Cold Burn (6 page)

"Yeah, Alexandra," I tell her. "You're right. Lisa and I go waaayyy back."

"I knew it. I knew it!" Alexandra yelps. "And will you—"

"Enough, young lady," Lyv says, and the little girl clams up.

Alexandra looks mainly like her mother, but I can see something of Xander Wild in her, somewhere in the shape of the eyes maybe, or just the eyebrows. Oliver doesn't look anything like either of them. He probably takes after a different father. He's quiet, but he doesn't seem to miss a thing.

We have a pleasant meal with the children, who quickly get excused from the table. Oliver's playing with a few cars and a fun-looking miniature garage while Alexandra curls up with a book on the sofa. I'm pretty sure she's not going to read a single word but eavesdrop on our conversation.

Lisa watches me observing Alexandra. "Does she remind you of someone?"

I nod as I remember Lisa doing the same when we were kids. David and I would run off while Lisa hung back then gave us a full report on the tidbits of interesting information she had gathered while listening in on the adults’ conversation.

After serving us a fabulous tiramisu and a very strong Italian coffee, Lyv excuses us, as well. Sounding very motherly, she says, "You kids may go play in Lisa's room now, but don't make too much noise. Mommy will be taking a nap on the sofa."

She does indeed go lie down with her head next to her little girl's lap. Following Lisa across the room, I witness a strange role reversal as Alexandra tenderly smoothes her mother's hair.

Lisa closes the door behind us, and I push her gently against it. Before she can say anything, I frame her face with my hands and cover her lips with mine. As I take possession of her mouth, I feel her melt against me as if her body shifts to mold into mine. Her right hand reaches for my waist, and she pulls my shirt out of my pants as if she’s desperate for our skin to touch. I slide a knee between her legs, and within seconds, she’s riding my thigh. She moans into my mouth, and the sound she makes vibrates all the way to my dick. I'll never get tired of the noises she makes. I let go of her face and slide one hand down the front of her pants. I zero in on the little nub hidden in her wet folds and let her buck against my hand a few times. She catches fire before I have time to slide a finger in her.

She shudders and breaks the kiss to catch her breath. She rests her head on my chest.

"You're good?" I ask.

Her entire body shakes, and I realize she's laughing as if I just asked the funniest question ever.

"Not quite," she says. "I think I still have some room for another desert."

She reverses our positions so that I'm leaning against the door. She fumbles with my belt buckle. My scrambled brain finally registers what she means by desert, and I help reach for it while she drops to her knees in front of me.

I'm not going to last long. I've had fantasies about this, except that in my fantasy, she didn't have one arm in a sling and a bruised shoulder but very available and nimble fingers. I watch her lick her lips and slowly take me into her mouth. Oh fuck… who cares about hands? Her eyes are closed, and when I let out a hiss I see the corner of her mouth rise in a smile. Thank fuck she enjoys doing this because I sure love it. I rest a hand on her head and gently move my hips. I speed up the cadence, and she doesn't balk when I finally burst into her.

She opens her eyes and looks up at me. Turning my question around, she asks, "You're good?"

I help her get to her feet then hold her as tight as I can without hurting her.

"Better than good, baby. Way better than good."

CHAPTER TWELVE

She sits on her bed, and I stand in front of her, readjusting my shirt in my pants. I try to think of a nice way to get the touchy subject of her brother's jacket on the table, but I can't. So I just ask, "Where's David’s jacket?"

Lisa stiffens as if I had just slapped her. "Why?"

I come closer to the bed and crouch in front of her. "Because I don't think you were the victim of a random attack. I think David must have been onto something, and we may find it hidden somewhere in his jacket."

She thinks about it and shakes her head. "I emptied all the pockets before I started wearing it."

"I'm sure you did, baby, but maybe there was a special pocket you haven't seen. Something in the lining…" I look at her, and she doesn't seem to understand what I want.

I stand up and change my tone from cajoling to authoritative. "Where is it, Lisa?"

She lowers her gaze and answers, "In the left side of the closet."

"Thank you, baby," I say, keeping my voice low.

I open the closet, to find it half-filled with men’s clothing, among which I recognize David's jacket. I pull it out of the closet and ask, "Whose clothes are those?"

"Andy's," she answers. "This is his room."

"What do you mean?" My question comes out more aggressively than I would have liked because the idea of her sharing this room with another man is making my temper flare. I lay the jacket on the dresser, to pat it down.

She sighs. "This place belongs to Ten. He's Lyv's husband. Old money, good family. They used to have roommates. There was Xander, Oliver, and Andy… I'll give you the short version. Xander ran away after knocking Lyv up. Oliver—he's a doctor, the one who delivered baby Oliver. He moved out at the end of his residency. The only one that's left is Andy. He's still in and out, depending on the state of his relationship with his girlfriend, and now Ten's moved out, too… I'm praying he'll come to his senses and come back before the baby arrives."

I relax. It's innocent room sharing. They don’t really share the room; she uses it while he’s away. Still, I'll feel better when she'll be back home.

"If Lyv ever gets tired of running the restaurant, she could come down south with us and run the clubhouse," I say. "She sounds like she's got the collective living thing down pat. In the meantime, I want you to come home as soon as you can."

Lisa laughs, and she comes to stand behind me. "I'm not sure how you're being possessive and bossy makes me feel. Sometimes I like it because it shows me that you care, but sometimes it annoys me because it makes me feel as if you don't trust me."

"I do—fuck, what's that?"

In the shoulder padding of the jacket, I feel a thin square object. I slide my fingers in an opening that looks like it's been done with a razor blade or a sharp knife. I can't catch the object.

Lisa pushes me aside to look and touches the contour of the object with the tip of her fingers. "It's a floppy disk." She trails her finger along the sleeve and finds the opening in the lining. She slides two fingers in it and pulls out a cracked disk.

"Looks like it didn't like being dragged on pavement for a block, either," she says as I gently take it from her. She looks at the disk then at me. Her composure has changed completely. "How did you know?" she asks, her tone accusatory.

"I didn't know. I just took an educated guess. There's nothing special about the jacket, so if someone went all that way to try to take it from you, it means there was something in it."

She gives me a suspicious look while I open my wallet and slide the disk into it, making sure I don't damage the magnetic part.

"Oh, come on, Lisa. Give me a break. Even Lyv realized there had to be something in the jacket to make someone want it, and she's not a detective."

Lisa frowns and seems incredulous. "She did? How do you know?"

"Because she asked me this morning if I was coming over to check it out, and I said yes."

"Oh, I see." Looking very deflated, she takes a step to the door. "I guess now that you have what you came for, you'll be on your way."

The flagrant disappointment in her voice makes me cringe.

"Yeah, I've got to get going, but you know it's not like that," I tell her.

She stops and turns around. I can read the hurt in her eyes.

"Prove it to me," she says, and she holds out her hand. "Just leave the disk with me. I'll make sure it gets to the police. I'm certain they have the right equipment to retrieve whatever data was in there even if it was damaged."

I shake my head. "Nope, not going to happen. I have a tech whiz who will do it, and if I come up with any information that can be useful to the police, I will give it to the only police officer I trust."

"And who might that be?" she asks with a sarcastic tone.

"My brother." I put as much conviction in my voice as I can. I want to convey to her how serious I am about this. "I trust him as much as I trusted your brother." She raises her eyebrows, and I realize she doesn't know who my brother is. Tony never allowed my half brother nor my half sister to visit his house. “Ernest Hatcher is my brother."

"Everest is your brother? He's the other son of the head of the Iron Tornadoes? You're kidding me, right?" I shake my head.

Lisa loses it and starts talking to herself out loud. "Everest was in the task force with my brother? It's like asking the fox to guard the henhouse!" She turns around and glares at me. "Then I guess you're right—something's really wrong with the organization of the police. I will never find out who killed my brother."

"Why do you say that?"

Lisa doesn't seem to hear my question. She rests her head against the door. "I can't believe I was so stupid. Oh, I'm such an idiot…"

Before I have the time to take her in my arms and talk some sense into her, she opens the door and rushes into the main room.

"Brian is leaving," she says to Lyv, who gets up from the sofa and asks, "Is it time to hit the road already?"

"Yes, I have to catch up with the rest of my crew," I tell her. "Thank you very much for a delicious lunch, and I hope that one day, you'll come and visit us in Florida."

Lyv's eyes cloud suddenly, and I can't figure out why, but she smiles and says, "It was lovely meeting you, Brian."

Lisa walks me to the door, and when I bend over to kiss her, she turns her head away and says, "It's fine, Brian. You got what you came for, so there's no need to pretend anymore."

I fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder, bring her back to her room, and show her how crazy I am about her. But I really don't have the time that I need to convince her that she should trust me. I'll wait for both of us to cool down before we can talk this out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A knock on my open door makes me raise my eyes from the incomprehensible invoice from our liquor supplier. I look up, happy for the reprieve. Anything that can distract me from the pile of paper that spontaneously grew on my desk while I was on the road is a welcome relief.

My favorite nerd is standing by the door with a smile on his face. He's the brains behind the Friendly Persuasion Agency. He knows his way around electronic circuits like I know my way around an engine, and if one piece of information can be found in a library or in some administrative document, he's the guy to find it.

"Ice, you got a minute?" he asks.

"Sure thing Whiz. Come on in."

He steps in and delicately closes the door behind him. Watching Whiz move around unsettles me, giving me the impression that the film of my life just went in slow motion. He nonchalantly settles himself in one of the two armchairs on the other side of my desk and opens his messenger bag. He looks into it, and he's so slow that I wonder if he remembers what he's searching for.

I restrain the urge to jump over my desk and toss the contents of his bag on the flat surface to help him remember. But rushing our whiz is counterproductive. He has his own agenda and his own rhythm. If anyone makes him skip a step, he has to restart. Those of us who need his expertise have to slow down and adopt his pace if we want to work with him.

There are only two activities during which Whiz acts like a regular guy: when he rides his bike and when he eats. All his other physical activities are carried out at a leisurely pace, even sex. Well, especially sex. He's objectively nothing to look at, but all the subs of The Styx love him. Talking about foreplay with Whiz brings tears to their eyes. They said deferred gratification takes on a totally new meaning with him, and I absolutely believe it.

But I'm not into delayed anything right now. I dropped the disk at his house this morning, and I just can't wait to find out if he was able to read what was on it. If patience is a virtue, then I have to plead guilty of sin. I'm a very moderately virtuous man.

Whiz finally pulls a transparent plastic storage bag from his bag. He opens it and takes out two colored floppy disks. He closes the bag, leaving the broken one that I had given to him inside.

Unable to wait any longer, I ask, "Did you get what was on it?"

"Some of the data was unretrievable."

I roll my eyes at him. "But you were able to read some of it?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely."

I breathe in deeply and wonder if I should prompt him to continue or if he's going to do it spontaneously. I wait, giving him the benefit of the doubt while he meticulously closes his bag. He looks up at me, and I raise my eyebrows in a silent question.

"All the available documents have been copied on those two disks," he says. "And I also took the liberty of keeping one copy on a hard disk in my home. Obviously, said disk encrypted."

"Obviously," I repeat. My amused tone escapes his notice. Some days, I wonder if he's immune to sarcasm.

"Most of the documents are in ClarisWorks. I printed them." He slowly dives into his bag again and comes back with a bunch of stapled sheets, but this time, he multitasks and talks at the same time. "It's a very nice integrated program for Macs. Anyway, there are a few spreadsheets. I studied them, and I have no doubt it totals some sort of income stemming from various contributors and then computes the distribution of such income. The contributors and beneficiaries are identified by initials, and you can see when payments were made and received. However, by itself, this data is useless since you don't know if this is about tricks turned, grams of coke, or church donations."