Connecting Rooms (8 page)

Hawkins squinted at Owen. “Which brings up an interestin’ point. Mind tellin’ me just what you two were doin’ out there behind the library at this hour of the night?”

Amy caught Owen’s eye and held her breath. She could hardly blame him if he told Hawkins the whole story, but a part of her still wanted to protect Arthur Crabshaw.

Owen shrugged. “Amy and I took a walk in the park after the band concert.”

“The park I can understand,” Hawkins said. “But what the hell were you doin’ behind the library buildin’?”

“Looking for privacy,” Owen said smoothly. “We got there just as some meeting
was ending. We went around the corner to avoid the crowd.”

Hawkins gave him a man-to-man look. “You two want privacy, you better leave Villantry. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business here.”

“Is that a fact?” Owen asked politely.

“It’s a fact, all right.”

Owen straightened away from the wall. “Then it shouldn’t take too long to find out who was behind the wheel of that city truck, should it? If and when you do find out who nearly ran us down tonight you can reach us at the Villantry Inn.”

Hawkins glowered at him. “I know where you’re stayin’.”

Owen smiled coldly. “Right. This is a small town. You know everything.”

“Yep. I also know you two got connectin’ rooms at the Villantry Inn. Try usin’ them next time, instead of takin’ a walk in the park.”

•  •  •

“What a rude man,” Amy said as they walked into the Inn lobby a short while later.

“Hawkins is a cop,” Owen said with a surprisingly philosophical air. “Rudeness is a job requirement.”

“I fail to see why.”

“You wouldn’t if you ever took a job as a cop.”

The front desk clerk, a thin young man with thick glasses, smiled tentatively at Owen. “Mr. Sweet, there’s a message for you. From Arthur Crabshaw. He wants you to call him.”

“Thanks.” Owen paused at the front desk to collect the slip of paper.

Amy was aware of the tension in his hand as he guided her toward the stairs. She
said nothing as they walked up the one flight to their rooms. When they started down the hall, she slanted a questioning glance at Owen’s set face.

“What is it?”

“I won’t know for sure until I return Crabshaw’s call. But I can make a guess.”

“Oh, my God, you don’t think—”

“Shush.” Owen opened the door of her room and ushered her inside.

Amy turned, expecting him to go next door to his own room. Instead, he stepped through her door and closed it behind him. She raised her brows.

Owen smiled faintly as he switched on a light. “No point being coy, is there? We’re supposed to be engaged. Hell, even the local chief of police knows we’ve got connecting rooms.”

Amy flushed. “Yes, I know, but—”

“When you go undercover, you’ve got to make it look real or it won’t work.”

“I keep forgetting you’re the professional here,” Amy muttered.

“I’ve noticed.” He went to the table, picked up the phone, and dialed the number on the slip of paper.

“Arthur? This is Owen Sweet. Yeah, I got your message. What’s up?” Owen fell silent, listening for a moment. “I hear you. Calm down.”

Amy watched anxiously.

“Right. Tomorrow night,” Owen said. “Just as I thought. Follow instructions exactly. We’re going to nail the bastard this time. I’m not in the mood to give him any more rope. He just tried to run us down. No, I’m not joking. Amy could have been killed.” Owen paused. “Yes, I’m sure it was him. A kid? That’s what Amy thinks, too, but I’m not a great believer in coincidences.”

Amy waited until he had hung up the phone. “Another blackmail note?”

Owen nodded. “Arthur says it arrived earlier this evening. He’s to leave the money in the library restroom tomorrow night.”

“Just as you suspected.” Amy was impressed. “But why would the blackmailer use the same location over and over again?”

“He probably can’t think of a safer place. The restroom is still the one spot where any man in town can be seen with no questions asked. And as I told you, it will be busier than usual tomorrow night because of the crowd.”

Amy nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. “If the blackmailer suspects that you know about the payoffs, he’ll be nervous when he sees you at the dedication ceremonies tomorrow evening.”

“Not necessarily. He realizes that although he knows who I am, I don’t know who he is. He can go in and out of the men’s room just as freely as I or any other man in the crowd can. But he won’t take any chances this time. He’ll make it a point to get in there right after Crabshaw. He won’t know that I know about the drop-off. He’ll think it’s safe to go in as soon as he can.”

“Before you have a chance to grab the money?”

“Right.”

•  •  •

Amy listened to the silence from the adjoining room for a long time before she couldn’t stand it any longer. She could almost hear Owen’s brain grinding away in solitude.

It struck her that he had probably spent a lot of his life alone. The very nature of his chosen profession indicated that he was accustomed to relying solely on
himself. There was a core of strength in Owen Sweet that rarely developed in those who relied on other people.

He possessed an old-fashioned, Wild West sort of character, she thought. He was the kind of man who, a century earlier, would have ridden into town alone, cleaned out the bad guys, and then left without a backward glance.

She pushed aside the covers, got out of bed, and padded to the closed door that linked the two rooms. She put her ear against the wooden panel and listened. Still no sound. But she was certain that he was not asleep.

She knocked once, very softly. Owen opened the door immediately.

Almost as if he had been waiting for her.

She smiled tremulously up at him. “You’re not in bed.”

“I’m thinking.”

“I know.” She shivered. “I can’t sleep, either. I keep seeing those headlights coming straight toward us.”

“Amy.” He drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

Amy felt something inside her begin to relax. She rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“For what?”

“For getting you into this mess. I swear, I never had any idea that this would get so complicated.”

He framed her face in his powerful hands. His eyes gleamed in the shadows. “You don’t have a clue just how complicated things have gotten, do you?”

Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers.

His kiss was different this time. Instead of reckless eagerness and hot passion,
there was gentleness and a tender warmth. Amy gave herself up to the sweet persuasion without a single qualm.

“Amy?” His voice was ragged but under control.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Thank God.” Owen whispered against her throat. “I thought I was going to go crazy.”

He picked her up and carried her through the doorway into his room, then set her down amid the turned-back sheets of his bed. She looked up at him with dawning wonder as he stripped off his shirt and jeans.

She loved him.

The realization came with quiet certainty, not as a bolt out of the blue. Amy knew that she had recognized the truth deep inside weeks ago. She reached up to take him into her arms.

Owen came to her then.

His body was heavy with desire. Amy felt him shudder at her touch. His hands trembled slightly as he eased aside her quilted robe.

“I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life,” he said against her mouth.

He kissed her throat as he undressed her. And then he lowered his mouth to her breasts. Heat flooded Amy’s body. Owen’s hand slid upward along her leg, squeezing gently. His fingers moved to the inside of her thigh. Amy gasped.

Owen covered her mouth once more, drinking in the small sound she made. He cupped her softness and then probed, opening her to his intimate touch. She gave another muffled cry and clutched at his shoulders. A frantic sense of urgency stormed through her.

Owen continued the tender torment, stoking the flames within Amy until she could not stand it any longer. She twisted on the sheets.

“Owen, please.” She parted her legs and fought to pull him to her. “Please.”

“I think I’ve been waiting for this forever.” Owen leaned across Amy to open a drawer in the bedside table.

The movement brought his broad, strong chest directly over Amy’s face. She kissed one flat, male nipple and ran her fingers through the curling hair that surrounded it. Then she reached down between their damp bodies to stroke him. It was like touching warm steel. Owen was utterly rigid with his need. Hard and hot and throbbing. When her fingertips moved on him he shuddered. Amy’s body responded with another tidal wave of heat.

A moment later Owen was ready. He moved between her thighs, braced himself on his elbows, and looked down at her with burning eyes. He held her gaze as he pushed slowly, carefully, deliberately into her. Amy drew in a sharp breath as her small muscles stretched to accommodate him.

And then he was inside, filling her completely.

“Amy.”
There was a world of wonder and need in the single word.

Owen began to move. Amy took flight. Mindlessly, she gave herself up to the delicious, spiraling tension. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard her own voice calling Owen’s name over and over again.

And then, without warning, her climax exploded in a series of rippling vibrations that sent pleasure to every nerve in her body. Amy was breathless. All she could do was cling to Owen as the world whirled around her.

She was vaguely aware of his fierce, hoarse shout of masculine satisfaction. He
surged into her one last time. She felt every muscle in him tighten.

After a long, long moment, Owen shuddered and collapsed along the length of her. Together they drifted in the darkness, locked in each other’s arms.

•  •  •

A long while later, she stirred beside Owen. She stretched languidly, aware of a sense of joyous satisfaction. Before she could even begin to savor her newfound love, a thought struck her. She sat bolt upright in bed.

“Good grief. Owen.”

“What’s the matter?” Owen sounded like a sleepy lion that had recently been very well fed.

“I just thought of something.” She turned to look down at him. “If you’re right in thinking that it was the blackmailer who tried to run us down tonight, then that means that it was a . . . what do you call it?”

“A crime of opportunity?”

“Right, exactly. A crime of opportunity. After all, he couldn’t have known we’d be walking behind the library at that hour. He must have followed us.”

“Maybe.” Owen sounded unconvinced.

“You think there’s another possibility?”

“Amy, there are lots of possibilities. It could have been one of the people who attended that meeting in the library tonight or someone who was wandering around in the park after the band concert. Whoever it was, he saw us and recognized us, in spite of the fact that we were wrapped up in each other’s arms.”

“No great trick, I suppose, when you think about it. This is a town in which everyone knows everyone else. We must stand out like sore thumbs, even in the dark.”

“Yeah.”

Amy had a sudden vision of Madeline Villantry’s son. She recalled his comment as he had walked past Amy and Owen. “You don’t think Raymond Junior is behind this, do you? I think he might have recognized us tonight.”

“We’ll find out tomorrow night.” Owen tugged her down on top of him. “In the meantime. I’ve got better things to do.”

She smiled demurely. “I suppose you want to get some sleep.”

“Hell, no. Us private eyes can go for days without a good night’s sleep. It’s in the genes.”

“. . . And so I am proud to dedicate the new wing of the Raymond C. Villantry Memorial Public Library.” Madeline Villantry’s cultured tones rang out from the speaker’s podium that had been set up in the center of the library. “We should all be proud of our community’s commitment to literacy. A free nation cannot exist without such a commitment. I thank you, friends and neighbors. I salute all of you who helped make our fine library what it is today.”

Enthusiastic applause broke out from the large crowd gathered in the library. Madeline Villantry smiled graciously from the lectern.

Owen leaned toward Amy, who was standing next to him in the throng. “You get the feeling she really means all that talk about progress and literacy?”

“Yes, I do,” Amy said resolutely. “I know she looks like she’s trying out for the role of Queen of Villantry, but Aunt Bernice and Arthur believe that Madeline is honestly committed to this town’s welfare. I think they’re right.”

“Maybe. But I’m not so sure about Raymond Junior over there. I have a hunch he’s not the altruistic sort.”

“I won’t argue that point.” Amy scrutinized Raymond, who was following his mother down from the small speaker’s stand. “But who knows? Maybe he’ll learn.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Owen stopped clapping. He kept his eyes on the door of the men’s room as the crowd broke up and began to mill around.

Amy stood on tiptoe in an effort to see over the heads of the people swarming in front of her. “What’s happening?”

“Crabshaw went inside the men’s room a few minutes ago. He just came back out. Now he’s headed outside to join your aunt at the punch table.”

“Darn, I can’t see a thing.”

“I can,” Owen assured her.

There had been a light but steady stream of males coming and going through the swinging men’s room door during the past hour. Tredgett, the janitor, had been busy as he made a heroic effort to keep up with the demands that had been placed upon the facilities. As Owen watched. Tredgett emerged from the women’s room, removed the small sign he had temporarily placed in the doorway, and wheeled his bucket and mop next door to the men’s room.

Raymond Junior followed the janitor inside.

Amy peered at Owen. “So? What do you see?”

“Someone who’s bent on cleaning up,” Owen said softly.

“What the heck does that mean?”

“It means that this case is almost concluded.” He gave her a repressive look, aware that he had to be forceful and authoritative if he wanted Amy to follow orders. She didn’t seem to take them any better than he did. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”