Nightwalker (14 page)

“You can’t blame yourself for his death,” she told him.

A slight heightening of his color told her that she had touched a nerve, and she was suddenly sorry she’d said anything.

“He might have been targeted already. I just don’t know. And that’s why solving this is so important.”

He finished fixing the salad and poured iced tea for them to drink with dinner. While they ate, the conversation flowed easily. She asked questions, he answered them, and then he asked her about her life. He was a comfortable man to be with, she thought as she found herself telling him about the other cast members and about Timothy—even about old Mrs. Teasdale and the other people at the home who made it such a nice place for Timothy to live.

The frozen lasagna was actually very good, which she hadn’t expected, and the salad was fresh and delicious. Best of all, she was starting to feel as if she had known Dillon Wolf forever.

She didn’t want to leave.

But when the dishes were washed, Clancy fed, and they’d even had coffee out back by the pool, she decided it was time to say something before she over-stayed her welcome.

“I should go home.”

“Do you have a pet?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “Huh? No.”

“Then why are you worried about leaving?” he asked.

“Well, my car is still at the police station, for one thing,” she told him.

“I have friends there. Nothing will happen to it,” he told her. “Look, you’ve been scared—nearly frightened to death—tonight. Stay here. There’s a guest room. And a computer—anything you might need.”

“I shouldn’t stay. It wouldn’t be right.”

“What’s really right and what’s wrong?” he asked her. “Are you worried about what people might think? Are you worried about your grandfather?”

“No, no, Timothy’s fine. He stays at the home most of the time. I take him out for weekends, sometimes, and I had him the other night because I was afraid they were going to force him out. I don’t usually play a lot of money at the craps table. Not that I’m anti-gambling or anything. It can be fun, if you don’t get carried away. But—” She broke off, looking at him. “I’m babbling, I think.”

“Babble all you want. I still think you should stay.”

“Are you using me as bait?” she asked him. “Are you trying to lure a ghost in?”

“Aren’t you trying to get rid of a ghost?”

She laughed.

He stood. “Come on. I’ll show you the guest room.”

He was serious, she realized. Apparently he really wasn’t after her body, and she had to admit, she was somewhat disappointed. He led her to the guest room, which was done in mauve and a sand shade that complemented the desert tones of the house and yard. The guest room even had its own bath.

And a new wide-screen television.

He offered her a T-shirt and baggy sweatpants to sleep in, and she thanked him, realizing that this was the first time in what seemed like forever that she hadn’t been afraid.

That she was even ready to see a ghost.

He left her, excusing himself to go work on the
computer. She showered and changed, and was somewhat dismayed to realize that she liked wearing his clothes, as if they were a touch of the man himself.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She made a dive for her purse and answered it quickly. Sandra’s voice came over the line. “Are you all right? Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been waiting for you to call,” she chided.

“I’m fine. Did I say I was going to call?”

“No. But I’m worried sick about you. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine. And thanks for caring and checking up, Sandra.”

“So you’re home and you’re all locked in?”

“Everything is fine,” Jessy repeated, then hesitated before adding, “I’m at Dillon Wolf’s house.”

Sandra’s shriek was so loud that Jessy winced. “You’re
what?
”

“Calm down. It’s not a date or anything,” Jessy said quickly. “I’m not even with him anymore.”

“You’re at his house without him?”

“No, he’s here. He’s in the other room, on his computer.”

“I’m going to want details. I hope you know that.” Jessy heard Reggie saying something in the background, followed by an excited explosion that matched her mother’s.

“What’s going on?” Jessy demanded.

“Reggie wants details, too. I told her no, but that doesn’t mean
I
don’t get them.”

“There
are
no details,” Jessy insisted. “And I’m going now. But, Sandra?”

“What?”

“Thanks for calling me.”

“You bet, kid. I’m going to
keep
calling, too.”

With a smile, Jessy closed her phone. It wasn’t such a bad world. She had really good friends. And she didn’t have to be afraid, at least not tonight, because Dillon Wolf was just beyond the door.

It was probably a little late to be calling anyone, but Dillon had known Dr. Doug Tarleton, one of Las Vegas’s top medical examiners, for many years. Doug either answered his phone or he didn’t. If he saw the caller ID and wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t answer. If he was sleeping, the only number that would ring through was his emergency number.

Doug answered the phone on the second ring.

“Dillon Wolf,” he said, without even a hello. “I was wondering when the hell I’d be hearing from you.”

“Well, I was trying to go through proper channels,” Dillon said.

Doug laughed. “You mean Jerry Cheever? He’s a decent cop. He’s just got a chip on his shoulder. And, frankly, he’s not as enamored of Harrison Investigations as a lot of folks are.”

“He just acts like he’s got a stick up his ass, is all,” Dillon agreed. “Maybe it’s not his fault. Maybe a bully stole his Froot Loops when he was kid. Anyway, I’ve been trying to keep the channels of communication going through him, but it seemed past time to start going straight to the source. Where did I catch you?”

“I’m still at the morgue.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I was just finishing up when the report on that young guy came in—the hit-and-run victim. Man, dead is dead, I know, but the injuries that guy had…hell. Thank God the impact broke his neck—along with crushing his rib cage, and every bone in his chest and pelvis. Anyway, I had just finished reading that—damn thing was as long as a book—when the tox reports on Tanner Green came in. Get this. The guy was tripping.”

“Tripping? You mean acid?”

“Yup, LSD. Some bodyguard—he must have been higher than a kite.”

“Well, he wasn’t on duty,” Dillon mused. “You got anything else?”

“He’d have been dead before fifty, I can tell you that. His liver was going, and judging by his cholesterol, he must have dined on red meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Plus, he was overweight. But the cause of death was a punctured lung. He drowned in his own blood.”

There had been no sign of blood in either limo, Dillon thought.

“Would the injury have caused any spatter?”

“Well, it was one hard strike. From the back, missing the bone, straight into the lung. The outer blood loss was a slow leak down his back that increased once the knife was jarred by his fall—his shirt was drenched, and the craps table took some of it. I’m assuming the woman he died on would have been covered in blood, too. But he might not have left any kind of a trail, because, until
he fell, it was collecting mostly in his lungs. The knife actually worked like a cork at first, keeping seepage to a minimum.”

“Thanks, Doug. I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem. It’s my job. But this case is pretty bizarre, huh? And there’s no way to avoid the fact that Tanner Green was no angel. I’m glad you’re on it, because it’s not as if they’ll be sending out an army to find his killer.” Doug was quiet for a minute. “You’re involved because you think his death connects to something bigger, don’t you?”

“I do. I think the two deaths are connected,” Dillon said.

“A murder and a hit-and-run?” Doug asked.

“A murder and a murder,” Dillon told him, then thanked his friend and hung up. Tomorrow, he decided, he would take a trip down to the morgue.

Jessy didn’t fall asleep easily, but for the first time since the incident, it wasn’t because she was afraid. She was giddy because she
wasn’t
afraid.

The room was comfortable.

Dillon was nearby.

She stayed awake with the television on, flipping through a magazine and reading about different politicians’ plans to improve the state of the country.

Eventually she fell asleep.

And dreamed.

But tonight wasn’t a repeat of the nightmares that had plagued her. There were no visions of dead men, no graveyards, no people who looked like they’d lived long ago. Tonight’s dreams were so erotic that she could
feel herself blushing, but they were also so sweet that she had no desire to wake up, even though she knew she was dreaming. Dillon played a starring role, and there was no awkwardness between them. She didn’t know where they were, or who had initiated the encounter, only that their bodies were entangled, his copper-hued flesh strong and vibrant. She could hear their whispers, their laughter and the gasp of her own breath, matched by his. She felt as if they had been together forever, as if she had known him for years. She could feel the force of his kiss, the seductive journey of his lips and tongue along her flesh. She could see his face and feel his body straddling hers, bathing her in liquid fire….

Suddenly she jolted into wakefulness, seized by inward panic. But when she sat up and looked around, she was alone, no sign of Tanner Green.

There was a tap on her door, soft, hesitant.

“Yes?” she said quickly, fighting the fear that threatened to swamp her.

The door opened and Dillon was there, silhouetted against the light from the hall.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

Embarrassment swept through her as she thought about what an honest answer would sound like.

Yes, I’m fine, I was just dreaming about having wild sex with you, but don’t worry. It’s just the pathetic longings of a woman with no sex life.

“I’m fine,” she said, and left it at that.

“You cried out,” he told her.

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Lord, I’m sorry. I’m fine. Honestly. I haven’t been so fine in…a while. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right. I sleep lightly. Good night,” he said, and started to close the door.

“Wait!”

He hesitated.

And then she did, too, suddenly unable to go on.

It was as if the air itself grew heavy with anticipation, with anxiety, as if fate itself hung on what would happen next. She half rose, thinking that she could suggest they make some tea. Talk. Head to the living room, the kitchen, or just take the dog for a walk….

“Please, don’t leave,” she told him.

He paused in the doorway, then walked slowly into the room. He had thrown on a robe, and she knew—without knowing how she knew—that he had nothing on beneath it. His eyes were sober, and his voice was low and even when he told her, “You have nothing to fear here, you know. I’m right across the hall. Just yell and I’ll be right here.”

“I know that,” she told him. “I’m not afraid.”

He reached out, the most fascinating man she’d ever encountered, and smoothed a strand of her hair.

“Really,” he said, with one of the smiles that so charmed her.

“Really,” she echoed.

“We could watch a movie,” he suggested.

“We could. But that’s not what I had in mind,” she told him.

His smile broadened, and when he touched her, the jolt was palpable, as if a circuit had been completed. She
nearly gasped in awe as what had been a dream became real, because the truth of his hands on her was far more exciting than anything her subconscious could conjure. He slid into bed beside her, fingers twining into her hair, his mouth sure, firm, seductive, and an explosion of arousal followed his first touch. She felt as if they were fused together, and it was easy to overcome the hesitancy of a lifetime and slip her arms around him, to relish the solidity of his muscles and the smooth hot skin beneath the robe. There was urgency in every touch, and yet they both seemed filled with a determination to take their time, to savor the process of getting to know one another.

The first kiss seemed to go on for aeons, but aeons filled with wonder, where every deep thrust led to a new burst of exploding fire and arousal in which their bodies shifted again, touching anew, hands roving and discovering more and more. His robe was easily dispensed with, and his naked flesh against hers further kindled the frantic rise of heat within her. She had known that he was muscle and sinew wrapped in sleek copper, and now the feel of him against her was as powerful as burning metal. His hands were exactly like the man himself, sure, confident, with a strength that elicited trust and wonder, and swiftly simmering excitement. Their limbs tangled and locked as his fingers brushed her face, stroked her neck and throat. His lips burned through the cotton material of the shirt she had borrowed, and she would never know exactly when or even who removed it at last, so that his tongue could blaze like sunlight across her breasts and abdomen.

She savored the magic of his embrace, the vibrant bonds of flesh and muscle, and found herself insatiable in her longing to touch and taste in return, to run her fingers into his hair, over his shoulders, down the length of his body. Her lips, too, strayed to his torso, a courtesy of introduction before exploring ever intimately, until she lifted her head their lips locked once more.

At last she was on her back, staring up into his eyes, ink dark and paradoxically filled with both an ancient wisdom and buoyant youth, as well as vitality, humor and passion. She gasped as he moved between her thighs, slow and sure, and filling the world,
her
world, with his presence as he took her to a physical extreme she had never known existed. She was caught in an inferno, a massive bonfire burning in the darkness of a desert night. She clung to him, writhed against him, arched to meet every thrust and shift, and relished each gasp and rising thrill as she was tossed in a tempest of need and desire. She raked his shoulders with her nails and was aware of his hands gripping her buttocks as he drove her upward toward the explosion of climax. But then he drew back from the precipice and slowed the pace, before sending her soaring once more. Again and again, accelerating, then braking, until she was frantic, her fingers dancing down his back in a frenzy, her lips against his throat, demanding and voracious. She climaxed at last, the moment violent in its intensity and wild abandon, shaking in his hold, jerking against him again and again, her flesh wet and slick and trembling against him as the world shook and receded and reality finally, slowly, returned.