Memories of Us (3 page)

She closed her eyes as his angry voice pounded through the line, a hammering rain of harsh, clipped words. She blew out a long breath, trying to still the irritation jumping under her skin. “Because he knows better. He knows we’ll take care of him.”

In her belly, the baby jabbed at her ribs and she winced, rubbing the spot with her palm. Damn brat. She turned sideways, eyeing her reflection, the grotesque bulge under the satin robe. She didn’t understand why some women were so eager to do this to their bodies, why they were so crushed when they couldn’t.

If not for the delicious amount of money this kid was bringing, she’d never have considered it, never considered putting her body through this torture again.

With an effort, she dragged her attention back to the man snarling at her over the phone. Best to placate him. Like it or not, she needed him, at least for a while longer. Once this baby was out of her, she was set for life. No more couples bickering over divorce and custody issues. No more court advocacy for snot-nosed minors. She’d be free, to go anywhere, do anything.

Cozumel sounded nice.

“Jessie, you damn well better make sure of him.”

The first finger of fear trailed over her spine. She swallowed, shored her courage, sugared her voice. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

He tossed an expletive at her and hung up.

She tossed the phone on the bed, glanced in the mirror again and tried to suck her stomach in. Oh hell, she could have liposuction after the kid was born. She hefted her breasts. A lift too. A new face if she wanted.

She’d heard plastic surgery came cheap south of the border.

The fear tried to raise its head again and she squashed it. She didn’t have to worry about him. He stood to gain as much from this deal as she did and he wouldn’t risk his precious political career. As long as she carried this baby, as long as he wanted bigger and better things, she was safe.

As soon as this brat was delivered, in more ways than one, she was gone.

One could never be too careful, though. She walked down the hall to her office, flipped through the Rolodex and extracted a card. She traced her thumb over the raised black print. If he got too horsy, she’d merely give Tom McMillian a call. Tom always had had a soft spot for her, even if he’d left her bed months ago. If she gave him an inkling he might have fathered the baby growing within her…

He’d do everything in his power to protect it.

And her.

She had nothing to worry about.

“Investigators declined to make a statement at this time, but if you have any information on the identity of this man or infant, you are asked to call the Chandler County Sheriff’s Department…”

Tom stopped with his coffee mug halfway to his lips. On the television screen, the suspect’s sullen booking photo was juxtaposed with a shot of the baby’s face, still nestled in its blanket. His stomach took a slow flip and he drew a deep breath. It’d been sixteen years. It shouldn’t still get to him like this. He should be ready to move on.

Kathleen had.

He shook off the bitterness. A day in court lay ahead of him and before that he had a meeting with Celia. He didn’t have time for musings about the past.

The blonde anchor segued into the next story then introduced the weather. Tom half-listened while knotting his tie. His gaze fell on the lilac bag Celia had left in his floorboard the night before. He’d brought it in last night and, distracted by haunting images of the deceased child and the memories that aroused, promptly forgotten it. He frowned. She’d never said what was in it, but she’d mentioned gourmet food. Damn, he hoped they hadn’t let something expensive spoil.

Buttoning his collar tips with one hand, he grabbed his briefcase with the other. The corner knocked the lilac bag sideways, its contents scattering across the granite countertop.

What the hell?

He stared at the long, thin box bearing the photo of an incredibly lifelike penis. Bubbles swirled lazily in the bottle of body oil lying next to it.

That did not look like any gourmet food he’d ever purchased.

He set his briefcase down with a thud. A bright pink business card attached with a lilac ribbon to a spray of colorful condom wrappers peeked out of the bag. He picked it up. “
Especially for You” Personal Parties—Laci Burton.
Below the slogan, someone had scrawled in bubbly cursive—
Thanks for the purchase! Enjoy!

A sex-toy party?

He shrugged off seeing Kathleen’s Jeep in Price’s drive. He wasn’t going to think about what she’d purchased, how she might use those items with Harding.
Celia
at a sex-toy party? He lifted the bottle of oil. Vanilla-almond, self-warming personal lubricant. His gaze fell on the boxed dildo, images popping off in his head.

Celia, naked and spread-eagled on gold sheets, her silvery blonde hair spilling over pillows edged with heavy cord. Her lips open on a moan, skin glistening with oil, the scents of vanilla and almond heavy in the air.

Pure arousal pooled in his belly, shooting a heavy tingling to his groin. Ah, damn it, he was imagining her naked in
his
bed. His hands rubbing that oil over her skin, but her hands easing the vinyl dildo inside her while he watched…

Hell
.

Sweat beaded his upper lip and he brushed it away. He was losing it. Fantasizing about the best damn investigator he’d ever hired. He wasn’t going to let his attraction to her spoil that. Celia was an adult and what she did in her private life was just that—private. Her business. As long as she kept it separate from his office.

He frowned, eyeing the adult toy while her flirtation with Cook played through his head again. Maybe it was more than a flirtation. Maybe she’d bought the items to use with the sheriff’s investigator. Hell, it wasn’t like Tom was privy to the details of her private life.

For all he knew, she’d done more than review case details with Cook after he’d left.

More images flickered in his head…Cook’s sturdy frame supporting Celia’s slim body, his hands sliding over her skin, gleaming with scented oil, while she pleasured herself with that damn rubber dick and moaned the other man’s name.

Tom’s stomach pitched and a weird burning traveled under his skin. Primal anger fired in him, clenching his lungs, making it hard to get oxygen to his brain. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Celia could see any-damn-body she wanted. He had no control over that. Getting pissed off because she was interested in Cook was counterproductive, a complete waste of time.

But he still didn’t like it. Cook was a player, known in the tricounty area for his string of one-nighters. Celia deserved better.

Maybe she didn’t want more. What did he know?

He grabbed the items from the counter and slammed them into the bag. With it shoved under his arm, he snatched up his briefcase and stormed from the house. During the fifteen-minute drive to his offices, he fumed and pushed the Mercedes through its paces.

Damn it all. He didn’t need this right now.

Who was he kidding? He didn’t need this ever. He liked his relationships with women kept on an entirely level basis. Women who tied him in knots were not his thing. Since he’d hired her, Celia had jerked more knots in him than a Boy Scout going for a badge, so she was definitely out-of-bounds.

If she wanted Mark Cook, fine.

When he turned into the parking lot behind the office building, Celia’s sporty SUV was already in her customary spot. An unmarked Chandler County unit sat in a visitor’s space.

Tom shot the vehicle a glare as he climbed from the driver’s seat and locked his car. He jogged up the stairs to the back entrance and let himself in. At only a few minutes past seven, the nearly deserted offices were quiet. He bypassed his office and headed for Celia’s.

Beyond her closed office door, he could hear the murmur of voices, Celia’s light voice blending with Cook’s deeper tones. Cook’s dark chortle set Tom’s teeth on edge. Without knocking, he pushed the door open.

The aroma of strong coffee hung in the air. Cook, stretched out on the sofa taking up one wall, had a file open before him. Celia sat at her desk, folders lined up in a neat row. Both heads turned in his direction.

For some reason, seeing them working didn’t improve his mood. He didn’t acknowledge Cook, but fixed a look on Celia. She returned his gaze, her face impassive.

“Ms. St. John, could I see you a moment please?” He turned and strode to his office. Inside, he set his briefcase on the credenza and flipped the computer on with terse movements.

Celia appeared in his doorway, eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

Her hair was up in a chic knot, leaving the elegant line of her neck bare. The picture of her with Cook flashed in his mind again, the other man sliding his mouth along her throat. The irritation flared into something hotter, a primitive possessiveness. Damn, he really didn’t need this. He set the wrinkled lilac bag on the edge of his desk. “You left that in my car.”

She crossed the room to pick up the package. “This is why you wanted to see me?”

Settling into his chair, he flipped open the file he’d need for court that morning. The words wavered in front of his eyes, anger still jerking along his nerves. “I told you I wanted an update.”

“I don’t have anything for you yet,” she said, voice cool, removed. “We’re waiting on fingerprints and blood tests before we question him again. We need a court order for a blood sample and the judge won’t be in his office until nine.”

He glanced up. Her slender fingers played with the thin silver chain that disappeared into her blue blouse. Beneath her pinstriped jacket, silk clung to firm breasts. Great. Now he was able to envision the edge of her cleavage, as he’d seen it above her camisole the night before. “What is he doing here?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re going through cell-phone records. Doe had one of those throwaway cell phones. But we’re not finding anything yet, just calls to pay phones or other throwaway cells. I put out a press release and Cook issued an Amber Alert.”

He nodded. “I saw the photos on the news this morning. Good idea, there. Be ready if they want an interview later.”

“I will.”

“In the future, I’d appreciate more professional behavior from you on scene.”

Her face froze, fingers tightening on the chain. “Excuse me?”

He clenched his jaw. “When you’re working, whatever is going on between you and Investigator Cook does not need to be bandied about the way it was last night.”

“Whatever is…” She stared at him, her nostrils flaring slightly with a deep breath. Her face reddened and she crossed her arms, the lilac bag hanging from her fingers. “Just what do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know and it’s none of my business, unless it affects your performance as my investigator. I merely don’t approve of your flirting with Cook at a crime scene.”

Bad temper crackled in her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the desk. Her blouse gaped slightly, her silver chain brushing against a hint of satin. “Is this a reprimand?”

“No.” He held her gaze, his own temper rising to meet hers, his pulse thudding in his ears. “A reminder.”

She leaned closer. “Just for the record,” she said, her voice lowering, taking on a hint of steel, “I am not involved with Mark Cook. If I were, it would have no effect on my job performance and I resent the hell out of your implication.”

“Good.” He drummed the file in front of him, irritated with the relief her denial sent coursing through him. “Then we understand each other.”

Her mouth thinned. “Oh, I understand you perfectly, McMillian.” She straightened. “Are we finished?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back in at the end of the day. I want another report then.”

She smiled, the expression cold, a little feral. “Of course.”

Turning, she strode from the room, the bag tapping against her hip. Tom rubbed a hand over his eyes. He’d handled that well.

Just like a jealous ass would.

The audacity of the man. The absolute gall.

Celia shoved her office door open. “Are you ready to go?”

Cook glanced up from his file. “Uh, yeah. But it’s not even eight. The judge won’t be in his office until at least a quarter to nine.”

“By the time we drive to Moultrie, the lab will be open.” She tossed the bag on her desk. What was McMillian’s problem? He didn’t want her, she was an adult, so what the hell did it matter who she slept with?

Not that she’d ever sleep with Mark Cook. Humorless laughter bubbled in her throat. McMillian had lost his mind.

Cook straightened to a sitting position. “Then we’ll have to make a second trip over there with the blood sample.”

She blew out a long breath, trying to still the fury sizzling throughout her body, shortcutting her brain. Cook was right. She wasn’t approaching things rationally. And she was proving McMillian right too. Letting her emotions affect her job.

She tapped a finger against her forehead. “Had breakfast yet?”

“Does an overdose of squad-room coffee count?”

Her skin itched, feeling too tight. “Let’s go get something before we meet Judge Baker.”

“Sure thing.” He gathered his notes and crammed them in the file folder. She ushered him out the door and toward the back exit. McMillian stepped into the hall as they passed, briefcase under his arm, keys in hand. Their eyes met and she lifted her chin, determined not to back down.

His gaze slid to Cook at her side, but he didn’t acknowledge him. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Celia.”

Her anger pulsed, but she merely smiled. “Of course.”

She continued walking, refusing to look back to see if he followed them. Cook’s footsteps thudded on the metal stairs behind her and he fell into step beside her once they reached the parking lot.

He glanced over his shoulder and whistled low. “He looks pissed. What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” She stopped at his patrol car and waited. Behind her, McMillian’s Mercedes purred to life. A knot gathered at the base of her neck. Lack of food and sleep, obviously. She’d been unable to rest at all, questions about the baby bouncing around in her head. The stress making her temples ache had nothing to do with McMillian and his accusations.

Her feelings weren’t bruised, either.

“All that tension and ice. What the hell did he say to you earlier?” He unlocked the car and Celia slid into the passenger seat. The strong scent of wintergreen gum blended with the disinfectant used to clean the stainless steel rear seat.

She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes while fastening her seatbelt. A harsh laugh worked its way free from her throat. “He wasn’t happy about our interaction last night. He thinks we’re sleeping together.”

“You wanna?” Grinning, Cook fired the engine to life.

“No.”

“Damn.”

Her laugh this time was less abrasive. She glanced out the window as he backed out and eased into the alleyway alongside the office building. The anger gripping her chest lessened somewhat, giving way to a vague sense of hurt disappointment.

She was crazy with wanting McMillian and he thought she was involved with someone else. Damn his blind hide. Damn her, too, for wanting the ass in the first place.

Slowing for a traffic light, Cook slanted a glance at her. “Listen, St. John, I’m sorry if I caused trouble for you.”

“No.” She waved his apology away. “It’s just McMillian being his normal self.”

Wicked glee glinted in his gray eyes. “You mean an arrogant dickhead?”

A puff of laughter escaped her. “That he is.”

The light turned green and he looked at her before accelerating. “My God, you’re hot for him.”