Drop Dead Gorgeous (29 page)

She gave it a flip, sent the lid tumbling and screamed. Stumbling back, she tripped over her chair, shooting it into Stan's knees. Falling hard on her butt, her head whacked her bookcase, and this time she saw stars for a very different reason.

They were on her, squirming, writhing maggots, hundreds of them, swarming right out of the box, streaming over her legs and her arms, crawling up her nose. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.

Voices. All around her. “Jesus, it's a dead rat.”

“Gross.”

“How long's it been there?”

“Must have been days.”

“Christ, who would put something like that in her drawer?”

“Madison, are you all right?” ZZ Top crouched at her side, touching her arm. She almost started screaming again, but she did at least realize the maggots weren't actually crawling on her.

“What's going on?” T. Larry. Someone must have pointed at the box, because he said, “Get it the freaking hell out of here.”

“You better call 911.” ZZ's voice rumbled in her ear. “I think she hurt her head when she fell.”

Madison sat up. “I'm fine.” Except that she had the silly urge to throw herself into T. Larry's arms no matter who was watching. “I hit the books, not the case itself.” Which was a lie, but she wasn't going to any hospital and she wasn't letting any 911 people touch her. No way. They probably dealt with maggoty dead people all the time. “Make them go away, T. Larry.”

He squatted beside her, touched the back of her head and knew exactly what she meant. “Go back to your desks,” he barked. “Fun's over.” Then, when only Stan and ZZ remained, he said in a quieter voice to her, “You've got a bit of a bump.”

“It just scared me, and I fell.”

Something lit his eyes, she couldn't tell what. “What happened?”

“Stan found it in the file drawer. It said Happy Birthday.”

He glanced at the discarded paper. “And you had to open it.”

“They were all watching. I couldn't wimp out.”

“Of course not.” His hand stroking her arm now, he glanced at Stan by the desk. “Why don't you take that into my office?”

Nodding his thanks as the big man shuffled away, box in hand, T. Larry tapped ZZ on the knee. “Zach, call the police.” He rattled off the name and number of the detective handling Madison's case. “Tell him we've got another incident.”

“The police,” she squeaked.

“That paper has your name written all over it. Someone put a dead rat in your drawer and waited for you to find it.”

“I think it was a squirrel, sir,” ZZ said as the phone ostensibly rang in his ear.

And it was covered with maggots. She hated maggots. She hated to think of them crawling all over her when she was dead. She wanted to be cremated, she'd told Ma. No maggots, no worms.

They wrap you up in a clean white sheet and throw you down about six feet deep. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out…

Her brothers had taunted her with that little ditty for years. At least until she'd had her stroke. But she never forgot, never stopped being scared of the worms and the maggots.

She whimpered. Who would do this? It couldn't be someone she knew. Yet it could be any one of them. Richard who brought her flowers. Harriet, Richard, Mike, Anthony or Bill. Even ZZ. No. A voice inside her head screamed for her to stop. It had to be a stranger. That thought was far less scary. She would not accuse a single one of her friends.

T. Larry wrapped her in his big strong arms. “It's all right, baby.”

ZZ Top murmured on the phone, but his eyes were wide as saucers taking in T. Larry's tone and the grip he had on Madison.

T. Larry helped her to her feet. “Let's go into the conference room, and I'll get you some coffee.”

The rank odor followed them down the hall. She'd never stop smelling it. It had seared itself into her nostril hairs. But she liked T. Larry's arms around her, the gentleness of his voice, and she gave another weak whimper to make sure he didn't stop.

 

“I
WANT TO TALK TO YOU
.”

Zachary grabbed Harriet by the arm, pulled her through the lobby, along the hallway, and into the rarely used stairwell.

“What for Christ's sake did you think you were doing?”

He towered over her despite her attractively tall heels like something Madison would wear. Harriet liked this new Zachary even if he did spend most of his time yelling at her. He was standing up to her. He was coming out of his shell. Maybe it was time she came out of hers, a little at least. “I've been thinking about what you said the other night.”

He drew back several inches. “Yeah?” A question and a derisive comment at the same time, as if he didn't believe she could actually consider his opinion, or change hers. “And what have you come up with?”

“Maybe you aren't to blame for everything.” There, she'd said it. She expected a little softening.

Instead, he stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “I don't think I'm hearing right. You, admitting you might be wrong?”

Definitely, the Zachary she'd known was losing the battle to a newer, more outspoken man. She felt a little shiver in the center of her abdomen. “I might have been a little wary of what people would think if they knew about…” She dipped her head, wanting him to think she was hesitant to say the words. “If anyone knew what we did that night in the conference room.”

“You were ashamed.”

Not ashamed. She just didn't want to defend dating him. Then she'd gotten mad because she'd realized he didn't want to defend dating
her.
She looked up, trying one of Madison's please-forgive-me-I-didn't-mean-it looks. It always worked for Madison. “Can't we start over, Zachary?”

His face hardened, like a mask of clay slipping over his features. “It's too late after what you did today.”

For the first time she began to doubt he'd dragged her out here just to talk about their relationship. The shiver in the pit of her stomach turned to a knot. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you put that box in Madison's drawer?”

All the blood in her body drained down to her knees, leaving her light-headed. “You think
I
did that?”

“Yes.” He didn't even hesitate, that hard mask still in place, even his eyes glinting like obsidian. “And it follows that you ruined her clothes, too.”

Zachary had hurt her before, but the pain of it had been mild compared to the way his words slashed her heart to ribbons. “How can you say that?”

“I've seen you hate, Harriet. I've seen you vindictive. I've seen you rip people to shreds with a few words.”

The way she'd tried to shred him, but only because he'd hurt her. It was a way to fight back. “Sometimes I say things….”

He seemed to read it all on her face, every transgression, every thought. “And sometimes you
do
things.”

Like the lawsuit.

He read that in her expression, also. “You named her in the suit as well as me. Stands to reason you hate her just as much.”

“I never hated you, Zachary,” she whispered.

“Then just what do you feel? If it isn't hate, then what made you do this to all of us?”

She wanted to squeeze her eyes against the pain of his words. “Us, Zachary? Who's the us you're talking about?”

“Harriet against the world, that's always been your motto. All of
us
against you. Killing that squirrel and putting it in Madison's drawer is the end. I don't care what I did to you, how I hurt you, how you think everyone's hurt you, you had no fucking right to do that.”

Goose bumps rose on her arms. She sat heavily on the first concrete step, gripped the iron rail in tight, pained fingers. “I didn't put that box in her drawer. I couldn't kill anything. I didn't tear up her clothes.”

“I don't believe you.”

She looked up at him, eyes brimming, his impassive face wavery through the moisture. She wanted to be angry with him. Anger had always been her best outlet. She wished she could scratch him like a shrieking cat, like the Harriet she'd been two days ago. Instead, her heart wanted to burst from her chest.

“Do you really think I'm capable of doing those things?”

“You aren't the same girl I made love to eight months ago, Harriet.” His eyes burned her. “So the answer is yes, the woman you've become
could
do it.”

She let the tears fall. Maybe this time she deserved what she got.

T
HE POLICE CAME
, photographed, dusted, noted, questioned, frowned, sighed and questioned more. They sent the foul birthday package to their lab. Laurence made sure they had Richard Lyon's name again. Since he'd paid Madison a visit the day before. He was grateful to know a check had been run on the man but disappointed to learn it had revealed nothing incriminating. The detectives' diligence and thoroughness amazed and pleased Laurence, especially considering that it was a different jurisdiction from Madison's apartment. The fact that they were no closer to finding the culprit when they vacated the premises, however, did not please him. Nor did the mysterious absences of Harriet or Zach. He promised himself and the detectives that they would be available for questioning the next day.

By midafternoon, Madison's effervescent smile sagged on both sides of her mouth. Screw Tortelli's visit. Ryman could meet the man without him. Laurence had far more important things to attend to, such as taking Madison to the Emergency Room, insisting on it actually. There, the doctors characterized her injury as a bump, no stitches necessary, no concussion evident. The diagnosis mollified him.

The ensuing argument about where she would spend the night did not. Against his better judgment, he drove her to her apartment, accompanied her inside, searched the abode for any signs of forced entry or devastation and found none. Thank God.

“I am not going to my mother's.”

“I can't spend the night with you.” Nevertheless, he removed his suit jacket and laid it across the back of a chair.

“Why not?”

He hadn't expected such resistance, even from Madison. Short of telling her about William Daily's threat to her reputation, he didn't have a good answer. He used the only weapon he had left. “Madison, a relationship between us is out of the question.”

So was leaving her alone.

“I don't want a relationship, I just want you to hold me.”

The downturn of her mouth and the moisture in her eyes almost undid him. Almost. He groaned silently, turned to pace in front of the window over her garage. “I know you're afraid—”

“I'm terrified. How could anyone do that to a poor little squirrel?”

“They did it to
you.
”

She bit her lip, sniffled.

“Not everyone is good and sweet, Madison. There are bad people out there.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle and dipped her head. “Please don't, T. Larry.”

He had to make her see she was in danger. “I know you don't want to hear—”

“Stop it. I'm scared. And I do know.” She scrubbed at her cheeks. “Please just hold me. I'm not asking for anything else.”

He'd never seen her scared. He'd never seen her anything but up, up, up. He didn't doubt for a second that her emotion was real, not something she'd manufactured to get him to crawl between her sheets. His fear, for her and of what she made him feel, was no less. “I don't think we should start this all over again.”

“I know,” she sighed, toeing her tennis shoes off, and curling into a corner of the couch. “We don't suit each other. It will all end badly. Our relationship is doomed to failure.”

He couldn't remember saying the like to her, only thinking it. Her melancholy made him ache. “I don't want to hurt you.” It went without saying that he would, just as she would hurt him. “I only want to protect you.”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes following his movement as he wore holes in her carpet. “I don't need protecting, T. Larry. I need…” She never finished, as if admitting her deepest needs aloud was too much even for Madison.

“I'm sorry.” For touching her, for wanting her, for exposing her to the likes of Harry Dump and William Dilly-Dally.

“You're afraid I'm too fickle to truly fall in love.”

“I never said that.”

“I'm good at reading between the lines. You think I have no concept of the future, of living past this moment. But I do, T. Larry.” Her chin trembled, her voice stuffy with tears not shed.

He couldn't stop the movement of his feet as he rounded the coffee table and hunkered down in front of her, his hand inches from her knee. “Don't cry.”

She wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest. “I'm so afraid, T. Larry. It's not just that poor little squirrel or my clothes or my tires.” She sucked in a shivery breath. “I'm so scared of dying, T. Larry.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I fill up every moment, savor them all, just so I won't have to think about what might happen.”

Jesus, oh Jesus. “You're not going to die.”

“The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,” she singsonged softly. “My mother promised to have me cremated, you know.”

“Dammit, Madison, stop—”

A single tear breached the rim of her eye and trailed down her cheek. “I'm afraid. I want someone to love me so that I can pretend everything will be all right.”

His finger followed the track of that tear. He'd never dreamed what she really felt…he was sure no one had.

Laurence, for the first time in his life, put aside his own fears, and for this one moment, lived only for the present.

It was easy to pull her down off the sofa and into his arms. Leaning back against the stuffed edge, he cradled her, whispering meaningless words as he nestled his nose against her hair. He stroked tendrils of hair at her temple, the silkiness of her skin, the rough denim against her hips and thighs.

“I'm tired,” she murmured against his chest.

“It's been a bad day.”

“I'm not going to cry, though.”

“I know you're not.” He assumed one or two tears weren't considered crying.

Her fingers tangled with his tie and wrinkled his shirt. “This is nice.” She tilted her head back, lips luscious and inviting even without her usual crimson color. “Are you mad?”

“No.” She frustrated him, teased him, inflamed him and drove him insane, but anger him? Not for anything she'd done today. “I'll tuck you into bed.”

He intended tucking himself in beside her, the decision made between the tear in her eyes and the feel of her in his arms.

In her bedroom, late-afternoon sun streaked the blue carpet and bathed the bedspread in light. He threw back the covers, coaxed her down on the mattress, then moved to close the blinds.

She looked at him from her pillow, luxurious hair strewn across the pale cotton. “Promise not to leave until I wake up?”

“I'll stay.” He came to sit on the bed beside her, tugged his tie from his neck, threw it across the bottom of the bed, then leaned down to untie his shoes. Once done, he removed his glasses, put one hand on the bed beside her and tossed them onto the table. Ah, made it with no damage done. “Move over.”

Her eyes widened, irises the deepest green. “You mean you're going to get in bed?”

“That's exactly what I mean.” He rolled to his side, tucking his bare feet under the covers next to hers.

“You don't have to do that.”

So close he could almost taste her peppermint toothpaste, he pulled her flush against him. “I want to.”

“I'm not trying to trick you.”

“It doesn't matter if you are.” He insinuated his knee between hers, then tugged her leg until her calf rested on his thigh. God, she felt good, warm and soft. “I want to kiss you.”

She bit her lip. His groin tightened. “You sure, T. Larry?”

“I've never been more sure of anything.”

“And you won't blame me later?”

“Let's just go with what we feel, Madison.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what he felt, then Madison realized she didn't want to know. He might stop if she asked. With his arms around her, the heat of his body warming her, the hardness of his thigh between hers, she wasn't afraid.

She kissed him, with her lips, her tongue, her soul. Lifting his head so she could wrap her arms around his neck, he moved so that he lay half on her. She relished his weight, her nipples peaking against her lace bra. His chest grazed the sensitive tips. Heat built low in her belly, and her thighs gripped his leg. Her body shifted involuntarily, rubbing his hardened ridge.

“T. Larry, I have this awful feeling I want to make love,” she murmured against his lips.

“Madison, I have this perfect feeling that's exactly what we're going to do.” His gray eyes sparkled with humor, not ire. She couldn't resist him when he was laughing with her.

“I like you without your glasses on, T. Larry.”

“I like you without your clothes on.”

“Are you going to take them off for me?”

He dipped his head to her neck, touched his tongue to the hollow of her throat. “In a minute.”

With deft fingers, he pulled her T-shirt from the waistband of her jeans and pushed it up to her armpits. His tongue grazed skin at the edge of her bra, sneaking just beneath the lace, tantalizing her nipples.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” She had to ask though she was scared he'd stop.

He pushed the cup aside with the pad of his thumb and spoke with his lips against her breast, his breath unbearably seductive. “I don't know what I'll feel tomorrow, but it won't be regret.”

He licked her nipple, blew on it. Her back arched, a moan slipping from her lips. “T. Larry—”

“I want to taste you, Madison.” He flicked her with his tongue. “I want to touch you. I want to be inside of you. So please shut up.”

She tried, she really did, but she had to tell him. “I'm not afraid of dying right now.”

He tucked his fingers beneath her waistband. “I'm not afraid of making love to you right now.”

Her body hummed with his hot touch. A pulse beat at her center. Maybe he could learn to love her eventually. “I didn't throw out the rest of the condoms.”

He unsnapped the front closure of her bra. “We don't need them yet. I'm not done touching and tasting.”

“Do you want me to take off my jeans?”

“I want to take them off.” But he didn't. Instead, he moved fully between her thighs, and slid deliciously down until he braced himself on his elbows, his mouth mere centimeters from her breasts. “Do you want me to suck your nipple?”

One tiny part of her brain, the only sane part left, couldn't believe this was her T. Larry saying these things. Just hearing the question drove her excitement higher.

“Yes,” she whispered, and guided his mouth to her nipple.

He suckled. She moaned. He ground his hips. She rose to meet him. She reached between them to unsnap her jeans. His fingers stilled hers. “Not yet.”

“Please.”

He rose above her, smiling like a triumphant warrior. “You're not ready.”

“Yes, I am.” More than ready.

“We have all night.”

She stilled. “You're going to stay the night?”

“I couldn't leave if I tried.”

“Is this just sex?”
Please say it's not.

He framed her face with masculine hands, slightly rough, smelling of soap. “I've never had casual sex in my life.”

Jealousy knifed her stomach. She didn't want to think about all the women he'd made love to in his quest for the future Mrs. Hobbs. She wriggled beneath him, planting her hands on his chest to push.

He pinned her. “I've never had casual sex. But I've never made love, either. Until last night.”

She wanted to cry buckets of tears.

“Lie still, let me make love to you,” he murmured, then shook his head. “No, don't lie still. I want you to wiggle and squirm and scream if you like what I'm doing. Just don't stop me.”

Oh goodness, there were depths to T. Larry she'd never dreamed of. And she wanted to see what happened tomorrow, in the morning light, wanted to give it a chance more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His lips softened with a smile. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I want you to taste me and touch me and be inside me.”

His hips surged against her, and she reveled in the power.

He undid her jeans. She lifted her hips to help as he slid them and her panties down her legs. Her socks came off in the leg holes of her jeans and landed on the floor with everything else. He came down on his elbows between her legs.

Her breath almost gone, she managed, “Aren't you going to take off your clothes?”

“I like it better with them all on and you completely naked. Get rid of that T-shirt.”

She did, along with her bra, his intense eyes tracking the movement. This T. Larry
was
unknown. And terribly exciting.

He lay poised between her legs, his mouth only inches from the place her body ached, his quickened breath fanning her flames. She wanted to wriggle, squirm and scream. He didn't touch her.