Hold on to Me (18 page)

“That’s Caitlin. We’ve just come from Mama’s.”

Jeanette’s sharp blue gaze flickered over Caitlin. “Well, that explains it then.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you haven’t been in here lately.”

“What do you mean? I filled up the truck yesterday.”

“Shanna tells me you just quit hanging around, all of a sudden like. Your taste change? Skinny brunettes your thing now?”

A flush touched his cheekbones. “I’ve been busy. You know, cop stuff.”

Jeanette made an elaborate show of folding the newspaper. “She said if you showed up to tell you she misses seeing you.”

His flush deepened, and despite the jealousy biting at her, Caitlin enjoyed watching him squirm.

Tick rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Tell her I said hey.”

“Tell her yourself.” Tearing off a piece of register tape, Jeanette scrawled a number and slid it across the counter. “She wants you to call her.”

He tucked the paper scrap in his back pocket. “Thanks.”

“Now what do you want, sweet thing?”

Caitlin choked on a laugh and he shot a warning look her way. “I need your security tape from the nineteenth of May.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I ain’t giving you the tape. I don’t have to, and I’m not gonna.”

Color rose up his nape. “Jeanette, just give me the tape.”

She arched pencil-thin plucked brows at him. “You got a warrant?”

“I don’t
need
a warrant, but believe me, I could get one. Course, I’d have to drive all the way out to Virgil Holton’s and disturb him on Sunday afternoon, then drive all the way back here, which is going to put me in a really bad mood.”

Jeanette leaned back on the stool and regarded him with deep suspicion. “How do I know this ain’t some kind of undercover sting?”

He waved an arm at the cluttered store. “A sting? Do I look like I’m undercover? What would I be looking for?”

“Oh, I don’t know…you might be looking to see if we was carding people for our alcohol sales. Or you might have some mistaken ideas about Wilford’s friendly little card games.” She tilted her head toward the two long folding tables set up by the front windows.

He exhaled hard, dropping his head. “If I was looking for that and I wanted the tape, then I’d need a warrant. But I’m not looking for that. I’m not interested in your poker games either.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what are you looking for?”

He pulled the snapshot of Kimberly Johnson from his pocket. “I think she was in here that night. I need to see who else was in the store.”

Jeanette studied the photo. “This that girl y’all found out at the lime mine?”

“Yeah. That’s her. Probably murdered by the same guy who killed Sharon Ingler and Amy Gillabeaux. You do want me to catch him, right?”

“Of course I do! I mean, a single woman’s not safe in this county anymore. I figure next I’ll be murdered in my own bed.”

From Tick’s exasperated expression, Caitlin figured there was a distinct possibility of her being murdered, right here, right now. He leaned forward. “Then give me the damn tape.”

She slapped down her folded newspaper with a huff. “What date did you say again?”

“The nineteenth.” He followed her to the doorway of the back room and watched as she eyed the tapes lining a rough, wooden bookshelf. He grinned at Caitlin over his shoulder, his hair falling onto his forehead.

Jeanette pulled a box from the shelf and held it to her chest. Head high, she walked back to the counter and set the tape down. She laid her hand on the videotape as he reached for it. “You buying anything?”

He pointed a finger at her. “That’s extortion, Jeanette.”

He walked to the drink box and grabbed two glass-bottled Cokes, picking up a pack of salted peanuts on the way back to the counter.

“That’ll be two-seventy-nine.”

He pulled three ones from his wallet and tossed them on the counter. “Drop the change in the penny cup.”

With a wide smile, she slid the tape across the scarred surface before she reached over her head to pull down a pack of his cigarettes. “On the house.”

“I can’t.” He pushed the pack back to her. “I’m trying to quit again.”

“So am I.” She laughed, a hoarse, rattling guffaw. “Been trying for ten years.”

With a muttered curse, he grabbed the pack and shoved it in his pocket. Juggling the tape, the sodas and peanuts, he pushed the door with his hip, keeping it propped open. He glanced at Caitlin, his jaw tight. “You ready?”

Caitlin waited to laugh until they were outside. “Sweet thing? Oh my God, you should have seen your face.”

He cast her a dark look, setting the tape and sodas on the hood of his truck before tugging the scrap of register tape from his pocket and shredding it.

Caitlin watched him drop it in a nearby trash barrel. “Who is Shanna anyway? Another of your blondes?”

“Shanna is…Shanna. I’ve been trying to get that phone number for two weeks.”

Jealousy pricked at her again, making her voice waspish. “Well, don’t trash it on my account. You never know, sweet thing, you might need it.”

Two of his long strides and she was trapped between the truck and the solid line of his chest, his hands braced against the hood on either side of her. Heat flushed her body, pooling in her stomach, flowing between her thighs.

“I don’t need Shanna’s number.” He stared down at her, a grin quirking at his mouth. “Call me sweet thing again, precious. I kind of like it when you do. Course, I like just about everything you do.”

“Do you call Shanna precious?”

“No. Just you.” He leaned in. “You’re damned cute when you’re jealous, Falconetti.”

“I am not jealous.” She struggled for a lofty tone, wanting nothing more than to pull him closer and wrap herself around him. How did he make her want him so easily?

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Sure you are. The same way I was when you took off with Cookie Friday night.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“Like hell it’s not.”

He took her hand and pressed it along the fly of his jeans. Against the denim, her fingers curved around his semi-aroused length. Reawakened desire licked at her stomach with a fiery tongue, intensified by the roughening of his voice.

“Feel that? I’ve been living with that, only in a more intense state since you showed up at Ash’s. Your voice alone makes me so hard my teeth hurt. Throw in the way you kiss me and having to sleep with you last night without touching you, and it’s a wonder I can think at all. But I can assure you…I’m not thinking about any woman other than you.”

Unable to resist, she flexed her fingers against him, wringing a guttural groan from his throat. He lowered his head, mouth covering hers. She opened to him, kissing him back, continuing to caress him through the faded denim.

With a harsh gasp, he pulled his mouth from hers and cupped her face. “I want you. I want you back in my bed tonight—”

“I hate to interrupt.” Cookie’s voice had the same effect as a blaring car horn, and Tick jerked against her. She glanced over his shoulder. Cookie’s Blazer waited at the gas pump, and he stood just feet away. A blush swept her face, and he grinned. “And I really mean that, because I’d love to watch.”

Tick muttered a curse. “If I shoot him…”

“I’ll swear it was justified.” Caitlin tried to smile. It could be worse. Reed could have walked up on them in a public parking lot while she was groping him. At least Tick had parked to the rear of the building, and on Sunday afternoon, the highway near the store was deserted. She closed her eyes on a hopeless sigh. He made her lose her head way too easily.

“Boy, don’t you know Georgia has laws about lewd and lascivious behavior in public?” Fiendish amusement rumbled in Cookie’s voice. “I ought to run both of you in.”

“Cookie.” Tick spoke between gritted teeth. He didn’t turn to face the other man, and she realized he was trying to get his body's reaction to her under control. “How would you like to work midnights for a solid year? I can arrange it.”

“Indecent public behavior and abuse of power. You’re corrupting him, Falconetti. Want to corrupt me?”

“Want to make that midnights and doubles for a year?” Tick reached over her and picked up the sodas, handing one to her. He popped the top from his bottle and ripped open the packet of roasted, salted peanuts with his teeth, pouring them into his Coke.

Cookie hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Schaefer says we got a positive ID on yesterday’s vic.”

“Yeah.” Tick pointed at the tape lying on the hood. “She was in here the night she disappeared. I want to see who else was.”

A wicked grin curved Cookie’s full bottom lip. “If shapely Shanna was working, it’s a sure bet you’re on there.”

“Shut up, Cookie. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

With elaborate casualness, Cookie consulted his watch. “Nope. Not for a couple of hours. Can’t I hang out with y’all?”

Tick gave Caitlin a nudge toward the passenger side. “No.”

“Oh, come on.” Cookie leaned over the truck bed, hands clasped loosely. “You two are together, Jeff’s off with your sister. I’m all alone here.”

“Go find Angel.”

“Can’t. She and Jimbo are back together. I have morals, remember?”

Tick made a disparaging sound in his throat and tugged the passenger door open. “Like a tomcat.”

“I’m offended.” Cookie slanted a calculating glance in Caitlin’s direction. “Hey, Falconetti, we had an awful damn interesting phone call come into the station earlier.”

She halted, sheltered between Tick’s lean body and the truck cab. “What do you mean?”

“I had the opportunity to talk with the CEO of Falcon Security Enterprises.”

“Oh, holy Mother of God.” She rolled her eyes. She’d kill him, if he was up to his old tricks. “What did he want?”

“Seems someone important is sending his phone calls straight to voice mail and he’s trying to track her down. Wanted to use me as his personal messenger boy. The guy’s a real prick.”

“You have no idea.” She let the soda’s icy bite trickle down her throat. Damn it, didn’t Vince have anything better to do than keep tabs on her?

“Would y’all like to fill me in here?” Tick rested his forearm on the doorframe.

“My brother. He can’t stand it when I’m off the leash and he can’t find me.”

“What do you want me to say if he calls back?” Cookie grimaced. “Something tells me he will.”

She couldn’t very well ask him to pass on what she normally said to Vince when he shifted into his imperious overprotective mode. “Tell him to cool his jets and I’ll call him when I’m ready.”

After retrieving Caitlin’s rental car, they spent the next few hours in Tick’s living room, going through Tripp Payton’s file, making notes, tossing theories about, arguing over the importance of different details. They worked well together and the easy camaraderie relaxed Caitlin further.

“I inventoried the blankets, both in our cars and in the supply closet. Each one is accounted for.” Tick spoke around a pencil clenched in his teeth. Even with his voice muffled, his relief was obvious.

Caitlin looked up from the department schedules. She’d read over them so often that afternoon, she almost had them memorized. If there was something off in them, she didn’t see it. “Isn’t tomorrow Amy Gillabeaux’s funeral?”

“Yeah. Vontressa’s, too.”

She returned her attention to the spreadsheet. “We should go. Actually, you might want to videotape the crowd.”

“I’d already made arrangements to do that.” Tick stretched, a long, lazy movement, and rolled to his feet. “I’m thirsty. You want anything?”

You
. The word trembled on her lips, and she swallowed with difficulty, imagining his reaction. “Water’s fine.”

He ambled into the kitchen, rummaging in the refrigerator. She couldn’t pull her gaze from him. Low-slung jeans clung to his hips below the polo shirt and there was no sign of the heaviness many cops developed around the waistline, despite the amount of time he spent behind a desk or in a vehicle. She knew agents who lived in the gym trying to bring that same muscle tone to their bodies.

I want you back in my bed tonight.
She wanted to be there, too. Needed to be there, to touch him and have his hands and mouth on her.

Not wanting him to catch her staring, she lowered her gaze as he closed the refrigerator door. She took the bottled water he proffered, drinking deeply to quench the sudden dryness invading her mouth.

He twisted the cap off his beer and reached for Payton’s folder again. “I cannot believe what this guy has accomplished in three weeks.”

“He was trying to bring her home.”

“Yeah.” He tapped a finger against the photo of Kimberly Johnson clipped to the inside of the folder. “She still looks familiar, like I know her from somewhere.”

“Her missing poster was hanging on the bulletin board right outside your office door. You were looking at it every day.”

“I guess.” He tipped the bottle up and she found herself watching the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. She wanted to shove the paperwork out of the way and jump on him, take him right there on the floor.