A Dirty Shame (17 page)

“Five o’clock,” Jack said. “I’ll introduce you to the others and we’ll have a briefing.”

Carver nodded and let himself out the kitchen door. And Jack and I were all alone. Nerves gathered in the pit of my stomach, and tingles skittered across my skin until every part of me was aware of our complete solitude. I reached for his cup to take it to the sink, just so I could keep my hands busy, but he touched my wrist and I froze.

His mouth quirked in a half smile, displaying his dimple, and every rational thought in my head evaporated. He scooted his chair back from the table and brought me slowly to my feet. The temperature rose twenty degrees, and I suddenly knew what it felt like to become prey. Jack didn’t let go of my wrist, and I looked behind me to see if I had room to maneuver.

“Nowhere to run,” he whispered, pulling me closer. His arms came around me in a loose circle and he nuzzled at my cheek. “It’s been three hours since I’ve kissed you.”

My throat was as dry as dust, and I licked my lips. This time was different. We weren’t waking up to romantic morning light, caught in each other and the soft touches that new lovers shared. This was primal. Carnal. Energy crackled in the air between us, and the need to mate was so strong my fingers clenched in his shirt before I made myself relax them.

“It seems like forever,” I breathed out, the words barely forming.

Jack nipped at my jaw with his teeth and I moaned, trembling in his arms as my body came to attention.

“Forever,” he agreed. “It’s been almost eight hours since I’ve been inside you.”

“Much too long,” I moaned, tilting my head back so he had better access to my neck.

The room spun around me and my eyes fluttered closed to fight the dizziness, but it didn’t help. Jack did this to me—made my knees weak and my body liquid—so time spun around us. It was only the two of us at the center of the universe. And then his mouth took mine in a scorching kiss that nothing to do with patience or seduction and everything to do with ravenous need.

My back hit the wall and I heard something crash, but I was too far gone to care or notice what we’d broken. Our tongues twined and my legs wrapped around his waist—searching, searching—for the hard heat of him to press against the one spot that would make me scream.

“Jesus,” he panted, his hand finding my breast—squeezing, tweaking—until the throbbing between my thighs became almost unbearable.

“Windows,” he gasped.

I didn’t care that we were in the kitchen in a public building, where anyone could walk in. I found the energy to open my eyes, and found myself staring into Jack’s—molten black and glazed with desire.

“Don’t care,” I panted. “Now.”

I worked frantically at the button of his jeans, ignoring the fact that he still wore his shirt and weapon. He kissed me again and carried me a few steps, trying to make it to the privacy of my office, but my hand found its way inside his jeans and any sensible thoughts he had vanished.

“Or here’s good,” he said.

“Hurry, hurry,” I begged.

He flicked the clasp of my trousers and they fell to my knees, and I gasped as he tore away my underwear. We were both in motion now, trying to relieve the aching pressure that kept building inside of us. I kicked off a shoe and freed a leg from my pants, and then Jack’s hands grasped my ass and hitched me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and then he was finally inside me, and we both let out a satisfied moan at the feel of our flesh joining.

My heart thudded inside my chest and my head knocked against the wall as he moved into me, over and over again. Sweat dampened our skin and our bodies were so hot I was surprised they didn’t burst into flame. My fingernails dug into his shoulders as he rocked higher and higher, and my legs turned into a vise as I felt the first trembling shocks rocket through my body.

My hips bucked wildly and I cried out as the rest of the world spun away. Jack stiffened and shuddered against me, and we held on to each other—survivors of a passionate storm—our hearts pounding as one.

I didn’t know how much time passed. My vision cleared, and I wondered if I’d had a stroke because everything was sideways. I lifted my head as high as much as my strength would allow and realized we were lying down.

“How’d we end up on the floor?” I croaked out. I dropped my head back to his shoulder and decided I could probably fall asleep on top of him if he’d just be still.

“I think I fell down,” he said. “I have blank spots in my memory. And my legs might be broken.”

“Thank you for being a gentleman and not landing on top of me.”

“My mother brought me up right.”

I giggled against his chest and rose up so I could see his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his smile satisfied, and I couldn’t help but take his face between my hands and kiss him softly.

“It’s nice to see you smile,” he said. “I want you to be happy.”

I hugged him close and realized I
was
happy. In this moment I was as happy as I’d ever been. “You make me happy,” I said. “Thanks for being persistent.”

He swatted me on the backside and lifted me up, and a small tremor went through me as our bodies separated. I crawled on my hands and knees, without a shred of dignity whatsoever, and gathered my scattered clothes. At least I was still wearing my shirt.

“You owe me new underwear, Sheriff,” I said, holding up the tattered white lace and giving him a wide-eyed stare. “Police brutality.”

He grinned and hitched his jeans up. “Make sure you go in and file a report. The men don’t have enough to do.”

I snickered as I put my clothes back on. My muscles were starting to protest, and I stretched a little, gleeful when Jack’s eyes got that look again that meant good things were coming.

“You’re very inventive,” I said. “I’m going to be expecting something new and exciting from here on out.”

“Or maybe just regular sex would be okay too,” Jack said, helping me stand. “I’m not sure we’ve gotten to the point in our relationship where things have gotten old. I don’t usually break out the trapezes until the fourth or fifth time.”

I caught my balance on the kitchen island and Jack started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You look thoroughly—” his eyes skimmed over me from head to toe— “debauched, Doctor Graves.”

“Humility is a virtue, Sheriff Lawson.”

“So is chastity, but I don’t think you want to go there.”

“Good point.” I glanced at the clock and winced at the time. “We need to get back if you’re going to be there in time for the briefing.”

“So much for afterglow,” Jack said.

“I’ll afterglow the hell out of you later if you’ll feed me. I worked up an appetite.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Doctor Graves.”

I should’ve seen it coming by the competitive gleam Jack got in his eyes. Before I knew what was happening, he’d tossed me over his shoulder and we were out at the car. I banged my head against his back as the traffic on Catherine of Aragon came to a grinding halt and people stared. It’s not like they didn’t have enough to talk about where I was concerned.

An hour later, Jack and I were freshly showered and back in his office. Colburn showed up a few minutes later, and then Lewis and Martinez dragged in shortly after that. None of them looked like they’d had any sleep. Agent Carver came in behind them, a computer bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ve got the will,” Carver said first thing. “I know you’ve been waiting on it. You would’ve had to go through too much red tape.”

Jack nodded and said, “It’s why I let you be my friend. Sometimes you come in handy.”

“My wife says the same thing,” Carver said. “I’m not sure the will is going to tell you anything you want to hear though.”

Carver handed a thick envelope over to Jack, and Jack slipped his finger under the envelope flap to open it and pull out the folded papers inside. I waited as he read through it quickly.

“He never got the will changed after his wife’s death. All property or belongings are left to her. They had no children, so in the event that something happened to both of them, everything would go to his parents. Garage included. It was paid for, free and clear, so they could sell it for a nice profit. But other than that, there was nothing worth killing him over.”

“What did you find about his finances?” Carver asked.

“Solid,” Jack answered. “Nothing that suggests questionable activity. He got a hefty deposit in his account last month, but it was Fiona’s life insurance policy kicking in. All I know is that he made a hell of a lot more as a mechanic than anyone in this room.”

“So what do we know?” I asked.

“We know that there’s something going on with that garage,” Jack said. “We know George was, or is, involved with the Aryan Nation. We know George is dead.”

“That’s kind of depressing when you put it that way,” Martinez piped in.

“I checked on the warrant for the membership list,” Colburn said. “We’ve hit a roadblock there.”

Colburn always reminded me a little of an old west gunslinger. His movements were always a little slow and lazy, but he had sharp eyes, and he could move fast when he needed to.

Jack sighed and said, “I figured we would. Nothing can ever be easy.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “The judge already signed off on the warrant.”

“The ACLU has gotten involved, and they’ve convinced a different judge to block the warrant. They’re claiming that if the member names are released than the police will be on a witch hunt for a group of non-violent men.”

“Well, Daniel Oglesby didn’t torture himself,” I said.

“You’re preaching to the choir, sister. We’ll get it overturned,” Colburn said. “But it’s going to put us behind schedule.”

“What did you find out about the branding iron?” Jack asked Lewis.

Lewis flipped through his own stack of paper. “I’ve got two different Internet orders for the design in question, but neither of them were delivered to the state of Virginia. One went to Texas and the other to Kentucky. But the thing they both have in common is that they were paid for through a bogus bank account under the name of a man who’s been dead for ten years.”

“What’s the name?” I asked, excitement running through my veins.

“Frank Greenbaum,” he said. “Ring a bell?”

“You could say that,” Jack said. He passed around the photo I’d found inside George. “He’s standing right there on the end. He’s got his arm thrown around George’s shoulders. Was there any other activity out of that account?”

“Nope. Two transactions. Then it was shut down.”

Jack looked at the photo again and said, “I want you to do a search for bank accounts under the name of Jesse Fife. He’s the only other one in this photo besides George and Frank that are dead. See if you can find that money trail.”

“You got it, boss,” Lewis said.

Jack went over to the white board and picked up his marker. “Doc Randall was given an up front payment of a quarter of a million dollars to steal that drug from the hospital. And another payment in the same amount was supposed to be delivered after. Maybe that’s why he opened the door to his killer. He was expecting that payment. Though he probably wasn’t expecting it in person. Both Doctor Vances have access to Augusta General, just like Doc Randall. What do you want to bet they know each other?”

Jack drew connecting lines on his white board between Doc Randall and both of the Vances.

“You keep going back to the Vances,” I said. “But they have alibis for the night we found Daniel Oglesby.”

“Except for William Vance, who apparently sleeps alone,” Jack said. “We did check out their alibis for yesterday when George was killed and again this morning when we found the blood at Doc Randall’s. Everyone is accounted for.”

“My gut is just screaming that there’s something off about the Vances,” he said. “I know at least one of them is involved. I saw the look Gregory Vance gave us when Lewis came in to tell me about George. He knew exactly what had happened. But what better alibi than to volunteer to come in and answer any questions while one of his membership was being murdered?”

Now that he put it that way, I could see his point.

“It would take someone of some strength to force that gun in George’s hand and pull the trigger,” Carver chimed in. “Just like it would take a man of some strength to lift Daniel Oglesby’s body and chain him to that tree. Two different methods, but our profiler agrees that the same person could have been involved in both. She also agrees with you about Hank Randall’s death.”

It had been a while since I’d heard anyone call Doc Randall by his first name, so I had to think about whom Carver was talking about.

“Go on,” Jack said, giving Carver the floor.

“Our profiler thinks whoever killed Hank Randall was a novice, like you said. There was no thought or planning involved other than what time of day would be best to get away with murder. The killer was probably nervous and jittery. And maybe Doc Randall used that against him, trying to talk him down or give him misinformation to prolong his life.”

“We found prints that didn’t belong to Doc Randall at the scene,” Jack confirmed. “But we don’t have anyone to match them to at this point.”

“It’s just another mistake out of many,” Carver agreed. “I know your men haven’t found a murder weapon or a body, but the profiler thinks it’ll be a match for the one taken from Vaughn Raines’ safe. They’re trying to cloud your judgment and throw as many scenarios at you as possible. But they’re starting to make mistakes. We’ll get them eventually.”

“But before how many others are killed?” Martinez asked.

“Then we’d better step up our game,” Jack said. “What we’ve got is three murders—Oglesby, George and Doc Randall—and three styles of killing. Three different CODs.”

“Three Vances,” I added.

Jack looked at me and nodded. “Except Doctor Gregory Vance was being questioned by us during George’s murder. Let’s take a closer look at his sons.”

“We talked to the boys you’ve got doing surveillance on them,” Lewis said. “We’ll take our shift on surveillance in the next couple of hours. We’re stretched thin, boss. There’s not enough manpower to go with the hours in the day.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jack said. “Put in for personal time off after this is over.”

Lewis shrugged it off and said, “The deputies who’re on duty now said it’s been pretty straight-forward, but we did a thorough background on both of them and did follow-ups like you asked.”

Martinez took the ball and read from his file. “Doctor William Vance. Cardiologist. Followed daddy’s footsteps into the medical field. His nurses say he has a god complex, but they tell me that’s pretty normal. He’s got a vicious temper, but he doesn’t have any knuckle raps that I can find. He’s only been married and divorced once. The wife was more than happy to tell us everything she could. I think she’s still a little bitter.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Lewis said. “If she could’ve served us his balls on a platter, she would have. Believe me, she was thrilled at the thought of him going to prison. He left her for a nineteen-year old Barbie lookalike who also happened to be the babysitter to the two Vance children. The wife skinned William in the divorce and things got pretty messy. William never did marry the babysitter. The relationship only lasted about six months from what we can gather, and he’s a serial dater now, sticking with the young, blond and built types.”

“What about his car?” I asked.

“A Corvette. Red. No white Cadillac to be found.”

“What about the other Vance?” I asked.

“Gregory Jr. Everyone calls him Greg,” Lewis said. “He’s done well for himself. Married his college sweetheart. Three kids ranging from eleven to sixteen in age. He belongs to the Lions Club, the Knights of Columbus, the Rotary Club and the Chamber of Commerce. He’s a deacon at the Methodist church in Richmond and he owns two very successful car dealerships.”

“Dealership,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. I tried to remember why that should be important.

“What’s that?” Carver asked.

I got up to go look at the photograph I’d found inside George once more. There was something about that morning. And then I had it. Or at least part of it.

“The dealership,” I said again. “George told me he deals directly with a dealership in Richmond. What if he and Vance were connected that way?”

“It’ll be easy enough to find out,” Jack said. “I’ve got all the files and appointment books for the garage. What I don’t have is any record of the car George was sent to pick up out past Daniel Oglesby’s house—the green hatchback Miss Pilcher told us about. Something funny is going on with those cars and the garage.”

“Carver, can you use that fancy computer of yours to do a search for me?”

“I can try. Sometimes she can be temperamental.”

“Your computer is female?” I asked.

“All the best things are, sugar,” he said, winking.

I looked at Jack and rolled my eyes, and then we had one of those shared moments that couples do. Where the look turns into something more meaningful and deeper. I broke eye contact first, and I realized my heart had started pounding in my chest. I felt like an idiot. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, but damned if I could control what was happening to me.

“What do you need?” Carver asked Jack.

I got up and restlessly paced the floor, trying to get my thoughts in order. I was having a harder time doing that lately.

“We’re missing some piece of important information. I want to know everything there is to know about all three Vances. We’ve done as deep of a search as we’re legally able to do without a warrant. I know you can go deeper and do it faster. I want to know about ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, the friends of their children, disgruntled clients. Anything and everything.”

“She can do all that and more,” Carver agreed, patting his computer. “It’ll take about twelve hours though.”

“Then everyone go get some food and some sleep. We’ll meet back in the morning.”

Jack stood and stared at his boards a long time after everyone left. I didn’t want to interrupt him, and if I hadn’t been watching him so closely I never would have seen the change in his expression.

“You’ve figured out something,” I said.

“Maybe. Just maybe,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Ronnie Campbell.” Jack dug through one of his many file folders.

I knew I’d heard the name mentioned before. “Who’s that again?”

“He was the man Julie Lawrence was prosecuting before she was killed. I’ve seen that name before. I need to go talk to Gregory Vance Jr.” Jack checked his watch. It was just past seven o’clock and my stomach growled loudly. “We’ve got time. You want to come with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” I grabbed a lighter jacket and transferred my gun from my heavy coat into my jacket pocket.

“We’ll grab something to eat on the way back.”

I thought about what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it. And I eventually decided to just get it out.

“I’ll live with you,” I said. “Move in with you, I mean. Like a couple.”

He stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob and his keys in hand. He turned to look at me, and the vulnerability I saw in his eyes was almost my undoing. He was always so strong. Such a stable part of my life. But I’d hurt him when I’d left, and I’d hurt him even more by not letting him know that I recognized the power and importance of what we had between us. I hadn’t told him I loved him, at least not in that way, but now wasn’t the time. I wanted to make it special the first time I told him. I wanted to do something for him for a change.

His hand dropped off the doorknob and he held it out to me, making me come to him this time.

“I guess I should’ve offered to feed you sooner,” he said. “Do you mean it? No more looks of panic at the thought of letting me love you? No more ducking your head when we’re driving through town so you don’t have to look at the people talking about us?”

My lips twitched. “I didn’t think you’d know what I was doing.”

“You’re a private person, Jaye. With personal demons. I can respect your space and your need for that privacy. I have that same need, which is why I think we won’t kill each other when we take the next steps in our relationship.”