Loving Again: Book 2 in the Second Chance series (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

Hartmann looked to Felicia. “So, the kiln was loaded wrong but programmed right.”

Felicia nodded.

Amanda’s curiosity had gotten the better of her and she was inspecting the piece in the kiln. “If you need more proof that whoever did this doesn’t understand glass, look at this.” She pointed to marks on the surface of the glass. “That looks like fingerprints.” The manager pulled her glasses down from the top of her head, looked carefully at the glass and agreed.

“Fingerprints? You mean the glass shows fingerprints even after it’s fired?” Hartmann asked.

“It can. Don’t know if you could convict someone on the basis of what’s left but it’s clear enough to screw up a project. That’s part of the reason we clean pieces so carefully before we fire them. Whoever put this in here didn’t do that,” Felicia said as she reached to pull at the piece of glass.

“Don’t touch it,” Hartmann said. She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling the crime scene guys back to process it as evidence.” Inspecting the glass piece she asked, “How big would you say this sucker is?”

“The shelves measure twenty-six by fifty-two inches,” Felicia said. “How long will it take to get this kiln freed up? One of the techs will have to dig all that glass out of the bricks in the bottom before we can use it again.”

“Sorry, but don’t count on having access to it for a while.” When she finished the phone call, Hartmann turned to Amanda. “Let’s go back to your studio. We need to talk some more.”

• • •

After Danny Hartmann left the studio, Amanda went to the back office and shut the door, telling her studio mates she had to work on the books and asked them not to interrupt. But it wasn’t account books she pulled out of the desk drawer. It was the envelope left by the intruder. This time she carefully read both letters. The one she’d already read was a clear threat. But the other one, a copy of a letter from Tom Webster, seemed to explain why someone was trying to get into her house.

She had to think this through. Figure out what to do. She pulled out her phone to call Sam. He’d know.

Wait. That’s exactly what the first letter said not to do. If she called Sam, she put him in danger. Maybe she could just tell him about the second letter. But how would she explain how she got it? And why she didn’t tell his partner about it.

Until she decided what to do, she’d take them both home and lock them in her desk there. If she hadn’t figured it out by the time the police solved the murders, she’d turn the letters over to them. They wouldn’t be happy but surely they’d understand why she did it. Wouldn’t they?

Funny, last year, she didn’t trust the Police Bureau to detect their way out of a gunnysack. This year, she had to depend on them to find out who this guy was. And fast. Until they did, she had to protect Sam the way he’d protected her. She didn’t know how good she would be at lying to him. It was hard enough keeping what she knew from Danny Hartmann.

It had been a great relief when she realized Sam wasn’t around when she’d been at the precinct. If she’d had to go through that conversation with Detective Hartmann in front of him, she’d have never been able to keep anything secret.

Oh, God, it was last year all over again. The threat from Eubie Kane. Now his murder. Her prints on Leo’s gun. A gun found at the murder scene. Her wrecked studio. She was being set up for something she hadn’t done. And the next step was for no one to believe her and …

No, she wouldn’t go there. She’d just see how it unfolded. Maybe it would be different this time.

• • •

Two hours after she got home that night, Sam appeared at her door.

“You must wonder about your luck,” she said when he took her in his arms. “How many men have women in their lives who are constantly suspected of murdering people?”

“Amanda, no one thinks … ”

“Yes, they do. Don’t b.s. me.” She turned her face up to him, hoping he didn’t see what was underlying her fear.

“We’ll find the person who did this and it’ll be fine.”

“I can’t go through this again, I can’t.” She buried her face in his shirt and wept.

When she’d stopped crying, he led her to the living room couch. He wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. “Tell me about yesterday.”

“I went to work at noon. I came home a little after nine. It was just the usual.”

“What about the phone call from Eubie Kane?”

“What about it? He called and asked if he could meet me at the studio. I told him he was welcome to come by before ten.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I thought we could get it straightened out. But he never showed. So, before I came home I called him to say I was leaving. He didn’t answer.”

“That’s all there was?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions? You don’t think I did this, do you?”

“Of course not. I’m only trying to work out what happened.”

“Are you and Detective Hartmann assigned to this?”

He avoided looking at her as he answered. “No, I’ve been … Danny’s working it.”

“So, you’re out of it.” She ran her fingers through her hair and stared at the ceiling so he couldn’t see that she was pleased he had been taken off the case.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not interested.” He gently tipped her face down so she was looking at him. “I’m trying to figure out why the killer went to the trouble of stealing that specific gun to use on a guy who came out of nowhere riled up about you. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

She teared up again.

Sam kissed her forehead. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s change the subject. How about I have a pizza delivered and stay with you tonight?”

“I’d love it, to all three suggestions. Thank you.” She wiped her eyes and started to get up. “I better go take care of Chihuly.”

“I’ll do that after I call for the pizza. Your usual Margherita?”

• • •

They went to bed early. Unlike most nights when they slept together, Amanda had donned a light cotton nightgown. It was convent-modest; the last thing on her mind was sex. But when she curled up in a ball clutching her pillow, Sam lay down beside her, still dressed, and slowly, rhythmically, rubbed her shoulders to relax her. In only a few minutes, she began to respond to him just as she always did, her nipples hardening, her breathing kicking up a notch or two.

She shrugged her shoulder up, turned her head, kissed his hand, then faced him. He whispered, “Good night” and moved to kiss her softly but she took his mouth in what was no tentative goodnight peck but a fierce, demanding kiss. Her lips parted, her tongue urged his mouth to open for her.

He broke from their embrace. “Amanda, don’t you think you’d do better with some sleep?”

“Please, Sam, I need you tonight.”

“Oh, baby, you always have me, you know that.” He pulled her closer, kissed her tenderly, skating his hands over her back.

She broke free to unbutton his shirt. He began to help but she brushed his hands away. “Let me. Tonight, let me do this.”

When she’d finished unbuttoning his shirt, he shed it, then pulled off his boots before he lay back down again. He watched as she opened the zipper on his jeans then worked them off along with his boxer briefs.

After she’d finished undressing him, she knelt between his legs looking at what she’d uncovered — his powerful thighs, the erection she had plans for, the chest and shoulders she loved to touch. When she shed her nightgown she accidently brushed it across his penis. Sam groaned as his member jumped in response to the light touch. She loved seeing how much he wanted her, how he needed this as much as she did tonight.

Running her hands up his thighs, she avoided touching his erection, instead caressing his abs and his chest. When she reached his face, she leaned in, felt him press his hips up against her, heard him groan again, but she buried the sound in a kiss.

He lifted her hips up to bring her sex in contact with his but she fought it, moving back down his body. With hot, wet, lingering kisses she covered his neck, his chest, his navel while her hand found its way to his penis. Rubbing him, feeling the strength and power of his erection made her wet and needy. But she wanted to do something for him first, something that would make her feel in control of some aspect of her life.

On her knees again, she moved her mouth to join her hand and took him in, a bit at a time, sucking, licking. Listening to him groan as she continued to stroke and suck stoked her desire. She loved the taste of him, the taste of salt and sex and the sea. She could have gone on for hours.

But he couldn’t. He reached down for her, pulled her up and handed her a condom. She quickly covered him and positioned herself over him so he could enter her. When he drove into her, he obliterated any thought from her mind other than how good it felt to have him fill her. With only a few powerful thrusts, they both reached climax.

Wordlessly she collapsed on him and he held her. When she tried to hide the tears leaking from her eyes, he didn’t say anything, only kissed each one. As they lay there, bodies still entwined, Amanda wondered if this time even Sam could ward off the ghosts she could feel gathering outside in the dusk.

• • •

Early the next morning before the alarm went off Amanda wakened with an uneasy feeling. She listened for a sound that was out of the ordinary, tried to remember if she’d had a bad dream. When she was fully awake, it all came back to her. What had happened. What she knew. What she had to hide. Even though she was wrapped in a blanket, she began to shiver and couldn’t stop, waking Sam with her shaking.

He reached for her. “Cold, baby?”

“Scared.” She crept into his arms.

“We’ll work this out. It’s not the same as … ” He didn’t finish the sentence. “How ’bout we go to the beach this weekend? We can rent horses from your friend’s stable and I’ll let you beat me in a race on the beach. Or, we can go to the movies and you can pick a sappy romantic movie and make me watch it. Or … ”

She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t, Sam, please. I’m not in the mood for joking.”

He kissed her. “I was going to say, or we could make love again.”

“Not this morning, Sam.” She grabbed the quilt that had drifted down to the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in it, turning her back on him. He tried to hold her but she hugged the edge of the bed on her side.

Sam was off the case but he wasn’t out of the loop. He picked up gossip from colleagues and his partner shared what she could. When all else failed, he snooped.

Danny Hartman told him Amanda’s supposed motive was proving to be weak. No one in the art community had heard of — or believed — Kane’s assertion that she stole ideas from him. Everyone thought it was just a jealous artist shooting off his mouth. Not only would Kane have lost in court, he’d have lost everyone’s respect because he’d tried to ruin a talented and well-liked artist.

Among the police investigating the murders, there was serious doubt that Amanda could have dragged Robin Jordan back to the classroom after the struggle evident in the retail area. And the ME’s report looked good. Sam had seen it sitting on Danny’s desk and had read it. He didn’t think she’d mind.

It said that, from the bruising on Kane’s neck and the angle of the gunshot wound, it was probable a left-handed person had wrestled the six-foot, three-inch victim to the ground before shooting him. Amanda was right-handed, more than foot shorter and weighed less than the bales of hay he’d bucked on the ranch.

And from the scrapings under her fingernails, Jordan had scratched her assailant. Amanda showed no signs of scratches.

By the time he’d finished reading the report, Sam could almost believe it was all over. Amanda was home free. He’d be back on the case with Danny and they would turn their attention to looking for the real perp.

Then he was called into L.T.’s office. Danny was there. When she avoided his gaze he knew it wasn’t going to be a good conversation.

After the usual throat-clearing preliminaries were out of the way, Angel said, “I need to ask you a few questions about Amanda St. Claire. You comfortable with that?”

“I guess.”

“What’d she tell you about the break-in at her studio the night of the murders?”

Sam relaxed back in the chair. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe they were just cleaning up the details. “Just that it happened. It’s not the first time. Not even the first time this month. That building’s as easy to get into as a pop-top can.”

“Yeah, she said. Did she tell you anything else about it?”

“You mean the bloody towel and the clip from Leo’s gun? Yeah.” He looked at the lieutenant, trying to figure out where this conversation was headed. “Don’t you think it was the killer trying to throw suspicion on her? I do.”

“What else did she say about the night of the murder?”

“Nothing. Is there something she should have told me?”

The lieutenant nodded to Danny.

Still avoiding Sam’s eyes, she said, “There was a guy working late across the street from Bullseye. A little after nine, he was loading up his truck when he saw a red SUV pull into the parking area in front of the Resource Center. It was raining so he didn’t get a clear look at the plate but he thought it was a vanity plate with no numbers.”

Sam jumped out of his chair and began to walk back and forth across the office.

Danny continued. “A short woman got out of the vehicle, went to the front door. Then she ran south, along Twenty-first, toward the factory entrance. He was pulling out less than ten minutes later when he saw her come around the corner from the north side of the building, like a bat out of hell, he said. She got in the SUV and roared out.” She caught Sam’s arm as he paced past her. “He saw the first and last letters in the plate as she pulled out. They were G and O. Amanda drives … ”

“A two-year-old red Toyota Highlander with a plate that says ‘GLASSCO.’” Sam finished her sentence as he shook off her hand.

“Amanda was there, Sam, around the time of the murders. The question is, why does she think she has to lie about it?”

“Christ,” Sam muttered as he continued to pace around the room, his hands jammed into his jeans’ pockets. “What the hell did she think … ?” He stopped in front of Danny Hartmann. “What did she say when you asked her to explain?”