Criminal Intent (MIRA) (24 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She picked up a second piece of wood, examined it closely, and began nailing it to the first one.

“Annie? What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m rebuilding this ugly thing.” She missed the nail, instead putting a neat, hammer-shaped hole in the drywall. “God
damn
it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Can’t a woman do a little redecorating without being dragged through the Spanish Inquisition?” She whacked again with the hammer, this time hitting the nail squarely and driving it deep into the soft pine.

He pulled away from the counter and made his way cautiously across the room. She raised the hammer high in the air above her head, and he ducked. In that instant of hesitation when it quivered in the air, poised for the imminent downstroke, he caught her forearm in an iron grip.

“Annie,” he said softly, “put the goddamn hammer down.”

For an instant, he thought she’d fight him. Then he felt her weaken. Her grip on the hammer loosened and he peeled it out of her hand, disarming her. He set the hammer on the work bench
and rested his hands on her quaking shoulders. “Want to talk about it?” he said.

Silence. But her shoulders continued to quake. Could it be possible that she was crying? This woman who seemed as tough as the nails she was driving? “Annie?” he said.

“I am so…damn tired…of this.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about, but her tone, weary and defeated, cut him to the bone. “Tired of what?” he asked with a tenderness that nibbled with little sharp teeth at his comfort level.

“I can’t have a relationship with you,” she said to the wall. “Or with any other man, for that matter. I have…issues. Huge issues. Insurmountable issues. I can’t live my life like a normal woman. It’s so unfair.”

Because he didn’t understand what she meant, he didn’t respond, just made circular stroking motions against her shoulders with his thumbs.

“I can drive a nail as well as any man.” The words were defiant, but he could hear the tears building up behind them.

“Sure you can,” he said. “I’ve been watching. You have a witness. I’ll testify in court if you need me to.”

A single sob broke through, and he turned her by the shoulders. “I don’t even know my daughter anymore,” she said. “She looks like something out of the
Rocky Horror Picture Show.
That idiot Gaudette can’t even be bothered to pick up the damn radiator. Doesn’t he have somebody he can send after it? And the fax machine ate my papers. You can’t even trust a piece of office machinery to work right any more. And no matter how many layers of paint I put over it, that damn word just keeps coming back to haunt me.” She squared her shoulders and sniffed. “Estelle didn’t come to work today. Boomer made her stay home and clean house. What was I supposed to do, Hunter? Insist that she come in anyway? Damn it! Have you ever tried to alphabetize five thousand movies all at once? All by yourself?”

“Uh…no,” he
said carefully. “Bad day, hunh?”

“The worst.” Those blue eyes, huge with unshed tears, ate a hole right through his heart. “Damn it, Hunter,” she said. “Why didn’t you call?”

He thought of all the possible responses he might come up with and rejected every one. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, not really knowing what he was apologizing for, but understanding that at this particular instant, he was exclusively to blame for everything from global warming to the birth of hip-hop. Her tears spilled over, and Davy folded her into his arms and held her as she sobbed wildly and inexplicably against his shoulder. He stroked her hair with the palm of his hand, but didn’t bother to offer soothing words, just the comfort of his warmth and solidity. It was safer this way. He probably wouldn’t come up with the right words anyway.

He buried his face in her hair and drew in the sweet scent of woman. Perfume? Shampoo? Whatever it was, it smelled a hell of a lot better than
eau de
goat, and had a direct and immediate effect on his libido. That was great. Here she was, crying in his arms as though her heart were breaking, while he stood here sniffing her hair and getting horny. It was a nasty little trick that Mother Nature had perpetrated upon the male of the species because she was a woman and wanted revenge on men for their superior physical strength and difficulty in maintaining monogamy.

She finally stopped shaking, and her crying had subsided to an occasional hiccup. “I feel like an ass,” she said, snuffling like a pig rooting for truffles. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into me.”

“Stress,” he said. “Believe me, I know all about it.”

She turned her face up to his, and her poignant expression tugged at something inside him, something only peripherally connected to his libido. Gently, he kissed the wet track of a tear from her cheek. He intended to stop there, but she shuddered
and exhaled a fluttery, warm breath, and he couldn’t help nibbling at the corner of her bottom lip. She tasted so damn good. He pressed his tongue to her lip, traced its outline. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to his.

Instant hard-on. Was this the real reason he’d come here? Not sure he cared, Davy drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. She moaned softly, and needles of anticipation danced in his belly. This wasn’t good. It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and Dixie was probably starting to wonder where the hell he’d disappeared to. He needed to get back to work before she sent out a search party. Anybody who went looking for him wouldn’t have much trouble finding him. His car was parked out front, big as life, with the Serenity Police logo on the door.

“Aren’t you…supposed to be…on duty?”

“It’s a temporary position.” With his tongue, he traced a path down the long, silken column of her neck. “What are they gonna do, fire me?” He unbuttoned her shirt, his mouth following the path laid out by his fingers, and she shuddered as he neared her breasts. He wanted to get his hands on them again, wanted to take them in his mouth and suck on them until she wept with pleasure. She’d nearly gone ballistic when he did it before.

“This behavior,” she said breathlessly, “is…unbecoming to a…police officer.”

“Good thing I turn into a pumpkin in seven weeks. How long before your daughter comes home?”

“At least an hour. Maybe longer. I’m still mad at you, Hunter.”

Through the sheer lace of her bra, her nipple, rock-hard and flushed, was clearly visible. “I can tell,” he said, and closed his mouth over it.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Stop. Please.” But her hands at the back of his head urged him to continue.

He
paused to slide the strap to her brassiere down her arm. Carefully, so he wouldn’t tear the exquisitely delicate and undoubtedly expensive lingerie, he lifted her breast free. It was round and firm and high. Not too small, not too large. Perfect. Her skin was pale, revealing a road map of blue veins beneath. He touched his tongue to her bare skin, and the arms around his neck tightened. Pleased by her response, he lay his tongue flat against that sensitive peak. She gasped, and he circled it with his tongue, then drew it deeply into his mouth.

She went limp against him, her hands cradling his face against her. “Davy,” she gasped. “We can’t do this.”

He gently scraped his teeth against her skin, and heard her sharp intake of breath. “You’re giving me mixed signals,” he said against her skin. “Make up your mind, for Christ’s sake.”

“We can’t do it
here,
idiot. We’re on display. Come on.”

Oh, shit.
He was thinking with his dick, instead of his brain. She took his hand and led him through the back door toward the stairs. But instead of going upstairs, she turned left into a small bathroom. He followed her in and closed the door. The place wasn’t much bigger than a coat closet. “Lock it,” she said, dropping her shirt to the floor. Reaching behind her, she unclasped the bra and dropped that, too, while he just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of all that soft, white skin. “I don’t care if you leave your clothes on,” she said, skimming her Tommy Hilfigers down over her hips, “but do you think you could at least take the gun off first?”

Reality caught up to him, and he quickly divested himself of the shoulder holster, the goat-scented shirt. He kicked off his shoes and socks, stepped out of his pants, and reached for her. She flowed into him, all that soft, naked skin warm and damp and sticky against his. He kissed her, a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss, their tongues tangling, driving him near the point of madness. Reaching down between them, he slipped his hand between her thighs and slid two fingers into all that moist heat.

She
cried out, squirmed and wiggled and gasped as he stroked that most sensitive part of her with a liquid, featherlight touch. Christ Almighty, she was hot. Slick and hot and ready, almost as ready as he was. He took a quick glance around the room. There weren’t many options. Backing toward the john, he sat on the seat cover and leaned back against the tank. It wasn’t exactly a romantic position, but at this point, they were so far beyond romance that if they’d been in the middle of Times Square, they probably would have done it right there on the sidewalk. Annie braced herself against his shoulders and straddled his hips, and he pulled her down onto his lap, sinking deep inside hot, wet woman.

It was the wildest ride he’d ever taken, this daytime quickie with Ms. Annie Kendall at 2:45 on a Monday afternoon astride the john in the restroom out back of the Twilight Video. He’d never known a woman so combustible. She slithered and bucked and wriggled, gasped and moaned and uttered incredible sounds he couldn’t even identify, threw her head back and rode him hard, all the while giving him a bird’s-eye view of breasts like plump little apples, so luscious he could have eaten them. Come to think of it, he’d already given them a nibble or two, hadn’t he? This little slice of afternoon delight was strictly her deal. All he could do was lean back against the toilet tank, let her take the lead, and hold on tight for the ride.

It was over too soon. Still shuddering from the aftershocks of a blistering climax, she rested her cheek against his bare shoulder and said weakly, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Still deep inside her, still lost to the tiny thrills that came with each ongoing spasm of her body around him, he buried a hand in her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said tenderly.

“Why is it that every time we make love, you apologize afterward? It doesn’t do much for my ego.”

He pressed his face to her hair. “Christ, Annie, you’re a hard
woman to understand. But I can’t seem to stay away from you.” It was more of an admission than he was comfortable making, but it was the truth. And he suspected it meant he was in trouble.

“I know. Every time I swear to God I won’t even look at you again, you walk into the room and the next thing I know, we’re both naked. It’s as though my brain stops functioning whenever you’re around. What is it about you, Hunter?” She seemed honestly bewildered. “This just doesn’t happen to me.”

“Maybe it’s fate.”

He felt, rather than saw, her smile. “Maybe. More likely pheromones. What time is it?”

Davy glanced at the watch that was the only piece of clothing he still wore. “Ten after three.”

“We still have a little longer. This is so nice.”

“Yeah. It is.” It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to admit, that he enjoyed just holding her in his arms, naked skin to naked skin, nearly as much as he enjoyed the blistering-hot sex. He wasn’t ready for this. It was too soon. He hadn’t worked through his grief over Chelsea. He needed closure before he traded one blond-haired obsession for another one. And he hadn’t planned on making that trade. Not now, not ever. It reminded him of that old saying about the road to hell and good intentions. But somehow the decision had been taken out of his hands, steamrolled into a big, fat nothing by lust and something else, something more substantial and enduring. The lust he could handle. It was the something else that was tearing him apart. Like a mugger bent on destruction, it had jumped him while he was looking the other way.

He should have stayed at his desk, should have spent the afternoon shuffling mindless paperwork. He’d gone out to clear his head, and look where it had gotten him. Instead of clarifying things, he’d further muddied up the waters by getting
in deeper, no pun intended. This was his life, damn it. He needed to take back control, before it began running him instead of the other way around.

“Annie?” he said softly. “I need to go. I’ve been gone too long already.”

She raised her head and looked at him. It was back, the hint of accusation in those blue eyes. But she didn’t argue. She was a grown woman, a rational adult, and she knew he had a job to get back to.

When they separated, he felt an overwhelming sense of loss. It scared him more than anything else he’d felt for this woman. While he’d been inside her, he’d been confused, pulled in a number of different directions, unsure which road to take. Now, all he wanted was to be back inside her, and to hell with the rest of the world. It was a scary, dangerous place to be.

Annie found a washcloth on the shelf beneath the sink, and they both took care of business, then rummaged around in the pile of clothing on the floor, locating and handing each other essential items of clothing as they were unearthed. They dressed quickly and silently in the tiny room. As he fumbled with his shoulder harness, she stepped forward and helped him with it, adjusting it to a comfortable position and making sure the strap was pulled snug around him.

“You seem pretty familiar with that thing,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d done this before.”

Her hands hesitated for the briefest of seconds before her eyes, cool and distant, met his. “It’s not exactly rocket science,” she said. “It’s only a gun belt.” She dropped her hands and stepped back, and he felt as though he’d been dismissed.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

“No.”

But he thought he saw the telltale hint of a tear forming at the corner of her eye. Reaching out a hand, he cupped her cheek, brushed
his thumb over it. Drawing her face to his, he touched his mouth to hers with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed. The kiss was featherlight, gentle and sweet, so sweet it shredded his insides into a bloody, unholy pulp. Which was pretty much how he’d been feeling ever since he’d seen her by the side of the road, standing over her dead Volvo.