Film Strip (18 page)

“That's not true, Sierra, and you know it.” Nailor pulled away and my heart sank.

“Then what is true? What is with this here?” I said, gesturing to the two of us and the bedroom.

“Sierra, have you ever thought that I want to be able to take care of you every once in a while?” I started to argue, but he put his fingers to my lips. “Not all the time. I'm in no way saying I think you're helpless or stupid or incapable of holding your own. I'm just saying that this is a very dangerous situation. Someone has threatened you. I hear what you're saying, but you have to trust me to take what you give me and use it my way.”

For a moment I was speechless. No, I had never once stopped to think that Nailor would want to take care of me. I'd gone right past that. People didn't take care of Sierra Lavotini. That was my job.

He read me. “Is it so inconceivable that I would care about you, Sierra?” He reached up and brushed a lone curl away from my cheek. “Is it so hard for you to trust me?”

It felt as if every wall, every defense I had was suddenly being stripped away, and I was vulnerable before him. To further complicate matters, tears began rolling down my cheeks, betraying me.

“Don't cry, honey,” he said, and pulled me into his arms. “It's all right.”

There was so much I wanted to say, and yet I couldn't make the words come out. I didn't dare do that. What was I going to do? Tell him about Tony? About how he'd hurt me and left me so dead inside I could hardly breathe? Was I supposed to tell him about all the bad choices I'd made or the people who'd hurt me in the name of getting their own needs met? I didn't think so. And I certainly wasn't going to tell him there were times I just wanted someone to hold me, just like he was holding me now. No, Sierra Lavotini was not in any way spineless and weak.

Instead I let him hold me. I let whatever doubts I had about him fade into the background. I lingered on the edge of diving in, still reluctant to swim in what could only end up becoming dangerous waters.

But Nailor must've sensed all of this. His touch never changed. He never stopped caressing me and holding me close to him. He didn't back away, but he wasn't going to push himself on me. If anything happened between us, it would have to be my move, and perhaps that's what made it all right.

I pushed back and looked up at him, our eyes meeting and holding there, the questions asked and answered without a word being spoken. There was something there, something that I just didn't want to fight any longer; and so I smiled and the Sierra he knew returned.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Okay, what, Sierra?” He was going to make me say the words out loud.

I reached up and touched his cheek, my fingers trailing slowly down his neck. “Okay, so maybe you don't think I'm stupid. And maybe you were trying to look out for me.”

“Maybe?” He smiled.

“Yeah, maybe.” I leaned forward and kissed him, my lips brushing his softly. “But I'm at a disadvantage here,” I murmured.

“How do you see that?” He looked around the room, then at me sitting there with the sheet bunched around my waist. “We're in your bedroom, on your turf, and you're calling the shots.”

“I'm at a disadvantage because you're dressed. Look at you. You're in my bedroom wearing a suit, and I'm completely naked.”

“Completely?” He reached over and slowly drew back the sheet. He whistled soft and low. “Well, so you are.”

“My point exactly,” I said. “Stand up.”

He rose slowly from the edge of the bed and stood in front of me. I smiled and moved my pillows back against the headboard. It was show time.

“Unbutton your shirt,” I whispered.

His eyebrow went up and he smiled. He reached for the top button and very slowly started to undo his shirt. His eyes never left mine. The shirt fell open, revealing his broad, muscular, tanned chest. I felt my stomach flip over and my heart begin to pound against my rib cage. He unbuttoned his cuffs and slipped the shirt off.

“Unbuckle your pants,” I said.

He stepped out of his loafers and began to undo his pants. They fell to the floor, carried by the heavy buckle on his belt. He stood there, wearing dark gray boxers, obviously very happy to see me.

“All right,” I said, “come here.”

Nailor laughed softly. “Oh, Sierra,” he said. “What's this? You turning shy on me? You don't want it all off?”

The tables had turned. He'd read me again. His eyes burned into mine and he slipped his fingers under his waistband. With one fluid movement he pushed his boxers to the floor, stepping out of them and standing before me. Oh God! I looked at him, really looked at him, and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said.

I was not going to look away. I was not going to give him the satisfaction. I couldn't possibly … and on the other hand, I couldn't possibly
not.…

He took a step closer toward the bed and instinctively I moved back, suddenly uncertain. He sat down beside me, stretched out one hand and ran it down the length of my side. This could be a good thing, I thought, a very good thing.

I moved away from the pillows to reach for him. “Come here,” I said. I ran my hand across his chest. “Kevlar implants, or is that the real deal?” I asked.

He laughed, and pulled me halfway onto his chest. “Guess you'll have to find out for yourself,” he said. But I couldn't think. He moved, rolling me over onto my back and poising himself above me, his tongue flicking across my nipples, moving from one breast to the other.

Stop that!
I thought. But thank God he wasn't reading my mind. His tongue made its way slowly across my belly, moving down my body like a Geiger counter homing in on the mother lode. And then he was there. My back arched, my hands gripped his hair, and I lost touch with reality. Oh God, I couldn't remember ever feeling like that. I moaned softly and he chuckled but didn't stop. I could feel my body heating up.

“Please! Now! I want you inside me! Now!”

Nailor chuckled again but paid no attention to me. Instead he slowed down, which only made matters worse. I moaned and pushed up against him. Then he stopped! He pulled back and looked up at me. The bastard was smiling, enjoying prolonging my agony.

“What are you doing?” I reached for him, tried to pull him up on top of me, but he was going nowhere. I was so close!

He kept his eyes locked with mine, but his fingers took over, slipping inside me, moving everywhere, slowly building me to a point where I felt the rest of my reality slipping away. I was going to lose it. I was going to explode while he watched.

“Please,” I whispered. But I was hatching a little plan of my own. He shifted sideways and I slipped out from under him, using one of his own close-quarter combat moves to take him off guard. He landed on his back with a soft thud and this time I was on top.

“Well, how do you like that?” I said. “Looks like I'm in the catbird seat now.”

“Oh, yeah?” He reached up and pulled my breast into his mouth. For a moment I froze, then slipped out of reach, sliding down across his chest, reaching out for a little taste test of my own.

He groaned as my tongue found the little line of pleasure just behind the tip of his shaft. I began getting better acquainted and Nailor stiffened. Gotcha, I thought to myself.

“Sierra,” he moaned softly, “stop.”

I lifted my head and let my fingers do the talking.

“No!” He pulled me up to him and slipped his fingers in between my legs. “No!” he whispered, as he rolled me over, “it goes like
this.…
”

Oh, yes!
I thought as he moved in between my legs.
It goes exactly like that.

Twenty-four

The sun was streaming through the trailer windows when I awoke and someone was yelling my name. From the sound of it, the person was inside the house and moving closer. For one split second, I nestled closer to Nailor, feeling his hot body wrapped around mine, but then I sprang fully awake. Francis! My big brother was in the trailer and moving at a rapid clip toward the door of my bedroom.

“Hey!” I called out. “I'm coming! Go make coffee!”

The footsteps stopped. “That freakin' figures, Sierra! I drive twenty hours, with only two short stops, and you're busting my balls for coffee!”

But he was moving back down the hallway, heading for the kitchen. Nailor was awake, lying there and looking at me. He didn't seem at all concerned about the other man in my trailer. No, his look was more like that of a man with unfinished business. When he pressed up against me, he left no doubt about what was on his mind.

“That's my brother,” I said. Nailor showed no signs of backing down. “My big brother, Francis.”

I wanted to jump out of bed, but Nailor's fingers were doing the most interesting things. I moaned and rolled back toward him, biting the edge of his shoulder softly.

“Oh God! No! I've got to get up.”

I pushed him away and sprang out of bed. This was all I needed, my big brother and Nailor, face-to-face. Who knew how that would go? Francis already didn't like me dancing. He had a set of rules for himself and a set of rules for me, and they were very different, and they probably didn't include having Nailor in my bed.

I pulled on my purple terry robe and sprinted down the hallway, stopping just short of the living room to run my fingers through my hair and compose myself before I walked into the kitchen.

Francis was pouring the water into the coffeepot, his back to me, when I stepped up behind him.

“Hey, bro,” I said.

Francis turned around, scowling. He looked like a Marine, ramrod-stiff posture, black hair clipped close to his head in an almost buzz cut. He looked like a larger version of Pa, handsome, black-eyed, and not an ounce of fat on his well-muscled, fireman body.

“Hey yourself!” he said. He didn't hug me like he usually did. Instead he looked behind me, his eyes wandering from the floor where my heels lay to the counter where my black sheath lay tossed like an afterthought.

“Must've been a wild night,” he said, his voice tight with displeasure.

“It was,” I said, “but not at all in the way you think.”

He looked at me. “Really? 'Cause I think you should look in the mirror before you go saying that. Your eyes have black circles from where you didn't take your mascara off. Your lips are all swollen. And your hair looks like you sat out in a windstorm.”

I might've had a shot at convincing Francis that I was not the lascivious wild woman that he just knew me to be, but at that moment Fluffy and Nailor strolled into the kitchen. Nailor grinned at me like we shared some kind of secret and Fluffy broke wind. Not at all the impression I was trying to create.

“'Morning,” Nailor said, extending his hand to Francis. “Welcome to Florida.”

Francis stared at the outstretched hand, then up at Nailor, who smiled genuinely and looked my brother right in the eye. There was one awkward moment where Francis sized up Nailor and then shook his hand.

“Francis Lavotini,” he said. “Sierra's brother.”

I was watching a tribal rite. It couldn't have been clearer had there been drums, headdresses, and a campfire.

“I'll have coffee ready in a minute,” I said, supremely wishing I had a faster coffeemaker. Moments such as this were meant to be endured only when one has had enough caffeine to function. I was sorely in need.

“Babe,” Nailor said, enjoying the new familiarity, “can you make mine to go?”

Babe? Did I look like somebody you'd call babe? Oh, I think not.

“Sure,” I said, and smiled. I wasn't giving Francis any ammunition.

Nailor reached for the wall phone and dialed a number. He waited, grunted a series of commands, and finally seemed to reach a human voice.

“Whatc'hu got?” he asked. There was a long pause, more grunting, and a large frown. Nailor nodded and began barking orders. “Serve the warrant at the apartment. Now.” He heard something he didn't like. “What? When was that?” His frown grew deeper and I noticed that he had Francis's undivided attention.

“All right, then. They're idiots and I'll deal with them later. For now, issue a BOLO. Go to the Tiffany. Post a guy there. Page me when you have her. Oh, and send a uniform to pick me up. I'm at the Lively Oaks Trailer Park, lot thirty-eight.” He hung up and turned around. The man who had made love to me was gone. The cop was all the way back.

“Would you excuse us for a minute?” he said to Francis.

Francis didn't like that one bit, but he walked into the living room anyway. Nailor waited until he was out of earshot and then turned to me.

“I don't want to tell you this, because it's going to cause problems, but I figure you'd rather hear it from me. I've issued a warrant for Marla's arrest. We recovered the gun used in last night's shooting. The initial ballistics report matches it to all three murders.” He was watching my reaction, hitting me with fact after fact. “The gun is registered to Marla and we recovered one of her prints from the barrel. Honey, I'm sorry.”

I went numb. If this was true, the Tiffany Gentleman's Club was sunk. It also meant I was a seriously bad judge of character.

“Well, just because it's her gun—”

He interrupted. “We had someone watching her condo. Somehow during the night, she gave them the slip. She doesn't have an alibi for the time of this murder either. She's it, Sierra.” His tone of voice said, “end of story,” but I couldn't let it go.

“I stand by what I said before: Marla's no murderer. You're looking right past Barboni and the protection-money angle. This has something to do with all of that, I know it does.” I wasn't going into it with Francis possibly listening. It wouldn't have served a purpose anyway. Nailor's mind was made up, and I'd have to prove him wrong. “So what's next?”