Passion, Betrayal and Killer Highlights (31 page)

Anatoly closed his hand around my arm. “Let’s give them some time alone.”

I did a quick double take. “I can’t leave Leah when she’s in the middle of a crisis. She’ll have me strung up by my thumbs!”

“No, Anatoly’s right.” Leah smoothed Jack’s sparse head of hair with a shaky hand. “This may be the last time I’ll be able to be alone with my child for a long time.”

Now I was really scared. I looked to Anatoly for answers. “I’ll fill you in on what she told me,” he whispered, then pulled me toward the door. “Leah, we’ll be back in a few hours. Call Sophie on her cell if you need us.”

Leah didn’t respond. Instead she just pressed her forehead against Jack’s and whispered his name.

I swallowed and followed Anatoly out onto the street before speaking again. “Please tell me what’s going on. What do the police have on my sister?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” Anatoly tilted his head upward and squinted at the dark clouds that had begun to gather in the sky. “Lorenzo gave her some information, and when I walked in she was on the phone with that reporter from
Flavah
—I think his name’s Jerry…”

“Jerome,” I said impatiently. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He was with Leah when Lorenzo showed up, so he offered to call a few contacts over at the police station to help figure out what’s going on.”

“And?” I prodded.

Anatoly gently guided me in the direction of his place. “It seems that the cocaine Erika OD’d on was injected.”

“So?”

“So Erika used insulin injections to control her diabetes.”

“Again, so wha—wait a minute!” I almost tripped on the curb as we started to cross the street. “Erika didn’t know she was shooting up cocaine. She thought she was taking insulin!”

“Maybe.” Anatoly took hold of my elbow to prevent me from inadvertently walking in front of a bike messenger. “The syringe that was used came from the package of needles that she got with her supply of insulin, but there are other things to consider. Cocaine needs to be melted down immediately prior to being injected. It would have been impossible for someone to sneak a vial into her medicine cabinet hours before the injection without its changing consistency.”

“So someone would have had to make the switch just minutes before Erika put the needle in,” I said slowly.

“Yes, assuming Erika gave herself the injection.” We turned onto Anatoly’s street and started up the hill. “There’s some question about that, since there were no fingerprints on the syringe, or even on the box in which it had been stored.”

“Could the person who gave Erika the shot have been wearing gloves?”

Anatoly shrugged. “That or they wiped the needle down after it was used. Either way it doesn’t look good.”

My mind flashed back to the night Leah and I discovered Erika, and I did a quick mental inventory of all the things I had wiped down. The lamp, the doorknob…no, I was sure that if I had stumbled across a syringe or even a box of insulin during my little cleaning session I would have taken special notice. “Where did they find the needle?”

“That’s the other thing…they apparently found it at the bottom of Erika’s toilet. It appears that somebody tried to flush away the evidence.”

“Okay, hold up.” I raised my hand to stop him. “Some murderer was clever enough to kill Erika with an overdose of crack but they weren’t smart enough to figure out how to flush a toilet?”

“Apparently Erika has one of those toilets where you have to hold the handle down in order for it to work properly.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I hate those.”

“Yeah, I think our killer is with you on that point.” We had reached his building, but he hesitated before putting the key in the lock. “Sophie, you need to understand something. They wouldn’t be asking for Leah’s hair if they didn’t have some kind of DNA evidence to compare it to. If her hair matches what the police want it to match, she’s going to be locked away until this whole thing goes to trial.”

“No—” I shook my head and looked past him “—I don’t accept that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you accept, those are the facts.”

“Facts are overrated,” I argued. “Just ask any young earth creationist.”

Anatoly sighed. “So what are you going to do? Hold a public prayer session and protest the teaching of criminal justice within our school system?”

“All I’m saying is that I have faith. I have faith in God, I have faith in my sister, I have faith in myself and I have faith in you. And between the four of us we should be able to make everything turn out all right.”

Anatoly smiled. “So you still think the glass is half full.”

“I think it might be down to a quarter full, but it’s still not empty.” I looked down at the scuff marks on the tips of my boots. “You’re not throwing in the towel or anything, right? Please tell me you’re not.”

Anatoly reached forward and lifted my chin. “I can’t guarantee that things will work out the way that you want them to, but I can promise you that I will never throw in the towel. Not when it comes to you and your family.”

Our eyes met, and for a moment I was actually speechless. It’s not something that happens to me very often. Anatoly’s mouth formed into one of those half smiles that I love so much and he stepped forward.

“What are you thinking?”

I took a deep breath and then forced myself to pull back. “I’m thinking that we have a lot of work to do.”

Anatoly shook his head. “At this point there’s nothing to do but wait. The DNA results should be back within the next twenty-four hours, and at that point we’ll plan our next move.”

“Yeah, well I’m all for spontaneity, but not when it comes to my sister’s life. I say we come up with two alternative plans of action so that when the results come in we’re ready.”

Anatoly sighed. “How does the saying go? ‘There’ll be no rest for the wicked’?”

“Something like that.” I glanced at my watch. “Why don’t we go upstairs and do a little brainstorming. Do you have any coffee?”

“Of course,” Anatoly said, and opened the lobby door.

When we got upstairs I did a quick inventory of his apartment. I had never actually been inside before. It was considerably smaller than mine and the decor was definitely on the stark side. There was a sofa, a leather La-Z-Boy, a pool table that had seen better days and a television set that was probably a few years younger than me.

“So I take it you didn’t spend the advance I gave you on an interior designer.”

“I spend my money on things that are important to me,” he said as he took my coat and walked out of the room.

“Like what?” I called after him.

“Like this.”

I followed his voice to the kitchen, and gasped. The room was as big as the living room, but unlike the latter, was filled with state-of-the-art accessories. A food processor with at least eight settings sat proudly on the counter next to a bread machine nice enough to make any Sur La Table connoisseur jealous. There was a Viking stove and a very impressive set of cooking knives, but by far the most stunning item in the kitchen was a gourmet, top-of-the-line Starbucks Barista Digital Italia Espresso 2000. I was vaguely aware of Anatoly getting something out of the refrigerator as I walked over to the machine and let my hand hover over its top.

“May I touch it?” I asked in an awed whisper.

Anatoly smiled and walked to my side. “Usually when a woman asks me that she’s not talking about my coffeemaker.”

I shot him a disgusted look. “How dare you refer to this miracle of technology as a coffeemaker!”

“Forgive me.” Anatoly moved his hand over mine and then pressed down until it was sandwiched between the glistening steel of the Espresso 2000 and the slightly rough texture of his palm.

Images of making love in a field of Arabica coffee beans filled my head. “Will you…” My voice faltered as I looked up into his eyes. “Will you work it for me?”

Anatoly broke into a grin. “Sophie, I thought you’d never ask.”

Without removing his hand, he maneuvered himself behind me. Now my back was pressed against his stomach. He reached his right hand up to open a cabinet door above my head and he pulled out a coffee grinder.

I swallowed. “You use whole beans?”

Anatoly nodded and moved his mouth closer to my ear. “It’s better when it’s strong.”

Okay—orgasm time. I closed my eyes and tried to resist the temptation of the moment. What was it that guys did when they wanted to last longer? Think about sports, right? But you would have to know something about sports to think about them, and my knowledge in that area was limited to the game of Frisbee. There was no way that a flying disk was going to distract me from the organ that was beginning to press into the small of my back.

“So…um…should we grind the beans?”

“Shh.” Anatoly’s lips had moved from my ear to my neck. “We don’t want to rush the process.” His breath tickled my skin. “It was you who pointed out that we weren’t just talking about coffee.”

“No.” I breathed, and turned to face him. My breasts pressed against his pectoral muscles. “We’re talking about espresso.”

Anatoly’s hand went up to the back of my head and he pulled me into a heated kiss. I spread my hands out to either side of me and grasped the edge of the counter. My arm brushed against the item Anatoly had retrieved from the fridge. I opened one eye and saw the brown-and-gold bag. The label read Special Reserve Estate 2003—Sumatra Lintong Lake Tawar—only the best espresso beans money could buy. I groaned and moved my hands to his shirt. What difference did it make if he was an egocentric chauvinistic womanizer? Clearly he was my soul mate. His hand moved to my butt and I felt myself being lifted up onto the counter next to his machine. I spread my legs to pull him into an erotic embrace. Anatoly’s right hand had moved to the top button of my jeans and I gasped as his left cupped the prize that he coveted. In the past when Anatoly and I had come this close to having sex, something had always stopped me. Usually it was the nagging fear that he was actually trying to kill me. But now I had put all those fears to rest. How could anyone who owned an Espresso 2000 be capable of something as sordid as murder?

Murder? Wait a minute…another gasp escaped me, but this one didn’t stem from passion. “Anatoly, what are we doing? We should be thinking about ways to help Leah.”

“We will—later.” Anatoly had undone the last button of my Levi’s and was busy trying to maneuver them off me.

The temptation to agree was overwhelming, but…“I don’t think Leah’s problems are something we can afford to put off.”

Anatoly pulled back just enough to make eye contact. “You really want to stop now?”

“Umm…”

“What if I told you that in the drawer directly beneath you there was a box of chocolate-covered espresso beans?”

“Dark chocolate?”

“What else?”

“Let’s get it on.”

Anatoly grabbed me, his mouth closed over mine once more and all thoughts of Leah, and Bob’s murder, flew out of my head. All I could think about was how good it felt to be pressed against Anatoly and how awesome it was going to be to eat those espresso beans. As if reading my mind, he reached behind my legs and pulled the small box out of the drawer. He took a half step back and slowly rolled a bean along my lower lip. My tongue flicked out in a desperate attempt to taste the chocolate, but Anatoly was working at a more leisurely pace. After what seemed like an eternity he slipped the bean into my mouth, along with his index finger. Now I could taste espresso, chocolate and Anatoly’s skin all at the same time. I moaned in pleasure and sucked gently on his finger as he slowly withdrew it.

“More?” he asked teasingly.

I swallowed the delicacy and nodded. “Lots more.”

Anatoly put another bean in my mouth, but this time his other hand was at work untying my wrap top. It fell open and he gazed at me appreciatively. His hand traveled in a straight line from my throat, to my navel, to the elastic waistband of my bikini briefs. His other hand stroked the inside of my thigh. “We need to get rid of these jeans.”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I wiggled my hips to help Anatoly remove my clothing, then promptly ripped his shirt right off him. My God, the man had a beautiful body. His hands wrapped around my waist. He leaned forward and gently sucked on the sensitive area at the base of my throat. I moaned and threw my head back, banging it against the cabinet behind me.

“Are you all right?”

“Fantastic. Can I have another espresso bean?”

Anatoly laughed. “I feel like I’m using your addiction to obtain illicit sexual favors.”

“Well, of course you are. You don’t have a moral problem with that, do you?”

“I think my conscience can take it.”

He fed me another bean and slipped his other hand inside my panties. When I felt his finger push inside me, I almost exploded. I would have called out his name if I wasn’t so busy chewing. He leaned forward so that he was closer to my ear.

“I have wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

“Even when you thought I was a murderess?”

“Even then,” he confessed. “I know it’s twisted, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Nothing wrong with being a little twisted—” I gasped. Anatoly had now employed a second finger to his task. It was only fair that I reciprocate. I moved my hand to the bulge in his jeans. “Well, it’s not a gun…so you must be glad to see me.”

Anatoly chuckled. “You have no idea.”

I closed my eyes as he trailed kisses along my right shoulder. “You know you’re going to have to use a filter,” I whispered.

Anatoly laughed again. “I think I have some in stock.” He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

“Okay, this is so not sexy,” I said as he lugged me potato-sack style toward the bedroom.

“Maybe not, but it’s a lot easier on my back than cradling you in front of me as if you were some kind of fairy-tale princess.”

“Hey!” I snapped. “It just so happens that I’m Jewish
and
I’m American, which makes me a princess by default—so carry me the right way!”

Anatoly put me down inside the doorway of his bedroom. “You don’t like being carried over my shoulder?”

“Nothing slips by you, does it?”