Justifiable Risk (5 page)

“I’m truly sorry, Constance. I didn’t intend to hurt you.” How many times had she said those same words and sincerely meant them? She tried many times to establish a connection deeper than the flesh, but she was like her father after all. Her profession defined yet limited her. “Forgive me.”

“Will you be in Madrid again—soon, I mean?” The hope in Constance’s voice only added to Eva’s guilt.

“I don’t know. Constance, I realize this isn’t what you wanted. It’s simply all I can manage.”

“What if I come visit?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea. This isn’t a vacation, and I wouldn’t be very good company.”

Silence on the other end cued Eva that Constance didn’t like her answer. “Did you ever love me, Eva?”

Oh, God. How could she possibly answer that question without causing more pain? “We had a wonderful time, but we were together only a short while.”

“Because you left.”

“We’ve been over this, Constance. It’s my job.”

“Bullshit, Eva. It’s your excuse. CNN has been trying for months to get you off the investigative track and into your own show. You like this nomadic lifestyle. It’s an easy out for having a real life, taking responsibility and making a commitment.”

Eva was at a loss. Was the statement false or was it too close to the truth? She stuck to the facts. “Who told you I’d been offered my own show? No one’s supposed to know about that.”

“You’re not the only one with friends around the globe, dear.”

“Constance, I can’t deal with this right now. I’m sorry you’re upset, and I apologize again for hurting you. Give me time to straighten things out here, and we’ll talk more.”

A long sigh preceded Constance’s last comment. “I guess that’s all I’ll get, isn’t it?”

Another round of self-recrimination hit Eva as she disconnected. She stared at the evidence box like it was a serpent waiting to strike. Without her brother, who had been her closest friend and staunchest supporter, she felt helpless and lonely. Tears filled her eyes. Now, in the privacy of this stale environment away from the judgment of others, she allowed the frustrations and disappointments of the day to rise and the tears to fall.

As she cried, she ripped the container open, determined not to let her grief interfere with her mission. The scent of Paul’s cologne spilled from the box and she sobbed. She emptied the box on the bedspread and checked the contents against the inventory receipt: Paul’s BlackBerry, an Italian leather wallet, Rolex Submariner watch, gold St. Francis de Sales medal. But she didn’t find his compact Nikon camera. He usually kept it close for quick shots of the properties he was researching.

Four articles and a slip of useless paper—neither the definition nor the essence of her brother’s life. She held the necklace in her palm and stared at the patron saint of writers and journalists. The face was barely visible, eroded by time and contact. Paul had worn it since early adulthood in honor of their father, and later for her. If her life had been as full as Paul’s, perhaps she wouldn’t be so cynical.

She opened the wallet and thumbed through Paul’s collection of credit cards. Tucked behind two of them were spare camera cards. He liked to be prepared. Opposite the credit cards was a picture of the woman he’d loved since college and, under that, several family photos.
We were never far from his thoughts
. She clutched the necklace to her chest and wept.

When she couldn’t cry any more, she put Paul’s necklace on and placed the other items in her bedside table. Nothing in his belongings indicated what happened to him. Later she would check his BlackBerry, but right now she ached inside and out.

Maybe a shower would flush out some of her pain, her guilt about Constance, and the memories of this unproductive day. Fred Fluharty’s stubborn indifference to her attempts to clear Paul’s name made his death seem even more senseless. How could anyone dismiss her brother so callously? Her father had believed in persevering until he uncovered the entire story. As she turned on the shower, she thought,
I will not fail
.

The stinging cold-water spray shook Fred Fluharty’s mechanical tone and inflexibility from her mind. She recalled his doubts about Paul one final time as she washed them away. Then she adjusted the tap for a warmer flow, determined again to uncover the truth about Paul’s death. No stranger knew her brother better than she did. Even though detectives dissected people’s lives as a career and discovered their flaws, they weren’t always right. She turned up the hot water and waited for the heat to consume her, envisioning Greer Ellis with a surge of sexual desire.

Eva acknowledged the emotional ache that moved from her heart and became a physical throb between her legs. Her roller-coaster emotions over the past four months had elevated her desire for sexual interaction. What was wrong with her? Statistically, sexual activity usually declined during bereavement. Was she trying in some twisted way to honor Paul’s memory by squeezing the vitality out of every second? Or maybe she needed to prove she was still alive and capable of feeling.

But her recent encounters hadn’t salved the wound. Maybe a loss so deep required mind-blowing sex that purged thought completely. But she couldn’t pursue her need for human contact in this small town. She had to stay on point. She brushed her hand across her tender flesh, but masturbation couldn’t appease the impulses coiled in her. She turned the cold water off and stood under the hot stream until her skin burned. When she couldn’t take the pain any longer, she closed the tap and sank to the tiled floor exhausted, as if her life spiraled down the drain too.

Eva had no idea how long she’d crouched in the tiny shower enclosure when she became aware of heavy pounding outside her room. She pulled the terry-cloth robe around her, trudged to the door, and opened it. Greer Ellis stood outside looking roguish in a breast-hugging T-shirt, a bomber jacket, and well-worn leather pants, her thumbs hooked through her belt loops.

“Yes?” Eva asked, confused. Her throat was raw, her eyes burned, and she could barely breathe through her nose. She remembered sliding to the tiled shower floor but nothing else. “I’m sorry. Did I forget an appointment? I have…it’s been—”

“No. I should’ve called. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” The compassion in Greer’s eyes validated her statement.

Eva moved aside and waved her in. “That’s okay. I’m fine.”

Greer scanned the room like a typical cop. “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”

“No, but you don’t owe me an explanation.” Pulling the robe tighter, Eva wiped her face on the sleeve. She didn’t want Greer to see her like this. She couldn’t afford to appear weak when so much was at stake. But she
felt
weak and needy. She shivered from the closeness of a woman who exuded confidence and was so alive with suppressed energy that she seemed to radiate warmth. Eva swayed toward Greer and stumbled forward.

“Are you all right?” Greer’s arms slid around Eva’s waist just before she slumped to the floor. She lifted Eva easily, placed her on the bed, and sat beside her. “What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor? I can—”

The words froze on Greer’s lips and Eva realized that her robe had fallen open. The blue of Greer’s eyes turned midnight, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Something in Greer’s eyes told Eva that this woman could give her what she needed with no regrets and no expectations. Right now she just wanted to find out. She craved the temporary relief that pure sex provided. As the dizziness receded, she reached for Greer.

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have come here.” Greer pulled the edges of Eva’s robe together across her naked body, then skimmed the tender skin at her waist and neckline and held the contact momentarily.

Eva shivered. “It’s just sex. Nothing more.” But
should
she sleep with the only person who could possibly help with her brother’s case? Would sex help or hurt her cause? Torn, she sat up and edged closer to Greer.

“If you weren’t, you know, business—”

“I see.” Eva withdrew, crossing her arms over her aching breasts. “Sorry about the drama. I took a hot shower. I guess it made me light-headed.” Greer was the first woman to refuse her advances in many years. Her ego stung as urgent need pulsed between her legs.

“No problem.” Greer rose and paced near the door like she was afraid to be near Eva. She shoved her hands in her front pockets as if to restrict any further chance of touching.

“Why are you here, Detective?”

“You asked if I would help you. I wanted to give you my answer, in person. You deserve that after all that’s happened.”

At least Greer had the courage to face Eva with her decision. It would have been easier to say and do nothing. “Let me guess. You’re sorry, once again, but the answer is still no.” Eva tried to distinguish the jumble of emotions that churned inside. As if the sexual rejection wasn’t enough, now Greer added another insult.

“JJ did a thorough investigation. And the sergeant reviewed it. We’re a small department, but we’re not amateurs. Besides, I owe them both more than my professional loyalty.”

Eva listened to the commitment in Greer’s words and wished she understood how to earn such devotion. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”

“And sometimes they are.” Greer opened the door. “I know you’re disappointed, but I can’t help you.”

As the door closed behind Greer, Eva fell back on the bed in frustration. This day had been full of emotional highs and lows, and now she felt only disappointment. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed this small-town cop to see her need, even her sexual need. But Eva refused to let her momentary lapse in judgment interfere with her goal. If nobody wanted to help, she would launch her own investigation into Paul’s death. It would be easier if the police cooperated, but she wouldn’t let their stonewalling deter her.

Eva pulled Chief Bryant’s business card out of her purse and made the phone call she had hoped wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps a little nudge from above would produce the cooperation she needed. The chief was cordial and promised he’d handle the situation first thing in the morning. In the meantime, she had one more possible source of information.

Eva powered up Paul’s BlackBerry and searched the recent files for a lead on the property he was researching in New Hope. She retrieved a Listingbook real-estate page from Paul’s favorites, clicked it open, and read the particulars of the warehouse for sale. This had to be the reason Paul had come to town. She scribbled down the address, 247 Lewis Street, and closed the page. Next she checked his calendar and found the same address entered on the day he died. Other than a Google Maps directional file to New Hope, she found nothing else of interest. She turned the BlackBerry off, replaced it in the nightstand drawer, and rolled her aching shoulders.

The relaxation from her earlier shower had evaporated. Her insides hummed with anger at Greer’s refusal to help and the arousal she sparked. She yearned to sleep, long and deep, but she wouldn’t be able to.

She ripped her bathrobe open and slid her hand into the wetness between her legs. At first touch, she gasped aloud. The memory of Greer’s fingers lightly skimming her flesh filled her with heat. Those fingers would be skillful and strong, and she wanted to feel them on her and inside her so badly that the ache echoed through her body. She would have to make do with her own hands until Greer Ellis physically claimed her.

She visualized the two of them naked astride her rumbling Harley, power from the engine and the proximity to Greer pulsing through her clit. The vibrations soaked into her nerves and muscles like a current as Eva rubbed herself faster. She cupped a breast and raked the puckering nipple with her thumbnail, imagining Greer’s teeth scraping across it.

Pressure built inside Eva as she stroked the sides of her rigid clit, and it elongated. Wetness soaked her fingers and the inside of her thighs. She captured the pulsing length of flesh between her fingers and lowered her other hand to her opening. Replaying the feel of Greer’s hand on her again, Eva thrust her fingers inside and wailed with the rush of release that rippled through her. She bucked and quivered until she lay exhausted and drenched.

As the last wave of orgasm subsided, Eva pictured Greer’s deep blue eyes staring down at her full of passion and the promise of much more. This self-flagellation couldn’t compare to the pleasure Greer Ellis would eventually provide, but maybe she could sleep.

*

Greer closed the motel room door and breathed a lungful of brisk autumn air. The coolness chilled her body, too aroused by a single, inadvertent touch. When Eva’s robe fell open, Greer had acted like a shell-shocked teenager. But her olive-skinned body was so damn gorgeous, full yet perfectly toned. She smelled of citrus and something Greer couldn’t distinguish, almost tasty. Her breasts stood erect, darker areolae puckered and waiting like a tempting chocolate treat. The curly patch of pubic hair at the V of Eva’s thighs called to Greer’s basal instincts. Fire pulsed in her veins and she nearly succumbed. But Eva Saldana would want more than she was prepared to give, physically and professionally.

Greer could see in the depths of Eva’s chocolate brown eyes when she reached for her that Eva wanted her. For a moment, Greer had welcomed their interaction. But loyalty to her coworkers and to Clare stopped her, barely. She hadn’t experienced such a strong burst of desire since Clare died. Something about Eva Saldana was dangerous, potentially explosive. The heat and softness of Eva’s skin still burned on her fingertips. She shouldn’t have come here.