Picture Me Dead (38 page)

“Ashley?”

He lifted her chin, then slid a hand around her nape, bent and kissed her lips. Against the chill of the air-conditioned cabin, the warmth of his lips was electric. The ills of the world seemed to slip from her shoulders. The hair-roughened texture of his chest rubbed against her naked breasts, and that light contact seemed to arouse a roiling lava bed in the pit of her stomach.

When he moved away from her, his lips remained close as he whispered, “You know, you looked good in those trainee blues of yours, you look darn good in jeans, and you even look fantastic in seaweed. But I'm willing to bet you look even better all lathered in soap.”

A smile crept into her lips. “I'm assuming this boat has a
small
shower.”

“Small can be good.”

“And too tight to move.”

“Tight can be good, too.”

“And awkward.”

“You never know until you investigate the situation.”

“True. And, of course, you're known for your investigative technique.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“My pleasure.” She slipped from beneath his arm, shed the jeans that had given him so much trouble, took a step and eased out of her thong panties. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Head…master cabin…shower. I'm on my way.”

It wasn't that small a shower. The
Gwendolyn
was a houseboat, after all, not a pleasure craft. Tight, yes, but the shower did offer room for two. Two who stood very close. Almost touching, skin to skin. Yet when she took hold of the bar of soap, she didn't have the room to slide it freely down the length of her form. Apparently he'd been anticipating such a dilemma. His darkly bronzed fingers slid over her own and took the bar of soap from her grip. He started with her throat. “We investigators don't like to miss a thing.”

“Your entire case could fall apart if you did.”

“I like to be thorough.”

The bar of soap, wielded so deftly in his hands, moved over her breasts, the hardness of the bar excruciating against the sensitivity of her nipples. She felt them quickening, shaking with little spasms centered deeper in her body. The water in the tiny stall sluiced continually against the foam he created. Steam misted and rose quickly. His hands, slick and sure, moved slowly down the length of her, caressing her ribs and midriff, the plane of her abdomen, over her hips, then erotically flat and low, sliding between the length of her legs. Her breath caught. She felt she would have fallen had there been room to do so. The slide and swiftness of his fingers seared and teased with each seductive touch and stroke. The soap fell between them. They both went to retrieve it, crashed, laughed, left it…locked into an embrace instead, mouths glued and hungry, tongues sweeping, soap still sluicing over them both as the water rained down and the steam rose, enveloping them both.

Ashley clung to him for a moment, needing more, ran her fingers down his back, following the muscled curve of his buttocks, gripping the length of his erection. Sound growled from the depths of his throat, and he kicked open the door. Soaked and slick, she was somehow wrested into his arms and they were both laughing. A moment later they were falling on the expanse of the bed. As he rose over her then, the laughter they had shared faded. His eyes sought hers; his body pressed against hers. His hand slid down the length of her, again, and he thrust inside her with a movement that itself nearly sent her over the edge. She clung to him and felt for a moment the dampness of her skin, the coolness of the covers, the slight rocking of the boat in its slip. She closed her eyes and felt the hot vital structure of the man, the strength of his arms, the power of his hips and thighs locked around her, and then nothing but the fever inside her, the rise of honeyed fire, the yearning, reaching, stretching, desperate wanting….

Explosions seemed to rocket through her body with the force of her climax, followed by delicious little electric shocks, sweeping through her time and time again. She felt the force of his urgency, as well, each movement winding her tighter, taking her higher, a burst of heat like lava warming the insides of her, filling something deeper than a sexual need. He held her, locked in his warm embrace, and she clung to him as if her limbs had frozen around him. There was something so fierce in being with him that it was frightening, something beyond thought and logic and reality. She was terrified to realize that she felt far too deeply as if she belonged here, as if she had known him forever and was meant to be nowhere but with him for eternity.

She was startled when he spoke, though he still didn't pull away from her. “Ashley, stay out of things until I get back. I mean it.”

She caught her breath, wincing. A moment later, he rolled to his side, coming up on an elbow.

She stroked his cheek. “I don't care what you say. You
are
a chauvinist. You're afraid for me because Nancy's dead.”

“It has nothing to do with Nancy,” he said impatiently.

“Jake, I didn't go into the academy because I didn't have the money for a ritzy art school, but because I really wanted to be a cop.”

“Like your father.”

“Not just because of my father. I believe in law and order, and in the protecting and serving part of it, too. Okay, the way that things worked out, I'm not a cop. But I do work for the police force. And I'm going to face really bad things, we both know that. Jake, I have the stomach and the nerve for it.”

“But do you have the common sense for it?” he asked irritably.

“I resent that,” she told him.

“Resent away, but what I'm asking you is important. You get the bit between your teeth and you're determined to run with it, the hell with the consequences.”

“I'm not like that at all! And what makes you think I am?”

“You're making judgments based on what you feel in your heart, not what you can see, feel and touch, as hard evidence.”

“You do that all the time. It's supposedly what makes you good at your work.”

“What I do is different.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Because I started with one of the best beat cops in history. Because I took all the steps to get me where I am today. You draw pictures, Ashley. You've got a real talent, so stick with that. If you go on a wild-goose chase of some kind, all you'll do is get yourself killed.”

“Jake, stop it! What is your problem with me?”

“You're a kid, a kid with an incredible talent, who is still soaking wet behind the ears. And my problem is that—” He broke off abruptly, shaking his head in anger. “You're too frigging naive to even understand what I'm saying to you.”

She started to roll away, ready to rise, torn between her realization of how deeply she had let her emotions tumble and her need to be her own person.

He caught her hand.

“There you go, flying off the handle.”

“You're the one who's yelling.”

His eyes narrowed. “I'm not yelling. I just want to talk to you. And I'm not letting go until you listen.”

She felt the tension in her rise. “At this precise second, I could probably kick you in the balls hard enough to leave you screaming for the next thousand years.”

The threat didn't work. In an instant he was on top of her; she couldn't have moved a knee if her life depended on it. His point, she knew.

“Well?” he said softly.

“Get the hell off me, Dilessio. I'm leaving. I've got things to do, too.”

“You had no intention of leaving now.”

“Maybe I didn't before, but I do now. Jake, I can't stay here if you think you can humor me, manipulate me…make me promise to stay in a little glass case because you fell in love with a policewoman once before.” She held up a hand to stop him when he would have spoken. “Whether you slept with her or not, you were in love with her. You might have spent the last five years forcing her case into the background while you went ahead and worked hard on what was happening each day, but you've never really stepped back. That's understandable. But you can't envision the future based on what happened in the past.”

He rose, leaving her on the bed. “I'll toss your stuff in the dryer. You can stay, shower and leave at your leisure—go do whatever things you need to do in the middle of the night. I've got to get out of here.”

He didn't have to leave that quickly, she knew. He had told her that he didn't need to be on the road until four. She was restless and angry. She wanted to argue, remind him that she could be out of his hair in a matter of minutes, but he was already up and headed back for the tiny shower stall—alone.

The door closed. She wasn't going to stand outside and argue with him over the roar of the water.

That wasn't actually the temptation that gnawed at her, of course. She longed to slip back in and laugh again as the soap slid against her skin, as…

Something seized at her heart. It was wrong, all wrong. She couldn't be what he wanted or needed, couldn't say the words now that would be lies in the future.

She struggled into her wet clothing, then hesitated. She could still hear the water running. If she wrote him a note, it would be a cop-out. If she waited and spoke to him…

She hurried to the notepad by the phone and flipped past the pages that held her drawings. She started writing.

Dear Jake…

Nothing came to mind. The water wouldn't run forever.

This won't work.

Again the words she needed eluded her. There was so much she could say.
I can't keep my nose out of things that involve me?
No.

I understand how you feel. Perhaps not completely, but I know enough about the past. I'm so sorry for what happened to Nancy, but I'm sure that whatever she was doing, she felt it was important and something she had to do. But I can't be a hothouse flower. You can't spend your life trying to protect me because you care about me.

Was that too presumptuous?

Maybe she was attributing way too much meaning to what was just a hot and heavy sexual relationship to him. No. He cared about her. She knew that. And she cared too much. Dare she write the truth?
I'm falling in love with you, enough to sell my soul, my future, my belief in myself….

No. She wasn't about to write that. She settled for
I can't see you anymore.

There was more. So much more she could put down on paper. Too much. But right now she had even greater concerns. Karen. She had to find out what was happening with her friend. She was afraid, but she had to do things herself, make the right moves.

She had said what needed to be said to Jake.

The water stopped running. Ashley didn't sign the page; she simply dropped it and ran, fleeing the houseboat before he could stop her.

I
t all started with a food fight, something that didn't even draw Peter Bordon's attention immediately, since it started far down at the end of the breakfast table.

Violence seldom occurred in the area of the prison where he was incarcerated. The men here were mostly white-collar criminals. They wanted to get out. They had families. Some dreamed of going straight.

They were rarely unruly, much less violent.

It started with flying eggs, but in seconds, there was a melee going. He had no intention of getting involved. He didn't care if he wore egg or not.

Then someone had him by the shirt collar and he was being dragged across the table. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, and there were a dozen men on top of him. He could hear whistles and shouts as the guards came rushing in to break it up, but he was more concerned with the elbow slammed into his face, thudding his head against the floor. Punches were raining down all over his body. He was smothering. He yelled, furious, trying to get the men off him. He returned their punches as best he could with the weight on him.

At first he wasn't even aware of the blade sliding into him….

Then, beneath the pile-up, he
knew.

The food fight was a performance, acted out for his benefit alone. Someone knew about the phone call. Any of them might have betrayed him. There was big money involved. Hell, it didn't even matter who had turned on him. There was always someone who could be bought, no questions asked.

The blade inside him twisted. He screamed, but his voice and his lungs were failing. He had blacked out by the time the guards at last pulled the other prisoners from him.

It had all taken just a few moments of time.

 

“The coffee is made—and aren't you running late?” Nick asked as Ashley made her way through the main house.

“I don't have to report in until eight now,” she told him.

“Ah, well, that's good. You look like hell—well, for being young and beautiful, you look like hell, anyway.”

“Thanks—kind of.”

“Look, Ashley, I'm not going to presume to tell you what to do, but you might want to take things a little slower with Dilessio.”

“Um, I might.” Was a dead standstill going to be slow enough? She already regretted her note. For some reason, she had thought he might pound on her door and say something. Hardly likely, and it hadn't happened. He was on his way up to the center of the state, maybe finally solving the mystery that had plagued him for so long. For his sake, she hoped he found the answers. But she didn't think that was going to change him.

His concern for the woman he'd loved in the past was greater than any feelings he had for her.

“How was your night out?” she asked her uncle.

“Great. Sharon's appointment got cancelled, so we went to South Beach for stone crabs, took in a movie on Lincoln Road and walked on the beach.”

“Very romantic.”

“Yeah, it was,” Nick admitted, shrugging like a jock caught sending a frilly Valentine. “Sharon is…beyond great. Hey, did you get your laundry?”

“My laundry?”

“Sharon said she put some of your things in your room for you.”

“She did?” Ashley murmured. “Is she awake yet?”

“She doesn't have anything today until a closing at noon. She was going back to sleep when I left her.”

Ashley smiled at her uncle. “I think I'll just give a knock and see if she's still awake.”

She hurried away before he could stop her. He'd left his door ajar, and Sharon hadn't risen to close it. Ashley knocked.

“Nick?” Sharon's sleepy voice had a note of curiosity in it. Of course, why would Nick be knocking?

“Sharon, it's me. Ashley. May I speak with you?”

“One sec.”

Sharon pulled the door fully open a moment later, tying a bathrobe around her waist as she did so. She was a beautiful woman. First thing in the morning, hair tousled, no makeup—she was still stunning with her soft tresses, petite size and classic features. No wonder Nick thought he was a lucky man.

“Ashley?” she said curiously.

Ashley didn't have time to beat around the bush. “Two things. First, what were you really doing in my room? I knew someone had been there, and Nick mentioned that you had brought in some laundry, but…no laundry.”

Sharon's cheeks went bloodred. “I lied to him. I'm sorry.”

“Then…?”

“I was trying to get to know you a bit better.”

“We could have gone shopping or had lunch,” Ashley said.

Sharon shook her head. “Ashley…I have an appointment on Saturday morning. If you'll just bear with me until then, I'll explain myself completely, and I hope you'll understand.”

“You're being very mysterious.”

“Not mysterious. Just a little…well, you'll understand when I tell you. What was the second thing?”

“I need to know about a property you sold.”

Sharon frowned. “A property?”

“Way southwest. Almost in the Glades.”

“I've sold a number of properties out there. Which one?”

Ashley gave her the address. Sharon still stared at her blankly.

“A big house, lots of land and several outbuildings,” Ashley said.

“That could be a couple of places. I can't access old files from the house, but I'll look it up for you once I get to work.”

“Are you going in? Nick just said you don't have anything 'til a closing at twelve.”

“Ashley, if you need information, I'll make a point to go in and get it for you.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you need?”

“Anything and everything you can give me.”

Sharon nodded. “I'll have it by tonight.”

“I probably won't be home until late tonight. I'm supposed to be celebrating with friends.” Of course, she wouldn't be celebrating if she didn't find one of her friends by that evening. “If you can, leave whatever you dig up on my bed.”

“Sure.”

They stood staring at one another for a moment. “Ashley, I shouldn't have been in your room, it wasn't my place, and I'm really sorry, but I hope you'll understand when I've had a chance to tell you…what's going on.”

“I hope so, too,” Ashley said. She turned and started to walk away.

“Ashley?” Sharon called after her. Ashley turned. “You know that Nick adores you. He couldn't love you more, or be prouder of you, if you were his own child.”

“He's everything to me, as well,” Ashley said, curious that Sharon would have stopped her with such a comment. “If you get that information, I'll be really grateful.”

“I'll definitely retrieve the file.”

Ashley walked back into the kitchen. Nick was looking at her curiously as she headed for the coffeepot. “Is everything all right?”

“Absolutely,” Ashley said. She set her cup down on the counter and told him a white lie. “I just wanted to thank her for the laundry.”

“Good,” Nick said. “Hey, your cell phone is ringing.”

“What?”

“I can hear it. In the bedroom.”

Once Nick had said it, she could hear the faint tones of her phone, as well. She thanked him quickly as she went running into her bedroom, digging into her bag for her phone. Jan's number. She caught it quickly.

“Jan!” she said breathlessly.

“Hey. I guess we
were
being silly about Karen, though why she hasn't called one of us back yet, I don't know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She called in to work again already—still sick.”

“Then why isn't she sick at home? And why is her car in the drive?”

“I don't know. We can ask her next time we see her, I guess.”

“I think I'll run by her place again after work.”

“You don't need to bother. She's supposed to be celebrating your new job with us tonight. If she doesn't show up for that, it will be time to call in the troops.”

“You have a point there. All right.” She didn't mention the scrapings she had taken from Karen's tub. There was no reason to make her worry needlessly. And if Karen had called in to work again, then she had to be okay.

Or someone was calling the school on her behalf.

“See you tonight, then,” Ashley told Jan, and rang off.

She showered quickly and dressed for work, feeling strange now that she didn't have to put on her trainee blues in the morning. When she got out to the kitchen, Sharon had apparently given up the idea of going back to sleep; she was with Nick, leaning against him where he sat on a counter stool, both of them gazing at the newspaper.

“Have a good day, kid,” Nick told her.

“Thanks. You too.”

 

Jake thought he had probably made the drive to the prison in record time, and it still seemed like the longest drive he had made in his life.

As the first miles had gone by, he'd spent the time being angry, longing to do something physical to shake Ashley and make her understand.

The second half of the drive, he'd begun to question himself. Was he fanatical? Or did he have a right to be concerned?
How do you not care when you're starting to find that every moment that really matters is with someone who is determined to put her life on the line?

He arrived far too early and had to find the closest twenty-four-hour restaurant to the prison to sit and nurse eggs and coffee for an hour. As he ate, he jotted down notes on things he'd been thinking of. He drew diagrams of the area in which the bodies had been found. All the bodies. Bordon held the key. He'd always known it. And still, he found himself writing down information. Fact: the cult had existed. Three women associated with it had died. Fact: they had not found another group in any way similar to the People for Principle. Fact: most of the members of the cult had seemed truly oblivious of any wrongdoing, including murder. They had been humiliated and chagrined to discover that they had been fleeced. They had been eager to put the past behind them.

Fact: another woman was dead.

Fact: Nancy Lassiter, his partner, had been on the case. Had died during the investigation, though she had never been out to the property. Not that he knew about, anyway.

Fact: she had left his boat alive. And she hadn't been seen again until her car had been discovered in a canal weeks later.

In a canal, near the property.

Fact…

He'd always felt that, of the members, if anyone could tell them anything, it would have been John Mast, who had vehemently denied any knowledge of any of the deaths, but who had admitted that he didn't understand a great deal of the bookkeeping in the office he was supposed to manage. Mast had known something.

Fact: Mast was dead. He had perished in a plane crash. Or had he?

He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed headquarters. Marty wouldn't be at work yet; he might well still be sleeping. But one of the task force would be available.

He was connected with Belk, who assured him that he would investigate the plane crash immediately and find out if all the bodies had been positively identified.

He turned back the page of his notepad, rereading the note Ashley had left him. She was right. They needed to back off. He did want to stop her from becoming a cop, and he knew she still meant to go back and finish up at the academy someday. He couldn't remember the exact figures, but he knew that somewhere in the United States, a law enforcement official was killed around every fifty-eight hours. Part of the job. He didn't want her to be part of that job. Even if he was himself.

Idly, he flipped the notebook to the top page. There was a briefly executed but excellent drawing of an accident.

The accident she had passed on the highway, the one that had left Stuart Fresia in a coma. He frowned, studying the drawing. There was a figure in black, staring at the road. At the accident. A figure in black…

Black, like the members of People for Principle had worn.

As he stared at the drawing, his cell phone rang. To his surprise, it was the warden from the prison. His face grew grave as he listened.

“Is he dead?” he asked, his tongue thick as he formed the words.

“Living, but barely,” the warden replied. “They're rushing him into surgery. I know how important you felt this meeting was. Come straight to the hospital. The doctors don't give him much chance. He hasn't been conscious and he may never be conscious again, but I'll let you sit with him once he's out of surgery, just in case.”

“Thanks.”