Part 25 (1/2)

”I come bearing gifts.”

Insects circled the porch light in slow death-defying orbits. The illumination was the only spear of light in the utter darkness. It haloed around Sweetie, who was wearing the winsome expression that was especially endearing. Spotlighted the white wax paper bag bearing the familiar logo. The Sweet Shoppe.

”You remembered.” The pleasure pushed aside the resentment that had p.r.i.c.ked at him since their fight.

”How I acquired my nickname? How could I forget?” The bag was lowered. A note of uncertainty entered the voice he loved so much. ”I know it's been a long time since I've brought you something special, but am I still your sweetie? Or have you decided you can never forgive me?”

Ever mindful of the eyes that could be watching, he stood aside to allow entry. Waited until the door was locked and closed before pressing that s.e.xy body between his and the front door. And there was a desperation in their kiss. Maybe because of their argument and maybe, maybe fueled with guilt because of his lapse afterward. He'd make it up to Sweetie tonight. They'd make it up to each other.

All too soon, Sweetie slipped hands up to his chest to wedge a bit of distance between them. ”Easy. I can stay for a while tonight so there's no hurry.”

Pleasure bloomed. Having more than a few stolen minutes with his lover was an even better treat than the fudge in the bag. He slipped an arm around Sweetie's waist and felt a quick burst of excitement when they walked, arms entwined to the living room.

”Cops were all over McKenzie Bridge today.” And although Sweetie tried for a matter-of-fact tone, he could hear the concern layered beneath it. ”The town was buzzing about it. They were showing pictures of two of them. How in h.e.l.l did they identify them? I can't understand it. What else do they know?”

”Nothing, or else we'd hear more. There's no way any of it leads back to us. I was careful. So were you.”

”I know. Still . . .” Sweetie paced the length of the room, the bag hanging from the long sensitive fingertips. ”I don't want to place you in danger. I think we need to consider Plan A.”

”Of course.” He was still trying to soothe. Still trying to be the strong one. ”Someday . . .”

”I mean now. Or at least soon.”

He froze, almost unable to comprehend. They'd waited so long. Sometimes it had seemed as though they would never be together. Like it was all a fool's dream and all he'd have, all they'd ever have, were these moments together.

Sweetie was still talking. Nervous. Pacing with quick driven movements. ”It'll have to be the way we talked about. I'll go first. You'll follow. But not in six months. That might be too long to wait. Maybe four?”

”I can say I'm moving to Portland. To be closer to my dad in the nursing home.” That story had been told so often sometimes he even believed it was true.

There was a tug of regret at the thought of leaving this place. His old man's fate had been sealed when his sainted mother had been buried in the garden. Without regard. Without regret. Left to the grubs and insects and whatever animal sniffed around to dig and dig and carry off a limb. He'd planned the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's death since the moment he'd seen the coyote running off the property with Mother's ulna in its jaws.

”Good thinking. Right. And you remember where we'll meet. And the route you'll take? You can't fly directly there or you'll lead them right to me . . .”

A belated sense of joy eddied inside him. Higher and higher until he felt ready to drown in it. At last. At long last. He crossed to his sweetie and tenderly laid two fingers against those beautiful lips for a moment. ”I remember it all. And you remember how to let me know if the plan changes?”

One slow sober nod was his response. ”But first you have to take care of Fleming. She's a threat to us. Even if we leave the country, with her help I'm afraid they could find us. She's all that stands between us. The only thing keeping us apart.”

Of course she was. He saw it so clearly now. Sweetie was absolutely right, as usual. And there was nothing he wouldn't do to salvage their future together.

”Leave Fleming to me. She'll be dead within twenty-four hours.”

Sweetie released a sigh. ”I'm depending on you. I always depend on you.”

Heart singing, he forgot about Barb Haines's body, still waiting for the bugs. For the painting. For disposal. Forgot about the worry of not seeing his lover for four-only four rather than six!-months. Didn't consider yet how he was going to do away with Caitlin Fleming. The details weren't important.

He thought only of the beginning of their life together. Soon now. Very soon.

”Let me show you what it will be like. The two of us. Alone. Rich. Blissful.”

Slowly he cupped Sweetie's jaw, his breath hitching when his palm was kissed. But he wouldn't be diverted. Not by the b.u.t.tons marching down that chest he liked to lick and nip and explore. Not by the belt, surely worn to tempt and taunt.

The leather was undone. The snap unfastened. And the zipper inched down one tooth at a time.

When he'd released Sweetie from the clothes, he ran his tongue over the velvety shaft and murmured against it, ”Soon, my love,” before taking him in his mouth.

And knew he'd never been happier.

Chapter 18.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n.

Cait fairly flew around the Landview motel room getting ready for the day. She'd overslept, and it suited her to lay the blame for that squarely at Sharper's feet. The glaring numbers on the alarm clock had seemed to mock her throughout the long sleepless night until she'd thrown a pillow over them to block out the sight of the time pa.s.sing while she'd lain awake. As a result she'd woken groggy and fuzzy headed, a feeling the bracing shower had only partially dissipated.

To make matters worse, she needed to do laundry. She only had one more set of clothes in her bag here, and she had no idea when she was going to find the time. Maybe the Landview offered a cleaning service. Hearing voices in the hallway, she rapidly walked to the door and pulled it open, wanting to catch the maid and ask her.

And then stared with mingled shock and dismay when she saw one of the clerks from the front desk outside her door.

Her mother was beside her.

”Darling.” Lydia swept in, kissed both her cheeks before stepping back to survey her critically. ”Oh heavens, you aren't going out looking like that are you? You look positively dreadful.”

”I'm sorry, Ms. Fleming.” The young clerk was wringing her hands nervously. ”I wanted to call up first, but she insisted . . . and she is obviously your mother. I could see the resemblance. And . . . well . . .”

Woodenly Cait took pity on her. ”It's fine.”

”Of course, it's fine.” Lydia swept by her into the room, a canvas tote slung over one arm, her purse on the other. ”Why wouldn't it be fine? I'm your mother.”

Cait shut the door. Resisted the urge to bang her head against it. ”Why are you here?” And hearing the words, realized they were devoid of the sort of diplomacy that she was usually able to muster. ”I mean . . . we just spoke. I said I'd come visit after this case. I'm really not going to have any time to-”

”I think you'll make time. For once, Caitlin, you will do exactly what I say.”

Lydia's words, her tone, put all her instincts on alert. Her mother was always self-a.s.sured. Always so certain that she could snap her fingers and the world would s.h.i.+ft on its axis at her command. But there was something afoot here. Something that had dread licking down her spine.

”How'd you know where I was?”

”You're not the only detective in the family, dear.” Lydia lifted a regal brow. ”I did my homework over the last few days. Trolled the Internet for every bit of ghastly news going on this country. I suspected you might be working on this case. And yesterday you affirmed it.” Cait must have looked as stupefied as she felt because her mother went on helpfully, ”You said you'd come down for a visit. So I started calling around the area and found people here are really quite helpful. Of course, you're difficult to forget. That helped.”

She felt in need of some support. Because there was no caffeine nearby-nor a stiff shot of whiskey-Cait reached out to grasp the back of a chair. ”You still haven't answered the question. Why are you here?”

There was a flash of anger in her mother's eyes. ”Did you think you could just dismiss me like that, Caitlin? My wants? My needs? I allowed that once and look at you.” The flick of her up-and-down gaze stung like a whip. ”I never should have let you walk away from the career that brought us both so much happiness. I won't make that mistake again.”

”You didn't allow anything, Mother. A judge did, remember?” He'd released her from her mother's parental control and from her management of Cait's money. At seventeen she'd finally been free. And she hadn't spent an instant regretting it.

But it was as if she hadn't spoken. ”I spoke to Cee Cee again. Duran Cosmetics is absolutely beating the bushes for the right face. We're going to take Paris by storm, darling. It'll be like a few years ago, remember? We'll be back on top.”

The first niggling of concern filtered through Cait's annoyance. ”It wasn't a few years ago, Mother. It was more than fifteen. And I'm not going back to it. I told you that.”