Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) (24 page)

“Honey, if you thought that was manly, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Villari growled as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor.

I laughed, but as I watched him, the reality of what we were about to do started to sink in, and I felt myself getting a little nervous. It had been a long while since my last sexual encounter, and that relationship was nothing to write home about. I had a gut feeling that Villari didn’t do anything halfway and that sex with him would be lusty, the only time I’ve ever used that word, and out of control.

I wasn’t sure how I would handle all that virility and testosterone. Beneath my shorts was a pair of plain, white, high-rise, cotton panties.  And my bra was just as modest. I didn’t see how I was going to titillate this man while sporting my no-nonsense lingerie. He was already complaining about my shorts and T-shirts; I didn’t know how he’d react to my underwear.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” he asked, sensing my hesitation.

“Not much, at the moment.”

He stretched out on his side and rested his head in his hand. “Maggie, something is always going on in your head and usually shooting straight out your mouth. Why don’t you let me in on the secret?”

I angled my head and gazed into his dark eyes, dark as tar. “I might be a bit nervous.”

“Nervous and excited or nervous and dreading?”

“Probably a little of both. Not only am I not the blond bombshell of your fantasies, but I’m also not exactly the, well...”

“Not the what?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the neighborhood Lolita.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Now that comes as a real surprise. Here I was expecting you to hang from the chandelier and do somersaults on the bed and you’re telling me you’re just a regular ol’ gal.”

If I hadn’t seen the teasing sparkle in his eyes, I would have knocked him out cold.

“Maggie, if you’re not ready for this, we can stop.”

“It’s not that I’m not ready,” I stammered.

“Then what is it?”

I really couldn’t say for sure. Last night I’d been ready to tackle the guy and take him right on the front lawn, and now, when everything was perfect—the bed was large, the air was cool, and he was grinning that lazy grin that sent molten heat right down to my belly—I was backing away. Surely I wasn’t the kind of girl who would lead a guy down the path toward, uh, fulfillment, just to abandon him the moment he was reaching home.

“Maggie,” he urged, “talk to me.”

I simply didn’t have the words. I wanted to be with Villari, and I mean I wanted to be with him in the very carnal sense of the word. I wanted that piercing sweetness. I wanted to experience the intimacy that comes from tussling under the sheets with a man who was hard where I was soft.  I wanted that rock-and-roll rhythm that catapults you up and over until you vibrate from the sheer freedom of it all.

But this guy scared me. He scared me a lot. He had walked into my life one day under the most horrible circumstances, irritated me at every turn, and threatened me. And I don’t just mean with jail. He threatened to get close to me, to break down the barriers I had carefully built around me, brick by brick. No one had broken through those walls except Elizabeth, who had slyly maneuvered herself into my life without permission and almost without my knowledge.

Now she was gone and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to let someone strip down my defenses again so soon.  Especially someone like Villari.

I had questions about him that I couldn’t really articulate. The man was hardly subtle—when he went after something or someone he bulldozed everything in his path until he got what he wanted. And now that he was going after me, I felt cornered and more than a little frightened.  My independence was hard earned and a long time coming and I wasn’t sure I was ready to chuck it out the window for someone who could stomp it flat without thinking twice.

Of course, all this introspection was giving me a headache. Chances are I was just riddled with insecurities about the typical womanly things. My body. It was nothing to crow about.  I was skinny and out-of-shape—the anti-muscle poster child.  When the clothes came off, every rib, knob, and bony elbow would be on full display, thanks to the unforgiving afternoon light. To make matters worse, lying there on top of the comforter, seconds away from testing the Big Bang theory, I watched in horror as goose bumps sprouted a clear trail down my arms. Nothing killed a mood quite like a rash of bumps.

“Cold, honey?” Villari asked.

I nodded. “Just a little.”

He pulled off his socks and tossed them over his shoulder before turning back to me. He stroked and rubbed his hand over my body, trying to warm me.  That’s all it took.  Just having him next to me was enough; my body heated up all on its own. He curved his arm around my waist and scooted closer, then rolled me over until I was lying beneath him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

He threw me a lopsided grin. “I’m just fine. Can’t you tell?”

I rolled my eyes while the heat rose up my neck.

Villari took one look at my flushed face and burst out laughing. “Take it easy, Maggie. I was just trying to get you to relax a little. Sex is supposed to be fun, remember?”

That was exactly the point. I didn’t remember, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. My insides were churning with all kinds of feelings—some that I understood, others that I couldn’t begin to identify. I looked into Villari’s eyes, into those midnight-black eyes, and sighed. A whole well of emotions sprang to the surface as tears started trickling down my face.

Villari brushed the hair from my forehead. “Finding out about Elizabeth’s cancer shook you up a little more than you realized.”

“I guess it did,” I admitted, exhaling a deep breath.

“It’s going to come and go, Maggie, a little at a time. You have to expect that,” he said, taking the corner of the sheet and blotting my face. Propping himself on his elbows, he kissed the top of my nose and stared down at me.

“I may not be the most sensitive man on earth,” he began, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “but something tells me this may not be the best time to pursue this particular area of our relationship.”

Perfect. My one opportunity and I blow it because of some inexplicable crying jag. All I wanted was an energetic roll in the hay, an uncomplicated romp in the sack.  But when it was staring me in the face, I turned into an overwrought, hand wringing female.  Next time we kissed, if that was even a possibility, maybe I could retain water and start my period.

Maybe I could rustle up some cramps, too.

Chapter Fifteen

“You never told me what you learned about Tom Mailer,” I said.

Villari sat on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and one sock. With his rumpled hair hanging low over his forehead and large shoulders tapering down to his slim waist, he looked so delectable I was tempted to push him backward and beg for a second chance. I forced the idea out of my head, firmly squelching my more lascivious desires, and tried to focus on his answer, although the only response I was getting right now was a small crease between his brows.

“What’s wrong? Wouldn’t anybody talk to you?” I asked.

“Have you seen my other sock?”

I sighed. “Right there.” I pointed to the stray sock crumpled on top of my dresser, which was clear across the room from the bed. “You’ve got quite an arm there.”

“Among other things,” Villari said, retrieving his sock.  He pulled on his shirt and tucked the tails into his pants. Glancing in the mirror, he raked his hands through his hair before turning around to answer me.

“You want to know what I found out about Mailer, right?”

I nodded, slightly irritated by how good he looked after an aborted roll in the hay. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that God was a man with a lousy sense of humor. How else do you explain the fact that Villari looked sexily disheveled while I looked totally unkempt, with a bad case of bed hair?

He reached for my hand and sat me down next to him on the bed. “I can’t tell you much, Maggie, because of the confidentiality of the investigation. And even if I could tell you everything, I still wouldn’t, because you’d probably manage to use what I said to get yourself kidnapped or shot.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Detective. I’m not an idiot.”

Villari shook his head. “I never called you an idiot, but you are impetuous. Unfortunately, in my business, leading face first can get you killed.”

“Just because I embarked on a little harmless amateur sleuthing doesn’t make me a moron.” I held up my hands when I saw the look of exasperation flit across his face. “You forced me to tell you every little detail of what happened this morning. I deserve something in return. And,” I added pointedly, “before you bring it up, I don’t consider jumping in the sack, or whatever you call what we did, to be that something.”

“This isn’t a quid pro quo situation, Maggie. As a citizen you are bound to give the police any information you have that might aid a murder investigation. As a police officer, however, I am not bound to tell you a damn thing.” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “However, I will say this much. All I’ve got is a handful of rumors that won’t hold water.”

“I still want to hear them,” I said determinedly.

“Yeah, I figured as much. But you have to keep the information to yourself, even if it is nothing but innuendos and conjecture. That stuff can be just as damaging to people’s reputations, and the department itself, if it gets into the wrong hands.”

“I’m not going to the newspapers, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

He took a deep breath. “There’s some talk that Tom Mailer is a heavy cocaine user, but there’s never been enough tangible evidence to pin anything on him or even enough suspicion to have him tailed. His record is clean—no write-ups, no medical referrals, and so on. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a friend in Records wiping his slate clean. The story going around is that Mailer, who is noted for making drug busts, has been slipping some of the seized property into his own pockets.”

“Can’t they arrest him for that?”

“They could if he was caught. But if you’re the first man on the scene, it’s not difficult to remove evidence that no one else has seen...if you’re working alone.  On the other hand, if any of this is true, there’s no telling how deep this goes and how many people are involved.  Then again, I don’t know how much is true and how much is conjecture and I certainly can’t question the guy based on gossip.”

“What about Lindsay’s story? Doesn’t that help?”

He shook his head in frustration. “It’s pretty difficult to step into a domestic violence situation after the fact. Right now it would be her word against his, a “he said—she said” situation which is notoriously difficult to prosecute. And I can’t do a thing anyway, not unless she decides to press charges, and frankly, she doesn’t sound like she’s willing to go that far. All I can do at this point is notify a social worker or give her the names of shelters to go to.”

“I’ll give them to her,” I volunteered.

“No, you won’t,” he said firmly. “From this point forward, you’re out of the loop.”

“She won’t listen to you, Villari. She’s already scared of her own shadow, not to mention her husband’s. What are you going to do, show up at her doorstep and say, ‘Maggie told me about your problems. Here are some places you can go’? She’ll run in the other direction.”

“And your suggestion?”

“Let me talk to her. She knows who I am and I think she trusts me.”

“I thought she told you to stay away from her, to leave her alone?”

“She was trying to protect me. She’s afraid of what her husband might do if he saw me with her.”

“She has a good point, Maggie. Mailer will be instantly suspicious if he sees you within ten miles of his wife.  He was at the crime scene, remember? It wouldn’t be difficult to suspect a connection between you and Elizabeth with both of you showing up on his doorstep.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted reluctantly. “But there has to be a way to help Lindsay.”

“Elizabeth told her about CDV, right? She can get help there, if she really wants it, Maggie.”

I heard the skepticism in his voice. “She does, Villari, but since Elizabeth was killed, she’s been too frightened to move, especially since she believes her own husband may be the murderer. She’s got the safety of two children riding on the decisions she makes.”

“Our hands are tied, Maggie. We can’t force the lady to leave Mailer, and without her pressing charges, I can’t move in and start investigating her husband.”

Villari stood up and started pacing the floor. “The problem is that we have no proof, other than Lindsay’s word, that Mailer even knew Elizabeth, much less talked to her directly. Both Cassie and Preston met him during the initial investigation and neither one said a word about knowing or seeing him before. I can check with the other house employees, show them Mailer’s picture, but I have a hunch we’ll end up with a big zero.”

“Why are you so sure about that?”

“Because the guy is a cop, Maggie. If Lindsay’s story is true and he was trying to blackmail Elizabeth, I can guarantee you that he would have been as discreet as possible. Extortionists do not like witnesses. Besides that, I have some real questions about the whole theory of Mailer as a murderer.”

“Why? The guy likes to slap people around. What’s to keep him from killing someone?”

“It’s a question of motive,” Villari replied. “If he wanted to blackmail Elizabeth, what good would it do to kill her? How is he going to collect from a dead woman?”

“Maybe he never intended to kill her,” I mused. “Let’s just say he went to Elizabeth and demanded a large sum of money under the threat of exposing her late husband’s philandering and his illegitimate child. My guess is that Elizabeth refused to be blackmailed for several reasons.  And it wouldn’t surprise me if she ticked off those reasons one by one in front of Mailer himself.”  Elizabeth’s voice was crystal clear in my head as I continued.  “First and foremost, she wouldn’t be bullied by someone as despicable as Mailer, especially knowing the way he treated Lindsay. Second, she had resigned herself to Boyer’s infidelities years ago. And third, she never much cared what people thought about her, and with only a few months to live, she probably cared even less. Her response probably shocked the hell out of him.”