Mr Perfect (34 page)

A red dress! The bitch wore a red dress. Corin couldn't believe his eyes. That was so shameful, so cheap. He wouldn't have believed it of her, and he was so shocked it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Mother would be horrified.

Women like that didn't deserve to live. None of them did. They were dirty, filthy whores, and he would be doing the world a favor by getting rid of them.

Luna sighed with relief when she finally stepped into her apartment and could lock off her high heels. Her feet were killing her, but looking good for Marci was worth the pain. She would do it all again if she had to, but she was glad she didn't.

Now that the funeral was over, she felt numb, exhausted. The wake had helped immensely; talking about Marci, laughing, crying, had been a catharsis that had allowed her to get through the day. The funeral itself, the ritual, was its own comfort. Her dad had told her that military funerals, with all the pomp and protocol and the precisely orchestrated movements, were a comfort to the families. The rituals said: This person counted. This person was respected. And the services were sort of an emotional marker, a point at which the grieving could honor the dead and yet have a starting place for the rest of their lives. It was funny how they had all connected to Cheryl. It was like having Marci, but different, because Cheryl was definitely her own person. It would be nice to stay in touch with her.

Luna twisted her arms to reach the back zipper of her dress, and had it half unzipped when someone rang her doorbell.

She froze, sudden panic freezing her veins. Oh, my God. He was out there, she knew it. He had followed her home. He knew she was here alone.

She edged toward the phone, as if he could see through the door and know what she was doing. Would he break it down? He had broken into Jaine's house, by knocking out a pane of glass, but was he strong enough to break down a door? She had never even thought to find out if her door was reinforced, or a simple wooden door.

"Luna?" The voice was puzzled, low. "It's Leah. Leah Street. Are you okay?"

"Leah?" she said weakly, relief making her dizzy. She bent over at the waist, breathing deeply to fight off the shakes. "I tried to catch up with you, but you were in too much of a hurry," Leah called.

Yes, she had been. She had been desperate to get home and out of those shoes.

"Just a minute, I was about to change clothes." Why on earth was Leah here? she wondered as she crossed to the door and unchained it. Before she unlocked it, however, she put her eye to the peephole to make certain it was Leah, though she knew she had recognized the voice.

It was Leah, looking sad and tired, and suddenly Luna felt guilty about the way they had laughed at her at the funeral. She couldn't imagine why Leah wanted to talk to her, they had never exchanged more than a few words in passing, but she unlocked the door. "Come in," she invited. "It was miserably hot at the service, wasn't it? Would you like something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please," Leah said. She was carrying a large shoulder bag, and she eased its weight off her shoulder, clutching it in her arms like it was a baby. As Luna turned to go to the kitchen, she noticed how Leah's blond hair glistened in the light. She checked, a tiny frown knitting her brow, and started to turn back. She was too late.

Jaine woke up at ten-thirty Sunday morning. She woke up then only because the phone was ringing. She started to fumble for the receiver, remembered this was Sam's house, and snuggled back into the pillow. So what if it was on her side of the bed? His phone, his responsibility. He stirred beside her, all heat and hardness and musky male scent.

"Get the phone, will you?" he said sleepily. "It's for you," she mumbled.

"How d'you know?"

"It's your phone." She hated having to point out the obvious.

Muttering something under his breath, he heaved himself up on one elbow and leaned over her to reach the phone, squashing her into the mattress. "Yeah," he said. "Donovan."

"Yeah," he said again, after a short pause. "She's here." He dropped the phone onto the pillow in front of her and smirked. "It's Shelley."

She thought a few swear words, but didn't say them. Sam still hadn't made her pay for the "son of a bitch" she'd yelled when she hit her head on the table, and she didn't want to remind him. Cradling the phone to her ear, she said, "Hello," as Sam lay down beside her again. "Long night?" Shelley asked sarcastically.

"About twelve, thirteen hours. The usual for this time of year."

A hard, warm body pressed against her back, and a hard, warm hand smoothed over her belly on a slow sweep up to her breasts. Something else that was hard and warm prodded her bottom.

"Ha, ha," said Shelley. "You have to come get this cat." She didn't sound like the point was negotiable. "BooBoo? Why?" Like she didn't know. Sam was rubbing her nipples, and she put her hand over his to still his fingers. She needed to concentrate, or she might get stuck with BooBoo again.

"He's destroying my furniture! He's always seemed like such a sweet cat, but he's a destructive demon!"

"He's just upset at being in a strange place." Deprived of her nipples, Sam moved his hand down to another interesting spot. She clamped her legs together to halt the slide of his fingers.

"He isn't nearly as upset as I am!" Shelley sounded more than upset; she sounded outraged. "Look, I can't take care of planning your wedding when I have to watch this demon cat every second of the day."

"Do you want to risk him getting killed? Do you want to tell Mom that you let a psycho nutcase killer mutilate her cat because you care more about your furniture than you do her feelings?" Boy, that was good, if she did say so herself. Masterful.

Shelley was breathing hard. "You fight dirty" she complained.

Sam tugged his hand free from the clamp of her thighs and chose another angle of attack: her rear guard. That thought-destroying hand stroked her bottom, then slid on down and around, finding just what he wanted and working two long fingers into her. She gasped and almost dropped the phone.

Shelley also chose another angle of attack. "You aren't even staying at your house, you're staying with Sam. BooBoo will be all right there."

Oh, no. She couldn't concentrate. His fingers were big and rough, and they were driving her out of her mind. It was his revenge for making him answer the phone, but if he didn't stop it he was going to have an outraged cat shredding everything in his house.

"Just pet him a lot," she managed to gasp. "He'll settle down." Yeah, in a couple of weeks. "He especially likes to have his ears scratched."

"Come get him."

"Shel, I can't just bring a cat into someone else's house!"

"Sure you can. Sam would put up with a herd of maniac demon cats just to get in your pants. Use your power now, while it lasts! In a few months he won't even bother to shave before crawling into bed with you."

Great. Shelley was trying to turn this into a male-female power issue. Sam's knuckle rubbed over her clitoris, and she almost mewed. She managed to say, "I can't," though she wasn't certain to whom she was saying it, Sam or Shelley.

Sam said, "Yes, you can," in a low, smoky voice, and Shelley shrieked in her ear, "Oh, my God, you're doing it right now, aren't you? I heard him! You're talking to me on the phone while Sam is boinking you!"

"No, no," Jaine babbled, and Sam promptly made a liar out of her by sliding out his fingers and replacing them with a hard thrust of his full-grown morning erection. She bit her lip, but a strangled sound escaped anyway.

"I can see I'm wasting my time talking to you now," Shelley said. "I'll call again when you aren't occupied. How long does it usually take him? Five minutes? Ten?" Now she wanted an appointment. Since biting her lip hadn't worked, Jaine tried biting the pillow. Desperately reaching for a moment of control, just a moment, she managed to say, "A couple of hours."

"Two hours!" Shelley was shrieking again. She paused. "Does he have any brothers?"

"F-four."

"Man!" There was another pause as Shelley evidently weighed the advantages and disadvantages of dumping Al in favor of a Donovan. She finally sighed. "I'm going to have to rethink my strategy. You'd probably let BooBoo tear my house down, brick by brick, before you'd do anything to upset that particular applecart, wouldn't you?"

"You got it," Jaine agreed, her eyes closing. Sam shifted position, getting to his knees and straddling her right leg, with her left one hooked over his arm. Forking her that way, his penetration was deep and straight in, and his left thigh rubbed right where it did the most good. She had to bite the pillow again.

"Okay, I'll let you go." Shelley sounded defeated. "I tried."

"Bye," Jaine said thickly, and fumbled to return the phone to its hook, but couldn't quite reach it. Sam leaned forward to do the honors, and the movement pushed him so deeply inside her that she shrieked and climaxed. When she could speak, she pushed her hair out of her face and said, "You're evil." She was panting and weak, unable to do anything except lie there.

"No, babe, I'm good," he countered, and proved it. When he was lying beside her, sweaty and limp, he said sleepily, "I gather we almost got BooBoo back."

"Yeah, and you weren't helping matters," she grumbled. "She knew what you were doing, too. I'll probably never live this down."

The phone rang again. Jaine said, "If it's Shelley, I'm not here."

"Like she'll believe that," he said as he groped for the receiver.

"I don't care what she believes, as long as I don't have to talk to her right now."

"Hello," he said. "Yeah, she's here."

He extended the phone, and she took it, glaring at him. He mouthed, "Cheryl," and she sighed with relief. "Hi, Cheryl."

"Hi. Listen, I've been trying to call Luna. I have some photos of Marci that she wanted to have copied, and I wanted her address to mail them to her. I was just there yesterday, but who pays attention to street signs and numbers? Anyway, she isn't answering her phone, so do you have the address?"

Jaine sat upright, a chill roughening her bare skin. "She isn't answering? How long have you been trying to call?" "Since eight, I guess. About three hours." Cheryl suddenly got it, and said, "Oh, God."

Sam was out of bed, pulling on his pants. "Who?" he asked sharply, and turned on his cell phone. "Luna," Jaine answered, her throat tight. "Listen, Cheryl, maybe it's nothing. Maybe she went to church, or out to breakfast with Shamal. Maybe she's with him. I'll check and have her call you when I find her. Okay?" Sam punched out numbers on the cell phone as he pulled a clean shirt out of the closet and shrugged into it. Carrying his socks and shoes, he left the bedroom, talking so quietly into the little phone she couldn't hear what he was saying.

To Cheryl she said, "Sam's calling some people. He'll find her." She hung up without saying good-bye, then vaulted out of bed and began fumbling for her own clothes. She was shaking, the tremors growing worse by the second. Just a few minutes ago she had been so blissed out, and now this awful terror was making her sick; the contrast was almost paralyzing.

She stumbled into the living room, fastening her jeans, as Sam was going out the door. He was wearing his pistol and his badge. "Wait!" she cried, panicked. "No." He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "You can't go."

"Yes I can." Wildly she looked around for her shoes. They were in the bedroom, damn it. "Wait for me!"

"Jaine." It was his cop voice. "No. If anything has happened, you'll only be in the way. You wouldn't be allowed inside, and it's too damn hot to sit out in the truck. Go over to T.J.'s and wait there. I'll call you as soon as I know something."

She was still shaking, and now she was crying, too. No wonder he didn't want her along. She swiped her hand over her face. "P-promise?"

"I promise." His expression softened. "Be careful on the way to T.J.'s. And, babe – don't let anyone in the door, okay?"

She nodded, feeling worse than useless. "Okay."

"I'll call," he said again, and was gone.

Jaine slumped down on the sofa and cried in raw, ragged gulps. She couldn't do this again; she just couldn't. Not Luna. She was so young and beautiful, that bastard couldn't have hurt her. Luna had to be with Shamal; she had been so luminously happy at his sudden turnaround that they were probably spending every spare moment together. Sam would find her. Shamal's number was unlisted, but cops had ways of getting unlisted numbers. Luna would be with Shamal, and then Jaine would feel silly for panicking this way.

Finally she stopped crying and mopped her face. She had to get to T.J.'s, to wait for Sam's call. She started to the bedroom, then abruptly turned back and locked the front door.

She arrived at T.J.'s twenty minutes later, having done nothing more than brush her teeth and hair and finish dressing. She leaned on the doorbell. "T.J. it's Jaine! Hurry!"

She heard running footsteps, the cocker spaniel barking; then the door was wrenched open and T.J. 's worried face swam before her. "What's wrong?" T.J. asked, jerking her inside the door, but Jaine couldn't tell her; she couldn't get the words out. Still barking hysterically, the cocker spaniel, Trilby, jumped up on their legs.