Madigan's Wife. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ slowly, and kissed the side of her neck. When he did let her go, he wanted to make damn sure she left with the same torturous longing he felt growing inside him. He allowed his lips to linger, tasting her, feeling her heartbeat beneath his lips and his tongue before he released her.

      As soon as he let her go she scrambled off the couch. “I imagine,” she said, almost steadily, “that a ten date rule does seem excessive to you.” She tried to hide her anxiety, but she couldn’t disguise the faint quiver in her voice. “You probably wish willing women would just show up at your door naked.”

      “Bearing food,” he added lightly.

      She turned to stare at him. Her face was flushed, her lips damp and slightly swollen, well kissed and, like it or not, craving more. And such pained incredulity lurked in her luscious eyes. What had she expected, that he’d give her some romantic song and dance about wanting her and no one else? He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve; he didn’t lie or make promises he wasn’t prepared to keep.

      “Preferably pizza,” he added. “After all, it’s good hot and cold.”

      His smile faded as she spun away to return to the task of mutilating the vegetables. Damnation, he wished he was already in Mobile. No good could come of this, no good at all.

      If Grace actually thought they were going to get through this without ending up in bed together, she was crazier than she was making him.

      Chapter 4

      Freddie hated to run, and blamed the woman for this unpleasant morning jog. It was early and as cool as the day would be, and still he’d already worked up a sweat.

      As he ran he glanced down side streets, watched the park trails, eyed the other runners. Betting, all the while, that the woman who’d witnessed the hit had been running a regular route. She must live in the area.

      His hair was now blond and much too short, cut close to the scalp. He wore brown contact lenses, in case he should come face-to-face with the witness. The pale gray-green eyes, his mother’s eyes his grandfather had always told him, were too distinctive. It was his one curse. A touch of expertly applied makeup covered the small bruise on his jaw, completing the facial transformation.

      He no longer wore the conservative clothes he favored, and his trench coat had been packed away, for the time being. For this part of the job he would take on another look. The sleeves of the T-shirt he wore on this warm morning had been ripped out to display his muscular biceps and a tattoo that read Martha. The bicycle shorts he wore were too tight and too bright a shade of red. From a distance he looked like a punk. Up close he probably appeared to be a middle-aged man going through some kind of midlife crisis, trying to look younger than he was. To keep up the front, and because she was pretty, he grinned and winked at a shapely redhead who ran past, going in the opposite direction.

      She looked away, ignoring him with her nose in the air. Bitch. Freddie spun around to glare at her bobbing red ponytail. For a moment he ran backwards, his eyes on the woman’s back.

      His irritation at her rebuff didn’t last long, and he soon turned about and resumed his recon. He had collected the second half of payment for the job yesterday afternoon, as planned, and the body was planted at the foot of a small mountain at the south end of town. The victim’s car, the one he’d been driving when Freddie had stopped him, was well concealed. He’d pushed it over a cliff on a deserted, curving stretch of road, so it would appear that the victim had driven over, missing the sharp turn and plummeting down the embankment. The car had rolled down noisily, through and past and over saplings and thick bushes, landing brilliantly behind a thick copse of trees. If the body wasn’t found for a while, it would be impossible to tell that the driver’s neck hadn’t been broken in a tragic car accident.

      The cops would never even suspect foul play, as long as no one looked too close, as long as no one listened to that damn woman who’d seen him yesterday.

      A man in sweats jogged past, smiling and nodding, offering a friendly “good morning.” Freddie returned the smile and muttered his own greeting. There were no other runners on the street, no nosy dark-haired woman who could ruin everything for him and for his client.

      Once things calmed down a bit and the cops dismissed her claim as fantasy or fabrication, she might have to meet with a tragic accident of her own. Just as a precaution.

      But first he had to find her.

      Sensing a presence, Grace spun away from her computer and saw Ray lounging in the doorway of her office, that smug you-can’t-fool-me grin in place.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to stay calm. Last night’s near disaster on her couch lingered with her, still. She’d been so close to giving in, to forgetting why she couldn’t love Ray anymore.

      “I thought I’d come by and check on you, maybe buy you lunch.”

      “I’m not very hungry,” she said in a small voice.

      His grin faded. “Come on, Gracie. You gotta eat.”

      The truth of the matter was, she felt secure here in her office. She’d felt safe last night, too, with Ray sleeping on her couch while she hid under the covers and remembered what he tasted like, what he felt like. She’d lain in bed and relived the moment his mouth had finally touched hers, the weight of his body, the warmth of his arms and his hands.

      It didn’t make a lot of sense that Ray’s presence had made her feel safe from danger. A sleeping man in another room didn’t provide much protection, but knowing he was there, a few steps away, comforted her…and kept her awake at the same time.

      “I’ll buy,” she said, reaching into the bottom drawer of her file cabinet for her purse.

      “What’s the matter?” he asked softly, taking her arm as she reached the doorway. “Afraid I’ll start counting?”

      “Ray…” She balked, just a little.

      “Never mind,” he said, leading her down the hallway, past rooms occupied and unoccupied. “Forget I said anything about counting. This is not a date, it’s business.”

      “Business?”

      The waiting room was crazier than usual. A harried mother and her triplet toddlers were here to see Dr. Dearborne for their first checkup. A crew from a local television station was covering the human interest story.

      Shea Sinclair was one of the few friends Grace had made since returning to Huntsville. She was a friend of Nell Rose’s, and the three of them had had a girls’ night out a couple of times. A movie, a sandwich and a daiquiri, a little girl talk and then home well before midnight.

      Grace stopped to say hello. “Looks like you have your hands full.”

      Shea, professionally crisp in her bright blue suit and flawlessly applied makeup, turned her back on the mother of the triplets, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. So much for her professional image.

      “Yeah,” she said softly. “This is hard news. My dream come true.”

      “Gotta start somewhere,” Grace said with a wide smile.

      Shea shook her head. “They have me doing the weekend weather now, can you believe it?” she said in a lowered voice. “I’m not a meteorologist, СКАЧАТЬ