Murder on Lovers' Lane (Brody and Hannigan Mysteries) (6 page)

"Thanks," Hannigan said with a smile.  She turned around and nearly bumped headlong into Brody.  When she put her hand on his arm to steady herself, sparks of awareness zinged all the way up his arm and down his chest to settle low and electric in his belly.

She lowered her gaze immediately, but not before he saw the fire licking behind her gray eyes. 

She dropped her hand away and nodded for him to follow her out of the classroom.

She didn't speak again until they were in the car.  "I think we should try to find Danielle," she said.

"You think she's in danger?"

"I think it's possible."  She cranked the car and pulled up to the exit onto Partridge Road.  Instead of going left toward the campus exit, she turned right and headed up the hill toward the dormitory Jan Neely had told her about.

"How are you going to find out which room?"

"Ask," she answered, pulling into the only empty guest parking place near the front of the dorm.  Brody started to get out, too, but she shook her head.  "I'll get farther without a guy around," she said firmly.

He settled back in the passenger seat, resigned to wait.

It didn't take long.  Within ten minutes, Hannigan emerged from the front door, her brow furrowed.  She slid into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel in white-knuckled fists.  "Her roommate said it's her six-month anniversary with her boyfriend, so she cut class to go out with him."

"Please tell me they're going to dinner at a nice restaurant, surrounded by lots and lots of people."

Hannigan grimaced.  "Fast food takeout and a beautiful view of the full moon at the Magnolia Park Overlook."

Brody uttered a low profanity.

Chapter Five

"Nobody thinks they'll die when they're twenty," Brody murmured as Hannigan steered her Chevy Impala onto the access road into the park.

"If we're not too late, maybe they'll be right." She peered up the hill toward the parking area near the scenic lake overlook.  From any point on the mountain ridge hemming in the city from the east, the view could be spectacular, but few areas offered such an unobstructed panorama.  Magnolia Park Overlook had been one of the parking spots Hannigan herself had gone to back in her distant youth. 

At the top, two other cars had parked near the metal barrier delineating the treacherous edge of the overlook.  One of the vehicles was the green Ford pickup truck Danielle Brubaker's roommate had described to Hannigan.

"That's Danielle and her boyfriend." Hannigan nodded toward the Ford.

He peered out the Impala's window.  "They're moving around, so I guess everything's okay for now."

"Russian roulette," she murmured. 

Brody nodded, apparently following her thoughts with his usual ease.  "No bullet in the chamber this time."

She settled back against the car seat.  "Do you mind if we stay here awhile?  Keep an eye on her?"

Brody's gaze slid over to meet hers.  "Taking it kind of personally, aren't you, Hannigan?"

"I guess she reminds me of myself ten years ago," she said quietly.  "Not in looks, but—she
was
really taking notes Monday.  Not just playing at it.  I watched her.  She cares about learning."

"Not enough to postpone her six-month anniversary with the boyfriend."

"Boyfriends are important, too."  Hannigan felt the bitter sting of irony in her words, considering the decision she'd made during her two days away from Brody.  "She thinks she can have it all.  Jan was taking notes for her, so she wouldn't miss anything when exam time rolls around."

Brody was silent for a few moments.  Then, when Hannigan had just started to relax, he said, "I think Dr. Flanders was coming on to me tonight."

Hannigan turned to look at Brody, trying to gauge whether or not he was trying to tease her.  He looked deadly serious.  "What did she do?"

"Nothing overt, exactly.  But I wasn't born yesterday."

"You probably think every woman wants you, Brody."  

And he wouldn't be entirely wrong.

Brody slanted a look her way.  "Not every woman."

Heat rose up her neck. She had to clear the lump from her throat before she could speak.  "What exactly did Dr. Flanders say or do that convinced you she was hitting on you?"

"Well, for one thing, she spoke in pretty blatant sexual innuendo."  He told her what the professor had said about coming prepared to participate next time.  

"That sounds innocent enough," Hannigan disagreed.

"You didn't hear her tone.  You didn't see the look in her eyes."

"And maybe you were prone to reading sexual innuendo into her words," Hannigan pointed out, trying not to sound waspish.  "You clearly find her attractive.  Any man would."

"I wasn't looking for a come on," Brody protested.  "There's a difference between seeing a woman's sexual attractiveness and wanting that sexuality focused on you."

She lifted one eyebrow. "Did you feel violated, Brody?  Should we file a harassment charge?"

"I'm serious.  Think about how she dresses, Hannigan.  How she sits.  How she crosses her leg, so slowly.  So deliberately."

"
You've
noticed it, certainly."  She sounded more snappish than she'd intended, earning another glance from her partner.

"There are such things as female serial killers," he said.  "I know they're rarer than men, but—"

"A woman hit on you—ergo she must be a serial killer?"

"The hitting on me is just a symptom," he said, sounding frustrated by her skepticism.  "She sexualizes everything. Have you ever had an American Lit teacher bring
Fanny Hill
into her discussion of Puritan literature?"

She thought back to her college days.  "Um, no."

"She dresses provocatively.  She speaks provocatively.  She enjoys the sexual attentions of her male students."

"Some of the females seem to think she's hot, too," Hannigan drawled.

"Exactly."

"But how does that make her a potential serial killer?"

"The people who are dead are people who skipped her class to go make out with other people.   I checked—all the murders took place on nights the class was in session, except Morehead's.  And they all took place after the class would have been over."  Brody turned toward her, vibrating with restless energy.  "What if she can't bear the thought that someone would choose another person over time spent in her class with her?  What if she considers it a personal rejection?"

Hannigan tried to follow his train of thought, but she couldn't get past how attentively he seemed to have watched the professor crossing and uncrossing her legs.  "Why is Morehead the exception, then?  Why go after him if he wasn't skipping class?"

"I don't know. It's something to think about, anyway."  Brody sat back against his seat with a sigh.  A few minutes later, he turned and looked at her again.  "Did you ever skip class for a guy, Hannigan?"

"I've made my share of bad choices for the sake of a guy," she said.

"Were they really bad choices?"  In the darkness, Brody's voice took on a seductive edge.  She tried not to look at him, but she couldn't help herself.

He was watching her, his eyes dark and glittering in the pale blue moonlight drifting through the Chevy's windshield.  With no floor console between them to pose a barrier, he was closer to her than she expected.

Was that why she'd wanted to take her car this time?  To remove the barriers between them?

"You have to have priorities."  The lack of conviction in her voice made her want to go hide. 

"All work and no play make Hannigan a dull girl."

She looked at him again, tension knotting so tightly in her belly that it ached.  "Do you think I'm dull?"

He held her gaze with the ferocity of his regard.  "No."

"I've heard it said I'm a humorless automaton."

"Not you."

"A joyless ball breaker."

"Sheer idiocy."

She smiled and turned her gaze forward.  "Thank you."

"You're a riddle."  He had moved closer; she felt his breath hot against the side of her neck. 

"A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma?"  Keeping her voice light, she darted another look at him and found him only a few inches away.

"If you think you can distract me with Churchill quotes—"

Recklessly, she turned to face him, her heart rat-a-tatting like a snare drum.  "Distract you from what?"

Headlights flashed across them, lighting up the Impala's interior.  They backlit Brody, casting his face in deep shadow so that she couldn't read his expression.  But hers, no doubt, was perfectly spotlighted, baring her raw desires to her partner.

"One of the cars leaving?" he asked in a soft exhalation.

She nodded.

"Danielle Brubaker and her boyfriend?"

Swallowing hard, she looked across the parking lot.  "No, they're still here."  She peered through the window, her eyes still blinded by the afterimage of the car headlights.  "They're not really doing anything.  Just...talking."

Brody's eyebrow lifted.  "On a sixth anniversary?  Pikers."

"Some women find communication to be an aphrodisiac."

"What about you?"

"You know me, Brody.  I'm not a talker."  She tried to make the words sound like a joke, but somehow, to her ears at least, they came out sounding like a plea.

Brody lifted his right hand to her cheek, his fingertip sliding a strand of hair away from her eyes.  "Some things need to be said, don't you think?"

No
, she thought. 
Don't say it.

His hand lingered, resting lightly against her cheek, his thumb sliding over the curve of her chin.  "This is quicksand."

She nodded, aware of what he meant.  "Fraught with peril."

His lips twitched upward.  "Peril indeed."  He leaned toward her until his forehead rested against hers, so close that her eyes crossed trying to see him.  She closed them, her heart thundering so loudly she was certain he must be able to hear it.  "But there's something I know about you, Hannigan."

"What's that?" she whispered.

He lowered his hand to her shoulder, moving his thumb in slow, seductive circles over the ridge of her collarbone.  "I know that beneath those tailored suits you like to wear, under the crisp cotton blouses and sensible shoes, beats the heart of a danger monkey."  He curved his hand to cup her chin, tilting her head toward him.  She opened her eyes and found him gazing down at her with burning eyes.

"Brody—"

"You never met a challenge you could walk away from."

"We can't—"

"We shouldn't," he agreed.

But when he touched his mouth to hers, she was lost.

Brody's blood roared in his ears, a raw and raucous howl of need.  He demanded, she supplied, her small fingers clawing through his hair and tugging him atop her until his hips lay flush over hers.  She opened her thighs, drawing the hardness of his body into the soft cradle of her own.  The steering wheel dug into his ribs, but he paid it no heed, for at least it kept them both from sliding into the floorboard.

Brody pulled back, his breath coming in gasps.  "Hannigan—Stella—"

She grabbed his jaw between her palms, her expression fierce.  "You never call me Stella.  Don't start now—"  She kissed him hungrily.

He kissed her back, sliding his tongue over hers.  She tasted like spearmint toothpaste and slick, hot passion.  Her hands slid under the hem of his polo shirt, tugging the material out of the way until her fingers found the skin of his lower back.  She made a low groaning sound, deep in her chest, the rumble of noise vibrating through him like the start of an avalanche.

He had to think.  Catch his breath and remember the reasons why sex with Stella Hannigan was a bad idea.  Too dangerous.  Too much vulnerability.  The stakes too high.  Reasons eluded him, darting through the cracks in his control until he didn't remember any reason why he shouldn't surrender to the raging hunger of his body for hers.

Her mouth slid away from his and traced a soft, damp trail across his jaw line.  "I thought you were appalled," she breathed against the side of his neck.

Leave it to Hannigan to try to have a conversation in the middle of foreplay.  "Appalled by what?"

"When you touched my navel ring." She drew her head back, clearly ready to talk.  "You knew it turned me on."

He silenced a frustrated groan.  "Yeah."

"And you ran away."

He pressed his forehead against hers.  "Not because I was appalled."

"Then what?"

This time he did groan.  "Hannigan, I'm trying to have a spontaneous, reckless moment here, and as usual, you're analyzing it to death."

She wriggled beneath him, trying to pull free.  Unfortunately, her movements only inflamed his body's out of control response.  He had to force himself to roll away, his body aching with incompletion.

"This was a bad idea," she growled, straightening her clothes.

"Yeah," he agreed, though he didn't think he meant it.

"I've done this before, you know."

He looked at her.  "Necked with your partner on a stakeout?"

"Okay, not this exactly."  She threaded her fingers through her hair, raking it away from her face.  "Greg Kowalski."

His brow furrowed. "Kowalski?  Vice Commander Kowalski?"

"He wasn't commander then."

"Did you sleep with him?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

The look she angled his way could have killed.  "It was short and explosive.  And I ended up out of Vice."

"Because one of you had to go?"

She nodded.  "When it ends, someone always goes. So whatever happened here tonight can't happen again."

  He could tell she was trying to sound firm and commanding, but all he heard was a chord of sadness echoing inside his own head. "What if it's like the horse?" he asked. "Already out of the barn?"

She pinned him with a fierce look.  "Put it back in the barn, Brody.  Box it up.  Give it extra care and attention.  But do not let it out again."

A bubble of surprised laughter welled up in his throat, but he had the good sense not to let it escape.