Some Gave All (14 page)

He closed the man’s eyes.

He had just finished a recheck of the pockets when Catherine darted up to him. She held up her phone. “We have to go. Fire and police are on the way.”

“I want to take his body,” Vincent said. “He was at the crime scene. For all we know,
he’s
the beast.”

“Do you sense that?” she asked him.

“I’m sure he was there. But the beast? I can’t tell, but there’s so much about this Beast two-point-oh that we don’t know…”

She frowned. “It’s too risky.” She leaned in and took several pictures of the dead man’s face with her phone. Next she reached down and pressed his limp fingers on the phone’s glass face, and then his thumb. She took the knife from Vincent’s hand and without hesitation, cut off the tip of the man’s right index finger. Vincent opened his pocket and she placed it inside.

“Best we can do,” she said.

“We can’t leave him for the vultures to find. He was undercover and… I don’t want them to find him anyway.”

She squeezed Vincent’s hand. “I understand. And I agree.” She looked over at the fire. “What do you think?”

Vincent rose to his feet and trotted toward the warehouse, the man still in his arms. He reminded himself that in the days of the ancient Vikings and Greeks, a funeral pyre sent the souls of brave men to paradise. He didn’t know this man’s story, but he wanted to respect his final chapter.

Amid the flames and charring bodies, Vincent found a large pile of burning wood. He climbed onto a nearby crate and laid the man carefully down. Overhead, the burning roof was bowing inward and would fall soon.

“Day is done,” he murmured.

And then he left.

I
n Cat’s apartment, Vincent was already in the shower, and Cat, filthy, shaken, and angry, couldn’t wait to join him. Heather was angry, too, which Cat could understand, except that Cat was angry with
her.

“I told you to go home,” Cat yelled at her. “And not only did you
not
listen to me, you brought a
felon
with you!”

“He’s
not
a felon,” Heather shot back. Then she flushed. “Well, okay, except for murdering two people. And he only
said
that he did it. He was probably just trying to impress me.”

Cat stopped pacing and stared at Heather.

Heather exhaled. “That came out wrong.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Oh, Cat, don’t be so huffy,” Heather snapped. “I helped you tonight. All of you. You can spin it however you want—that I’m your stupid little sister, your comic relief—but
I
saved J.T. and Tess tonight.
Me.
And you can go
on
about how I didn’t listen to you but it’s a damn good thing I didn’t listen to you. So let’s all cheer, ‘Go, Heather, for following your own instincts. Because you saved the day!’”

Heather made a show of patting herself on the back. Then she stomped into her room and slammed the door. Cat cooled down a little. Heather had a point. She
had
saved the day.

“Hey, Heath,” she called after her. “Listen, I’m so—”

She didn’t get to finish her apology because Vincent, dripping water and wearing nothing but a sodden towel, grabbed her up firefighter style and carried her into the bathroom. She was draped over his shoulder, laughing; then she helped him peel off her filthy, bloody clothing and let him lift her over the lip of the bathtub. The shower was still running and she lifted her face to the moist, divine warmth. The heady floral scent of her shampoo billowed around her, and then Vincent was washing her hair. It was only one of the many sexy, loveable things he routinely did that underscored how very thoughtful and special he was.

He moved from her head to her neck and shoulders, then on down her back. She leaned against him and tipped up her head, the view of his chin just splendid.

“So,” she began. “Let’s recap. You were in the warehouse. The one by the Patel apartment. And you felt—”

“I felt nothing that I hope to feel in about twenty minutes,” he said. “As we leave the world behind for the rest of the night. We deserve this, Catherine, and I’m not going to deny either of us.”

She, too, flared with passion. There were a hundred leads they should follow; as many theories to investigate. But her mind, her body, and her soul needed a moment,
this
moment. Needed him. Or else she would be no good to anyone. Being with Vincent tonight was as necessary as breathing.

“Make it ten minutes,” she said.

Languidly, he picked up a bar of scented soap and a loofah and gently washed her arms and legs. She did the same to him, with her bare hands, her fingers trailing over the contours of his body. Reacting, his stomach muscles jerked and then his arms were around her.

“Make it two minutes,” he said, bending to kiss her.

“Make it now,” she whispered.

* * *

I want to make you feel wanted…

Drowsing, it took Cat a moment to realize that Vincent was idly braiding, then unbraiding, a tendril of her wet hair. She rolled over and nuzzled his beard with her cheek. Luxuriating in his presence in her bed, and in her life, she consciously blocked all the questions and tangents vying for her attention.

“Every time I wake up, you’re here,” she said with delight. She laced her fingers through his and kissed his knuckles. The joy in his eyes made her tingle all over and she reached for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled lovingly at her. “Is there something that you’d like?”

“You. Again,” she whispered.

“My pleasure.” He gathered her up in his embrace. Again, all care and worry slid away and they were in a world of two. Last year, that world had been threatened every second of every day. But now, it was their safe place, and Vincent’s heart was her sanctuary.

“We should go on a vacation,” he said later, playing with her hair again. “A real one. For a year.”

“I agree.” She closed her eyes and began to drift. She was sated, and she could barely stay awake. “For now I’ll take eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. I’ll call in. Sky can be a trained professional law enforcement police detective without me.”

“I don’t trust him,” Vincent muttered.

“I don’t, either; we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“That’s my line.” Vincent kissed the crown of her head. Cat snuggled against him, happily returning to her drowsy bliss.

Then Heather shrieked and yelled, “
Why is there a severed human finger in our refrigerator?
”

“Leftovers,” Vincent yelled back, and Cat beaned him with her pillow.

* * *

Tess flopped beside J.T. with a happy groan, then rolled over on her back. She moaned with pleasure.

She said, “Thanks. I needed that.”

He grinned and the relief of the warming afterglow gave her a pang. There had been so much distance between them that she hadn’t been sure he’d want to make love tonight. Sexual nirvana aside, they still had issues. She would have thought that after staring death in the face tonight, they each would have confessed their undying love and sworn that there was nothing in the world that was more important than their relationship. They had
survived.
If that didn’t change your priorities, what would?

Except… it didn’t feel like that inside her heart. It still felt a little too cold and a lot too lonely for someone who had a steady guy.

Maybe J.T. sensed the shift in atmosphere. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his elbow. She braced herself for The Talk, or some version of it, but remained silent. She wanted to let him have his say.

“It wasn’t a matter of choosing Vincent over you,” he said. “When Private X had a gun to your head.”

Another wave of relief swept over her. This was not The
Talk
talk, then.

“I know. I’m good. I would have made the same call.” She was teasing him a little, but it was true. Revealing Vincent’s secret wouldn’t have saved her life, and it might have ended Vincent’s.

“Oh. Well, good,” he said, way too fast.

“I would be dead either way,” she went on. “So cheer up.” She smoothed the frown lines on his brow. “J.T., I’m teasing you. Chill.”

“It’s just difficult to hear the words ‘I’ and ‘would be dead’ coming out of your mouth. I just… seeing that gun aimed at you. It really hit home that there are guns aimed at you
a lot.
”

She too felt a little chilled. Was it inevitable that guys tried to bench you once they started to really care about you? Joe had completely sidelined her. If she had
wanted
desk duty, she would have asked for it.

J.T.’s frown lines deepened. Maybe he realized he was overstepping. She watched him make a willful effort to change the subject and the warmth came flooding back. He really was a good guy.

“Hey, so there’s a lot of stuff to research,” he said with relish. “Heidi Schwann, that warehouse, facial recognition searches for Private Dead Guy, hacking into the lab to see if there are any pertinent test results from the Patel crime scene. And also, finding out if my insurance will cover the damage to my car.”

It had been discovered parked in a lot not far from campus with a major dent in the side and a crumpled hood. Reparable, in Tess’s estimation. Growing up with five brothers, she had absorbed a lot of information about car repair.

He was trying to process his ordeal. When cops made it through dangerous situations, they slaked off the adrenaline at the shooting range or a karate dojo. This was the nerd version of that. She understood that, but it underscored to her the difference between them. She was brawn, he was brain. Sooner or later, wouldn’t he get bored with her? And how could he stand to sit around all the time? She thought of other men, physical men who went on runs with her, sparred with her in the kickboxing ring, even roller-bladed, for God’s sake. His baggy clothes did nothing for his physique—he was in pretty good shape but she could tell by the way he carried himself that he harbored memories of being a chubby kid.

“Tess?” he queried.

She’d zoned out. What was
wrong
with her? Okay, maybe he didn’t aspire to becoming the next Rambo, but
he acted like a detective. They were working on cases together.
Wasn’t this the dream? A guy who understood the life of a cop? And not only understood it, but participated in it? And who wasn’t a cop himself?

She put her arms around him and kissed him. His lips were velvety soft and warm, and as their tongues touched, a million sparks lighted down her spine and spread throughout her body. J.T. was the most physical man she had ever known, and when she was with him, she was aware of her own body in so many new and delicious ways.

She said, “Let’s do all that stuff in the morning. And do some more of this stuff now.”

“Great minds think alike,” he said happily.

She almost laughed, but knew that might spoil the moment.

* * *

Just a few hours later, the sun was trying to shine through curtains of snowflakes and Tess and J.T. resumed their discussion of everything that had gone down the night before. J.T. was ready to put on his Superhackerman cape and Tess was all for solving the many mysteries that had popped up last night—and also figuring out who had come up behind her on Vincent’s boat, knocked her unconscious, and taken her to the warehouse. She figured whoever it was had died in the gun battle, but it would be nice to be sure.

“I started investigating Karl Tiptree. Why don’t we proceed with him?” she suggested.

“As you wish,” he said, beaming at her.

That was a pop culture reference he’d made before. She took her time to come up with the answer. “That’s what Riker says to Picard on
Star Trek: The New Generation
.”

He chuckled. “The correct title is
Next Generation
, but no. It’s what Westley says to Princess Buttercup. In
The Princess Bride.
”

“Wait, but isn’t Wesley in
New… Next Generation
?”

“That’s a different Wesley. Wesley Crusher.”

She had it now. “Wesley Crusher is the robot. Because he
crushes
people.” She made two fists and smacked them together. “Crush!”

“That’s Data. And speaking of data…” He kissed her again and put on his glasses. “Let’s crush some.”

They put on robes and he flipped on the Double-Oh-Seven console of his wall of machines. She leaned over his shoulder. The universe of J.T. Forbes popped into being.

“Warp it, baby,” she said into his ear.

“Mmm.” He moaned with pleasure. “Shields are down.”

She needed coffee so she padded into the kitchen. He drank a lot of diet soda. He had a vast array of junk food snacks and microwavable meals. But actual
food
food was in short supply.

While the coffee dripped, she went through the messages on her phone. There was one from Cat with a number of photos attached, including one of a human fingertip labeled
PRIVATE X
. Good move. It appeared that Cat had also taken the guy’s prints on the surface of her phone and then dusted them. She had sent Tess pictures of those as well. A treasure trove of data.

I still don’t get who the robot is…

When she returned to the computer station with two cups of coffee, her man was nibbling on a gummy worm and scrolling through addresses. Then he double-clicked on a link and cried, “Yes! I have a match. I found the warehouse. Last night’s, I mean. Thank you,” he said, holding out his hand for the coffee without looking at her. “Look at this. The warehouse was leased to something called the Thornton Foundation.”

“I’ve never heard of them.” Interest piqued, she pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “Can you find something on them?”

“Is this an official case?” he asked her.

“Parts of it are official.” She grabbed a gummy worm. It was actually not bad with the coffee. “The parts that we can share. You know, business as usual for Team Beast.”

“How much of this business do you think we have left?” he asked her. “Where we have to selectively edit what we reveal, and make up cover stories about what’s really going on? Every time I think living like this is all over, something else happens. It’s like we’re on a Hellmouth.”