Temperature's Rising (16 page)

Raising her hands above her head, she stretched upward as far as she could, then leaned to the left, then over to the right. A few leg stretches, and she started off down the street at a slow jog. The air on her face was invigorat-ing. Soon she’d blocked out all thoughts of the stakeout and Conor.

She set her pace for the small park about half a mile away. As she went around the corner, she picked up speed, but it wasn’t until she reached the tree-lined running trail that she lengthened her stride and a rush of adrenaline flowed through her veins.

The world ceased to exist. She could feel the beat of her heart. Trees blurred. She ran faster and faster, escap-ing her treacherous thoughts. But Jessica knew she couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later she’d have to face Conor again, and the feelings he stirred deep inside her.

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No, she didn’t want to think about him. Free her mind, that’s what she needed to do.

A man stepped from the trees in front of her. She skidded to a halt, bouncing on the balls of her feet so she wouldn’t lose her momentum. He didn’t look like someone who was out for a brisk walk in the early morning air.

More like a transient. Scraggly hair, dirty, ripped clothes, and as he ambled closer, she realized she was downwind and the man had a really bad body odor. He smiled, showing yellowed teeth.

She moved to the right, so did he. This didn’t bode well. Damn it, all she’d wanted was a nice run to blow off a little steam. Deep breath. She’d try to reason with him.

“I happen to be running. I’d appreciate it if you would move out of my way.” She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“No,” he growled. “I know you joggers carry a little money on ya. I want it.”

His gaze slid over her, making her want to run back to the house and take a bath.

“And maybe I want more from ya than your money.

You’re a pretty little thing.” He rubbed his crotch.

Gross. “You stink, you’re ugly, and I work for my money. Why in the hell would I give it to you or let you put your hands on me?”

He glowered at her. “ ’Cause I’m bigger. I take what I want and no one tells me any different. They call me Mack—as in truck. Ain’t nothin’ can stop a big rig.”
You have got to be kidding.

“Like I said. Just step aside and let me go by.” He grabbed her arm instead.

His first mistake. She was ready to kick ass and get rid of some of the tension building inside her.

She twisted around, grabbed his arm, bent over for leverage, and tossed him over her shoulder like he was 136

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nothing more than a bag of trash. He landed with a loud grunt, but for a big man, he came back up pretty fast.

And he was past the point of anger, but then so was she.
Come on you sleazeball!

Shaking his head, he barreled toward her like an en-raged bull. She bounced on the balls of her feet, side-stepped at the last second, and stuck her foot out. He hit the ground with a hard thud.

“Gawd-damned bitch. When I get through with you, you’re not going to look so pretty. Right after I fuck your brains out.”

He lurched to his feet, but before he could make a move toward her, she twisted her body and swung her leg up and out, connecting with his face. He staggered into the tree behind him, wiping blood from his mouth.

She was tired of giving him the chance to back off.

When he lumbered toward her, she gave one swift punch to his nose, he doubled over, and she landed a perfectly executed karate chop to the back of his neck. Like felling a big oak, he crashed to the ground. She didn’t think he’d be getting up any time soon.

“Wow! Too cool!” A voice spoke behind her.

She whirled around, arms up, ready to fight this new intruder.

The young man stumbled backwards. “Whoa, lady. I was hurrying over to help, but before I could, you kicked his butt.” He looked at her with awe. “Good job, too.” She relaxed. “Thanks.” The kid couldn’t be more than sixteen. Cute, with a very disarming grin. She bet the girls drooled over this one.

“I called 9-1-1 a couple of seconds ago.” He held up a cell phone. “What was that you did, anyway? Karate? What belt?”

She laughed at his exuberance. “I’m a black belt.” What he’d said flowed past the adrenaline still rushing through her. He’d called 9-1-1. The cops would be here TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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any minute. The newspaper, radio, and TV stations would hear it over their scanners and probably show up, too. She didn’t need any publicity.

“Hey, I’m in kind of a hurry, and I really don’t want my picture taken. Do me a favor and tell them I took off before you got a good look at me.” His eyes widened. “You’re not like superwoman or anything, are you? I mean, I’ve been reading a lot about people with superhuman powers and stuff.” He must have realized how he sounded, because he blushed and lowered his head.

“Nope, I’m just an average woman whose father made her take self-defense classes right along with her brother.”

Sirens sounded in the background.

“And one who’d better take off. Thanks for calling the cops, kid. The world could use a few more Good Samari-tans.”

She turned and left in the opposite direction of the sirens. Damn, she felt good . . . she felt pumped.

Okay, so maybe she did miss being a cop sometimes.

But it still didn’t change the fact that she desperately needed to feel like a lady, and didn’t.

Drat! She wanted to feel feminine. All soft and pretty and whatever the fuck a lady was supposed to feel like.

How the hell could she be feminine when bad guys were practically falling out of the trees? Especially when she had to kick their asses. Life was really complicated sometimes.

Conor paused in the bedroom when he heard the front door open and close. Jessica must be back. He smoothed the bedspread and straightened his pillow. She couldn’t accuse him of not picking up after himself.

He surveyed the nice, orderly room. He’d even 138

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straightened the bathroom, hanging Jessica’s damp towel over the shower rod so it could dry. Thinking about the terry cloth rubbing over her glistening skin had given him a damn hard-on. What the hell was his life coming to?

And what the hell had he been trying to do this morning? Talking about picnics and touch football and making love under the trees. He hadn’t been trying to run her off.

Hell, he wanted to have sex with the woman.

He planted his palms on the bathroom counter and stared at his reflection. “You’re going to blow the whole operation if you don’t quit thinking about having sex with Jessica.”

Voices drifted up the stairs. Frowning, he went to the door and opened it a crack.

Jessica?

What the hell was she wearing? When she’d walked out of the kitchen, she’d had on a white shirt. Now she was wearing some kind of stretchy . . . thing. He frowned, forcing his gaze away from the amount of skin she was displaying, and turned his attention to the woman who’d come inside with her. He’d known Jessica would get into trouble going off by herself.

“Oh, I couldn’t show you the upstairs, Trudy. I haven’t cleaned it yet.”

The flaxen-haired woman waved away Jessica’s protests. “Oh, honey, don’t worry about that. George and me are still newlyweds ourselves. Hell, we practically live in the bedroom.” She slapped Jessica hard on the back, nearly sending her to the floor.

So this was the bride. Conor let his gaze roam over her.
Buxom
was a mild word. Her shirt fit like a glove, the horizontal stripes emphasizing the girth of her chest. And he’d heard of short shorts before, but never thought they could be that short without being illegal.

The woman looked about as fake as her husband’s Italian accent. They were obviously made for each other.

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George with his gold chains and patent-leather shoes, and her with her bleached-blond bouffant hairdo and high heels. They made the perfect couple. He stifled a laugh, jerking back when George’s bride glanced up the stairs.

Irritation quickly replaced his humor. How in the hell had Jessica gotten herself into this fix? He shouldn’t have let her go running. Instead of the woman it could easily have been the old man or George’s brother, Barry.

Jessica was a sexy, vibrant young woman. They were sleazeballs, and with their background, anything could’ve happened if she’d met up with one of them. How would she defend herself against someone four times her size?

He’d talk to her first chance he got.

“I just love that little balcony upstairs,” Trudy drawled.

“And I’ve always wanted to see it up close.” Jessica grabbed the other woman’s arm. “Let me show you the downstairs first.”

Conor quietly closed the door. His gaze darted around the room as he surveyed the tidy bed—damn, the air mattress across the hall! He couldn’t let her see the extra bed or she’d know something was up.

He slipped into the hall and hurried across to where Jessica had slept. He pulled the plug. Nothing. Damn, a safety valve. It would be nightfall before the mattress de-flated.

Now what?

The closet.

He shoved, but it wouldn’t fit. No choice. He’d hide it in his room.

After opening the door and checking to make sure the coast was clear, he scrambled across the hall to his room.

He dragged the mattress inside and squished it under the bed—at least one corner. That was all that would fit.

Their voices were getting louder. He shoved again.

Nothing. If George’s wife saw the air mattress, she’d immediately know something was wrong. What if she told 140

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George and the rest of the clan? They’d be suspicious.

Probably drop out of sight. Jessica’s father would lose his job. There was only one thing to do.

He slipped his knife from his pocket.

Chapter 10

Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrttttt!

“What was that noise?” Trudy barged up the stairs.

Before she had climbed more than two steps, Jessica grabbed her arm. “Noise? What noise?” She didn’t even want to imagine what Conor could possibly be doing.

“Are you going to try to tell me you didn’t hear that?

Sounded like a big whoopee cushion. You coming?” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless you have something to hide.” There was no way around the woman. Suspicion lurked in her eyes. Whatever Conor was doing, she hoped he’d be ready for Bulldozer Trudy.

“Why would I have anything to hide?” Nonchalantly, she pushed past her neighbor and up the stairs.

When she entered the bedroom, Conor stood in the middle of the room, spritzing the air with a bottle of her favorite perfume. He was breathing heavily, his hair rumpled. A breeze fluttered the window curtain behind him.

He continued to fill the air with her expensive mist.

“We got anything for gas, honey? Must’ve been those beans we had for supper last night. I told you how bad they mess up my stomach.”

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Trudy shoved her way into the room and came to a grinding halt. Her gaze slowly roamed over Conor, strayed to his low-riding jeans, then back to his face.

“Oh . . . my,” Trudy stuttered.

“Sorry, didn’t know we had company.” Conor set the perfume on the nightstand.

Trudy blinked several times and seemed to come out of the fog she’d momentarily slipped into. “Hell, sweetie, we all got to let loose now and again.” Jessica wanted to die! Gas? Beans? His implication brought a rush of warmth to her face. Change the subject.

Do anything!

“Uh . . . this is my husband, Conor,” Jessica introduced him. “Conor, this is George’s wife, Trudy. You remember, the man we met the day we were looking at the house.”

“Actually, his name is Georgio, but you can call him George for short.” Trudy sucked in a deep breath, increasing her bust size by a good two inches. Any second now she expected Trudy’s boobs to burst free.

Jessica glanced around the room. Her gaze fell on a bit of blue vinyl peeking from under the bed.
Very flat
blue vinyl. Her eyes narrowed. Whoopee cushion, her foot!

Damn it! That was her bed. Why hadn’t he shoved it in the bathroom behind the shower curtain or something?

Did he have to pop it?

“I just knew I’d love that balcony,” Trudy said, interrupting Jessica’s murderous thoughts.

“The
balcony
is behind Conor,” she informed Trudy through gritted teeth. The hussy wasn’t even looking toward the damn door. Her gaze had been glued on Conor ever since she’d shoved her way into the room.

“Oh, yeah, I guess it is.” She fluttered fake eyelashes.

“I told your wife that I’ve been admiring the way your upstairs porch looks so cozy and romantic. I bet you can see a lot of stars at night sitting out there.” TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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Conor smiled and eased sideways, giving her access to the door.

She slithered past, her shoulder brushing his chest.

After only a cursory glance, she turned her appraisal back to Conor. “Very nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.” His husky voice dripped honey.

They were flirting with each other! Right in front of her! So much for him feeling guilty about popping her bed.

“Didn’t you say something about being bloated?” More like his ego than his stomach. “Maybe you should look downstairs for the Tums.” She smiled, forcing her lips to curve upward. “Heaven forbid you explode.” When he smiled at her, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

What was his problem? In fact, he looked really pissed, though he was covering it fairly well. Hell, he should be excited that one of the suspects was in their home.

He glanced at Trudy. “I think we have some baking soda. That should work.”

“Yes, why don’t you do that,” Jessica said. He needed to leave before he blew the case. If Trudy looked close enough at him, she would know that everything wasn’t perfect in paradise. He really needed to learn how to control his emotions.

Could he be upset that Trudy was in the house? No, surely not.

After he left, Jessica turned to Trudy. “You have drool on the side of your mouth.”