Hot and Irresistible (15 page)

B
ebe tore for Donovan. If someone was going to shoot the man, it was going to be her after he lied to her about Cleveland. Pushing stuff out of the way in the dark, she stumbled over furniture, not able to move fast enough. She heard Donovan fire off a round as he scooted out of the light. Finally she made it to his side and he pulled her hard behind him, his hand gripping her arm to the point of pain.

“Don’t move,” he ordered in a “Moses delivering the Ten Commandments” kind of voice. She wanted to say, “Don’t tell me what to do, you big oaf,” but she was so thankful he could talk and wasn’t badly hurt she didn’t say anything. Plus she didn’t have her gun, so she wasn’t in the position to offer much of an argument. After tonight she was having the darn gun surgically implanted in her side.

Scurrying sounds came from across the room, then all was quiet. Donovan put his weapon in his pocket. “He’s gone. There must be another exit somewhere or a trapdoor.”

She touched his shirt, a familiar stickiness coating her fingers. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Bad? Anytime someone’s leaking blood it’s bad. I’ll call 911 and the police. Give me your phone.”

“Where’s yours?”

“Don’t ask.”

“No police. I’ll tell you why later. I don’t want them involved. The bullet just nicked me. We need to get out of here, the ghost explanation to guests down on the third floor goes just so far and then we’ll have company and a lot of explaining to do.” He stood, a little slower than usual. Even in the dim light she could see the bloodstain on his shirt and the dull pain in his eyes.

“You’re hit worse than you think. You got to get to the hospital.”

“Forget it. If we get any more people in on this we’ll need our own zip code.” They made their way down the steps and Donovan pushed open the third floor door a crack. She looked both ways; people were spilling out of their rooms and heading to the elevators and talking about gunfire. She whispered, “I have a plan. Pretend we like each other, okay?”

“I can do that.” He gave her a weak smile and she held on to him tight. Cuddling up to Donovan lover-style, she hid the bloody part of his shirt. “Now you can lean on me. It’ll look natural, like we’re dopey in love.”

“I wish to hell it was that easy, cupcake.” He pulled out his room card.

Before she could digest the easy part of that statement, they meandered into the hall and mixed with the others there. Rutledge was telling everyone the noise was simply thunder and a bit of plumbing work being done on the boiler. There was no cause for alarm, and everyone needed to be getting back to their rooms—with a complimentary bottle of wine, of course. That Magnolia House didn’t have a boiler got lost in the free wine offer.

Bebe opened Donovan’s room, then closed the door behind them. “I’ll get this cleaned up.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t look so worried. I’ve been though worse.”

He sunk down on the john seat and eased up his shirt, revealing a gory mess. “That’s it. You need stitches and antibiotics.”

“What I need is whiskey.”

“From what I smelled on your breath, I think you’ve had your quota for the night.” Bebe let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the white claw-footed tub. “If I hadn’t left my weapon back at the station, you wouldn’t have been target practice. Did you ever notice things between us never go smooth, there’s always drama? I hate drama. I’m thinking beachcomber out on Tybee Island.” She kissed him on the head. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t leave.”

Slipping back into the service stairway, Bebe made for the main floor, opened the door, and bumped smack into Charlotte. Her eyes went huge and she turned white. “Ohmygod, you’ve got blood on your shirt. You’re the one in my attic causing a ruckus.” She grabbed Bebe. “I’ve got you, honey. Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. I’ll get you an ambulance.”

“It’s Donovan’s blood, but no ambulance. Mr. Hardhead refuses. Lend me your sweater so I don’t look like something from a Tarantino movie.”

“Donovan? Blood? I know you had your differences, but good grief, Bebe.”

“It hasn’t come to that…yet. But the good news is I think we may be getting closer to who killed your parents.” Rain slashed against the front windows. “Wanna go poking around in your attic for a bullet tonight?”

“Gee, I can hardly wait. Isn’t that what everyone does on a night like this?”

Five minutes later Bebe was back in Donovan’s room with a good bottle of whiskey and an even better doctor. Donovan was sitting on the edge of the tub washing out his wound when he spotted Bebe and the doctor in the doorway. His eyes were hard and pissed, but they were also edged with more pain than before. “I said—”

“This is Doc Stevens, a mighty fine physician who’s a personal friend and knows what happens at this hotel stays here, so watch your Yankee mouth and act like somebody raised you proper.” Bebe closed the door, peeled the cap off the whiskey, and took a drink. Keeping the bottle in hand, she went to the window and watched patches of moonlight peep though parting clouds, rain gradually giving way to a warm spring night. She pushed on the casement, letting in fresh air and taking a deep breath.

Where was this going with Donovan? Between the arguing and the lovemaking and outside influences it was hard to pinpoint where they stood. The only thing she did know was that when the chips were down, Donovan was the guy to have on her side. As much as she wanted to beat him over the head a lot of times, she admired him as a cop. He was darn good at what he did and took it seriously. And that was the problem. Donovan the cop was after the bad guys and Ray Cleveland was right in his path.

“He’ll live,” came Doc Stevens’ voice from behind her. She turned away from the window. Doc’s kind face was smiling. “I shot him up with antibiotics, but I’m betting you need to watch that man. He’s got a stubborn steak almost as wide as yours. He needs to rest, and if he won’t, he’ll bust that wound all open again and next time he’ll be in the hospital on a stretcher and lots of people will be asking questions.”

Doc handed her a bottle of pills. “Not to be taken with booze.” He nodded at the whiskey in her hand.

“Thanks for the help.”

His eyes softened. “After you dragged Preston out of that drunken brawl and brought him home safe, I owe you.”

“That was a time ago, Doc. He’s a good boy, just got in with the wrong crowd and didn’t know how to go about getting himself out.”

“He’s a sophomore at Georgia State this year. Premed.”

Bebe smiled. “Go Bulldogs.”

Doc Stevens tipped his head and left and Donovan came out of the bathroom, shirt off, white bandage on, blood-splattered jeans slung low on his hips. She put down the whiskey, pulled the blue comforter off the bed, and folded it over the chair, then peeled back the sheets. Keeping busy was a good way to keep from salivating, least that was the plan till he pulled off his jeans.

Mother have mercy! How could someone so shot up look so darn sexy? What muscles! What a butt! He had such a great butt. Then again, maybe he wasn’t that gorgeous and maybe this was the booze affecting her brain. Yeah, and maybe the Pope wasn’t Catholic after all. She needed to stop this obsessing over Donovan no matter how good looking he was or how impressive in bed or how great…really great…the sex was. They were on opposite sides and those sides kept getting farther apart and wasn’t he the one who just flimflammed her over the visiting Cleveland issue?
Remember the flimflam!
“Hop in.”

Donovan sat on the edge of the bed. She took his hand and dumped two tablets then handed him a glass of water. “Drink up, Yank. You’ve been enough trouble for one night.”

He stared at his palm. “What is this?”

“Happy pills. You need sleep and I’m going to get some clean clothes. Red’s not my color. I’ll be back.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile. “And you expect me to believe you’re not going into the attic to look for casings or bullets? How’d you get up there in the first place?”

“Take the pills, and I’ll tell you and do not hide them under your tongue because I’ll check.”

He popped the pills and she kissed his cheek, his rough stubble against her lips and the heat radiating from his body a sensual experience and reminder he wasn’t hurt worse. She kissed his lips, sliding her tongue against his, his mouth forming to hers kiss for kiss. He slid his hand around her waist, then to her derriere. An act of possession.

“Promise me,” he said against her lips. “You won’t go into the attic. Someone’s after you, cupcake.” His fingers tightened for emphasis. And she liked it…but not enough to tell the truth.

“Nothing’s there that can’t wait till tomorrow.” Except the bullets in the wall that could possibly match the bullets that killed Charlotte’s parents and that information had already waited thirty years and was not waiting another night. What if the shooter had the same notion and got to them first? No way was that going to happen when she was so close. She owed this to Charlotte.

Donovan let her go and slid under the covers. “It would be a lot more fun if you were in here with me, but since that’s not going to happen, tell me about the attic.”

She sat cross-legged on the other side of the bed all sweet and innocent and accommodating. “I stepped in the elevator and I guess I forgot to push down and it went up. Someone called my name, so I got out and the elevator took off and wouldn’t come back and the light switch wouldn’t work. That’s pretty much it till you showed up…except for the ghost.”

He quirked a brow that sort of slid down because Donovan was falling asleep. “Ghost?”

“Well, somebody was there and had already told Brie that we should all stay away. It was a maid, I think, and she showed up out of the blue. Well, actually it was black. But she was on my side and friendly and protective and kind of creepy.”

“And maybe it wasn’t a ghost at all, but that sixth sense that kicks in to help you survive.”

“Obviously you are not from Savannah.”

“Cleveland was on that elevator before you got in. He watched us arguing and could have a passkey from the maids, who all think he’s Mr. Wonderful. He fixed the elevator and up you go, then he took the stairs. If he knows how to fix the elevator, he knows where the fuse box is to cut the attic electricity.”

“Ray Cleveland wouldn’t kill me.”

“He’d kill me. That’s what he tried to do when I showed up. And maybe he was trying to scare you off the case. He’s got a lot at stake here. The old murders, Jimmy, the necklace. He wasn’t ever tried for the Carswell murders, and there’s no statute of limitation on murder. He could fry.”

“Your brain’s what’s fried. Don’t forget that the Raeburns were on that elevator, too. They’re not above paying to get the job done; they proved that with Jimmy.” She cupped his chin and kissed his soft warm lips. God, she liked kissing him even when she was mad at him. “I’m going for clothes and I’ll be back and when I get here you better be asleep.”

He slid under the blanket and closed his eyes. “You swear you’re not going into the attic?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

“That wasn’t a swear.”

“I swear. I swear.”
I swear to do as I darn well please.
She waited till his breathing slowed to deep and steady. Carefully she searched the dresser, finding Donovan’s knife to use for bullet digging. Inching open the nightstand bit by bit she took his Glock. One trip to the attic unarmed was enough, and this time she’d have Charlotte with her. No one else was getting hurt. She kissed Donovan on the forehead, then headed for the door.

Donovan dunked his head under the cold shower and added shampoo, wondering how long before he could dunk his whole body instead of just washing up. And he needed cold water all over, lots of it, because he was mad as hell. Bebe stole his gun. She lied to him. She went into that attic, he’d bet his life on it, and someone was out to get her. There were a lot of questions about this case, but that someone was after Bebe was not a question at all. It was for sure.

He splashed more cold water, his anger not subsiding one bit. She wasn’t picking up her cell, so who knew where the hell she was now? In some dark alley bleeding to death. Dammit! He had to get out of this room and find her and…and then he’d ground her or nail her foot to the floor because that was the only way he could keep her in one place.

Drying off, he tied the towel around his middle and headed into the bedroom as the door burst open and Bebe pushed in a room-service cart complete with silver-covered plates and a rose in a vase. “You’re never going to believe this,” she said, excitement filling her voice. Her cheeks were pink, blue eyes bright and flashing, blond hair long and flowing, and he already knew what was under the frumpy brown suit. Not one damn thing frumpy, just all gorgeous, delectable Bebe. And she was okay. Relief washed over him and she looked at him and gave that smile that turned him inside out.

She lifted the silver cover, revealing eggs and all the trimmings. “Hungry?”

“For you,” he said in a soft growl. “In my bed, flat on your back, my face buried between your legs.” Relief overload? Is that why he said that?

Her gaze cut to his, stayed there, and she dropped the silver lid onto the food with a loud clatter. “I don’t think that’s on the menu.”