse his hair. “I’ll take your cock any way I can get it. Even
if it’s only…”
Damn
. She stepped back into the water, squirting more
shampoo into her hand. “Never mind.”

He leaned his head into the spray, furiously scratching the
lather from his head before he rose. “What?”

She scrubbed the foam from her eyes and leveled her gaze.
“Why won’t you come in me?”

He laughed, incredulous. “What are you talking about? I just
did.”

“Right store, wrong aisle, sweetie,” she said, standing into
the spray. “I think you know what I mean.”

Doug stiffened. “No. Why don’t you clarify it for me?”

“You just told me you haven’t fucked anyone since you were
with me. Excuse the observation, but I find that a bit aberrant to your usual
behavior. The Doug I used to know ranked fucking right up there with drawing
breath.”

He flung the shower curtain back. “Yeah, well, that Doug’s
changed a bit since you last knew him.”

“My point exactly,” she said, shutting down the water. “And
his newest incarnation is a bit screwed in the head.”

He snatched a towel from the bar. “Oh you think?”

“And it’s my fault. Don’t you think I know it?” She sighed
heavily, stepping from the tub. “Listen, you’re gonna have to talk to me sooner
or later, and the sooner you do it, the sooner we can get back to normal again,
whatever the hell that was. Come on, baby, talk to me.” She brushed her hand
down his chest. “Please.”

He pulled her into his arms, Gina snuggling against his
chest as he wrapped a big towel around them. She closed her eyes, breathing him
in. Never in her life had she felt so secure, so comforted by anyone than in
that moment, so nearly content. Which obviously was a bit premature as he
hadn’t told her anything, though all his actions seemed portentous. He sighed,
tucking her head against his shoulder, his skin warm and damp, pulling her long
hair from beneath the towel.

“I almost died after you left,” he said, smoothing the damp
strands.

“But the doctors told me you were fine. They said your
operation had gone better than expected and you were going to make a complete
recovery.”

“They were right.”

“Then what happened?”

He leaned back against the sink, Gina moving between his
legs as he rubbed the towel against her back. “I think I heard a doctor refer
to it as ‘failure to thrive’.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I think it’s what they say when they can’t determine why
someone isn’t getting better. When there isn’t anything physical causing them
to deteriorate.” He dried her front before Gina slipped the towel from him.

“When only the patient knows what’s wrong.” She dried his
chest then leaned into him. “What happened to you, Doug?”

All the heartbreak in the world fell in his eyes. “You did.”

“Dear God,” she whispered, her vision blurring.

Gina moved away, latching on to the towel bar. “I should’ve
stayed, no matter what. I should’ve fought and kicked and screamed, but I
should’ve never left you.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have listened. If you
didn’t leave then I would’ve. As it turned out, I did, in one way or another. You
know it was three weeks before I found out you lost the baby?”

“I don’t know why. I called Roark the day after it happened
because you wouldn’t take my calls.”

“I know. He told me. When he finally found me.”

She couldn’t look at him, but she had to ask. “Where were
you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do. Tell me.”

He looked to her, his eyes dispassionate. “With Sookie.”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. “You’re joking.”

He laughed harshly. “Christ, I wish I were.”

Four years earlier, Sookie Deauville had used her one phone
call from jail to wake Gina in the middle of the night, promising a retainer
bordering on the ridiculous. Gina didn’t hesitate to take the case. Sookie ran
an escort service whose clientele tended to lean toward the sexual preferences
of the Marquis de Sade, Sookie’s own specialties minor maimings and blood
sports.

These were often carried out in the dungeon of her Main Line
mansion, and often with the cream of society and the electorate as clients.
Defending Sookie for a raid on her house, Gina won the case by successfully
arguing the escort service was independent of what went on in her mansion, as
in one’s own home, consenting adults could do whatever they pleased, no matter
how perverted they were perceived.

And Gina was only too aware how Sookie had polished
perversion to a blinding gloss. She pulled her robe from the back of the door,
slipping into it. “Jesus, Doug.”

“If it’s any consolation, I hardly remember it. Sookie
stocks her bar well. But ever since then, since us, I haven’t been able to…” He
clenched his eyes, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Christ, Gina, I can’t
help thinking of that baby and how I never want to get close to that happening
again.”

Gina leaned against the wall, feeling slightly sick. “God,
how you must hate me.”

“I won’t deny that I did once, but not anymore. Still, you
got to give me some time.” He came up to her, lifting her chin. “Seeing you
again’s been a shock, but the alternative is a whole lot worse. I don’t want to
go through that again.”

She gripped his shoulders. “Neither do I.”

“Then we’re just going to have to work at it.” He slipped
his arm around her waist. “Come on, doll. Let’s get back into bed where we
belong.”

After they had climbed in, Gina laid her head on Doug’s
chest. “Look,” she said, her hand sliding down to his knee. “You’re getting a
bruise here.”

“Where you kicked me.”

“Damn, did I do that?” She kissed it. “Crime of passion. It
couldn’t be helped.”

He touched two spots on his pecs. “Like these?”

She looked to his neck. “Or that?” dabbing the spot. “Oh
please, sweetie, you have nothing on me.”

She threw back the sheet and stretched out, Doug counting
two bites on her neck, three on each breast and two on her left inner thigh.

“You’re a freakin’ vampire,” she said.

“You’re forgetting these.” He rolled her over on her belly.
He pressed a kiss to each cheek. “One apiece.”

She pushed up, craning her neck to see. “Huh, look at that.”

“Such a beautiful ass,” he murmured, kissing it again.
“Shame all our bruises couldn’t be like these.” He stuffed a pillow under her
belly and spread her legs, kissing and licking his way to her clit. Gina mewled
softly, savoring each stroke of his tongue, her orgasm rising slowly and
sweetly, an easy roll following so much frantic rocking. Soon after she rose up
on her knees, readying for Doug to slip in from behind. It was from that angle
she noticed her BlackBerry and the message that was waiting.

“Doug, sweetie, hold on a second.”

He kissed the small of her back, his hand on her breast. “
Now
you’re checking your phone? Christ, talk about perfect timing.”

She sat down, crossing her legs. “I’m sorry, but it’s a text
from Jack.”

“Oh right.
Jack
.” He slumped against the pillows,
raking back his hair. “You think he’s getting laid now? Why don’t we give
him
a good dose of
coitus interruptus
?”

You better check your email
after the text I just
got
, the text said. Gina did, then sucked in a breath.

“Jesus, Doug!” she cried, dropping the phone in his lap.
“Look at this.”

You looked beautiful tonight, but your Big Stud’s a waste
of time.

You’re still as good as dead.

“Motherfucker,” Doug said. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

DISTRICT OFFICE U.S. REPRESENTATIVE JOHN C. FALCO—RIVERBORO

FRIDAY 1 NOVEMBER

10:04 A.M.

“I should have a list of everyone at the banquet this
afternoon,” said Jack.

Doug paced, eyeing the BlackBerry in his hand.

You had better start looking for a new aide. This one’s
shot.

He looked to Jack. “When did you get this?”

“My phone was turned off, but it wasn’t there when I checked
it around nine thirty,” said Jack, pouring coffee from a pot atop his desk.
“The time stamp says 11:55, about a half hour after you got his text.”

“And almost an hour after we left,” said Gina, her arm
resting atop the back of the sofa.

“I didn’t look at it again until I got in my car, around
fifteen minutes after you left,” he added. “Checked it before I went to bed,
and there it was. I texted you right after I got it.”

“Must have been while I was in the shower…” Gina mused
aloud, her lips pursed, her eyes darting in thought.

Doug cleared his throat, handing the phone back to the
congressman. “Did you get a trace yet?”

“Again, from a public place.” Jack passed Gina a mug of
coffee before he regained his big leather chair. “It’s from a guest computer at
the Radisson in Philadelphia. They have three conventions going on at once.
Could have been anyone.”

“Except it isn’t,” said Gina, the coffee untouched in her
hands. “It’s the same Yahoo! account, and they were there at the party last
night.” She turned to Doug. “He’s gaining on me.”

Doug burned her a look. “Yeah? Well, he’s got to get through
me first.”

And he meant it. The very thought of anyone coming near Gina
almost sent him into a blind rage. He clenched his fists. But he had to remain
calm, focused. His investigative training and years of practical knowledge
showed him only clear and analytical thinking cracked the case, and that advice
had always worked well for him before. But when had he ever been this
intimately involved? Maybe it hadn’t been wise to agree to protect Gina. But
how could he have had it any other way? Because he knew damn well even if he
hadn’t agreed, he’d find the weasely bastard and strangle his fucking neck.

Too late for that
, he thought, taking a deep breath.
He forced himself to concentrate, looking to Jack. “Time to turn this over to
the squad.”

“No cops,” Gina said, horrified. “Could you imagine what
that’d do to Jack’s campaign? Might as well put a target on his back.”

“Better than one being on yours.” He turned a cool gaze to
Jack. “Right, Congressman?”

“You may not believe me, but I’ve told her that from the
start.” He looked to Gina. “But ever the good trooper, she refused to consider
it. I don’t think we have a choice now.”

“Jack, you know that’s political suicide.” Gina stood up,
looking to Doug. “Besides, we don’t have to. There’s already someone on the
case.
You.
”

Doug leaned back against the wall, amazed. She really was
the best out there. Because he was, for all practical purposes, a cop on
suspension, yet by corralling him into protecting her with Captain Halchak’s
blessing, she had the full force of the Camden Police behind her, with none of
the public record. It was a stroke of pure genius.

And all she had to do was fuck him.

“Yeah, I’m all over it, aren’t I,” Doug said dryly. “How
convenient is that.”

Apparently Gina got his meaning right away. Her eyes
narrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

He turned to Jack. “Who’s been running the forensics on the
emails?”

Jack glanced to Gina. “Debbie…” Looked to the tablet on his desk.
“Here it is. Lamberton.”

“A friend of mine,” Gina interjected. “She’s with the CCU.
Helped me out in the old days.”

The cybercrimes unit of the state police. Doug reached for
his coffee, now cold on Jack’s desk. She really did have all the bases covered.
“And she’s still a pal now. How convenient.” He took a sip and set it back.
“Come on, Gina, we’ve got work to do.”

“Where we going?”

“Wherever good ol’ Debbie is now.” Doug nodded to Jack.
“We’ll keep you posted.”

Gina gripped his arm once they were out in the hall. “You
want to tell me the meaning of all that back there?”

He slipped from her grasp. “No meaning besides the obvious,
doll. Just doing the job I was hired for.”

“Jesus, Doug—where’s that coming from?”

He laughed slightly, holding the door opened as she walked
outside. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

She stopped halfway to the car. “You mind explaining
yourself?”

“Everything for the job. Never deviate from the plan.”

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“You,” he said, leaning in. “You’re in it twenty-four/seven,
aren’t you? Always on, always ready. Every fucking thing you do. Everything for
the job.” He looked around. “Just like now. Start a scene on the sidewalk,
because then there’ll be no scene. Doug would never do that. Full
transparency.”

“You
are
insane.”

He pulled a flask from his pocket. “You got it, doll.”

Her eyes flared. “Put that away.”

He turned, taking a swig. “Forget it. With me, everything’s
out in the open.” Another swig.

Gina opened the car door and slid inside. “You think I’m
using you, don’t you?”

“Sweetheart, that’s impossible,” he said, starting the car.
“You’re too good a piece of ass.”

“You bastard,” she breathed, turning crimson.

“Shut up,” he said, the tires squealing as he backed into
the street.

* * * * *

NEW JERSEY STATE POLICE CYBERCRIMES UNIT

REGIONAL OFFICE—MOORESTOWN

11:11 A.M.

Debbie Lamberton, medium height and muscular as a gymnast,
clicked on the PowerPoint slide and walked up to the whiteboard. “Let me show
you a few things I’ve figured out,” she said, jabbing a pencil into the tight
knot of blonde hair at her nape.

Doug leaned forward in his chair. He hadn’t said a word to
Gina since they’d left Jack’s office, and outside of which street to turn down,
neither had she. He glanced over to her, those long legs crossed at the knee as
she perched on the edge of her chair. Maybe it was a good thing, all things
considered. The thoughts racing through his brain were none too charitable.

He looked to Debbie. “You figure things from just what
they’ve written?”

“Well, sure,” she answered, picking up a laser pointer. “But
more in the
way
they’ve written it.” She waved her hand dismissively.
“Let me explain.”

“Email presents a whole new spectrum of identification,
basically because it’s not like handwriting, where you can analyze the style,
or a typewriter you can trace. But there are subtle clues to character you can
pick up, as telling as the whorls and curves of handwriting. Take this first
email Jack received.”

There’s still a Death Penalty in NJ for SOME people.

“Notice the words ‘death penalty’?”

“They’re capitalized,” said Gina.

“Right. Now bear that in mind when you’re considering
these.” Debbie sent more images to the whiteboard.

Sometimes People get in the way.

Sometimes the Bullet misses the target and people get
hurt.

Sometimes the Worst things happen even with your friends
all around you.

“We look for several things, and one of them is consistency.
Seems like this perp likes to capitalize what he wants to emphasize, what he
figures is the most important thing in the sentence. Death penalty, people,
bullet, worst.”

“The point he’s trying to get across,” said Doug.

“Exactly. And he does it in every email. He also likes to
stick to a theme, as in the repetition of the word sometimes, a two-syllable
word that also gives us a little hint about the writer’s origins.”

She circled the word each time it appeared. “Even in these
days of global communication, we still have regional speech patterns, even in a
state as small as New Jersey. Somewhere above Trenton, smack in the middle of
the state, there’s an invisible line that separates North Jersey from South
Jersey, from the regional accents influenced by New York or Philadelphia. See
this?” She circled the
S
on each of the
sometimes
. “Adding an
S
to words like
sometimes
and
besides
and
towards
is typical
South Jersey. Any other place, those words are singular.”

Gina leaned closer. “Huh. I never noticed that.”

Debbie smiled. “That’s because you’re from South Jersey.”

“Riverboro born and raised.”

“So you’re also partial to getting
some
ice cream, or
some
exercise or
some
sleep.”

Gina yawned. “Especially
some
sleep.”

Doug cleared his throat.

Gina tossed him a glare before turning back to Debbie. “So
the guy’s from South Jersey. What else can you tell?”

“Well, look at this.” Debbie clicked to another slide.

Such a shame I’ll have to break those lovely legs, slit
that pretty little throat, put a bullet into that filthy brain.

When Gina visibly shivered, Doug suppressed the urge to pull
her into his arms. “The first time he gets personal,” he said.

Debbie looked to Gina, her mouth crooking sympathetically.
“Yes, the scum. But it also confirms for me he’s most likely an educated man,
or certainly someone who takes writing seriously.”

“Scum with the heart of a poet,” said Doug. “How do you
figure that?”

“Look at this here.” She circled the laser pointer around
the comma after
legs
. “He knows to put a comma after the first and
second of a series of phrases, and not simply the first phrase, without the
connector
and
between the second and third phrases.”

“Excuse me?” said Gina.

“In other words,” Doug said, “he knows his way around
English grammar and punctuation.”

“Exactly,” Debbie said. “Like you alluded to before, I
wouldn’t be surprised if he
was
a poet, or is in a field where he has to
write very precisely. Here’s more proof.” She clicked to the next screen.

You looked beautiful tonight, but your Big Stud’s a waste
of time.

You’re still as good as dead.

Gina shifted in her chair.
She looks beautiful in the
daytime too
, Doug thought. He watched as she shoved a hand through her
hair, her jaw tightening. How long would he be able to stay angry with her?

“Again we see the pattern of capitalization,” Debbie
continued. “But that’s not what’s telling. Email, except when it’s used as
business communication, tends to be informally written, not as informal as
texting but still rather loose. In a lot of instances, it’s rushed out, so it’s
not uncommon to see usage errors or misspellings.”

“As in who uses the spell checker when they email,” said
Doug.

“I do,” Gina said quickly.

“Because you’re a lawyer,” said Debbie. “And the need for
precision is ingrained. But look at the use of the word
you
.” She aimed
the laser pointer again. “How many people mix up the words
your
and
you’re
in everyday writing? Or would use
as
between
still
and
good
?
I think it could be assumed that when the perp wrote this he was agitated or
even angry, but still all the rules of grammar and usage are adhered to, all
the words spelled correctly, all the punctuation in place.” She turned off the
laser pointer. “This is a very meticulous, educated man.”

“Are you sure it
is
a man?” asked Doug.

“Sure, and I’ll tell you why. A woman wouldn’t praise
another woman’s physical attributes and then tack on violence to tear them
down. It’s the same thinking that goes into rape. It’s not for the sex, it’s
for control. But men are more physically oriented. A woman would use a more
abstract route. She’d play with the person’s head, maybe even internalize it,
saying something like
if you do this I will kill myself then it’ll all be
your fault
. Women are great for getting at men by inflicting a feeling of
helplessness in them, especially effective because men’s natural instinct is to
fix things.”

“So in essence,” Doug said, boring his gaze into Gina’s,
“women are more devious.”

Debbie laughed. “Oh without question.”

Gina gripped the arms of her chair, her steely composure
returning. “So what have we got here?”

“In summation, counselor?” Debbie perched on the edge of her
desk. “I’d say you’re dealing with an educated South Jersey man who works in
some field of communication.”

“And who probably has a beef with DNA technology.”

Debbie crooked her head at Gina, momentarily mystified. “Oh
because of that one email, you think?”

“Right,” said Gina. “Remember? DNA equals do not arrest or
something.”

Debbie looked askance for a second, scratching her neck.
“Hmm…right. But you know, Gina? I really don’t think that’s the most telling
point.”

“But how could you not? The way me and Jack figure it, it’s
the whole reason he’s after me. For the lobbying I did for the DNA Clearance
Act. We’re thinking it’s some random nut who blames the Act for springing
someone he still thinks is guilty.”

Debbie winced. “If that’s true then, Gina, it may be worse
than I thought. I don’t know how to put this to you, but from the looks of what
we have here…” She leaned forward, squeezing Gina’s hand. “Sweetie, I think he
knows you.”

* * * * *

“Pull over,” Gina said, her hand on the door.

Doug had just turned onto Route 38. “What? Why?”

“I said pull over!” she cried, yanking on the handle.