Alpha Me Not (32 page)

“That’s easy,” Susie declared. “And mostly true.”

“The rest of us were at my bachelor poker party hosted by Tate at his condo in the Weber apartment complex. Kieran opted not to attend because Barb fainted at the Chez Pierre party.”

Her jaw fell open.

They stared at each other.

“Any problem with that one, Susie?

Pin-drop, heart-attack silence.

“One small issue.” She studied her nails. “Who’re you marrying?”

“The first woman at this table who asks me.” His pulse went loco, his ever-hopeful dick went rigid, and his heart nudged his mouth.

“You really want me to ask you to marry me in front of all of them?”

“Hell yeah. I’m going to need every witness on the planet to get you to the altar.”

Her wicked mouth twitched. She gave him a sexy under-the-lashes peek, shoved off his lap, dropped onto one knee, and held his hand between both of hers. “Joe Albert Huroq, will you marry me and make me the happiest woman in the universe?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He stood, scooped her up, and threw her in the air.

“Joe. Stop,” she squealed.

“Change of plan. Time to party.” Tate rubbed his hands together. “Margaritas for everyone, save Barb? Not that I believe you’re going to miss alcohol much with the way you’re stuffing your face. Leave a couple of desserts for the rest of us, why dontcha?”

They stayed up until almost dawn.

Barb and Kieran left first.

After Tate and Gray departed, Joe led Susie to their bed.

“I need a shower.” He had to erase the stench acquired that night from his pores.

Susie yawned. “Go ahead. I’m too keyed up to fall asleep anyway.”

He tucked her under the covers and, before heading for the bathroom, sent Sam O’Reilly a text message:
Mission complete. Call in the big guns.

Joe manipulated the shower levers to attain his preferred heat level. He stepped under the streaming spray, his mind churning with all the questions left unanswered. Ellison had killed Petey. The coach had obviously been molesting boys for some time. Had Ellison been involved with the Arnolds? Was there some sort of pedophile ring in operation? And was the moonshine linked to anything at all?

Crap. Before Susie, a hotter-than-hades shower and a hard spray had eased all his muscular tension. After Susie, only one solution worked. He turned off the water, toweled off, threw the terry at the holder, and marched to the bedroom.

“Better?” Susie pulled the sheets back and patted the bed. “You looked coiled tight enough to bounce quarters.”

He slid onto the mattress and drank her in. Tousled hair, bare shoulders, sheets tucked under her arms, a faint blush staining her cheeks, and a welcome in her eyes he’d remember forever.

Gathering her into his embrace, he traced the stubborn chin he so loved and coiled a silken strand around his fingers. His erection leaked precum. He couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside her hot, moist pussy, to feel her milking him.

“Tell me again.”

Inky lashes fluttered, but she didn’t hesitate. “I love you.”

A heartfelt sigh emptied his lungs. “I love you.”

He shifted them onto their sides because the need to see her every reaction was urgent and palpable, then stroked a wayward lock into place and trapped their gazes.

“I was so scared tonight. If anything had happened to you, I don’t know how I’d have gone on living.” Her finger sketched his mouth, the featherlight touch sparking and crackling like static electricity.

Tenderness swamped him and made his voice gruff. “The feeling is more than mutual, mate mine.”

Mate. His mate. “You made me the happiest man in the universe tonight, Susan Elizabeth White.”

“Back atcha, my big, bad, mercenary.” Her saucy, one-sided grin spoke of future role-plays he intended to capitalize on.

“Like the mercenary, do you?” He suckled the hollow of her throat, and the spicy aroma of her arousal filled his nose.

“The mercenary turns me on.” She captured his wrist, licked his forefinger, and guided his hand between her thighs. “Feel how much you turn me on.”

Her boldness of late dizzied his senses. She was indeed slick, her pussy lips dewy and slightly swollen.

Joe ate at her lips, sipping and tasting. He explored the seam, licked the tips of her teeth when she opened for him, and blew a soft breath over the wetness. She gasped, and he thrust inside on the sweet suction, savoring the spearminty paradise.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. She pulled him closer and lifted one leg high over his hip, giving him unfettered access to her sex. Their tongues dueled—parry and thrust, retreat and advance—and he stroked her labia mimicking their tongue tactics.

She bit his lower lip, and the sharp nip zinged his stones into an excruciating, burning contraction.

Growling into her mouth, he rolled on top of her, captured her hands, and spread her arms wide, forcing her onto her back. He kneed her legs apart and settled his cock on her mound.

“Yes. Yes. Now, Joe.” She arched.

He slid his dick through her cream. “Legs wide.”

At once she complied, but he wasn’t finished. “Wider. Bend them. Right angles.”

“Oh yes.” Her hot breath skipped across his throat, and her mouth followed, placing wet, suckling kisses over his collarbone. “Want to touch you.”

“Soon.”

“Always damn soon with you. Now.” She nibbled his ear.

Any blood left in his brain drained south. His cock throbbed, his balls pulsed sheer agony.

“Soon.” He ground on her pussy, angling the base of his dick so the hard rod rode her clit.

She sucked in a deep inhale. “Damn you, Joe. Please.”

“Not yet.” He bent to her ear, nosed her hair out of the way, and outlined the rim with small, feathery licks.

“Oh.” She twisted her head to the side in an invitation he couldn’t resist.

“I love your ears. Delicate, pretty with a plump lobe.” Not once did he stop his rhythmic cock-stroking of her clit. He kept the cadence tortuously slow but increased the pressure on each up-and-down glide.

Her nails scored his back.

She tried to lift off the mattress.

Joe let his weight bear down on her.

He took her lobe into his mouth, drawing his teeth lightly over the succulent flesh.

“Oh God.” She wrapped her legs around the small of his back and grabbed the flesh covering his trapezius muscles. Her grip pinched.

Precum spilled from his cock, and his stones clenched and jerked.

Joe reached down, separated her pussy lips, centered his dick on her clit, and rubbed a furious side-to-side motion, buffing the nub, changed into a circular grinding, then went back to his up-and-down sliding.

“Joe. Joe.”

He bit her lobe.

She wailed his name when the orgasm hit her.

Not able to wait a second longer, he reached behind, grabbed her ankles, and forced them to the bed. He drew back, positioned his cock at her center, and drove home.

She climaxed again. Her pussy sucked at his dick like a funnel tornado. So hot and tight and wet, the sensation pure, exquisite torment. He lost it and pistoned into her, pounding her labia.

The peak hit him like a tsunami. Thundered through his groin and struck his balls like lightning. His cock erupted, spewing sperm in searing spurts. He shuddered through the convulsions, resting all his weight on twitching forearms.

Her pussy continued to milk him, contracting around his engorged dick, pulling every last drop of semen. His head grew too heavy for his neck, and he leaned his forehead on hers.

The aftershocks continued, and every time he thought she could wring no more from him, she did. His stones ached. His cock pulsed so hard he figured his heart had been sucked south by the powerful orgasm.

It took long moments before the roaring in his ears receded and the fire scorching his lungs cooled.

“Know what?”

His eyes were closed, but he heard the smile in her voice. “What?”

“Sex is addictive.” She drew a circle on his chest.

Joe opened one eye. “Sex? Ouch. It was sex to you? Damn, it was making love to me.”

Would he ever get his fill of her? He loved his mate like this. Wearing a dreamy, sated grin, eyes a tad glazed, relaxed to the max.

She shot him a lopsided smirk. “Whatever.”

“Come on, say it.” He gave her a little shake.

“I’m too boneless to argue. Making love is definitely addictive. Happy now?”

He rolled them over and tilted her chin. “Yes. I am totally, completely happy. And my happiness is you.”

“Oh, Joe.” Her dark eyes glistened. “You turn me to mush. I never cry, you know. And I’m not mushy normally.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re all mush underneath that blustery exterior. But no one else has to know that.” He traced the ridge of her cheekbone. “I want us married within the month.”

She raised both brows and worried her lower lip, and he could hear the wheels spinning. “You did propose, and I did say yes. I have the witnesses to prove it.”

The blow she dealt him stung.

“Ow. What’s that for?” Joe massaged his bicep.

“For making me propose.” She wore a devilish grin.

“Think how much our kids and grandkids are going to love hearing the tale of how you proposed.” He caught her fisted hand before she landed another punch. “A month?”

She crossed her eyes and then blew out a long sigh. “A month.”

* * * *

The clanging of Notre Dames bells yanked him out of a deep sleep. Cursing, Joe reached for the phone and realized it was the doorbell. The digital clock readout said ten. Frick.

He glanced at Susie, who gave him one of her cute snortles and eased off the mattress. Grabbing a pair of sweats from the hook in the bathroom, he sauntered out of the bedroom and donned the pants before heading to the front door.

Joe checked the peephole and opened up. “What’s up, Sam?”

“You’ve been busy.” Sam O’Reilly’s weariness showed in his mussed curls and reddened eyes.

“Some. Come in. Coffee?”

“Sure. Your nocturnal activities have attracted the attention of every single branch of law enforcement. The feds took over the Arnolds’ case last night.”

“Yeah? It wasn’t the fact that you had them all primed and ready to go that prompted such a speedy response and such definitive action?” Joe slung Sam an over-the-shoulder glance. “Hallie’s finest didn’t object to the Feds?”

They walked to the kitchen.

“Haven’t you heard? We’re all one happy family now.” Sarcasm poured from each word Sam uttered. “Besides, it’s out of their jurisdiction now.”

“Because Jeffrey Arnold operated across state lines?” Joe organized the coffee grinds, the filter, and the water.

“No, Gemma and Carmine Arnold did.”

Joe almost dropped the carafe. He stared at Sam. “Father and daughter? That’s a new one.”

“Let’s hope it’s not the beginning of a trend.” Sam stabbed a hand through his dark hair. “Fucking institutions that won’t work together. Turns out a federal profiler in Alabama had her eyes on the Arnolds for years. No one paid her any attention.”

“Let’s do this in the study.”

When he and Sam were settled in wide armchairs, Joe said, “Hit me.”

“Carmine Arnold ran moonshine actively until he came down with Alzheimer’s approximately six months ago. He had partners in Georgia and Alabama. Our fed profiler began tracking his Alabama cohort, Swampy Sauvé.” Sam paused and gave Joe a hard stare. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Joe explained what he’d learned from Fay Ward.

“Swampy and Carmine both got their jollies from kids. Swampy favored girls, Carmine boys. Early on, Carmine gave Gemma to Swampy.”

“Son of a bitch. That a father could do that to his own kid?” Joe shuddered. “When did they graduate to killing?”

“Not certain of the date yet, but we’re working on it. However it looks like they both used that cave on Hallelujah Mountain.”

“So they hitched up because of geographical convenience. Figures. Sickos.” Disgust soured Joe’s swallow of java.

“Gemma grew out of Swampy’s preferred age group. She lived with her father until she was sixteen, when she met and married an enlisted man from Tyndall Air Force Base. Around that time Swampy’s body was found in a marsh on the coast.”

“Gemma’s first kill.”

“The profiler’s convinced Gemma believed this would wipe the slate clean for her.”

“That’s why the bones on Hallelujah Mountain are so old, and why there were no killings after.” Joe sipped his coffee.

“The vats in the caves in Hallie Forest Preserve that you and the others found date back to the time the killings stopped in Alabama.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Gemma took her husband’s name, Wilson.”

Joe sat up. “The man who owned the house before Terri.”

“Mr. Wilson died shortly after buying and moving into the house. Heart attack’s the official cause. He was in his fifties, overweight, and smoked like the proverbial chimney. There was no reason to suspect it wasn’t a natural death, so there was no autopsy, and he was cremated.”

“Sam, how do you know so much detail? No profiler working from a distance could come up with this much.” Not even one who had once had the highest CIA authority and security clearances like Sam did.

“Gemma kept diaries. We raided the house around midnight, and these are the preliminary findings from a team of speed readers. I’m warning you of all of this because you’re mentioned in the diary in connection with Ritchie Henderson.”

“What the fuck? How could Ritchie and Gemma be connected?”

“Moonshine. Gemma used Dreaming Ground runners for the moonshine deliveries. Ritchie played there. We found proof in a safe in the Arnolds’ house. One of the ransom bags.”

“How’d you identify it?”

“Ritchie’s fingerprints. None of the money’s left, of course. But I wanted you to know there will be a press conference at noon. The news will be released then. Ritchie’s murder will be officially attributed to Gemma Arnold Wilson.”

“Weber’s going to have a hissy fit.”

“Weber tendered his resignation this morning.” O’Reilly grinned.

Joe sloshed the liquid in his mug. “Fuck a duck. This calls for a brandy.”