The Wharf (13 page)

He dropped her. “Now, let me get a good look at you.”

“Isn’t that what you were doing before?” Warmth swept across her body and she crossed her legs. “And when do I get my turn?”

He pulled off his heavy motorcycle boots and dropped them one at a time on the floor. Straddling her, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing an expanse of rippling muscles.

“That’s more like it.” She reached out her hands toward the ridges on his chest and traced one hard line with her fingertip.

He twitched beneath her gentle touch. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She couldn’t help herself. When he talked like that and his bottle-green eyes roamed over her body, she turned to clay, only too happy to allow him to mold and shape her to his pleasure...and hers.

She moaned, and he chuckled. “You’d better hang on because I’m just getting started.”

She’d worry about the plan later.

* * *

K
ACIE WOKE WITH
a start and squinted at the green numbers floating in the pitch dark. Ryan’s slow, steady breathing stirred the ends of her hair, and his leg hitched over her hip pinned her to his body.

And what a body. She’d finally gotten her chance to do her own exploration, and the memory would be seared into her brain forever.

She squirmed away from him, and he didn’t move a muscle. Before they’d drifted off to sleep, she’d scoped out the location of the box containing the case files organized by his brother’s fiancée—a box she hadn’t known existed until dinner. Now she swept her cell phone from the nightstand and aimed the little beam of light across the room and under the desk by the window. It didn’t quite reach her target, but she knew the general location.

When she rolled off the bed, she shivered, but the room wasn’t even cold. She shuffled her feet on the carpet as she quietly made her way to the box.

Holding the cell-phone light before her, she crouched next to the box and flicked off the lid. She dug into the first set of files and read the neat headings on the labels until she came to a thick folder bound by two rubber bands.

This had to be it. She peered at the label and nodded to herself. She snapped off the first band and then rolled off the other one.

She flipped open the file and began to thumb through the contents, inspecting each photo.

A light came to life across the room and she gasped, dropping the folder on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter Nine

A pulse pounded against her temple, and she swallowed. “I—I had an idea and wanted to look up something.”

Ryan’s sleep-roughened voice rumbled across the room. “Are you kidding me? You’re working?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not at all. Get back to bed.”

With trembling hands she gathered the scattered contents of the folder and hugged it to her chest. “Just a few more minutes. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I am, too, but now I am awake and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lie here while a naked woman is in my room working on the floor. Come on over here before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to bed. And don’t think that wouldn’t give me great pleasure...before I give you great pleasure.”

The bed squeaked, and Kacie dumped the folder back into the box and tamped the lid back on it.

“No need to go caveman on me. I’m coming.”

She extinguished her cell-phone light and stumbled back to the bed, where Ryan had flipped back the covers.

“Crawl in here, woman, and keep me warm.” He patted the mattress.

She slid beneath the sheet, and Ryan pulled her back toward his chest, folding his warm body around hers.

He wrapped one arm around her, cupping her breast. “Brr. Seems like I need to warm
you
up. What possessed you to start working, stark naked, in the middle of the night?”

She yawned noisily and threaded her fingers through his. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

* * *

B
UT SHE DIDN’T
tell him in the morning, and he didn’t ask. Either he’d forgotten she ever left the warmth of their bed or he no longer deemed it important.

Fine with her.

She bit off the corner of her toast and waved it at his laptop on the breakfast table between them. “Anything important?”

“My assistant chief has everything under control. Most exciting thing I’ve missed is the town drunk falling off the wagon again and running his car into a ditch.”

She dropped her toast and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “Aah, small-town life. Is it enough for you?”

“Is it enough for
you?
” He clicked the keys of his keyboard without looking up. “You’re outside of Seattle, right? Small town?”

“It suits me, but when I’m not spending my time writing and researching, I’m on the road. So, my small town is an oasis for me.”

“Crestview is an oasis for me, too.”

“An oasis from what?”

He tapped his head. “From the stuff going on up here.”

“You seem well-adjusted to me.” She tilted her head and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “All red-blooded American male.”

“You got that right.” He reached around his laptop and brushed a knuckle across her cheek. “But I’ve worked hard to reach this level of calm and serenity, and living in Crestview helps. I work, I surf and I run the trails, and I have a tight-knit group of friends in town.”

“And you have your brothers.”

He choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “I wouldn’t exactly say hanging out with my brothers keeps me sane, but I think we’ve all worked through our issues in our different ways. This book and proving Dad’s innocence once and for all will go a long way toward sealing the deal for all of us.”

He took her hand and traced the pad of his thumb along the grooves of her knuckles. “Thanks to you.”

“Save your thanks.” She slid her hand from beneath his warm touch. He wouldn’t be thanking her if he knew about her deception. Last night had changed so much between them, had changed her, but it couldn’t alter her mission. She owed this to her mother. She had to see it through, regardless of her feelings for Ryan. Mom deserved justice even if her daughter had to make sacrifices. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You will. Any woman who gets up in the middle of the night to work after a couple of hours of passionate sex is going to get the job done.”

She dropped her lashes and crumpled her napkin into a tight ball.

“What
were
you doing last night?” His gaze had returned to his laptop monitor, but his words seemed to hover over the table like an accusation.

“I was just wondering if Christina had anything in her notes about Cookie’s previous encounter with your father.”

His eyes flicked to her face and dropped again as she eased out a long, slow breath. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“You rudely interrupted me and threatened to forcibly remove me from the floor. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. I would’ve had a lot of fun doing it, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Cookie’s having another open house this afternoon. I think we should pay her a surprise visit.”

“Do you think it will do any good?”

“She’s had some time to think about the past. Maybe she’ll remember how my father helped her and decide to tell me the truth.”

“If she hasn’t already.” She hunched over the table, clasping her hands in front of her, happy to change the subject. “Her nervousness might’ve just been coming from the fact that you brought up unpleasant memories from her past.”

“Could be—” he tapped the screen “—but I have a sudden desire to see another house in the Sunset District, and maybe she’ll put out more chocolate-chip cookies.”

“What time?”

“Two to five. I figure we’ll drop by closer to five to catch her alone.”

“That’ll work for me.”

“Do you have plans?”

“I’m going to edit what I have so far as an introduction, so I’ll be holed up in my room all afternoon.”

“That’ll give me time to do some work, too.” He snapped his computer shut. “We can meet up again around four?”

“What kind of work?” She gripped the edge of the table. Maybe she should suggest they work side by side just so she could make sure he wasn’t going through that box on his own.

His wide shoulders rose and fell. “Seems my assistant chief isn’t that good after all. He wants me to look at a couple of reports and respond to a proposal from a new caterer trying to get a contract for our jail food.”

“You have to deal with caterers as the chief of police? Who knew?” She lifted one eyebrow and retrieved her purse from the back of her chair. As long as he didn’t plan to go rummaging through that box—at least not until she got a crack at it first.

When the check came, Ryan let her pick it up this time to make her happy. She’d been on edge all morning. Did she regret the antics of the previous night?

He didn’t.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to bed the woman who was writing a book about your family, but she’d started it. He hadn’t planned on taking her against the wall like that—or any other way—but she’d come on to him the previous night, no doubt about it.

He had no intention of turning down a lady like Kacie Manning. Was she regretting it now because he hadn’t measured up in some way?

He pulled out her chair and she smiled her thanks as her gaze roamed hungrily over his body.

Hell no.
He’d measured up in every way that mattered. But maybe she preferred her lovemaking slow and easy—nice and proper.

His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she wove through the tables of the restaurant.

Hell no.
There was nothing proper about the way that woman liked to make love.

They were made for each other. They fit together like tongue and groove. Literally.

She made a sudden stop as she exited the restaurant and he stumbled against her.

“Sorry.” He put a hand on her waist.

She shifted away from him and grabbed a newspaper from a rack. “My fault. I wanted one of these.”

Definitely skittish.

She waved the paper at him. “Spencer Breck died.”

“The billionaire who owns half the city?”

“Is there another Spencer Breck?” She studied the newsprint and whistled. “He’s leaving one big estate.”

“I know his wife died a few years ago, but he has kids. I’m sure he’ll leave a lot to charity, too. Nobody can spend that much money.”

“He has one child—London Breck—beautiful, skinny and now wealthy beyond belief.” She tucked the newspaper into her bag.

“Poor girl.” He punched the elevator button.

“You’re kidding, right? She has everything.”

Shrugging, he said, “All that money is nothing but trouble, and now there’s going to be a lot of publicity because her father just died. Publicity is never good.”

“Don’t cry for London. That girl loves publicity—skinny-dipping in fountains, driving race cars, following rock bands.”

“I guess some of us don’t follow the gossip rags as much as others, so maybe it’s not ‘poor girl.’ She sounds like a pain in the ass.”

This time when the elevator reached her floor, she left him with a wave of her hand.

When he reached his room, he blew out a breath and shouldered open his door, letting it slam behind him. He pressed the palm of his hand against the wall where he’d pinned Kacie the night before and closed his eyes. He could almost detect her scent—sweet, musky and all woman.

He brushed his teeth and set up his laptop on the table by the window, kicking the cardboard box out of his way. The files within shifted and his gaze darted toward the box.

Maybe Kacie had been onto something last night. Had Christina made note of the fact that the only witness to his father’s jump off the bridge knew him?

He lifted the lid from the box with the toe of his shoe and pulled out the disheveled folder on top. The word on the label jumped at him:
Victims.

In the dark, Kacie had grabbed the wrong file anyway. Any mention of Cookie wouldn’t be in the file about the Phone Book Killer’s victims.

He dropped that file to the floor and shuffled through the box. Christina hadn’t created a separate file for the suicide. So maybe she hadn’t made the same discovery about Cookie as he and Kacie had. Even more reason to talk to Cookie that afternoon.

He secured the lid back on the box and delved into Crestview police work.

Ryan worked through lunch since he and Kacie had gotten a late start that morning. He took a trip down the hallway and got a can of soda and a bag of chips from the vending machine.

As he popped the tab on the can, his gaze strayed to the box again. Christina had been so thorough about researching his dad’s case, so thorough it had almost cost her the relationship with Eric. How had she missed that detail?

He swept his phone from the table and tapped on Christina’s name in his address book.

She picked up after the first ring. “Hi, Ryan.”

“Hey, Christina. Where are you?”

“I’m in D.C. with your brother. Is that why you called?”

That was Christina—all business. “No, I have a question about your research into Dad’s case.”

“How’s the book coming? Have you met Kacie Manning yet?”

“I’ve met her and I have no idea how the book is coming. That’s her business.”

“Except you’re calling me.” She covered the phone and shouted an order to someone.

“Are you busy?”

“Not too busy to talk to one of my future brothers-in-law. What do you need to know?”

“Did you look into the woman who witnessed Dad’s jump from the bridge?”

“Cookie Phelps, a hooker.”

“Did you talk to her? Look her up?”

She cleared her throat. “No. I just got her name and statement from the case file on the murders.”

“You never looked at the file on the suicide?”

“There was no file on the suicide.”

“Sure there was...is. I picked it up from Records.”

“That’s weird. I never saw that file and nobody ever offered it to me.”

“Well, I got it, and you wanna hear weird? My dad had arrested Cookie’s pimp several years before Cookie witnessed his suicide.”