Christmas Male(47)

He studied the sketch Fiona held out to him. Wendy Davis had drawn the woman in profile. The hair was similar except in the drawing it was pulled back and fastened.

“So we have a neighbor who can probably testify that a professor from American University visited the apartment of one of her students a couple of times,” Fiona said. “She also makes them welcome in her home. Big whoop!”

He shot her a glance. “We’ve just gathered more pieces of the puzzle. We make a good team.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d think so.” Fiona tucked her notebook back into her purse. “Do you really think Kathryn Lewen worked with Billy and the others to steal the Rubinov necklace?”

“I think it’s a theory that needs exploring.” At the car he turned to face her. “As different as our styles might be, we’re both cops.”

Fiona sighed. “I wish Wendy Davis had given us more.”

“Me, too. What’s next on your to-do list? I was thinking we could swing by the hospital to check on Amanda and then go back to your office so you can update Natalie. And we have that meeting with Chance at six. Or…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or what?”

He gave her hair a gentle tug. “You could go back up and lure Wendy Davis away from the window while I take a look through Billy’s apartment.”

“No way.” But she smiled. “You’re trying to cheer me up.”

It might have been the expression on her face. It might have been because they were beginning to make some headway on the case. Or it might simply have been that he couldn’t help himself. Propping his cane against the car door, he clasped her shoulders, pulled her up on her toes and closed his mouth over hers.

One more taste. Just something to tide him over until he could get her alone and in bed.

Then her lips parted and she wrapped her arms around him. The sound of her moan vibrated through his system. The fact that she seemed as powerless as he was had him pulling her closer until they made one long shadow on the sidewalk.

This time it was the sweetness of her flavor that trapped him. He didn’t think of sugar, but of thick, wild honey, the kind that had always melted slowly in his mouth. There was a depth and richness here that grew each time he returned.

More.

He wasn’t sure if he said the word against her mouth or merely thought it. Changing the angle of the kiss, he dove in and took them both deeper until he could have sworn that lights exploded in his head. Fire definitely swept through his blood. He couldn’t find a word to capture what she did to him. Arousal was too tame, excitement too bland. All he knew was that each time he kissed her, an urgency took hold of him that threatened to take total command. There was nothing but her—her arms, her lips, that slim, strong body. She was all he wanted.

He wasn’t aware that he’d hauled her off her feet and settled her on the hood of his car until the sound of a horn penetrated and brought him back to the time and the place.

Head still spinning, he lowered her gently to the sidewalk, then dropped his hands and took two steps back. He didn’t grab women, haul them off their feet, and nearly make love to them on the hood of his car.

Not in broad daylight.

“I…” He wanted to apologize. “I…” Shock rocketed through him. It was the second time she’d left him at a loss for words.

Fiona straightened her coat and pushed her hair back. The fact that she was leaning against the fender of his car for support steadied him a little.

Reaching for his cane, she handed it to him and met his eyes. He read heat, desire and a challenge. “Was that more dessert?”

Admiration shot through him, along with another emotion he’d consider later. For now, he managed a smile. “I was thinking of it more in terms of an appetizer. This day has to end sometime.”





10




AN HOUR LATER, D.C. sat across a desk from Fiona while she talked to someone from Walter Reed. Their trip to the hospital had produced nothing. Amanda’s condition hadn’t changed, and the psychiatrist consulting on her amnesia was prohibiting visitors for twenty-four hours.

D.C.’s brother Jase was running deeper checks on Charity Watkins, Professor Kathryn Lewen and Dr. Regina Meyers, and he was hoping to hear back soon. Amanda Hemmings and Billy Franks had to be involved in this, but D.C.’s instincts told him that the young people’s actions were just the tip of the iceberg.

D.C. let his gaze sweep Fiona’s small office that was cramped even further by the boxes of toys that were stacked nearly to the ceiling along three walls. In spite of that, the place was ruthlessly organized. The drawers of two file cabinets were closed and neatly labeled. An inbox on her desk held three files, the outbox was empty, and a desk calendar, opened to the correct page, held neatly scripted notations in what looked to be some kind of personal shorthand.