Heart of the Night (45 page)

“Have you found any of the money?”

“No. And I doubt we will. Just as we've never been able to recover the money Matty made on his burglaries. We find the goods from time to time, but I'm sure the money's been safely stashed.” Her fingers tightened on a handful of sweater at his waist. “The man is incredible, Jared. He pulled a burglary the night after the kidnapping and tossed it in as a red herring. He had a standard alibi to offer when he was questioned. He always has an alibi. This time it was a trip to Mexico, and it covered five days, starting one before the kidnapping.”

“The police are checking it out?”

“You bet. He had travel brochures and plane tickets and hotel receipts to show, but he's done that before. It's his typical MO. He's always gone,
always,
when one of these brilliant burglaries takes place. No doubt he sends someone in his place while he hangs around here to do his thing. In the past our resources have been limited, so we've only been able to go so far in our investigation. This time, the FBI's working right along with local and state police. Unless we get a positive ID from someone like a flight attendant or hotel clerk, Matty will be in big trouble. Megan's testimony will hang him.”

Jared could feel her anger. “You want that.”

“Yes, I want it. Life in prison is too lenient for someone who did what he did to Megan.” Hearing her own vehemence, she let out a breath and said meekly, “I take that back. The death penalty gives me the willies. I'll settle for life in prison.”

Jared shot her a half-grin. “You're a tough one.”

She returned the half-grin a bit dryly. “Don't you know it.”

He kissed the tip of her nose this time. “What'll it be? Coffee, tea, or me?”

“Tea now. You later.”

“I work later.”

“So?”

He grinned and went for the tea. Savannah watched him, thinking how comfortable he was in her home, how natural it felt to have him there. And how good it was not to be alone. Because on nights like this, when she couldn't easily put aside the events of the day, she liked having someone to talk with. She had never fully realized what she had been missing before. Talking to Jared gave her an outlet for her tension.

“Savannah?” His back was to her.

“Mmm?”

“What about music? Did Megan say anything about his listening to CIC?”

Savannah didn't answer at first. He had to turn to catch her headshake. “I asked her about that when we were questioning her about where she was held. Apparently, Matty played music constantly. Not country, though. Classical.”

“Classical.” Jared was relieved. “Then he wasn't inspired by the station.”

She shook her head.

“His wording of the ransom note was pure coincidence?”

“Either that, or another red herring.”

“Incredible,” he murmured, turning back to his work, and Savannah knew just what he meant. Had it not been for the ransom note, they would never have met. It was a sobering thought which kept them preoccupied until Savannah's tea was ready.

“Can you imagine,” she said, “the gall of the man walking around this town like nothing's happened? Most kidnappers would take the money and run. Not Matty. He was too clever for that.”

“Why do you think he did it?” Jared asked as he put her cup on the tiled countertop.

Savannah wasn't sure about that, and it bothered her. “Greed, maybe, but I'd have thought he had plenty of money in Switzerland already. Maybe he had sexual motives, though Meg said the other one started the rape.” She gave the ghost of a shudder and wrapped her hands around the teacup for warmth. “I'm guessing it was an exercise for Matty. He'd already done his burglary thing and he knew he could stump us with that. He wanted to see how much more he could get away with. Maybe he wanted to
show
us how much more he could get away with.” She threw back her head. “Well, his days of getting away with things are over.”

Jared stirred instant coffee into a cup of boiling water. “I take it he's locked up for the night?”

“You bet. Given the charge, we asked for high bail and got it. Matty didn't dare come up with it, or we'd have wondered where he got the money. So he's safely stashed. He'll be arraigned in the morning. If all goes well, I'll take the case before a grand jury next week, then he'll be indicted and formally charged. With any luck, we'll be on trial within ninety days. The sooner this is over for Megan, the better.”

“And for you,” Jared added as he studied her features. There in her home at the end of a long work day, she looked far more delicate than she did at other times. “It'll be a strain. Would you consider letting someone else try the case?”

“Absolutely not. I have the know-how and the drive. I want to do it.”

He reached across the counter to touch her cheek. “I know you do, but is it wise?”

“I'm trying this case, Jared,” she said determinedly. “I'm trying it, and I'll win. Men like Matty can't be allowed to get away with what they do. There are laws to protect us from the Stavanoviches of the world, and if I can't enforce those laws, what good am I?”

“You can only do your best. You can't guarantee a conviction.”

“I know that,” she said and sank onto a stool. Her voice went quieter. “I know that. I also know that if we'd been able to get the Cat on a burglary charge, he wouldn't have been free to hurt Megan like he did.”

Jared didn't like what he was hearing. “You don't actually blame yourself, do you?”

“Not personally. As you've told me any number of times, I'm only one member of the law enforcement community. We all failed Megan, but I'm the one who has a chance to right that wrong.”

“You're making it your own personal cause.”

“No. I'm prosecuting a case that has to be prosecuted.”

“But you're taking it all on your own shoulders. Don't do that, babe. The law takes strange twists. Stavanovich could be acquitted on some technicality that has nothing to do with you or the way you try your case. Don't set yourself up for a fall.”

Savannah looked at him with bewilderment. “You sound like my sister. She says I do that all the time, but she's wrong. If I approach this case with a mind to win, I'll win.”

Jared wished he could believe that, but he was a realist. He'd had his share of exposure to criminal law and knew the twists a case could take. He'd seen Elise give everything she had to a case and then, through no fault of her own, lose. It hadn't happened often, but it had happened, and he remembered the anguish. He didn't want Savannah to have to suffer that. She was much more vulnerable. Then again, maybe it was just that he cared much more for her than he had for Elise.

He took her face in his hands. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I missed you last weekend.”

Savannah closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “I missed you, too.”

“One phone call wasn't enough.”

“I know. But I had trouble getting off by myself to make even that one call. The others were always around.”

He kissed her cheek, then her chin. “You've got pretty color on your face.” His mouth slid down her neck. “How far does it go?”

“How far does what go?” she whispered, burying her fingers in the heather of his hair.

“Your tan.” He was unbuttoning her blouse, nuzzling his way to her breasts. “Mmm. Toasty here. You went topless?”

Savannah felt weak. He could do that to her so easily. She held more tightly to his hair. “It was a private beach.”

“Mmmm. Not bad.” He had unhooked her bra and kissed first one breast, then the other. “Did you go bottomless, too?” he asked against her swelling flesh.

“No.”

He went still. “I don't believe you.”

“I swear it.”

He looked up and, in a raspy voice, said, “Show me.”

“I can't.”

He stood. “Why not?”

“I'm drinking tea.”

“What's drinking tea got to do with it?” he asked. Slipping his arms around her, he raised her just enough so that he could bunch her skirt up with his fingers. When he returned her to the stool, her slim skirt was around her waist and he was sliding a small triangle of silk over her legs.

She cried his name in a whisper, but he was kneeling again, looking at what he'd laid bare. “You're right,” he said in a low, lazy drawl. “You wore a bottom. Not a very big one, though.” He touched the pale line that circled her hips.

“It was a bikini,” she managed to say, though how she didn't know. Her insides were humming. Her mouth was dry, she was sure because every bit of moisture in her body had rushed to that special spot between her legs.

He slid his thumbs back and forth over the skin that had been hidden from the sun, then lower, through the nest of tight, chestnut curls at the apex of her thighs. Savannah gasped softly, but she didn't protest when he drew her forward on the stool, then put his mouth where his thumbs had been.

His kiss was deep and wet, and while his tongue loved her, his hands stroked her thighs, holding them ever wider until her moment of release came. She was still in the throes of orgasm when he opened his jeans and entered her, and when he climaxed soon after, she was right with him.

Just as she was with him when, some time after that, they left for the station.

They were made for each other, Jared knew. It didn't make sense to him at times, particularly when he thought about her career, but when he thought about who and what she was inside, he had no doubts.

She was his.

*   *   *

Susan was bored. Then again, maybe she wasn't bored so much as unsettled. She had heard about the Cat's arrest and had wanted to be with Megan, but Megan was with Will, and Savannah was still at work, or had been until eight o'clock, when Susan had stopped trying her number.

Desperate to get out of the house, she'd agreed to play bridge at Felicia's, but she hadn't played well at all. Her mind was elsewhere. By eleven, she had had more than enough.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Felicia asked as Susan put on her coat.

“Just tired,” Susan said with a smile. She gave Felicia a hug. “Thanks for having me over.” She called into the other room, “Take care, you two,” then slipped out the door.

The fresh air brought immediate relief. Still, as she began the drive home, she felt uncomfortable and restless. She was filled with an energy that had nowhere to go.

For that reason, she was willing to believe she had been speeding when the lights of a cruiser suddenly filled her rearview mirror. Not that she was concerned; speeding tickets were easy to fix. But being caught was an embarrassment.

Pulling over to the side of the road, she rolled down her window and waited, contemplating the best approach to take. Indignance would do no good, nor would anger; she'd tried them before and failed. She could act surprised, even appalled that she'd been speeding. Or perplexed that she'd been stopped. That sometimes worked. As did seduction, but she wasn't in the mood to be the seductress.

All the contemplation in the world, though, couldn't have prepared her for the man who approached with a prowl in his walk, wearing faded jeans and a pea jacket. Too late, she realized that the cruiser wasn't a cruiser at all, but a worn sedan with a blinker that had already been put back inside.

One look at Sam and she thought she'd cry. She couldn't make out his expression. She knew her own had to be stricken. Straightening her head, she stared at her steering wheel and remained quiet.

Sam braced his hands on the open window, leaned down, and asked cautiously, “How are you, Susan?”

She kept her voice neutral. “Okay. Was I speeding?”

“What do you think?”

“I don't know.” She waited for him to say something. When he didn't, she darted him a quick glance. It was a mistake. He was too close. Her heart beat more erratically than before.

Looking back at the steering wheel, she said, “I wasn't paying attention.”

“Why not?”

She was silent for a minute, then answered him with a shrug.

“What were you doing back at that house?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “How did you know where I was?”

“I saw your car.”

“But why are you here? This isn't your jurisdiction.”

“When you weren't home, I started cruising around.”

“Looking for a Jaguar?” She laughed, but it was forced, and feeble, at that. “You must have had a time. They're a dime a dozen around here.”

“Only one has your plates.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Susan wanted to cry. She didn't understand that, which made her angry. “What do you want, Sam? If I was speeding, ticket me. Otherwise, let me leave. It's late, and I'm tired.”

“You sound sober.”

She rounded on him. “I am sober. I was playing cards with some friends. Believe it or not, we don't always drink ourselves into a stupor.”

“Did you win?”

“No. I lost. I played a lousy game. Are you happy?”

Sam wasn't happy. He hadn't been happy since Susan had stormed out of his home the Wednesday before. Straightening, he took a step back and said in a very quiet voice, “Get out of the car.”

“What for?” she snapped. Being near him, but not near enough, pained her. She didn't think she could take much more.

“Get out of the car.”

“Are you charging me with something?”

“No, I'm simply asking you to get out of the car.”

“And if I don't, what will you do? Charge me with violating an order of a police officer? For God's sake, Sam, can't you do better than that?” She reached for the ignition. “It's late. I'm going home.”

Suddenly a long arm crossed in front of her. Her hand was imprisoned and removed from the keys, which were as quickly removed from the ignition. The next thing she knew, her door was opened, Sam had taken her arm and all but lifted her out. Seconds later, she stood against the car, imprisoned by his flanking arms.