Tempted by Fate (16 page)

There was an underlying accusation to his statement. She studied him, trying to figure it out. Had his grandmother told him she’d been to his house?

It didn’t matter now. Whatever had happened, he’d
managed to find his way to her motel… which could only mean that he’d followed her. She’d known she was being tailed. Even if she couldn’t see him, she’d sensed it with
mù ch’i.
She should have known it was Ramirez by the way her mark had prickled. “Impressive, Starsky. If you ever decide to retire from the force, you could become a private investigator. But that doesn’t explain how you found which room I was in.”

Slight movement over his shoulder caught her attention. The nosy woman’s head poked out from behind the door. Her eyes widened as Willow stared her down, and she shut the door soundly.

“I guess that answers that.” Willow turned back to Ramirez. “What I still don’t know is what you’re doing here.”

He took a step toward her, forcing her to retreat into her room. It was either that or have him pressed up against her, and that didn’t seem like a good idea. At all. Not with the way her body betrayed her whenever they touched.

Ramirez closed the door behind him and surveyed the room. His sharp gaze fell on her bed. “A hobby?” he asked, reaching for her whittling knife.

She took the knife out of his hand and gathered the dirks before he could question her any further. Opening a dresser drawer, she deposited everything inside, then turned to face him. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.”

He regarded her steadily, seemingly at ease. “Why don’t you tell me why you think I’m here?”

She leaned her hips against the dresser and crossed her arms. “I think you’re here because you can’t get enough of me.”

Ramirez’s gaze traveled down her body. “Most people would assume when a Homicide inspector visits, it’s about a murder.”

She felt like tinder under a flame. “I’m not most people, Starsky. Besides, I didn’t do anything to warrant your interest. Not yet, anyway,” she said, unable to control her eyes from roaming the contours of his body.

He flushed, the slightest tinge of pink under his tan skin. What kind of man blushes these days?

The same kind who lives with his grandmother,
she silently answered. Any other guy and she would have thought him a total wuss and, therefore, not worth the time. But Ramirez was a 100 percent virile, masculine man.

“Why shouldn’t I suspect you of being involved in the murders?” he asked, all business again. He was, obviously, a man with a mission. She wasn’t sure what she preferred, the staid cop or the hot guy. Certainly, the cop was less discomfiting.

“Because I told you I didn’t do it.”

“But you aren’t denying you were involved in some way.”

Willow sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Can’t you let this go?”

“You take a polygraph test and I’ll let it go.”

Time to change tactics. She pushed off the dresser and walked up to him. “I don’t think you want to let it go. In fact, I think you want to grab it and hold on with both hands.”

His body tensed. “The only thing I want from you is answers.”

She glanced down at his crotch. “Why don’t I believe that?”

“Stop,” he ordered.

“I’m tempted to ask if you’re going to make me, but I have the feeling you’d just take that as a challenge.” Although she continued to tell herself this was all an act, she couldn’t deny the moisture that began to form between her thighs. She suddenly realized how much she enjoyed having him this close.

“The only challenge here is you.” He reached out and took her by her biceps. “Why were you at my house?”

“I was out jogging.” To her own ears, she sounded breathless. It was because his hands felt so delicious. Despite herself, she wanted them all over her body.

“Up the walkway to my house?” He tangled his hand in her ponytail and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Why were you there?”

“Maybe I wanted a look at the inner sanctum of an SFPD Homicide inspector.” She lifted her hand to toy with one of the buttons of his shirt. “Want to give me a peek?”

Really, he looked like he wanted to give her a swat, which made it that much more surprising when he hauled her up on her toes and kissed the breath out of her.

The next thing she knew, her arms were around his neck and her legs hugging his hips. His hands supported her under her bottom. He swung her around, and they toppled backward so they landed on the bed, him on top.

He nibbled down her neck, each nipping bite as devastating as a lick of fire. She arched, giving him room to work his magic. His hands slipped under her top, skimming up her rib cage to cup her breasts.

She gasped as his fingers strummed her nipples. Then she gasped again when he lifted away from her.

She blinked, staring up at him, stunned by the sudden sense of loss.

Frowning, he shook his head. “What am I doing?”

Before she could frame a properly sarcastic retort, he got off the bed and straightened his clothing. “This cannot happen. You’re a suspect, and I’m the lead officer in the investigation. I’m a
cop.
”

With a last, hot glance at her, he strode from the room, the door shutting swiftly behind him.

And just like that, he was gone. She stared at where he’d been standing. She should have been happy, or relieved. But all she felt was like something was missing. Inhaling deeply, she caught a whiff of his masculine lemony scent.

“Damn it.” She kicked the dresser.

The drawer fell open, and her scroll rolled to the front.

The Book of Wood. It wasn’t safe here any longer—not since Ramirez knew where she was. He wouldn’t break in to investigate—he was too by-the-book for that—but she didn’t put it past him to get a warrant. She needed to hide the scroll, and she knew just the spot.

Grabbing it, she jogged out of the building, down to the Embarcadero and up to the Presidio. She passed the Palace of the Legion of Honor, but before she got to the Sutro Baths ruins, she found a secluded spot and picked the tallest cypress there.

A quick survey of the area revealed no one, so she climbed to the top, a feeling of peace and ease blanketing her with each foot that she ascended. Perching on the most solid branch, Willow sifted through the leaves until she found a crook where she could nestle the scroll securely. She stroked the parchment one last time, before
securing it. Usually, at times like this, holding her scroll banished her loneliness.

Not today.

Today she realized that she hadn’t felt the customary loneliness at all when Ramirez had been in her room. And that only made her feel lonelier now.

W
illow leaned against the brick facade of a building down the block from Bohemia as she watched the club. Just like the other night, there was a line of people waiting for entry.

Unlike the other night, she was aware of the discreet traffic through the other entrance—the one that led into the sex club. Where she was headed tonight.

She just had to make sure it was safe first. The past two hours hadn’t revealed anything abnormal. Still, she couldn’t help being wary. The effects of having the scroll away from her left her vaguely queasy. But she also couldn’t shake the feeling that Ramirez was on her tail. And, damn it, she hated to admit it, but she
wanted
him on her.

After she’d hidden the scroll, she’d gone back to her room, stripped, and gotten into bed. Only she couldn’t go to sleep—not with the feeling of his hands on her, his body pressed against hers. She’d taken a hot shower, trying to wash him off, but that’d only turned her on more.

Pathetic.

She shook her head, feeling her face burn as she remembered masturbating. Not even bringing herself to climax was enough to get rid of the itch he’d ignited in her. Morgan would tell her she needed to chill, and Morgan would have been right. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool now, not when she was so close to pinning down the Bad Man.

She knew the answers were inside that club, with the owner. She’d talk with him tonight, and nothing was standing in her way. Not even a hard, intense cop, with a great mouth and lethal hands. She told herself he wouldn’t be here tonight. He had no reason to be. As hard as he tried to prove otherwise, there was nothing to tie her to the murders. He had no evidence on her.

She pushed off the wall behind her and strode toward the main door of Bohemia. The bouncer from the other night was at the door again. He gave her an appreciative once-over and unhooked the gate for her as she sauntered toward him. “You’re out to kill tonight, baby.”

Yes, she was, although she was sure he didn’t mean it the same way she did—ready with her new set of wooden dirks strapped to the inside of her thighs. Tonight she’d dressed to be noticed, in hopes of attracting the owner’s attention. Her red leather skirt and red lace top ensured that. The top was partially see-through, and she wore nothing underneath. Perhaps a mistake, given the way the fabric abraded her nipples, making her think about the cop’s touch.

Focus.
Tonight was the night she’d discover the Bad Man’s identity. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. She
gave the bouncer a sultry smile as she strutted past him, aware of his gaze following her.

Inside, she checked to see if the eager bartender was on duty, but he was absent. Good. That was one less thing to worry about.

She scanned the room with
mù ch’i.
Clear. She searched the crowd on the dance floor for the owner’s tall, thin form, but he wasn’t there, either. Not that she expected him to be. Based on her previous excursion, she figured he’d either be in his office or at the Easy. His office seemed the logical choice. She could check out the sex club on the way there.

Heading to the threshold, she planted a distraction in the mind of the man standing guard and walked through the door and the curtains into hell. She looked around casually. No owner in here, either. She glanced up at the top of the stairs that led to his office. The bouncer who manned the entrance didn’t look like he’d be swayed by a pretty face. Not that it mattered.

Willow walked up to him, letting her mind stretch. She pictured her mind and his as trees, their thoughts branches. When the image was strong, she let her branches tangle with his, until she was completely obscured from his thoughts. Certain that he couldn’t see her, she walked past him and opened the door enough to slip through. Because her thoughts were mixed with his, she heard the bouncer’s awareness of the door opening and closing. Planting reassurances that nothing was amiss, she strode down the short hall to the door that said
Office.

Standing outside, she closed her eyes and let her senses search the room on the other side. She felt an absence of energy—like a black hole.

Death.

Frowning, she focused
mù ch’i
to discern who it might be. Not Ramirez, she realized right away. The residual echo of energy didn’t feel like his. But why had he come to mind first? She had no reason to be thinking of him. He wouldn’t have been there, anyway.

Who would have been there?

The Bad Man. Or Quentin.

It wasn’t the Bad Man—she believed she would have recognized his acrid feel, and she wasn’t familiar enough with Quentin to identify him for sure. There was only one way to find out.

Opening the door, she slipped inside and quietly closed it. The room was sleek and opulent, full of chrome and leather. A painting dominated one wall—an incomprehensible modern piece. The wall ahead of her was floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out on the club below.

Willow walked to the chair, the feeling of unease increasing with each step. She touched the back of the chair and spun it around. The owner’s dead body slouched to one side as the chair came to a stop.

“Damn it.” She shoved her hair over her shoulder, frustrated. Then she froze, seeing the gleaming silver protruding from Quentin’s forehead.

A throwing star.
His
calling card.

The Bad Man was sending her a message. He was toying with her, leaking enough information to lure her out into the open. It’d be a new tactic for him, offering himself as bait to trap her. Smart on his part, because she’d willingly risk the danger to have a shot at him.