thought the office should be in on this one from the
beginning, so I spent the night with Smilow--in a
manner of speaking." Her impish smile seemed
grossly inappropriate. Hammond merely nodded and
gestured impatiently for her to continue. "I was with
him as he followed up on some leads, precious few
that they are."
"Hotel security?"
"Pettijohn died without a whimper. No sign of
forced entry. No sign of a struggle. And we can eliminate
camera surveillance. All we've got on videotape
is a monotonous sound track and writhing naked people."
"Huh?"
When she told him about the bogus security cameras,
he shook his head with dismay. "Jesus. He made
such a big deal of that system and how much it had
cost. The gall of the man."
Hammond was well acquainted with the unsavory
personality traits and unscrupulous business dealings
of Lute Pettijohn. He had been covertly investigating
him for the attorney general for six months. The more
he had learned about Pettijohn, the more there was to
disdain and dislike. "Any witnesses?"
"None so far. The only person in the hotel who had
any real contact with him was a masseur in the spa,
and he's a dead end." She then told him about the outbreak
of food poisoning. "Discounting the kids, there
are seven adults Smilow wants to question. Neither
of us is very optimistic about the outcome, but he's
promised to call as soon as the doctor gives him the
green light. I want to be there."
"You're becoming very personally involved,
aren't you?"
"It'll be a huge case."
The statement lay between them like a thrown
gauntlet. The rivalry was unspoken, but it was always
there. Hammond humbly conceded that he usually
held the advantage over her, and not because he was
smarter than she. He'd ranked second in his law
school class, but Steffi had been first in hers. Their
personalities were what distinguished them. His
served him in good stead, but Steffi's worked against
her. People didn't respond well to her abrasiveness
and aggressive approach.
His distinct advantage, he admitted, was Monroe
Mason's blatant favoritism of him. A position had
come open soon after Steffi joined the office. Both
were qualified. Both were considered. But there was
never really any contest as to who would be promoted.
Hammond now served as special assistant solicitor.
Steffi's disappointment had been plain, although
she had handled it with aplomb. She wasn't a sore
loser and hadn't carried a grudge. Their working relationship
continued to be more cooperative than adversarial.
Even so, like now, silent challenges were sometimes
issued. For the time being neither picked it up.
Hammond changed the subject. "What about
Davee Pettijohn?"
"In what regard? Do you mean, What about Davee
Pettijohn as a suspect? Or as the bereaved widow?"
"Suspect?" Hammond repeated with surprise.
"Does someone think she killed Lute?"
"I do." Steffi proceeded to tell him about accompanying
Smilow to the Pettijohn mansion and why
she considered the widow a likely suspect.
After hearing her out, Hammond refuted her theory.
"First of all, Davee doesn't need Lute's money.
She never did. Her family--"
"I've done my research. The Burtons had money
out the kazoo."
Her snide tone didn't escape him. "What's bugging
you?"
"Nothing," she snapped. Then she took a deep
breath and blew it out slowly. "Okay, maybe I am
bugged. I get bugged when men, who are supposedly
adult, professional, and intelligent, turn to quivering
towers of jelly when they get around a woman like
her."
"'A woman like her'?"
"Come on, Hammond," she said, with even more
vexation than before. "Fluffy kitten on the outside,
panther on the inside. You know the type I'm talking
about."
"You typed Davee after meeting her only once?"
"See? You're defending her."
"I'm not defending anybody."
"First Smilow goes ga-ga over her, if you can believe
that. Now you."
"I'm hardly 'ga-ga.' I just fail to see how you
could draw a complete personality profile on Davee
after--"
"All right! I don't care," she said impatiently. "I
don't want to talk about Lute Pettijohn and the murder
and motives. It's all I've thought about for almost
twenty-four hours. I need a break from it."
She left her chair, put her fists into the small of her
back and stretched luxuriously, then came around the
table to sit on Hammond's lap. Looping her arms
around his neck, she kissed him.
CHAPTER 7
after several quick kisses, Steffi sat back and ruffled
his hair. "I forgot to ask. How was your night
away?"
"It was great," Hammond replied truthfully.
"Do anything special?"
Special? Very. Even their silly conversations had
been extraordinary.
"i played football in the NFL, you know."
"You did?"
"Yeah, but after winning my second Super Bowl, I
went to work for the CIA."
"Dangerous work?"
"The routine cloak-and-dagger stuff."
"Wow."
"Actually, it was a yawn. So I enlisted in the Peace
Corps."
"Fascinating."
"It was okay. To a point. But after I was awarded
the Nobel prize for feeding all the starving children in
Africa and Asia, I started looking around for something
else."
"Something more challenging ? "
"Right. I narrowed my choices down to becoming
president and serving my country, or finding a cure
for cancer."
"Self-sacrifice must be your middle name."
"No, it's Greer."
"I like it."
"You know I'm lying."
"Your middle name's not Greer?"
"That much is true. The rest, all lies."
"No!"
"I wanted to impress you."
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"I'm impressed."
Hammond recalled the touch of her hand, the sensation
of swelling ...
"Hmm," Steffi purred. "Just as I thought. You
missed me."
He was hard, and it wasn't for the woman sitting
on his lap and fondling him through his trousers. He
brushed her hand aside. "Steffi--"
She bent forward and kissed him aggressively.
Hiking her skirt up around her hips, she straddled his
thighs and continued kissing him while her hands attacked
his belt buckle.
"I hate to rush," she said breathlessly between
kisses. "But when Smilow calls, I'll need to dash.
This will have to be quick, I'm afraid."
Hammond reached for her busy hands and clasped
them between his. "Steffi. We need to--"
"Go upstairs? Fine. But we can't dawdle, Hammond."
Agile and energetic, she hopped off his lap and
headed for the door, unbuttoning her blouse as she
went.
"Steffi."
She turned and watched with bafflement as Hammond
stood up and rezipped his trousers. She
laughed lightly. "I'm willing to try just about anything,
but it's going to be a little tricky if you don't
take it out of your pants."
He moved to the other side of the room and braced
his arms on the edge of the granite counter. He stared
down into the spotless kitchen sink for several moments
before turning to face her again.
"This isn't working for me any longer, Steffi."
Once the words were out, he felt hugely relieved.
He had left town yesterday afternoon burdened for
several reasons. One of them--the least of them, actually
--was indecision over his affair with Steffi. He
was unsure he wanted to put an end to it. They had a
comfortable arrangement. Neither made unreasonable
demands on the other. They shared many of the
same interests. They were sexually compatible.
However, the topic of cohabitation had never
come up, and Hammond was glad. If it had, he would
have compiled a list of appropriate excuses as to why
living at the same address would be a bad idea, but
the real reason was that Steffi's energy level would
have worn thin very quickly. Apparently she hadn't
wanted him around her constantly, either. They kept
their affair private. They saw each other regularly and when they wanted to. For almost a year it had been a
perfect setup.
But lately, he had come to feel that it wasn't so
perfect after all. He disliked secrecy and subterfuge,
especially when it came to personal relationships,
where he clung to the outdated belief that honesty
should be a requisite component.
He was dissatisfied with their level of intimacy,
too. More to the point, there was no intimacy. Not
really. Although Steffi was an ardent and capable
lover, they were no closer emotionally than they had
been the first time she had invited him over for dinner
and they had wound up wrestling out of their
clothes on her living room sofa.
After weighing all the pluses and minuses, brooding
over it for weeks, Hammond had resolved that the
relationship had reached a plateau that left him wanting
and needing more. Instead of anticipating their
evenings together, he had begun to dread them. He
was returning her calls later rather than sooner. Even
in bed when they were having sex, he found himself
distracted and thinking about other things, performing
adequately but routinely, physically but unemotionally.
Before indifference festered into resentment,
it was better to break it off.
What he wanted and needed from a relationship,
he wasn't sure. But he was certain that whatever it
was, he wasn't going to find it in Stefanie Mundell.
He had come closer to finding it last night, with a
woman whose name he didn't even know. That was a
sad commentary on his relationship with Steffi, but
sound confirmation that it was time to end it.
Reaching that decision was only half the problem.
He was now faced with actually doing it. He wished
to end the affair as gracefully as possible, preferably
avoiding the temperamental equivalent of the Hundred
Years War. The best he could hope for was that
it would end with no more fireworks than it had
started.
The likelihood of that was nil. A scene was virtually
guaranteed. He had dreaded it, and now he saw it
coming.
It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When
it did, Steffi swallowed, folded her arms over her
open blouse, then, in a defiant motion, uncrossed
them and let them hang at her sides. "By 'this,' I take
it you mean--"
"Us."
"Oh?" She cocked her head to one side and raised
her eyebrows in a manner that was all too familiar. It
was the expression she assumed when she was pissed
off, when she was about to tear into somebody, usually
an intern or clerk who hadn't done a good job
preparing a brief for her, or a cop who had failed to
include an integral fact of a case in his report, or anyone
who dared cross her when she was determined to
have her way. "Since when hasn't it been 'working'
for you?"
"For a while now. I feel like we're moving in different
directions."
She smiled, shrugged. "We've both been dis
tracted lately, but that's easily fixed. We have enough
in common to salvage—"
He was shaking his head. "Not just different directions,
Steffi. Opposing directions."
"Could you be a little bit more specific?"
"Okay." He spoke evenly, although he resented
her tone because it implied that he wasn't quite as
smart as she. "Eventually I would like to marry. Have
kids. You've made it plain to me on numerous occasions
that you're not interested in having a family."
"That you are comes as a surprise."
He smiled wryly. "Actually it surprises me, too."
"You said you didn't want to be to any unsuspecting
kid what your father had been to you."
"And I won't be," he said tightly.
"Isn't this a recent change of heart?"
"Recent but gradual. Our relationship was perfect
for a while, but then—"
"The novelty wore off?"
"No."
"Then what? It's not exciting anymore? Sleeping
with the hot number in the County Solicitor's Office
has lost its appeal? Being Steffi Mundell's secret
lover doesn't excite you any longer?"
He hung his head and shook it. "Please don't do
this, Steffi."
"I'm not doing anything," she retorted, her voice
going shrill. "This conversation was your idea." Her
dark eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea how
many men would love to fuck me?"
"Yes," he said, raising his voice to the angry level
of hers. "I hear the locker room gossip about you."
"It used to give you a thrill when they wagered on
who the mystery man in my bed was, when all along