The Alibi (13 page)

thought the office should be in on this one from the

beginning, so I spent the night with Smilow--in a

manner of speaking." Her impish smile seemed

grossly inappropriate. Hammond merely nodded and

gestured impatiently for her to continue. "I was with

him as he followed up on some leads, precious few

that they are."

"Hotel security?"

"Pettijohn died without a whimper. No sign of

forced entry. No sign of a struggle. And we can eliminate

camera surveillance. All we've got on videotape

is a monotonous sound track and writhing naked people."

"Huh?"

When she told him about the bogus security cameras,

he shook his head with dismay. "Jesus. He made

such a big deal of that system and how much it had

cost. The gall of the man."

Hammond was well acquainted with the unsavory

personality traits and unscrupulous business dealings

of Lute Pettijohn. He had been covertly investigating

him for the attorney general for six months. The more

he had learned about Pettijohn, the more there was to

disdain and dislike. "Any witnesses?"

"None so far. The only person in the hotel who had

any real contact with him was a masseur in the spa,

and he's a dead end." She then told him about the outbreak

of food poisoning. "Discounting the kids, there

are seven adults Smilow wants to question. Neither

of us is very optimistic about the outcome, but he's

promised to call as soon as the doctor gives him the

green light. I want to be there."

"You're becoming very personally involved,

aren't you?"

"It'll be a huge case."

The statement lay between them like a thrown

gauntlet. The rivalry was unspoken, but it was always

there. Hammond humbly conceded that he usually

held the advantage over her, and not because he was

smarter than she. He'd ranked second in his law

school class, but Steffi had been first in hers. Their

personalities were what distinguished them. His

served him in good stead, but Steffi's worked against

her. People didn't respond well to her abrasiveness

and aggressive approach.

His distinct advantage, he admitted, was Monroe

Mason's blatant favoritism of him. A position had

come open soon after Steffi joined the office. Both

were qualified. Both were considered. But there was

never really any contest as to who would be promoted.

Hammond now served as special assistant solicitor.

Steffi's disappointment had been plain, although

she had handled it with aplomb. She wasn't a sore

loser and hadn't carried a grudge. Their working relationship

continued to be more cooperative than adversarial.

Even so, like now, silent challenges were sometimes

issued. For the time being neither picked it up.

Hammond changed the subject. "What about

Davee Pettijohn?"

"In what regard? Do you mean, What about Davee

Pettijohn as a suspect? Or as the bereaved widow?"

"Suspect?" Hammond repeated with surprise.

"Does someone think she killed Lute?"

"I do." Steffi proceeded to tell him about accompanying

Smilow to the Pettijohn mansion and why

she considered the widow a likely suspect.

After hearing her out, Hammond refuted her theory.

"First of all, Davee doesn't need Lute's money.

She never did. Her family--"

"I've done my research. The Burtons had money

out the kazoo."

Her snide tone didn't escape him. "What's bugging

you?"

"Nothing," she snapped. Then she took a deep

breath and blew it out slowly. "Okay, maybe I am

bugged. I get bugged when men, who are supposedly

adult, professional, and intelligent, turn to quivering

towers of jelly when they get around a woman like

her."

"'A woman like her'?"

"Come on, Hammond," she said, with even more

vexation than before. "Fluffy kitten on the outside,

panther on the inside. You know the type I'm talking

about."

"You typed Davee after meeting her only once?"

"See? You're defending her."

"I'm not defending anybody."

"First Smilow goes ga-ga over her, if you can believe

that. Now you."

"I'm hardly 'ga-ga.' I just fail to see how you

could draw a complete personality profile on Davee

after--"

"All right! I don't care," she said impatiently. "I

don't want to talk about Lute Pettijohn and the murder

and motives. It's all I've thought about for almost

twenty-four hours. I need a break from it."

She left her chair, put her fists into the small of her

back and stretched luxuriously, then came around the

table to sit on Hammond's lap. Looping her arms

around his neck, she kissed him.

CHAPTER 7

after several quick kisses, Steffi sat back and ruffled

his hair. "I forgot to ask. How was your night

away?"

"It was great," Hammond replied truthfully.

"Do anything special?"

Special? Very. Even their silly conversations had

been extraordinary.

"i played football in the NFL, you know."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but after winning my second Super Bowl, I

went to work for the CIA."

"Dangerous work?"

"The routine cloak-and-dagger stuff."

"Wow."

"Actually, it was a yawn. So I enlisted in the Peace

Corps."

"Fascinating."

"It was okay. To a point. But after I was awarded

the Nobel prize for feeding all the starving children in

Africa and Asia, I started looking around for something

else."

"Something more challenging ? "

"Right. I narrowed my choices down to becoming

president and serving my country, or finding a cure

for cancer."

"Self-sacrifice must be your middle name."

"No, it's Greer."

"I like it."

"You know I'm lying."

"Your middle name's not Greer?"

"That much is true. The rest, all lies."

"No!"

"I wanted to impress you."

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm impressed."

Hammond recalled the touch of her hand, the sensation

of swelling ...

"Hmm," Steffi purred. "Just as I thought. You

missed me."

He was hard, and it wasn't for the woman sitting

on his lap and fondling him through his trousers. He

brushed her hand aside. "Steffi--"

She bent forward and kissed him aggressively.

Hiking her skirt up around her hips, she straddled his

thighs and continued kissing him while her hands attacked

his belt buckle.

"I hate to rush," she said breathlessly between

kisses. "But when Smilow calls, I'll need to dash.

This will have to be quick, I'm afraid."

Hammond reached for her busy hands and clasped

them between his. "Steffi. We need to--"

"Go upstairs? Fine. But we can't dawdle, Hammond."

Agile and energetic, she hopped off his lap and

headed for the door, unbuttoning her blouse as she

went.

"Steffi."

She turned and watched with bafflement as Hammond

stood up and rezipped his trousers. She

laughed lightly. "I'm willing to try just about anything,

but it's going to be a little tricky if you don't

take it out of your pants."

He moved to the other side of the room and braced

his arms on the edge of the granite counter. He stared

down into the spotless kitchen sink for several moments

before turning to face her again.

"This isn't working for me any longer, Steffi."

Once the words were out, he felt hugely relieved.

He had left town yesterday afternoon burdened for

several reasons. One of them--the least of them, actually

--was indecision over his affair with Steffi. He

was unsure he wanted to put an end to it. They had a

comfortable arrangement. Neither made unreasonable

demands on the other. They shared many of the

same interests. They were sexually compatible.

However, the topic of cohabitation had never

come up, and Hammond was glad. If it had, he would

have compiled a list of appropriate excuses as to why

living at the same address would be a bad idea, but

the real reason was that Steffi's energy level would

have worn thin very quickly. Apparently she hadn't

wanted him around her constantly, either. They kept

their affair private. They saw each other regularly and when they wanted to. For almost a year it had been a

perfect setup.

But lately, he had come to feel that it wasn't so

perfect after all. He disliked secrecy and subterfuge,

especially when it came to personal relationships,

where he clung to the outdated belief that honesty

should be a requisite component.

He was dissatisfied with their level of intimacy,

too. More to the point, there was no intimacy. Not

really. Although Steffi was an ardent and capable

lover, they were no closer emotionally than they had

been the first time she had invited him over for dinner

and they had wound up wrestling out of their

clothes on her living room sofa.

After weighing all the pluses and minuses, brooding

over it for weeks, Hammond had resolved that the

relationship had reached a plateau that left him wanting

and needing more. Instead of anticipating their

evenings together, he had begun to dread them. He

was returning her calls later rather than sooner. Even

in bed when they were having sex, he found himself

distracted and thinking about other things, performing

adequately but routinely, physically but unemotionally.

Before indifference festered into resentment,

it was better to break it off.

What he wanted and needed from a relationship,

he wasn't sure. But he was certain that whatever it

was, he wasn't going to find it in Stefanie Mundell.

He had come closer to finding it last night, with a

woman whose name he didn't even know. That was a

sad commentary on his relationship with Steffi, but

sound confirmation that it was time to end it.

Reaching that decision was only half the problem.

He was now faced with actually doing it. He wished

to end the affair as gracefully as possible, preferably

avoiding the temperamental equivalent of the Hundred

Years War. The best he could hope for was that

it would end with no more fireworks than it had

started.

The likelihood of that was nil. A scene was virtually

guaranteed. He had dreaded it, and now he saw it

coming.

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When

it did, Steffi swallowed, folded her arms over her

open blouse, then, in a defiant motion, uncrossed

them and let them hang at her sides. "By 'this,' I take

it you mean--"

"Us."

"Oh?" She cocked her head to one side and raised

her eyebrows in a manner that was all too familiar. It

was the expression she assumed when she was pissed

off, when she was about to tear into somebody, usually

an intern or clerk who hadn't done a good job

preparing a brief for her, or a cop who had failed to

include an integral fact of a case in his report, or anyone

who dared cross her when she was determined to

have her way. "Since when hasn't it been 'working'

for you?"

"For a while now. I feel like we're moving in different

directions."

She smiled, shrugged. "We've both been dis

tracted lately, but that's easily fixed. We have enough

in common to salvage—"

He was shaking his head. "Not just different directions,

Steffi. Opposing directions."

"Could you be a little bit more specific?"

"Okay." He spoke evenly, although he resented

her tone because it implied that he wasn't quite as

smart as she. "Eventually I would like to marry. Have

kids. You've made it plain to me on numerous occasions

that you're not interested in having a family."

"That you are comes as a surprise."

He smiled wryly. "Actually it surprises me, too."

"You said you didn't want to be to any unsuspecting

kid what your father had been to you."

"And I won't be," he said tightly.

"Isn't this a recent change of heart?"

"Recent but gradual. Our relationship was perfect

for a while, but then—"

"The novelty wore off?"

"No."

"Then what? It's not exciting anymore? Sleeping

with the hot number in the County Solicitor's Office

has lost its appeal? Being Steffi Mundell's secret

lover doesn't excite you any longer?"

He hung his head and shook it. "Please don't do

this, Steffi."

"I'm not doing anything," she retorted, her voice

going shrill. "This conversation was your idea." Her

dark eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea how

many men would love to fuck me?"

"Yes," he said, raising his voice to the angry level

of hers. "I hear the locker room gossip about you."

"It used to give you a thrill when they wagered on

who the mystery man in my bed was, when all along