Keepsake (27 page)

She shook her head. “Uh, not really.”

“Her getting cancer so young and dying of it was something that made no sense to me. I guess I had the world logically organized
before then. Hell, maybe that’s why I originally went into law enforcement. I believed in some sort of abstraction I thought
of as Justice. Even though, working for the government, I saw the deals that were being cut, there was still—I don’t know—there’s
a certain idealism about law enforcement on the federal level that isn’t shared by the usual local police force. We were the
ones in the white hats. We didn’t take bribes—hell, the honor and glory of our country was at stake. We fucked up often enough,
sure, but we were stand-up guys. When innocent people suffered, we rode out to right the wrongs, and now and then we actually
succeeded.”

April caressed the palm of his hand. She could see now where this was leading, but she didn’t interrupt.

“But when Jessie—” he stopped for a moment to clear
his throat. “She was an innocent victim, but there wasn’t any bad guy. I looked for someone. Anyone.” He looked at her. “But
I came away feeling there was no justice, and no hope of justice. I realized that everything that happens in this life is
random. Nothing makes any sense. And suddenly I had nothing to hang on to anymore. When she died it was like I’d lost my mooring
and was floating in space.”

She’d felt something similar, April realized, when her mother had left her on the pier in New York Harbor.

“I don’t believe in God,” he said. “I don’t think I ever did except maybe for a while as a kid. I don’t believe we survive
in any form after death, and I don’t believe I’m ever going to be reunited with my wife’s spirit or any such nonsense like
that. But even so, it’s been hard for me to—to let her go. She still exists in—in my heart and mind and I even talk to her
sometimes. It’s an illusion. An emotional crutch, maybe, or maybe an avoidance mechanism.” He paused. His face was very close
to hers and his blue eyes were glittering. “Anyway, I’m telling you this because I like you. I’d like to sleep with you—I
guess you know that. In fact, you’re the first woman I’ve felt that way towards since Jessie died.” He shook his head. “But,
the thing is, I’m dead inside. I’ve nothing to offer you but physical pleasure. I don’t want any complications in my life.”

She nodded. “I understand. I think.” She sighed. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” he said quickly. “God knows, I want you to stay. But if you feel you have to leave, I’ll understand.”

April closed her eyes. She could hear the ticking of a clock and the rain pattering on the frame of the open window behind
them. Every few moments, the fire crackled and hissed. She believed what he was telling her. He was
in her life to investigate a murder; when the murder was solved, he would disappear. They had no future.

But they were here, together, tonight.

And she liked him. Very much. She found him sensitive and emotional, as well as rough-tough sexy.

She tilted back her head and looked up at him. “And if I want to stay, despite the warning?”

He held her stare. Slowly, a hint of a grin took shape on his lips. “You don’t pay much heed to anybody’s warnings, do you?”
His hands moved into her hair, which he caressed gently. “If you stay I’ll think you’re a reckless and adventuresome woman.”

“Who, me?”

He leaned over and kissed her mouth. She parted her lips and felt the tip of his tongue touch hers—a sharp sweet jolt of pleasure.

“Yeah, you,” he murmured. Then his kiss turned passionate, almost rough.

The leather sofa creaked as they moved into each other’s arms. April felt one of his thighs slip neatly between hers as he
pulled her closer to him, one strong arm wrapping firmly around her shoulders, the other hand moving to explore her breasts
through the fabric of her dress. She arched as his fingertips found her nipple and brushed it lightly. The maddeningly gentle
touch continued as he explored her mouth in a leisurely manner with his tongue.

It felt right. She needed the intimacy of a simple human touch. She needed to move with him, feel one with him, for however
long it lasted. If it was only tonight—well then she’d do whatever she could to make tonight a night she would always treasure.

Their embrace became feverish as they both seemed to melt into each other. Her hands pulled at his shirt, which
was an impediment. She yearned to feel his warm, smooth flesh beneath her fingertips and palms.

He raised his head. She reached up and touched the corner of his mouth, and his tongue darted out and licked her finger. “Will
you come into the bedroom with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

They rose together, and he took her hand in his as he led her down a short hall past a closet and bathroom to a large, airy
bedroom. “Excuse the mess,” he said, indicating the clutter and the unmade bed. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“I don’t mind.”

“The sheets are clean, at least,” he said as he pulled her down beside him on the bed. “Changed ‘em yesterday.”

She was laughing. “That’s more recently than I’ve changed mine.”

“I’ve never been the neat type,” he said ruefully.

“It’s okay.”

He kissed her again and the slight feeling of awkwardness vanished. Rob Blackthorn might not be a flawless housekeeper, but
he could certainly kiss.

April stopped thinking and simply let herself feel—his tongue artfully touching hers, his warm breath on her lips, his fingers
cruising lightly over her body. He reached around behind her back and found the zipper of her dress, which he slowly lowered.
He pulled the now-loose bodice of the dress away from her breasts and murmured appreciatively.

She, meanwhile, went to work on the buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric a little more as she pried open each button and
lowered her head to kiss each new spot of bare skin. He growled low in his throat when she uncovered one of his nipples and
stimulated it with the tip of her tongue.

He wrestled her out of the dress, his movements swift and sure. They were both breathing quickly now as need and desire were
beginning to push the boundaries of control. He tore at his belt and then at the zipper on his trousers. She wrestled with
her pantyhose. They both tossed clothes haphazardly around them, then turned to each other, naked. His body was strong and
beautiful, she thought, blushing slightly as she felt him examine hers.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered.

“So are you!”

He opened a drawer in the small table beside the bed. He removed several small square packets and tossed them on the bed.
“I hope we need them all,” he said, grinning.

“I was about to ask—”

“No reason to worry, but it’s wisest to be careful.”

April lay down in the middle of the bed and reached out her arms to him. He joined her, pulling her slightly until they were
both lying on their sides, facing each other. He reached out and caressed her breasts. Looking directly into her eyes, he
gently pinched one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Carefully, he increased the pressure, and the tiny jolt of pain
caused her to moan and squirm against him.

“That wasn’t meant to hurt but to remind you that I could be your master,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened. “I
thought
you seemed awfully interested in what those people were up to at that party.”

“Yup. I keep remembering some of the things we saw.”

“So do I!”

She felt his knee nudging at her legs. His blue eyes were overbrimming with sensual heat as they looked down at her.

“I was afraid you’d be shocked, but you weren’t.”

“No, in fact, I envied those women.”

“You envied them? Which ones? The submissives or the dommes?”

She could feel herself blushing. “The submissives. I envied their trust in their partners.”

“What would it take for you to trust a man that much?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His head came down and he kissed her. She clutched his shoulders and held on tightly as the kiss—and the passion—built. Vaguely
she remembered her mother’s last speech there in the room at the ABA where, a few minutes later, she would lie dead. “The
truth is, we trust dozens of people with our very lives each day,” she said. In retrospect, it seemed ironic.

And yet… April realized that she must feel at least the beginning of trust in Rob Blackthorn. Otherwise she wouldn’t be here,
like this, completely open and vulnerable to him.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

His hand slipped between her thighs, gently but insistently strumming, and the fire between them built, and there were no
more words. Whatever they had to say to each other was better expressed in touches, caresses, sighs, moans, and all the other
sounds of love.

He explored every inch of her body with his hands and his mouth, then lay panting while she returned the favor. They teased
each other, built it, drew it out. April was beside herself by the time he finally pressed her down and forced her legs apart,
but he was as frantic as she. She could feel the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, hear his tortured breathing as he strained
to hold back his release a little longer… just a little longer. But it wasn’t necessary because as soon as she felt him inside
her, she exploded
with a series of keening cries. And then he was with her, tumbling over the same exquisite edge.

“Wow,” she whispered, when she could speak.

“Wow, indeed.” They lay sprawled in exhaustion for several minutes, then he turned her so she was cuddled to him, her bottom
pressed into his belly, his arms around her from behind. “You comfy, pretty lady?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He yawned loudly. “Will you be insulted if I doze off a bit?”

“No, since I’m about to do the same!”

He chuckled. “You are remarkably easy to please. I like a woman who’s easy to please.”

“And I like a man who’s so very good at pleasing.”

He wound her long hair around his arm and tenderly kissed the back of her neck. “You make me very happy,” he murmured.

She smiled in the darkness and slipped her fingers into his.

“I’ve got the police and press reports on the accident that killed Christian’s wife,” Carla said. She was chewing on the last
few bites of a submarine sandwich while making a bunch of Saturday morning phone calls.

“And?” said Blackthorn. He had to force himself to concentrate. His mind kept flashing back to images of last night—April’s
fevered eyes, her throaty little moans, the way her fingers trailed so lightly over his flesh…

“And it was ruled an accidental death. The victim had a blood-alcohol level of 1.2. That’s over the limit for legally drunk.
It seems that she and the boyfriend were celebrating and they missed a curve and drove right over the edge of a New Hampshire
road. The car rolled and bounced several hundred yards down a steep slope, crushing the front section where the lovers were
seated. They both died at the scene of multiple trauma.”

“Any sign that they might have been deliberately forced off the road?”

“No, but there’s no sign that the police looked for any evidence of foul play, either. It’s a bad stretch of road, and apparently
there have been accidents there before. The state has been criticized for not installing a secure guardrail in the area. The
one that was there was too flimsy, and gave way under the impact. However, Jonas did turn up something interesting on Christian
on the background check.”

Blackthorn waited.

“He once had a brief fling in France as a race car driver whose chief interest was long distance, all-terrain rallies.”

“So we can probably assume that he possesses both the skill and the nerve to stalk another driver and force him off the road.”

“Sounds like a good bet to me, Boss.”

“Do we know his whereabouts on the night of his ex-wife’s death?”

“There’s nothing in the police report about that.”

“I think we’d better have a chat with Christian de Sevigny.”

“Right. Meanwhile, there’s something else kinda interesting here. Ms. Harrington told you that Ripley had told her that Rina’s
editor from CLM had called asking her about an unfinished manuscript, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I just had the editor on the phone. She’s away for a few days—took awhile to track her down, and she was none too pleased,
this being a weekend, and all. Anyhow, she denies making any such call.”

“Hmm. Are you sure it’s the right editor?”

“Rina had the same editor for all her books. The woman’s been with the outfit for years. She laughed about it, said it was
unusual in publishing.”

“She doesn’t know anything about an autobiography?”

“Says Rina never discussed the project with her. No reason for her not to be telling the truth, is there?”

“None that I can think of.”

“So Ripley’s lying. Or Harrington.”

Blackthorn thought about it. He was sure April hadn’t been lying. Charlie? Maybe. If Charlie himself had wanted to locate
the manuscript, it might be a smart idea to cover his own interest by claiming to be asking on somebody else’s behalf. On
the other hand—

“CLM did her self-help stuff, right? She might have taken her autobiography to another publisher, one that specializes in
that sort of thing. The editor in question might be a different editor altogether.”

“Yeah,” said Carla, sounding skeptical. “I suppose.”

“Call her agent. He’d probably know if Rina was considering another publisher. In the meantime, I’ll question Charlie.”

“That Charlie gives me the creeps,” Carla said.

“How come?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. It’s a subtle thing. Everybody I’ve interviewed says he’s terrific—kind, sweet, industrious, a real
gentleman. Still, I get these bad vibes. Hey, maybe I just can’t relate to decent men.”

“Must be why you and I get along as well as we do,” Blackthorn said.

“I don’t believe this,” Christian said. “You actually have the gall to stand there and suggest that not only have I hired
a killer to murder Rina, but I also hired one to bump off my former wife?”