Buying Time (21 page)

As she tried to pull away, Erickson held her head in place, forcing himself further down her throat, ignoring her gagging cries. He came in a final, forceful heave.

Mandy coughed for several seconds, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at him with the eyes of a child.

Erickson brushed her hair away from her face. “Thank you,” he said, helping her up. “You gave me exactly what I needed.”

She smiled sweetly as Erickson buckled his pants. Mandy washed her face and hands at the kitchen sink, then resumed her dinner preparations.

Erickson left to take a leak, marching down the hallway with a self-satisfied smile.

When he finished in the bathroom and stepped back into the hallway, he heard voices and wondered why Mandy had turned off Chopin and turned on the television.

As he got closer, the sound of a familiar voice filled him with angst. He rushed into the kitchen where Ashley was hurling questions at a bewildered Mandy.

“You couldn’t even wait for my mother’s body to get cold,” Ashley wailed when Erickson stepped back into the kitchen.

“You just can’t come into my house uninvited!” Erickson yelled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to pick up my grandmother’s belongings that mother kept in the backhouse. I called your office earlier this week and your secretary said you’d be out of town.” She gave Mandy an accusatory once-over. “Are you his secretary?”

“Perhaps I should let you two handle this in private,” Mandy said timidly. She took off her apron and scampered down the hallway.

“Does your new girlfriend know you’re a murderer?” Ashley asked in a voice loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“Get out of my house!”

“You are such a scumbag. You couldn’t wait for my mother to die so you could bring some tramp in here. She’s half your age.”

“I’m not putting up with your nonsense anymore. You don’t live here. Get the hell out and don’t come back. I’ll have your mother’s things sent to you.” He held out his hand. “Now give me my goddamn key.”

Ashley threw the key on the counter and it slid to the floor. “I know you’ve been blocking my attempts to get an autopsy done, but it’s going to happen. You’re a murderer and you’re going to get what you deserve. You just wait.”

She ran down the hallway toward the front door and Erickson followed.

Ashley opened the door, stepped onto the porch and turned back to say something, but Erickson slammed the door in her face. He immediately turned the deadbolt and hooked the chain.

As he returned to the kitchen, hoping to salvage his evening, he made a mental note to call Sophia in the morning and demand her key as well.

Better yet, he would call a locksmith.

W
averly was relaxing in his home theater, enjoying a movie with Deidra and her parents, when his BlackBerry vibrated, signaling a call. He waited until it stopped, then slipped it from his shirt pocket.

The caller ID flashed
private caller
.

“No message. Guess it wasn’t that important.” Waverly rocked back in his red velvet chair. The room had six rows of comfy, theater-style seats and could accommodate twenty-four. Deidra sat to Waverly’s left. His in-laws, next to Deidra.

A minute later, the phone buzzed again. And again, Waverly ignored it.

“Looks like somebody’s kind of anxious to get in touch with you,” Leon said.

The third time it vibrated, which was about thirty seconds later, Waverly wished he had turned it off. This time he answered. “Waverly Sloan,” he said, annoyed.

“Just calling to check on that big payout I’ve got coming.”

Waverly stiffened at the sound of Rico’s voice. Deidra turned to stare at him. The near darkness concealed her face, but he could tell she was upset by the interruption. Waverly stood, stepped into the hallway and leaned against the wall.

He didn’t appreciate Rico interrupting his family time. “What big payout?”

“You owe me some money, amigo. Some big money.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That Billington dude is dead, so I have three hundred grand coming to me. When can I expect my money?”

“Dead? How do you know—” Waverly did not want to follow through on the thought that flickered across his mind. “I haven’t been notified that Billington died. How would
you
know that?”

“You think I’m going to let you give that guy one hundred and fifty grand of my money and not keep track of him?” Waverly noticed that Rico’s accent had completely disappeared. “Trust me, he’s dead. I read it in the papers. When do I get my money?”

“I’ll check into it. This doesn’t happen overnight.”

“I don’t expect it to happen overnight, but I do expect it to happen soon. I’ll call you tomorrow to find out when you’ll be wiring my money.”

Waverly hated not having Rico’s number. He knew nothing about the man and if he needed to track him down, he wouldn’t know where to begin. He had already tried to trace where he was wiring the money, but only found out that it was an offshore account.

“I’ll look into it and give you a call. Give me a number where I can reach you.”

Rico chuckled. “You know the deal. I’ll call you.”

Waverly hung up. When he turned around, Leon was standing a few feet down the hallway, his arms folded across his chest.

“Is everything okay?” Leon asked.

“Yeah, no problem. Just an issue with an investor.”

“You look pretty upset. What was that all about?”

None of your damn business.
“The guy’s pretty demanding, that’s all.” When Waverly decided to move into his in-law’s neighborhood, he hadn’t anticipated that they would spend more time at his house than their own.

Waverly walked past his father-in-law and returned to his seat next to Deidra. He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to Rico’s call. How did Rico know Billington was dead? A weird feeling told him something was wrong.

“Don’t kill me,” Waverly said to Deidra. “But there’s some work I need to do.”

Rico claimed he read about Billington’s death in the newspapers. Waverly wanted to find out if that was actually the truth.

Deidra huffed. “The movie just started. Can’t it wait?”

“I won’t be long.” He rose from the chair. “There’s something I need to look up on the Internet.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Leon asked.

No, you nosey bastard.
“No, thanks,” Waverly said, heading for the door. “I won’t be long. Just enjoy the movie.”

D
re stepped off the elevator onto the second floor of Angela’s building carrying a bottle of red wine and a bouquet of calla lilies wrapped in cellophane. He glanced down at his groin and cringed. There was no way he could show up at Angela’s door in his excited state.

Checking the numbers on the apartment doors, he scoped out Angela’s place, then made a U-turn and walked in the opposite direction. He spotted an exit sign, opened a door leading to a stairwell and stepped inside. He kept the door open just a crack so he wouldn’t lock himself out.

Dre rested his back against the wall and tried to think of something—anything—except the fact that if his luck held out, he was about to get buck wild with a woman he’d been fantasizing about for months. He was so excited that he’d probably blow the second he saw her naked.

Five minutes later with no change in his condition, Dre gave in to the fact that his Johnson had a mind of its own. As he made the short walk back down the hallway, he hoped Angela was in a better mood. Since the death of her coworker, nothing seemed to cheer her up. She’d basically kept him at bay for the past few days, not even showing up at the gym. Then, out of the blue, she had called, inviting him over for dinner.

Dre positioned the flowers at waist level, then rang the doorbell.

The door slowly swung open and there she was, standing in front of him in a short, frilly chiffon skirt, which showed off her long, beautiful legs. Her red stiletto heels were a serious turn on. Her T-strap top was low cut and barely able to contain her voluptuous breasts.
Nice.

“Welcome,” she said with a smile. “You’re my first official houseguest.”

“Don’t move,” Dre said, stepping across the threshold, closing the door behind him. “Just stand there and let me look at you.”

Angela angled her head, put both hands on her hips and crossed one leg in front of the other.

Dre was smiling so hard, his cheeks hurt.
The good girls are always the freaks.

“Dang, you look good, girl.”

“Thank you, sir. And you’re looking pretty nice yourself. Is that a new shirt?”

Actually, it was, but she wasn’t supposed to know that. “Uh, naw. Just haven’t worn it that much.”

Dre sensed that Angela was just as nervous as he was. They stood there smiling at each other like two middle school students about to have their first slow dance. He wanted to bum rush her, but knew he couldn’t treat her like a tramp. Playing it cool, however, would be hard.

“Are those for me?” Angela finally asked.

“Oh . . . uh . . . yeah.” He handed her the flowers, but held onto the wine bottle.

Angela smiled and took a whiff of the flowers. “How’d you know I liked calla lilies?”

“I know a whole bunch of stuff about you,” Dre said, grinning. “But I got
that
info from your assistant.”

Angela’s smile widened. “You definitely get some extra points for that. I’ll go get a vase.”

He watched her turn and walk toward the kitchen, seemingly adding a little swish to her step. The back view was just as magnificent as the front.
The girl’s got major body. Cornell is a fuckin’ idiot.

Dre followed her, no longer embarrassed about his very noticeable boner. When she bent down to open a cabinet beneath the sink, positioning her gorgeous ass high in the air, Dre lost it.

When Angela stood back up, he was right there, almost on top of her. Dre placed the wine on the countertop, then took the flowers and vase and set them aside. He gripped both sides of her waist and softly kissed her as he backed her into the tight wall space between the refrigerator and cabinet. When his tongue traced Angela’s lips, he felt her whole body shiver.

“You have no idea how happy I am to finally be with you,” Dre mumbled.

“Is that right?” Angela moaned softly into his ear. “If we don’t stop, our dinner’s going to get cold.”

“I’m sure you got a microwave.”

Dre’s hands slid underneath her soft skirt and he gripped her ass, pulling her to him. She gasped with pleasure when he eased his hand between her wet thighs.

While his lips roamed everywhere, her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her breasts, Angela unbuttoned his shirt and explored his body with her hands. Dre unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor as Angela’s hands traveled down his body. Her fingers slipped into his boxers and grazed the tip of him, so lightly, so sensually that he almost screamed. They continued to squirm and thrash against each other, their kisses and moans and pants totally unrestrained.

Without warning, Angela’s moans abruptly stopped. Dre felt her hand flat on his chest, pushing him away.

What the hell?

Angela was saying something, but Dre’s head was all fogged up and she was panting so much he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“What’s wrong?” Dre felt like he’d just been doused with ice water.

“Condom.” Angela still found it difficult to speak. “Did you   . . . did you bring condoms?”

Dre pressed his hand flat against the wall behind her, then dumped his forehead on her shoulder. “Uh . . . yeah,” he said, “but I left ’em in the car.”

Angela started to laugh and so did he. They stood there cracking up for several long minutes.

“Okay,” Angela finally said, “let’s eat dinner first, then we can pick up where we left off. I made chicken lasagna. And it’s really good if I do say so myself.”

Dre stepped back, awkwardly pulled up his pants and rebuckled his belt. He didn’t bother to button his shirt. What he really wanted to do was run down to the car so they could finish what they had started. But he didn’t want to appear desperate. If she could wait, so could he.

“Here.” She thrust the wine bottle into his hand. “The corkscrew’s in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”

He opened the bottle as she took wineglasses from the cabinet. They finally sat down at a small table near the kitchen, facing each other.

Dre had not eaten since lunch, but he had no appetite. He put a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good,” he said, barely tasting it.

“Thanks,” Angela said. “How was your day?”

“Fine. How was yours?”

“Not bad. I didn’t have any court appearances today, but tomorrow I—”

“Hold up,” Dre said, his frustration obvious. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and make small talk with you like this.” He put down his fork and stood up. “I’ve waited way too long to be with you and if I have to wait another minute, my balls are going to explode. I’m going to my car. And when I get back, be ready.”

Angela smiled and watched as Dre pulled his keys from his pocket. He was inches from the door when she called out to him.

“Hey,” she said, “do me a favor.”

What now?
“Yeah?”

“Hurry up because I can hardly wait. Promise me you’ll run all the way to the car and all the way back.”

Dre grinned and grabbed the doorknob. “Baby, if I could fly there and back, I’d do it.”

J
on’s funeral, like most, was both sad and uplifting. Several attorneys recounted funny stories about him, most involving his love of cars. Angela shared how he ribbed her about being on Weight Watchers and praised him as one of her favorite case agents.

Jon’s death reenergized the Operation Buying Time task force. They had no evidence that Jon was the victim of foul play, but everyone on the team believed he was. They reported their suspicions to the D.A.’s Office, but didn’t plan to sit on the sidelines. The murder of a federal agent in the line of duty was a federal offense, squarely within their jurisdiction.
They
would find Jon’s killer.