Sighs Matter (19 page)

“. . . I’ll be back . . . hasta la vista, baby . . .”

“Yes, yes,” she cooed. “You’re a clever boy. Now shut up.”

A few minutes later, Sadie locked the kitchen door behind her, and headed for the garage. Her keys jangling in her hand, she stopped when she heard a car turn into the driveway. A black Cadil— Mortie!

Oh, dear. Now what? Detective McKennitt wanted her to get information from Mortie, but over the phone. And now here he was, ambling down her driveway. Should she ask him to say? Ask him questions? Send him away?

As the car rolled to a stop, Sadie turned the situation over in her mind. This
was
the role of a lifetime, after all, and since Mortie didn’t have the balls to hurt a turnip, she’d undoubtedly be perfectly safe,
and
be doing her civic duty at the same time.

So, when Mortie stepped out of the car, smiled, and said, “I’m real sorry about what happened, Sadie. How about coming for a drive in the country with me and we can talk about things?” there was nothing for it but to say yes.

By the time Taylor got Claire back to the farm, it was midday. They were both somber, both tired, but she could tell he was still wound up. So was she.

He parked behind Aunt Sadie’s truck and turned off the ignition. Quiet surrounded them. Through her aunt’s open bedroom window, Claire could hear Hitch softly warning Sadie she was going to need a bigger boat.

Turning to Taylor, she said, “I need to go for a walk. Care to join me?”

Without another word, she got out of the truck and began walking toward the pond. A moment later, Taylor fell into step beside her.

The air was filled with the heady bouquet of summer. The fragrance of roses and clover blossoms mixed with the boggy scent of the pond, as well as a touch of salt from the sea only a few miles away. Somewhere in the tall grass, crickets played their spindly tunes, while frogs, nestled unseen in the cool mud, sounded like a hundred basement doors creaking open and closed.

They stopped walking when they reached the edge of the pond where a slight breeze rippled the water’s surface, splintering the sunlight into dashes and winks.

“You want to talk?” he said.

“Talk is good.” She stared at the water. “About what?”

“About how much you like me.”

Biting back a laugh, she said, “What on earth makes you think I like you, Detective?” Inside her chest, her heart picked up speed.

“C’mon. I know you like me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin sheepishly. “Is it because I’m so damn good-looking?”

“No.”

“So much for my ego. Then is it because I’m so smart?”

“If you mean smart aleck, then yes, you’re smart.”

He pursed his lips and squinted at her. “I’m clever, if that counts for anything. I like that in me. And I’m honest and trustworthy.”

“You sound like a German shepherd.”

“Woof. Which reminds me. I love children and animals. And I like being the good guy.”

Without turning to him, she said, “I’ve been thinking and I . . .”

Though he said nothing, Taylor moved closer to her. Cupping her shoulders, he turned her toward him, enveloping her in his arms.

He held her head to his shoulder while she slipped her arms around his waist. Letting her lids drift closed, she simply stood there with him, safe in his embrace while he rocked back and forth as though they were moving to the rhythm of a slow, slow dance.

Taylor, tall and stalwart and ever vigilant, her self-appointed champion.

She was a strong woman, had made tough choices and seen them through. She’d lived life on her own terms and gotten where she wanted to go. As fulfilling and satisfying as her career was, however, there was still the occasional empty space.

But now, standing like this with Taylor’s arms around her, their bodies touching, his heat and energy swirling through her, those niggling little voids she’d been ignoring for years began to fill. The part of her soul that had gone for so long untended, maybe even unacknowledged, began to respond.

She raised her face to him, closing her eyes as he lowered his head and kissed her.

Soft, it was, and gentle, a mere touch of his lips on hers. He tasted of sweet and salt and Taylor. His arms tightened around her, and she moved into him, opening for him. His thumb grazed her cheek. He slid his tongue inside her mouth as his kiss became ardent, urgent, sending trills of pleasure up her spine and down . . . way down.

The breeze ruffled her hair, and he gently slid a wayward lock from her brow, leaving a wake of sensation across her skin. His hand trailed down her neck, and down, to cup her breast, and she moved closer.

Touch me
, she silently begged.

But he didn’t. He let his thumb circle her nipple, refusing it, tormenting her until her pulse went wild, her lungs begged for more air.

She molded her hand around his, trying to get his fingers to do her bidding. He refused.

Frustrated with desire, she broke the kiss and nearly stomped her foot.

“Hey, b-baby,” he quietly chuckled. “You must be a broom, ’cause you just swept me off my feet.”

She snorted a laugh and opened her mouth to give him a smart-ass remark, when he took her again, thrusting his tongue deep, sliding it along hers, stealing the breath from her body.

His hands moved quickly, popping the buttons of her blouse, shoving the fabric away. The garment slipped from her shoulders to fall behind her in the tall grass. He had her bra undone and off in less than a breath, then his rough hands were on her, cupping both breasts, lifting them, squeezing them. Her nipples ached for his touch, his tongue, his mouth, but still, he refused.

“Taylor,” she begged. “Please . . .”

“C’mere . . .” He lowered her into the grass, cool, and sweet-smelling. The soft blades bent and bowed over them, enclosing them in their own little world. She let her lids drift shut. Sensation washed over her as he took one nipple in his mouth.

A flick of his tongue and she cried out from the pleasure. Between her legs, the throbbing ache felt delicious, and she silently pleaded for him to slide his hand inside her pants, touch her there, send her over the edge into delirious oblivion. She parted her legs and rolled her hips into his.

He kissed her once more, his mouth teasing her lips, sliding down the column of her throat, returning to her mouth. His kisses were wonderful, intoxicating. He was a master at the craft. Dear God, his kisses alone could bring her to orgasm.

In the silence of the meadow, he bent to her breast once more, tugging on the nipple, scraping it with his teeth, sending shards of desire through her body, sharp as glass, warm as honey.

Sliding her zipper, he eased her jeans and panties down her hips, and off. She was naked while he was fully clothed. She felt like a wanton wood nymph making love in a secluded glade, aroused beyond coherent thought, able only to feel, to experience, to respond.

She was so aroused, if he so much as breathed on her, she’d come.

Desperate to feel his skin, she tore at the buttons of his shirt, then pulled him down on top of her, reveling in the warmth of his hard muscles, his flesh on her, driving her insane with flat-out lust.

He moved down her body, and down, and down. Her brain ceased to function. All she could think about was where he was heading, what he’d do when he got there, what it would feel like.

And then, he was there.

His tongue licked her once, and her back arched. Every muscle in her body tightened and she dug her hands into the matted grass at her sides.

He licked her again, sending ripples of pleasure through her, and she sobbed his name. Through her delirium, she thought she heard him laugh softly.

She lifted her head to see, just as he pushed her legs apart and licked her once more. Her head dropped back and she felt the orgasm build. Afraid to move for fear the pleasure would end, she stiffened as he used his tongue against her, and she came, choking for air, crying his name.

Slowly, her body relaxed against the warm grass. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as her heart thundered against her ribs. Her chest rose and fell in an effort to simply breathe.

He shifted, reached in his pocket, tore open the packet, and sheathed himself. Gently parting her thighs, he entered her in one long glide.

She clamped around him as he filled her, moaning his name. Desire began to build again, and within moments, she was on the brink once more, desperate for the release he’d give her. Desperate, now, to feel him go wild in her arms.

She curled her legs around his, bringing them tightly together, squeezing him, increasing the friction.

He made a low, groaning sound, slammed into her, then stopped. Panting, he bent over her, motionless. Another thrust. And another. He gasped for air and pounded into her one last time as his orgasm overtook him, making his breathing choppy, his words mere gasps of pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, his mouth against her neck. His lungs were like bellows, fighting for breath.

Claire wrapped her arms around him and held him so very close. With one hand, she ran her fingers through his damp, silky hair, caressing him, soothing him.

They lay in the grass with the warm summer breeze blowing across their skin, lost in each other’s arms. She wondered what he was thinking, but didn’t want to break the magic to ask.

Taylor. Hers. There was no denying it. Being with him, lying wrapped in his arms, feeling his chest expand and contract with each breath, listening to the sound of his murmured words . . . her senses were attuned to him and had been since the moment they’d met.

“You’re aware, aren’t you,” he said softly, “that you’ve just taken another step toward the Dark Side.”

“I’m aware,” she whispered.

“You’re okay with it?”

She bit her lip, then snuggled closer. “I’m okay with it.”

Raising his head, he looked down into her eyes, but said nothing.

Illegal
Large, sick bird.

As the miles between her and Port Henry grew, so did Sadie’s feelings of apprehension. She’d only agreed to go with Mortie so she could pump him for information, as the saying went, but in the whole time they’d been driving, he hadn’t said two words to her! He hadn’t even glanced her way, just kept muttering to himself, adjusting the rearview mirror, looking over his shoulder, like Bogey used to do when he was on the lam.

Wiggling in her seat, trying to get more comfortable, she watched Mort’s fingers curl around the steering wheel in a death grip. He kept his bright rodent eyes on the country road, barely even taking the time to blink. And even though the interior of the car was cool, his face was all puffy and red, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

Irritated at his reticence, she cleared her throat. “What was it you wanted to say to me, Mortie? If you’re going to apologize, it had better be good.”

Flicking her a glance, he returned his attention to the road. “We can talk when we get there,” he snapped.

“Where is
there
?”

His mouth turned down. “The place we was before. Where I took you that time I forgot my cell phone.” He arched a brow. “You remember the place I’m talking about, Sadie?”

Inside her chest, her heart tripped over itself.
That
place. The place Detective McKennitt wanted her to find. That what-this-whole-thing-was-about place. Hot dog!

“Not really,” she said breezily, not wishing to appear anxious. “I think I was asleep most of the time. Couldn’t find it again if my life depended on it.”

“Criminy, that’s what I
told
him, goddammit.”

Her brows lowered. “Told who? What are you talking about?”

They rounded a lazy curve in the road and the scenery began to look vaguely familiar. Though they were surrounded by tall trees, to her right stood a thick stand of Douglas firs so dense, broad daylight didn’t even penetrate. Mortie slowed the car. Was it her imagination, or was there a tall fence running parallel to the road, just behind those trees?

“Never you mind,” Mortie snarled. He huffed out a short breath. “We’re almost there. I’ll tell you everything then.” Reaching up, he swiped his damp forehead, then rubbed his palm on his pants.

“Are you ill, Mort?” Sadie said. Why on earth would the man be sweating bullets?

Flicking a glance in his rearview mirror, he muttered, “This is as good a place as any.”

Mort pulled the car to the side of the road and into a small clearing under a canopy of fir branches. The car was surrounded by trees, their long limbs creating a living roof over their heads as she and Mort stepped out of the Cadillac.

The scent of evergreens mixed with damp needles and wild rhododendron was fresh and invigorating. Except for the drone of bees and the occasional chirp of a bird, the world was quiet.

“Are we going to have a picnic?” she said.

Mort was sweating like the pig he was and Sadie wondered if he was in the early throes of a heart attack. “This ain’t no picnic, Sadie, and that’s for damn sure.”

He came around to her side of the car, and then she saw exactly what the problem was. A gun. In his hand. Aimed at her heart.

Oh, my.

“I need to take a shower,” Claire whispered to Taylor as they climbed the stairs to her room. “Care to join me,
quietly
? Don’t want to disturb Aunt Sadie.”

At Claire’s bedroom door, he kissed her. He felt like he was returning her home after the prom. He liked the feeling; he liked it a lot.

“I need to call in for the status of the lab tests,” he said softly. “I’ll go down to the kitchen.”

Damn, he wished they had more time before the real world had to intrude. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her hard, letting her know they had unfinished business. When he finally released her, she smiled up into his eyes, then quietly closed her bedroom door.

As he pushed the kitchen door open, he thumbed the autodial. A moment later, “McKennitt.”

“Anything come in?”

“Hey, yeah, little brother,” Soldier said. “I was just reading it over now.”

Taylor heard papers being flipped and shuffled, and then, “Okay. Tire tread analysis. It seems the impressions you picked up after the barn fire are a match with BF Goodrich radials, the kind that come standard on SUVs.”

The phone in his left hand, Taylor opened the fridge with his right.
Milk
. He reached for the carton. “Not a surprise. What else you got?”

“Mindy Ketterer was a homicide.”

“Not exactly a surprise, either,” Taylor said, hunting through the cupboards for a glass.

“Yeah,” Soldier continued. “According to the autopsy, she had a skull fracture, but the violence of the trauma wasn’t consistent with a fall. There were indentations on the back of her neck, like from fingers. Somebody grabbed her and slammed her head into the sink. No defensive wounds, no struggle. She died instantly.”

Reaching into a cupboard, Taylor pulled out a clean glass and poured himself some milk. “So, somebody follows her home, does the deed, leaves the water running to obliterate trace evidence. By the time the husband gets home, his living room looks like the delta of the Mississippi River.” He took a gulp of milk.

“Motive?”

Taylor set the glass down. “It’s gotta be damage control. I’d bet even money she saw Mortimer’s silent partner. Maybe even knew who he was.”

“Winslow went by the mortuary this morning to bring in Mort for questioning,” Soldier said, “but nobody was there. Place is locked up. I put out an APB on him.”

“Thanks.” Dropping into one of the kitchen chairs, he said, “Anything on those prints?”

Soldier snorted. “Oh, yeah. Are you sitting down?”

“I just did, but I can do it again if it’s that good.”

“It is. We ran the prints and they popped up one Kevin A. LeRoy, age forty-two, last known address, Portland, Oregon. Arrested three times for wife battery. Served thirty days on one charge, the others were dropped. The now ex-wife has full custody of two minor children. LeRoy’s allowed monthly visits in the presence of an officer.”

“Sounds like a prize. Does he care enough to show up?”

“Never missed a session,” Soldier said. “Apparently, he adores his kids and talks of nothing but getting custody.”

Taylor leaned back in the chair and thrummed his fingers on the table. “Got a photo ID of this guy?”

“Hang on,” Soldier said. “First, there’ll be a little quiz. Twenty points if you can tell me what kind of vehicle he owns.”

Taylor straightened. “SUV?”

“We have a winner,” Soldier said. “He drives an Excursion. Price tag of about fifty grand. Eleven feet across, nineteen feet long. Seats nine adults, five hundred bags of groceries, or ten thousand puppies. Forty-four-gallon gas tank.”

“Christ, that sucker would shove a 747 off the runway, let alone an old pickup truck.”

“Indeed. But wait,” Soldier said, “there’s more. For fifty extra points, you can answer our bonus round question.”

“What a coincidence,” Taylor drawled. “Fifty points is exactly what I need to get me that new toaster oven.”

“I thought so,” Soldier said. “On a hunch, I ran the DNA from the blond hair you picked up in Sadie’s kitchen . . .”

“And it’s a match.”

“Could we have ourselves a silent partner?”

“And maybe Mindy Ketterer’s killer,” Taylor finished for him.

“Got your laptop handy?” Soldier said. “I’ll e-mail you LeRoy’s picture. Handsome bastard, I’ll give him that. Blond hair, gray eyes. Don’t care much for the sneer, though . . .”

Sadie stared at the gun in Mort’s trembling fingers. The poor man’s hands were so sweaty, she was surprised he could hold on to the gun at all!

She took a step back, just to see if he was paying attention. He was.

“Don’t go nowhere, Sadie,” he choked as he wiped sweat from his eyes. “I mean it. I h-have to do this, you see? Don’t want to, but it’s come down to you or me, and it ain’t gonna be me.”

Nodding, she kept her eyes on the gun. “Your crooked partner wants me dead, is that it, Mortie?”

He licked his lips and swallowed. “Yeah. Now, just stand there, real still. I just want to get this over quick, and don’t want to mess it up.” When he finally looked at her, his eyes had a sad sort of pleading quality. “Because if I mess up, you might suffer, and I’m just not that big a bastard, Sadie.”

Taking another step back, she said, “You’re not going to kill me, Mort. You can’t.” She wished she was sure about that, but she’d bluffed her way through auditions, maybe she could bluff her way out of death.

She took another step back. True, she was no spring chicken, but neither was he. If she could make it to the woods, she might have a chance, if he didn’t shoot her in the back before she got that far.

Mort licked his lips again, and pulled the hammer back on the gun. “I told you to hold still!”

Taking another step back, she said, “And let you shoot me? I’m old, but I’m not stupid, Mortie. Besides, the police know all about you and your illegal disarticulations. Killing me won’t do you a speck of good.”

Over the barrel of the gun, his eyes widened. “Cops? The cops know? But how . . .”

His voice quivered. Putting his palm to his forehead, he let his gaze drop, and with it, his arm. Ah. Just the opening she was looking for.

Sadie turned on her heel and made a dash for the trees. Perhaps
dash
wasn’t the right word, not with her hip being stiff and achy as it was, but hopefully fast enough to outrun a badly aimed bullet.

Just as she reached the first trees, she heard Mort yell after her. “Sadie? Where . . . Sadie! I warned you! Gadzooks, woman!”

But Sadie kept her eyes on the darkest part of the thicket. With her head down and her legs pumping, her purse strap firm in the crook of her arm, she trudged over the rough ground like a bargain hunter in search of the discount table at Bloomingdale’s. Over snapping twigs and sharp rocks, through scratchy bramble and low branches that grasped at her sweater, she didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder. Not when she heard him shouting curses. Not when she heard him come crashing through the bushes. Not even when she heard the gun explode . . .

* * *

Claire towel-dried her hair and quickly dressed. God, she was absolutely starving. Great sex would do that to a person, she thought, grinning to herself as she slipped into her sandals.

She was a little surprised Aunt Sadie wasn’t up and about yet. The clock on the bedside table read ten-seventeen. Hmm. As long as Claire had lived with her aunt, Sadie had never been one to lounge in bed of a morning.

“. . . no wire hangers! . . . no wire hangers! . . .”

“Damn. How am I gonna hang up my jacket?”

Claire turned to see Taylor standing in her bedroom doorway, a charming grin on his oh-so-handsome face.

“Yeah,” Claire laughed, “he’s really on a roll this morning.”

Taylor cocked his head. “You’d think all that racket would wake up your aunt.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah. You’d . . . think.” In the back of her mind, tiny wheels began to slowly turn. “Her truck was in the garage when we got back, right?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning his hip against the doorjamb. “Winslow has an officer doing a drive-by every thirty to forty minutes. He hasn’t reported anything unusual.”

“ ’Kay,” she said absently. “And the door was locked.”

He straightened. “Does she normally sleep this late?”

Claire shook her head.

Backing out of her doorway, Taylor headed down the short hallway to Sadie’s room. Behind the closed door, Hitch was screaming his birdy guts out.

“. . . Detective McKennitt . . . that’ll do pig . . . that’ll do . . .”

Taylor snorted. “Little bastard’s got quite a repertoire.”

“Doesn’t he though.” Claire knocked on the door. “Aunt Sadie? Aunt Sadie, are you awake?”

With a quick look at Taylor, she turned the handle and slowly opened the door, sending Hitch to flapping and squawking in his cage.

The little room was neat as a pin, as usual. The bed was made, and the window stood open, letting in a cool morning breeze.

Hurrying to Sadie’s bathroom, she knocked on the door, then opened it. Empty. A damp bath towel hung from the hook by the tub.

Taylor came up behind her. Turning, she placed her palms on his chest. “She was here this morning. There’s still a little water around the drain in the bathtub.”

“Maybe she’s out with the bees.”

Claire let her gaze flit around the room until it came to rest on the chair in front of Sadie’s dressing table, the empty chair.

“Her purse,” Claire rushed, cold blood suddenly coursing into her heart, making her stomach cramp, her skin prickle. “She always sets her purse on that little chair.”