04 Four to Score (17 page)

“Food.”

“No. I haven't had any of that.”

I went to the kitchen and said hello to Rex, who was sitting on a small mound of assorted dinner treats. Compliments of Morelli, Rex was feasting on a grape, a miniature marshmallow, a crouton, and a beer nut. I removed the marshmallow and ate it, so Rex wouldn't run the risk of requiring a filling in his fang.

“So what do you want?” I asked Morelli.

“Steak, mashed potatoes, green beans.”

“How about a peanut butter sandwich?”

“That would be my second choice.”

I made two peanut butter sandwiches and brought them into the living room.

Morelli looked at his sandwich. “What are these lumps?”

“Olives.”

He opened the sandwich and looked inside. “Where's the jelly?”

“No jelly.”

“I think I need another beer.”

“Just eat it!” I yelled. “What do I look like, Betty Crocker? I didn't have a great day, either, you know. Not that anybody asked me about my day!”

Morelli grinned. “What about your day?”

I slumped onto the couch. “Found Maxine. Lost Maxine.”

“Happens,” Morelli said. “You'll find her again. You're the bounty hunter from hell.”

“I'm afraid she's getting ready to bolt big time.”

“Can't blame her. There are some scary guys out there.”

“I asked her mother what this was all about, and she said it was about money. Then she laughed.”

“You saw her mother?”

I filled Morelli in on the details, and he didn't look happy when I was done.

“Something has to be done about Barnhardt,” he said.

“Any ideas?”

“Nothing that wouldn't get my shield taken away.”

There was a moment of silence between us.

“So,” I said, “how well do you know Joyce?”

The grin returned. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You want a full accounting of my sex life up to this moment?”

“That would probably take days.”

Morelli slouched a little lower in his chair, his legs stretched in front of him, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes dark and dreamy. “I don't know Joyce as well as I know you.”

The phone rang, and we both gave a start. Morelli had the cordless on the table beside him. He answered and mouthed “Your mother.”

I was making no, no, no signals, but Morelli continued to smile and handed the phone over to me.

“I saw Ed Crandle this afternoon,” my mother said. “He said don't worry, he'll take care of everything. He's going to drop the forms off here.”

Ed Crandle lived across the street from my mother, and he sold insurance. I guessed this meant that I had some. Ordinarily I could look in my desk drawer to check. That wasn't possible now that my desk drawer and everything in it was smoke.

“And that nice superintendent, Dillon Ruddick, called and said your apartment was sealed for security right now, so you can't get in. But he said he was going to start work on it next week. Also, a woman named Sally would like you to call her back.”

I thanked my mother and again declined dinner and the use of my room. I hung up and called Sally.

“Shit,” Sally said, “I just heard about your apartment. Hey, I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do? You need a place to crash?”

I told him I was staying with Morelli.

“I would have fucking wrestled him into the ground if I wasn't wearing heels,” Sally said.

When I got off the phone Morelli had pulled the plug on Jeopardy and was watching a ball game. I felt gritty from sweat, the back of my neck was scratchy with sunburn, and I could see my nose glowing. Should have used sunblock.

“I'm going to take a shower,” I said to Morelli. “It's been a long day.”

“Is this a sexual shower?”

“No. This is an I've-been-sweating-all-day-at-the-shore shower.”

“Just checking,” Morelli said.

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was faded but clean. It was smaller than my apartment bathroom, and the fixtures were older. But the era of construction was more graceful. Morelli had stacked towels on a shelf above the toilet. His toothbrush, toothpaste and razor took up the left side of the sink vanity. I'd placed my toothbrush and toothpaste on the right. His and hers. I gave myself a mental shake. Get a grip, Stephanie . . . this isn't a romance novel. This is the result of a firebombing. There was an over-the-sink medicine cabinet, but I couldn't bring myself to open the door. It seemed like prying, and I was sort of afraid what I might find.

I showered and brushed my teeth and was toweling my hair dry when Morelli knocked on the door.

“Eddie Kuntz's on the phone,” Morelli said. “You want him to call back?”

I wrapped the big bath towel around myself, cracked the door, and stuck my hand out. “I'll take it.”

Morelli handed me the phone, and his eyes locked on my towel. “Shit,” he whispered.

I tried to close the door, but he was still holding on to the phone. I was holding the towel with one hand, and the phone with the other, and I was nudging the door closed with my knee. I saw his eyes darken and soften, like liquid chocolate. I knew the look. I'd seen it before, and it had never turned out well for me.

“This isn't good,” Morelli said, his gaze now wandering the length of the three-inch opening between door and jamb, from the towel to my legs and back to the towel.

“Hello?” Kuntz said at the other end of the line. “Stephanie?”

I tried to twist the phone out of Morelli's hand, but he was holding fast. My heart was going ka-thunk, ka-thunk in my chest, and I was starting to sweat in unusual places.

“Tell him you'll call him back,” Morelli said.

I CLENCHED MY TEETH. “Let go of the phone!”

Morelli relinquished the phone but kept his foot in the doorway.

“What?” I said to Kuntz.

“I want a progress report.”

“The report is that there's no progress.”

“You'd tell me, right?”

“Yeah, sure. And by the way, someone soaked my car with gasoline and firebombed my apartment. You wouldn't happen to know who that someone was, would you?”

“Jeez. No. You think it was Maxine?”

“Why would Maxine firebomb my apartment?”

“I don't know. Because you're working for me?”

Morelli reached in and took the phone. “Later,” he said to Kuntz. Then he disconnected and tossed the phone in the sink.

“This isn't a good idea,” I said. But I was thinking, Why not? My legs were shaved. I didn't hardly have any clothes on so that awkward step was eliminated. And after everything I'd been through, I deserved an orgasm. I mean, it was the least I could do for myself.

Morelli moved in and nuzzled my bare shoulder. “I know,” he said. “This is a terrible idea.” His mouth brushed just below my earlobe. We locked eyes for a heartbeat, and Morelli kissed me. His mouth was gentle, and the kiss lingered. When I was in high school my best friend, Mary Lou, told me she heard Morelli had fast hands. Actually, just the opposite was true. Morelli knew how to go slow. Morelli knew how to drive a woman crazy.

He kissed me again, our tongues touched, and the kiss deepened. His hands were at my waist and then at my back pressing me into him, and either he had one hell of an erection or else his night stick was rammed into my stomach. I was pretty sure it was an erection, and I thought if I could just get that nice big, stiff, magical thing deep inside me all my worries would fade away.

“I've got some,” Morelli said.

“Some what?”

“Some condoms. I've got a carton. Serious investment. Top of the line.”

The way I was feeling I figured that carton wouldn't take us to Sunday.

And then his mouth was on me again, kissing my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breast at the top of the towel. And then the towel was gone and Morelli took his mouth to my nipple and fire flashed through me. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing . . . teasing. His mouth dropped lower, trailing a string of kisses to my navel, my belly, my . . . OMMIGOD!

Mary Lou had also told me she'd heard Morelli had a tongue like a lizard, and now I knew firsthand the accuracy of that rumor. God bless the wild kingdom, I thought with a new appreciation for reptiles. I had my fingers tangled in his hair, and my bare ass pressed against the sink, and I was thinking, Oh, yum! I was on the brink. I could feel it coming . . . the delicious pressure, the heat and mind-emptying need for release.

And then he moved his mouth half an inch to the left.

“Go back!” I gasped. “Go back. GO BACK!”

Morelli kissed my inner thigh. “Not yet.”

I was feeling frantic. I was so close! “What do you mean, not yet!”

“Too soon,” Morelli said.

“Are you kidding me? It's not too soon! It's been years!”

Morelli stood, scooped me up, carried me into his bedroom and dropped me onto his bed. He stripped off his T-shirt and shorts, all the while watching me with dilated eyes, all black pupil beneath the black fringe of his lashes. His hands were steady, but his breathing was ragged. And then his briefs were gone and he was naked. And I wasn't sure anymore if this was going to work. It had been a long time, and he looked awfully big. Bigger than I'd remembered. Bigger than he'd felt through his clothes. He took a condom out of the box, and I scooted up to the headboard. “On second thought . . .” I said.

Morelli grabbed me by the ankles, pulled me down flat on my back and pushed my legs apart. “No second thoughts,” he said, kissing me. And then he put his finger on me in precisely that spot. He moved the finger a little, and now I was thinking he was looking just right. Not really too big at all. Now I was thinking I had to find a way to get the damn thing inside me. It wasn't bad to look at, but it wasn't really doing all that much for me bobbing around on its own.

I grabbed hold and tried to direct it, but Morelli moved out of reach. “Not yet,” he said.

What was with this not yet all the time! “I think I'm ready.”

“Not nearly,” Morelli said, dropping lower, doing some more of the terrific tongue torture.

Well okay, if this was what he really wanted to do it was fine by me because I actually liked this a lot. In fact, I was almost there. Another thirty seconds and I was going to fly off into the great beyond, shrieking like a banshee.

And then he moved a half inch to the left . . . again.

“Bastard,” I said . . . in a loving sort of way. I reached out and stroked him, heard his breath catch at my touch. I drew my fingertip across the little slit at the top, and Morelli went very still. I had his attention. I dipped my head down and gave him a lick.

“Christ,” Morelli gasped, “don't do that. I'm not Superman!”

Had me fooled. I went on a much more extensive tasting expedition, and suddenly Morelli was galvanized into action. In an instant, I was on my back and Morelli was poised over me.

“Not yet,” I said. “It's not time.”

He snapped the condom on.

“The hell it isn't.”

Heh, heh, heh, I thought.

*    *    *    *    *

THE FOLLOWING MORNING I awoke in a tangle of damp sheets and warm Morelli. We'd made a respectable dent in the condom supply, and I was feeling very relaxed. Morelli stirred beside me, and I cuddled into him.

“Mmm,” he said.

Two hours later there were a few less condoms in the box and Morelli and I were both lying facedown and slack limbed on the bed. I was thinking that sex was an excellent thing, but I probably didn't need any more now for ten or fifteen years. I eyeballed the distance between the bed and the bathroom and wondered if I could walk that far. The phone rang, and Morelli passed it over to me.

“I was wondering what I should wear tonight,” Sally said. “Do you think I should be a man or a woman?”

“Doesn't matter to me,” I said. “Lula and I are going to be women. You want to meet us there, or you want me to pick you up?”

“I'll meet you there.”

“Okeydokey.”

I turned to Morelli. “Are you working today?”

“Half day, maybe. I need to talk to a couple people.”

“Me too.” I dragged myself off the bed. “About dinner tonight . . .”

“Don't even think about standing me up,” Morelli said. “I'll track you down and find you and make your life a living hell.”

I did a mental grimace and managed to get myself into the bathroom without hardly grunting or whimpering. The sex goddess was a trifle sore this morning, feeling a little like a human wishbone.

I took a shower, dressed and ambled down to the kitchen. I'd never seen Morelli in the morning, and I'm not sure what I'd expected, but it wasn't the half-man, half-beast that was reading the paper and drinking coffee. Morelli was wearing a misshapen T-shirt and rumpled tan shorts. He was sixteen hours beyond a five o'clock shadow, and he hadn't combed his hair, which was multiple weeks beyond needing a haircut.

It had been sexy last night. This morning it was downright frightening. I poured out coffee and a bowl of cereal and sat across from him at the small table. The back door was open, and the morning air coming through it was cool. In another hour it would turn hot and steamy. Already the cicadas were singing. I thought about my own kitchen and sad charred apartment and my throat closed over. Remember what Morelli told you, I thought. Concentrate on the positive. The apartment will be okay. Brand-new carpet and paint. Better than before. And what had he said about the fear? Concentrate on doing the job, not on the fear. Okay, I thought, I can do that. Especially when I was sitting across from the man of my dreams.

Morelli drained his coffee cup and continued to read the paper.

I found myself wanting to refill the cup. And I didn't want to stop there. I wanted to make breakfast for Morelli. Hotcakes and bacon and fresh squeezed orange juice. Then I wanted to do his laundry and put fresh sheets on the bed. I looked around. The kitchen wasn't bad, but it could be cozier. Fresh flowers, maybe. A cookie jar.

“Uh oh,” Morelli said.

“What uh oh?”

“You have that look . . . like you're redesigning my kitchen.”

“You don't have a cookie jar.”

Morelli looked at me like I was from Mars. “That's what you were thinking?”