Devil in the Deadline (11 page)

1
2.

  

Full speed ahead

  

J
oey could've slapped me and shocked me less.

“Who? Why? How?” I tripped over the words, my thoughts firing too fast.

“People know I know you. I'd rather some of them not have that information, but there it is. I do not ‘have you followed,' but I get occasional calls when you're poking your nose into something other people would prefer you keep it out of. Since I'd prefer you keep breathing through it, I'm asking you nicely to back off whatever you think you're doing with Golightly. If your friend is running an investigation, let him run it. You stay away.”

Damn. My brain ran through a long list of other expletives before I managed to make my lips work.

“He's not running anything. He was doing me a favor. But your presence here means I'm onto something.” Something bigger than tax fraud.

Joey's full lips disappeared into a thin white line.

I held his eyes until mine hurt from not blinking.

“No. Comment,” he said finally. “I've tried before to warn you off chasing headlines. This time I'm telling you: if you value your life, stay away.”

“You realize you're just making me more curious.”

“There's that whole saying about curiosity and cats.”

“Lucky for me, I'm a dog person.” I crossed my legs.

He dropped his head back and heaved the biggest sigh I'd ever heard. “You are infuriating sometimes, you know that? Why are you even interested in Golightly? He's way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I got interested in him because I think the Jane Doe from last week ran away from his outfit. But after what I saw this morning, I'm interested in lots of things about him. Where does all that money go? How much of it does the IRS know about? Who goes to his Bible academy, and where do they come from? What kind of stuff do they teach? Why did the Stepford brigade accost me and steal my shoes on the way into the church?”

“Why did what? Your shoes?” Joey raised his head and his brows.

“I stepped through the door and these two women with Easter egg dresses and plastic smiles nabbed me and made me take my heels off before they'd let us into the sanctuary.”

“Why?”

“They said it was an insurance thing. I almost fell down the steps in the freaking flip flops they gave me and I can walk fine in my heels. I don't buy it. That place is gift wrapped in seven-hundred and ninety different kinds of weird.”

“They're unusual.” He folded his arms over his chest, his muscles straining the seams on his azure button-down.

“Did they kill this woman?” He wouldn't tell me, even if he knew. But I had to ask. It's like inquisitive Tourette's.

“I have no idea. Stay far away, Nichelle. I'm serious.”

“You're always serious. And mysterious. But the Richmond PD thinks they're looking for Jack the Ripper, and I think they're looking under the wrong rocks.”

“Why?”

“She told her friends someone might come looking for her. Richmond is the closest ‘get lost in the crowd' big city to Golightly's place unless you want to live on the streets of D.C., and who would choose that? She was afraid to go to church. Oh, and cows. Golightly has cows.”

“So?”

“There was cow's blood. At the murder scene.”

“What? Why?”

I shrugged a how-the-hell-should-I-know.

He drummed his fingers across his thigh. “No other people in Virginia raise cattle?”

“No other churches. That I could find, anyway.”

“So you thought you'd go to church and find a ‘have you seen this girl?' ad in the Sunday Bulletin?”

No, I thought the funky symbol they own the rights to being all over her diary was weird. Still not sharing that, though.

“I went to get a feel for the place. Which Kyle thought was off, too. And I didn't go alone.” I rolled the last bit around my head for a few beats before I said it, knowing Joey didn't like the idea of me doing much of anything with Kyle. But maybe if I could show him I was playing it safe (safer, anyhow), he'd tell me why he knew anything at all about Golightly. Which I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know.

And there was the central problem with our crazy relationship: he was sexy as hell, and so sweet to me. But there was this whole other part of his life I knew very little about. By choice, really. It had been a year. I could've dug up a dossier on him. But part of me didn't want to violate his privacy, and the other part was terrified of what I might find.

“I appreciate that.” Joey's tight smile said he wasn't sure he did. “But that was the dumbest thing you could have done. Don't you remember Waco?”

“Does anyone know any other case file? Unless the reverend is stockpiling guns, Kyle's guys have no bone to pick with him.”

Joey flinched, but kept quiet.

Holy shit.

I studied his face, which he tried to keep stony and blank.

“They're stockpiling guns?”

“No comment.”

Translation: maybe.

My thoughts ran to other reasons Golightly might not want the ATF in his cheap seats. I needed a pen for that list. “Whatever. If they don't want Kyle around, there's something fishy going on. Something no other reporter in the state has a lead on.”

“Why do I bother?” he huffed.

I smiled. His cryptic routine irritated me, but his heart was in the right place. As was his everything else.

“I appreciate the concern,” I said, softening my voice and my face. “But this murder is a big deal. And the air around Golightly's place thrums with shady vibes. I'll be careful. Kyle is interested in this, too.”

“I'm not sure how to take that.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you. He's an old friend.” Every word true.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and studied my face like it held the key to a dead language. I smiled. Sort of. It was hard to avoid squirming under that gaze.

He finally smiled. “Whatever I'm doing here, steering clear doesn't appear to be an option. So I suppose I'll do my best to keep you safe.”

“Starting tonight?” Did I really say that? It sounded like my voice.

That magical smell. I could still breathe it with him leaning in like that. Better than a drug, hand to God.

He grinned. “I have no other plans.”

“Want to hang out a while? Watch a movie? Have some dinner?”

“I'd like that.”

Me, too.

  

Joey knew the characters' names in
Breakfast at Tiffany's
, which I found way more charming than I probably should have. By the time Paul proposed, Joey had leaned back into the corner of the sofa and wrapped an arm around me. My head fit perfectly into the curve of his shoulder. The credits rolled before I knew it, and he squeezed me for a long second. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Utter. Magic.

He cleared his throat. “That was fun.”

I nodded. Happy. Normal. Date-like, even. “Dinner?” I asked.

He followed me to the kitchen, and I wondered how we could be not speaking one day and so cozy the next as I pulled the ingredients for pasta pomodoro from my pantry and fridge. Joey found a bottle of summer red in my wine rack and opened it, pouring two glasses and setting one on the counter for me.

“What can I do?” he asked, laying his cufflinks on the yellow tiled countertop and rolling his sleeves up a bit.

I peeked at him through my lashes as I ran water into a stockpot. He fit so easily into my kitchen. Into my life. It was hard to be annoyed with his disappearing act when I had a feeling I understood his reasoning. Not that I agreed with it. But I got it.

I pointed him to the cutting board and a pile of vegetables. “You want to chop those?”

“Sure.” He slid the board onto the counter next to the sink and picked up a tomato and a serrated knife like he made dinner here every night. “How do you want them cut?”

“Just diced. Not huge.” I shut off the water and put the pot on the back burner, then pulled out a skillet and sprayed it with olive oil.

Eleven kinds of awkward silence ensued. I sipped my wine.

“So, how have you been?” I asked.

He cut his dark eyes to me and grinned. “Frustrated. You?”

“About the same.”

He nodded slowly. “This is so...”

“Complicated?”

“I was shooting more for ‘impossible.' But complicated works.”

I sighed and took the cutting board from him, pushing the veggies into the hot skillet with a wooden spoon and stirring. “Why can't things be easy?” I wasn't even sure who I was talking to.

“Where's the fun in that?” he asked.

I arched an eyebrow. “I can think of some fun to be had with it.”

He chuckled. “Me, too. That's the problem.”

“Why is it a problem?” I pulled off an Oscar-worthy job of sounding like I didn't know.

“Why did I come here today?” He picked up his glass and rolled the wine around in it, then set it down again and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don't want you to get hurt. And if I'm really honest with myself, being close to me could get you hurt. Maybe in more ways than one.” He dropped his chin to his chest.

I laid the spoon on the stovetop and stepped toward him. “My general reply to your concern for my safety is ‘I don't care,'” I said, running one hand up his arm and catching his gaze. “What if I say it again?”

His mouth edged up into the sexy smile that threaded through my better dreams. “Impossible. You are impossible. Believe me, I get it. When I'm here, I don't care, either.” He shook his head. “That's not true. I do, but not enough to go. When I get far enough away from you to get my head clear—that's when I care. I know I'm putting you in danger. And I feel like a selfish jackass for wanting to call you. To kiss you. To be with you.” He whispered the last words as I stretched up on tiptoe to cover his lips with mine.

Damn the pomodoro. (And everything else but Joey's lips—and hands, which were behind me, turning off the stove.)

Full. Speed. Ahead.

  

Years of repressed hormones can do a number on a girl when they all go flying around at once.

To wit: the jangled nerves I got whenever I considered the possibility of this moment were nowhere to be found when it was actually happening.

I ran a light touch over his earlobe with my index finger and smiled at his sharp intake of breath. His mouth seared mine, the kiss equal in pent-up urgency from both sides.

Joey's strong, sure hands slid up and down my back as he dropped tiny kisses across the bridge of my nose and on each eyelid, a soft laugh rumbling through his chest when I reached behind his head to pull his lips back to mine.

This kiss was different: he wound one hand into my hair and cupped my jaw with the other, exploring every millimeter of my mouth with his tongue at window-shopping speed. I worked his tie off, dropping it to the floor and moving my fingers to the buttons on his shirt. He caught both of my hands in one of his and pulled his head back a fraction of an inch, crooking a finger under my chin.

“Where's the fire, Miss Clarke?”

Um, it sure looked like it was in his eyes, pitch-black and smoldering. There are never smelling salts around when you need them.

“You're not serious.” I tried to ratchet my breathing back from chased-by-Freddy-Kreuger to decent-workout, but gave up after three seconds. “We don't have the best track record with this.”

“You're expecting company?”

“I wasn't last time, either.” Huff-huff-pant. “Or the time before that.”

He backed up half a step, pulling me with him, and shot a glance at the door. “It's locked. As long as we leave it that way, we have all,” he kissed my forehead, “the time,” my nose, “in the world.” My lips.

My knees dissolved. He fit one elbow behind my legs, scooping me into his arms, and pressed his forehead to mine.

“You told me a story once about a fantasy that started this way.” He turned for the bedroom.

“I have about a thousand fantasies that start this way.” Wow, my censor switch had flipped clean over to “off.”

“Pick one.” He covered my mouth with his.

Oh. My. God.

I opened my eyes when I felt the soft chill of my down comforter against my back. Joey leaned over me, both elbows locked, triceps standing out under the cotton of his shirt.

“You are so beautiful,” he said with such a serious face I had no reply, save for a nod and a whispered “back at you.”

He smiled, and I pushed the spaghetti strap of my sundress off one shoulder. “You waiting for more of an invitation? Because I'm fresh out of stationery.”

Shaking his head slowly, he lowered himself next to me. My heart threatened to slam right through my ribcage. He smiled, tracing my cheekbone with a feather touch. “I believe this is all the invitation I need.”

And then he kissed me. Everywhere. I never knew a human being could withstand that much electricity and not go into heart failure. Somewhere in there, all the clothes came off, flung to the corners of the room.

Propping himself on one elbow, Joey stared into my eyes like he could see into my heart. Maybe he could. Nothing registered except the heat radiating from his skin, and how badly I wanted him.

“What are we getting ourselves into?” He brushed my hair out of my face. The way the muscles in his shoulders flexed with the simple motion was all it took to speed my breath again.

“Let's figure that out tomorrow.” I pushed myself up and kissed him, pulling him back down with me.

He never broke eye contact.

Fireworks flashed. Bells rang. A choir sang. Maybe just in my head, but I couldn't swear to it.

Lying next to him later, our arms and legs braided easily together, I ran my fingers over his chiseled chest. I wanted to say something, but words—for possibly the first time in my nearly thirty years—failed me.