Part 22 (1/2)
”For anything.”
She forced her arms down the sleeves and pulled her hair through the cowl neckline. She glanced at Santana. He was looking away from her and she sighed inwardly. The sight of his wide, muscular shoulders and smooth back that narrowed into a slim waist and taut b.u.t.tocks, the cheeks of which might have had a few marks from her fingernails, made her blush a little at the memory of their lovemaking. She imagined their hungry, primal s.e.x would last until her pregnancy got in the way or until it became routine. Stolen as their time alone was, the kissing and touching and stripping of clothes was almost frantic, their desire heightened by so much time spent apart.
Would it change once they were married?
Probably. It always did.
But for some, that physical connection never completely abated, and they kept their desire hot while their emotional bond deepened.
Maybe this time, she thought, searching for a missing boot, I'll get lucky. She certainly hoped so. ”I'll call you later if there's a change in plans,” she said, zipping up her boots and reaching for her jacket, which had been tossed carelessly over a ladder that stood near the top of the stairs.
”Do,” he said. ”Hey, wait! You're forgetting something.”
”What?” She smiled, certain that he was going to give her a kiss. To her surprise he scooped up the cell phone she'd dropped into the folds of the sleeping bag when she'd hung up.
”This.”
”Oh.” She extended her palm.
He dropped it into her outstretched hand and, slightly disappointed, she turned toward the stairs.
Strong fingers clasped over her wrist and he spun her back against him. ”And this.” He kissed her then. Hard. Determined. His tongue slid past her teeth as she responded, opening her mouth and leaning into him. Memories of the night before and their heated lovemaking in the cold room flooded her head. Her heart cracked a little and she realized just how much she loved this man, the cowboy who worked with horses that she swore she'd never fall for. What an idiot she'd been, and probably still was.
When he finally lifted his head, a c.o.c.ksure smile twisting his lips, she said, ”That's better.”
”Not better,” he returned as she started down the plywood steps. ”The best.”
”If you say so.”
”I know so.”
”Egomaniac,” she called up the unfinished staircase and hurried outside where the sun was blazing, the snow a s.h.i.+mmering white, and her Jeep d.a.m.n near frozen solid.
Montana in winter.
Glorious.
”What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you?” Alvarez demanded an hour later as Pescoli suddenly rushed to the bathroom from Alvarez's office where the two partners had been going over new information on the case.
Upon her return, Alvarez eyed her closely. ”You coming down with something?”
Pescoli, white faced, shook her head. ”Santana and I celebrated a little too much last night,” she lied.
”What about the other times? All of a sudden you can't view dead bodies without losing your lunch? Is it the flu? What-”
”I'm pregnant, okay?” Pescoli said through her teeth. She went to Alvarez's office door and pushed it shut.
”Holy moly.” Alvarez stared at her.
”I know. My kids are grown. I could be a grandmother in a few years. I'm only telling you because we spend so much time together. I haven't even confided in my kids yet. So far, just Santana knows. Now, you. It wasn't planned. I wasn't convinced that I'd even have another baby. Not with Santana. Not with anyone. My kids . . . are going to be dumbstruck. Worse than even you are.”
Alvarez shook her head. ”Wow. You're sure?”
”I took a bunch of in-home tests and they all turned out positive. I'm late, and feeling like c.r.a.p, emotional as h.e.l.l and tossing my cookies in the morning, so yeah, I'm pregnant. I go to the doctor next week.”
”Well . . . congratulations.”
”Thanks. You'll keep this to yourself?”
”Of course.”
”Good.”
”No wonder you've been all over Blackwater.”
”What do you mean?” Pescoli bristled.
”You're pregnant. Emotional. Grayson's death, and Blackwater stepping in. You're not handling it well.”
”Like you are?”
”I don't like Blackwater, but I deal with him. He's the boss, and unless I think he's handling things all wrong or crooked or neglectful, I'll keep dealing with him. Do I miss Dan Grayson? You bet. Do I wish he was still alive, still running this department? Every d.a.m.n day. But that's not the way it is, and me having my own personal snit fit about it isn't going to change it.”
”I haven't been having snit fits,” Pescoli snapped.
”I just gave you a pa.s.s for being pregnant. Let's leave it at that.”
”Snit fits . . .” she muttered.
Alvarez almost laughed. ”Are you going to stay on the force? You were thinking about cutting back, but now ... ?”
”I don't know. I'm still dealing with the news,” Pescoli admitted. ”I just told Santana this week, and as I said, my kids are still in the dark. Santana wants to move up the wedding to like, yesterday, but”-she turned both palms upward, toward the ceiling-”there's a lot to figure out and it's not like I'm not buried here.”
”You have to have a life. We both have to have lives.”
”I was going to talk my hours over with Grayson when . . .” Closing her eyes for a second, she drew in a long breath. ”Well, you know. Anyway, we've got this case we need to figure out.”
Alvarez nodded.
”Let's just get through today. It's going to be a rough one, right?”
It was a rhetorical question that didn't require an answer. A funeral was never easy. This one, not only for a fallen officer but for a mentor as well, would be especially tough. Grayson had been an officer who had epitomized everything Alvarez believed was the essence of a true lawman. He had also been the person she'd fallen for, the one who had taught her to trust again. And that was the truth of it . . . until Dylan O'Keefe had reentered her life and shown her what real love could be. Nonetheless, the service was going to be emotionally ravaging. Already, she felt that awful pang deep in her heart again, the one reserved for Sheriff Dan Grayson.
She took a deep breath and put the conversation back on track. ”We should get an answer from AFIS soon about the prints, if the killer is in the system.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was usually fairly quick. Now that they had a full print, there might be a match in the database that held millions of prints on file.
Pescoli said, ”Let's hope.” There was a chance that the prints only matched each other, that the culprit had never been printed, and therefore couldn't be identified. If so, they were back to square one.