Part 9 (1/2)
Maris pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. A chill draft of air swept across her toes. ”You don't have to go.”
”Don't I?”
”No.”
He straightened, his unsuccessful attempt to put on his left boot leaving it swinging in his hand. ”I'm a police officer...”
”So what are you saying? Police officers aren't allowed to have s.e.x?”
The boot dropped to the floor. ”Jesus, Maris.”
”Or is that not what you meant?”
”No. It's exactly what I meant.”
”Then don't leave.”
He stood there as if undecided. She didn't need to know his thoughts to see he'd already made up his mind. ”I shouldn't become involved like this.”
”It's...our business. Our secret.”
”Sounds like the kind of statement someone makes before they sue.”
Maris dropped her hands to the mattress on either side of her hips. ”Excuse me?”
”Not you. But I've heard of it happening. A man in a police officer's position, a woman who-”
”-is suspected of something? I thought you said I wasn't. That everything was routine. It's not like I was pulled over under the influence and offered you a-”
”Maris! Stop. Please. I beg you, stop.”
”Okay.” She stood and closed the gap between them. ”Okay.” She took his empty hand, tucking two fingers into the curve of his fist, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. ”Thank you for believing me.”
He smiled. Not the winning smile he'd given the waitress, but one that seemed meant for Maris alone. ”Don't put words in my mouth, Maris.”
”I could offer you something more palatable.”
He groaned, tightening his fist around her fingers.
”What?” Maris jerked a thumb in the direction of the refrigerator. ”I meant the meatloaf.”
”No, you didn't.”
”You're right,” she said. ”I didn't.”
He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand free of hers and shoved both into her hair, wrapping his fingers around the back of her head as he brought his mouth down onto her own, open and questing. Clutching his sleeves, she welcomed him, and allowed him to propel her backward to the bed. Inches shy of the mattress, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled back, letting momentum and gravity take care of the rest.
What came next bore no connection to romantic pa.s.sion, but was a conflagration designed to drive out memory. Hard and fast in places slick with yearning, the sc.r.a.pe of teeth on tender flesh a shock of pleasure, a game of chance, but there was no cruelty in the lightning-swift play. When she cried out, he pressed his fingers to her lips, followed by his mouth on hers, holding her in place beneath him as he pounded the final strokes of his pleasure deep inside. Afterward, he collapsed onto his side breathless and, she thought, half-ashamed.
Yes, that was what she felt from him. Shame.
”Dan.”
The television sent muted light flickering over the ceiling, across his face, along the walls. He lay with his eyes s.h.i.+elded by shadow.
”Dan. Say something.”
”Like what?” She barely heard his whisper over the m.u.f.fled volume of the TV.
”Like you're not ashamed of what we did.”
For a long moment, he was silent, and then he threw himself off the mattress with a flurry of motion. Standing beside the bed, he yanked his clothes back into place. Only then did she realize they hadn't even taken the time to remove any of them.
”I can't say that,” he said, ”because it wouldn't be true.”
In less than ten seconds, he was gone, his uncooperative boot hanging by its laces from his hand as he exited the room. He latched the door upon departing, but the deadbolt remained open. She would have to remedy that, but not yet. She sat up and slid her body beneath the rumpled covers, staring at the television screen without seeing it. After a minute or two, she felt around for the remote and found it shoved beneath a pillow. The TV went off with one swift blast of static. From outside the window, the neon motel sign colored the slats of the blinds in the darkened room with a dim hue of rose.
”f.u.c.k.”
Chapter 10.
”Whoa, Stauffer, what the heck happened to you?”
”Not a d.a.m.ned thing. Anyone process the prints from Mabry's yet?” Dan threw his jacket toward the coat rack in the corner and missed. Tossing his keys onto his desk, he retrieved the garment from the floor and took his time draping it over the curved wood. Something crinkled in the pocket. He yanked out a gas receipt and spotted Maris's number written across the back. With a roll of guilt through his gut, he went and tucked the paper into his top drawer.
”Yep. Eliminated all that were the dead woman's. There were quite a few others, mostly downstairs in the parlor where she conducted business, so that's to be expected, but upstairs, too. I'll get them run through the system today. When's that niece of hers coming in?”
”Today. I'll contact her today.” Dan lowered himself into the swivel chair, running a hand through his hair.
”You sure you're okay?”
”I'm fine. Appreciate you asking. Might be coming down with something, I guess.” Yeah, like a whopping case of s.h.i.+thead-itis. He knew better. He G.o.dd.a.m.n knew better than to fall into bed with her. This case had been one screw-up after another, and all his to claim. What if she was guilty of the crime? He'd called the motel and found out she'd only checked in yesterday afternoon, not the night she claimed to have gotten here. Just where the h.e.l.l had she been?
Realizing the threshold still held the junior detective, Dan chewed on the inside of his cheek. Nearly a half year since they'd each been promoted, and Dan still wasn't sure if Jamie Rogers resented him for his senior position. Sometimes it seemed like he did. But right now, he was acting like the same old Jamie. Dan waved him away. ”I'm fine. Seriously. Just go.”
With a grunt, Jamie pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder. ”Want me to call her for you? What's her name? Maris, right?”
”Maris. And I'll do it.”
”Some of the guys are saying she's pretty hot. In a bohemian sort of way.”
Dan snorted. ”Where'd you pick up a word like bohemian'?”
”Dunno. You hear it a lot.”
”You might want to look it up in the dictionary.”