Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (19 page)

She turned around just in time to see him quickly stepping out of his jeans. Her eyes widened as she looked him over. Years of swimming had given him a powerful body. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist. His legs were long and strong. She smiled to herself when she saw how aroused he was.

“C’mon, Doctor. You look like you could use some, um, soap yourself.”

His response was more growl than words. He stepped behind her as she reached behind the shower curtain to turn on the water. John grabbed her hips and pulled her to him.

There was an insistent ache between her legs. She turned around to kiss him deeply on the mouth. He groaned as she caressed him, hands exploring.

John’s breath was hot in her ear. “I think we’d better get into that shower. I’m looking forward to soaping you up.”

The shower stall was wide and deep, with a bench built into the wall. Steam swirled around them. Jo snatched the bar of soap and began to lather up her hands. She motioned for John to turn around and then rubbed the soap across his shoulders, down his back, caressing his buttocks. His hands braced himself against the wall, as if he needed help standing upright. He turned his head towards her, water streaming down his face.

“You are a terrible tease.”

“I’m glad you noticed.” Her hands moved down his hard thighs and calves. After soaping up her hands again, she gently turned him around and started rubbing his chest. She took her time moving down to his stomach and then stroked his inner thigh. His reaction was almost violent. He wrapped his hand tightly around hers and held it still.

“Stop. Just give me a second.” He closed his eyes, as if mentally counting. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “Give me that soap. It’s
my
turn.” She shivered at his words, anticipating his hands gliding across her flesh.

His hands were strong and slippery. When his thumb brushed across her nipple, her body vibrated in response. She roughly grabbed his hand and shoved it between her thighs. Closing her eyes, she whimpered, “Touch me.”

His fingers explored her wetness. Jo’s breath came in quick, shallow pants.

She opened her eyes to look at him. “I want to feel you inside me. Here, sit on the bench.”

When he sat down, she straddled him. John gripped her hips and slowly she slid down on the length of him. He released a deep groan. Water pounded her back as she moved up and down, up and down. The bench dug into her knees on either side of his thighs. She held onto his shoulders as they moved together. Jo felt her breasts bounce with the rhythm of their lovemaking. Her eyes locked onto his.

Just as she thought she couldn’t wait another moment, he closed his eyes at last and shuddered, calling out her name. She felt him jerk inside her, and a moan escaped her lips. She felt the pulse of her orgasm squeeze around him. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “My God.”

An hour later, Jo lay in the circle of his arms on the queen-sized bed in her room. She could hear his heart beat strong and steady as she rested her head on his chest.

Moonlight streamed through the windows. It had been a long time since she felt this safe. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember our conversation a while ago about my name change?”

She felt him shift. “Yes.”

She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her torso. “I’d like to tell you about it.”

John propped himself up on his elbow, giving her his full attention.

She took a deep breath. “You remember that Sid mentioned he went to med school with my father?”

John nodded.

“My father was a big shot doctor in Duluth for years. Had the biggest OB/GYN office in St. Louis County. When I was seventeen, he was accused of inappropriately touching one his patients. She took him to court. He was found not guilty, but his practice fell apart soon after. No one trusted him anymore. The whispering behind his back followed him everywhere. He closed his office one night and stuck a gun in his mouth.” The pain of that long ago night still caused her heart to constrict.

John reached out to clasp her hand that had crumpled up the sheet. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Is that why you left the area and settled in the Twin Cities?”

Her curls fell forward as she nodded. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was young, so it was just me and my dad for all those years. When he killed himself, there was nothing left for me here. I changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name, packed up my stuff and headed south. I was accepted at the U of M, finished my coursework and then was recruited by the FBI right out of college. And I haven’t looked back. Until now.”

John was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “I’m glad you told me.”

She bit her lower lip, not meeting his eyes. “You still want to be involved with me?”

“What if I told you something about myself that I’ve never told anyone else?”

“You don’t have to do that …”

His eyes met hers in the dim light of the room. He cleared his throat. “During my first year of training to be a neurosurgeon, I shadowed Dr. Michaelson, an elderly but brilliant doctor. A pioneer in the field. He took me under his wing and favored me above all the other students. Looking back, I’m not sure why. I was just this dumb, cocky kid, fresh out of med school, no different than the rest.”

John began to fidget with the blanket. “One night, Dr. Michaelson came into work drunk. I mean, plastered. I was horrified. Pretty tough to see a man I practically worshipped fall off his pedestal.” He swallowed.

“An emergency case came through the doors, a head injury from a wicked car accident. It should have been Dr. Michaelson’s case, but by then he was passed out in the lounge. I … I took the case. Thought I could fix the poor woman’s head injuries. I couldn’t do a damn thing for her and she died. A more experienced surgeon might have saved her.” Jo could see the pain that still lingered in John’s eyes at the memory.

“Did you get into trouble?”

“No. When Dr. Michaelson woke up, he found out that I tried to cover-up for him and took all the blame. The only reason he didn’t lose his license was because of his reputation. He was ‘encouraged’ to take early retirement.”

Jo looked at him. “And you blamed yourself?”

“Yes. I know that my mentor shouldn’t have been drinking, but in the end, it was my arrogance that killed the patient. I took a six-month leave of absence after that to get my head back together. I’d like to think I came back a more humble man.”

Jo leaned forward and pulled him into her arms. They were both silent as Jo felt his heartbeat once more. Sharing her story with him had released the weight she had carried for too long and for that, she was grateful.

She thought about his story and was touched by his honesty. Somehow, in the space of a few hours, he had become more real to her than anyone she had ever known.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Turners Bend

Mid-March

March came roaring in with wicked winds that growled and snarled in a good imitation of a lion. Locals reassured Chip that its entrance foretold a lamb-like departure, but the end of the month was a long time to wait for a release from winter’s fangs and claws. Chip surfed the Internet, reading about cures for SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder.

He sat in his kitchen, staring at his computer screen and feeling depleted. After writing Jo and John’s sex scenes, he was blocked. The ringing phone made him jump. He looked at the caller ID and hesitated, unsure whether or not he was in the right mood to talk with Lucinda. He braced himself and picked up the phone.

“Hi, Lucinda. How’s my literary agent extraordinaire?”

“Cut the crap. You’re giving me a migraine, and I don’t have a microchip in my brain like poor Belinda in
Brain Freeze.
” Chip held the phone away from his ear. Lucinda was at her bitchiest. “It’s friggin’ March 15 and you’re two months from your deadline. I get two sex-filled chapters from you and now squat. ”

“Sorry, Lucinda, things have been hectic around here, and I’ve been really busy.”

“I don’t care how many bovines go belly up or if it’s the Queen of France getting married, you need to be writing. Sounds to me like woman problems. Oh, God, that’s it, isn’t it? I’ll bet you anything that vet is derailing you.”

“Where are my royalties?” said Chip, thinking a change of topic might be the best defense.

“Lord, save me from two-bit hack writers. I’ll have the accounting department cut deposit your earnings to date in your Bank America account.
The Cranium Killer
continues to sell well, but don’t expect a lot of cash to trickle down to you, and you are going to earn squat from
Brain Freeze
if you don’t get humping. Goodbye.”

Honey ambled over, sat and put her head in Chip’s lap. She always seemed to know when he needed canine love. “Sweet girl, what did I ever do without you?” He rubbed her ears, and she thumped her tail on the kitchen floor.

The last two weekends at AgriDynamics had been hard on Chip. To say that he was not used to hard work was an understatement. Being a caddy at his father’s country club had been the extent of his experience with any work requiring physical stamina. The back strain was killing him and worse yet, he hadn’t gotten near to where any chemicals were stored. The only strange thing he had noted was that every night about 2:00 a.m., a truck loaded with barrels left the plant and returned with the same barrels in the back an hour later. He wanted to know what was in those barrels. What the heck, maybe he would just ask next weekend.

Over the past two weeks he had been spending time with Jane, but never alone. She had begun to join him at the Bun most mornings. They chatted about puppy training, her practice, Sven and Ingrid, his new book, town gossip, the coming of spring. They took her kids out for pizza and a Twilight movie one night and had Sunday dinner with Mabel and Iver. He kept his hands to himself. They were just friends he reminded himself each time that he returned home from seeing her. He found her scarf in his car and kept it. It smelled of her coconut-scented shampoo.

“Iver and Mabel are quite the lovebirds, aren’t they?” Jane said one morning. She and Chip were sharing a cinnamon roll at the Bun. “I caught him nuzzling her in the kitchen yesterday when we were there for dinner. Kind of sweet. I’m happy for them.”

“Makes you believe in second chances, doesn’t it?”

“You know what they say, ‘once burned, twice shy’. I don’t know if I really could handle a second time around.”

“Well, I guess I had my second chance twice, so I’ve run out of chances.” Chip was trying to make a joke, but Jane didn’t laugh.

She held her coffee mug in both hands and stared out the café’s front window. After a few moments she turned her pensive face into an overly bright smile and picked up the check. “On me today, Chip. I’ve got to get out to check Oscar’s herd this morning and then over to the firehouse to deworm Zeus and Jupiter. See what a fun life I have?”

As Jane left to pay the bill, he realized Lucinda had a point. He had writer’s inertia. He couldn’t seem to concentrate. His mind was either scheming on how to snoop around ArgiDynamics or drifting off to think about Jane, how she looked at the wedding, how he wanted to see more of that cleavage, smell her hair, kiss her long slender neck.

The crew that worked the 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift at AgriDynamics was a surly bunch of guys. The weekend workers on that shift were part-timers who had to work a second job to make ends meet. In the warehouse they plodded through the packing of turbine parts being shipped around the country. The shift boss barked out orders. Occasionally grumbling could be heard, but most of the time the men toted the parts and loaded the crates without much comment and with robotic precision.

Break time was at 3:00 a.m. The break room consisted of a few tables and chairs, a microwave oven, a small refrigerator, and two vending machines … one with soft drinks and the other with candy and chips.

Chip surveyed the choices and opted for a diet cola and a Nut Goodie candy bar. He had become hooked on the maple-flavored filling and peanuts covered with chocolate, even though they looked like something you would find in a cow pasture. He took a chair next to a guy with the name “Hank” embroidered on the pocket of his navy blue work shirt.

“Hey, Hank, whatever happened to Owen Hansen, that guy that got beat up?” said Chip as he munched on his none-too-nutritious lunch.

“Heard he left town, took his family and moved to Des Moines and working in a Kum and Go. Guess he learned the hard way it’s best to keep your mouth shut around here.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I sure wouldn’t want to get the shit kicked out of me like that.”

Hank turned his attention to his baloney sandwich and grabbed the sports section of the crumpled newspaper on the table. Underneath was a book, a dog-eared copy of
The Cranium Killer
. He wondered if the same copy of his book floated all around town or if he was actually generating some sales in Turners Bend.

Chip saw this conversation wasn’t getting him anywhere, and he sure didn’t want to hear another critique of his book. So, he changed his tack. “I’d like to stay around long enough to get the job of driving that truck that pulls out of here every night with those barrels.”

Hank looked up from his paper and scanned the room as if to see if anyone else was paying attention and had overheard Chip’s remark. He lowered his voice. “Take my advice. Nobody wants that job. If you value your skin, you’ll forget you ever saw that truck or those barrels or lots of other goings on around here. Just keep your head down and don’t ask any questions.”