FIRE AND ICE (19 page)

She slowly sat up and brushed the hair out of her face, clearing her mind of hubba-hubba thoughts.

“What did I miss?” she asked.

“If you’re lucky, races one through twelve.”

“You only got that far?” she asked, frowning.

“At least I listened. I didn’t fall asleep five seconds after Harrington’s voice came on.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have criticized you.”

“Refresh my memory. How many more races do I have to listen to?”

“Twelve.”

“Ah, come on,” he groaned. “This is brutal.” Standing to stretch his legs, he said, “The CIA could use this stuff in interrogations. Stick a pair of headphones on the suspect, and in three hours tops, he’d crack like a piñata.”

“You don’t have to stay.” She picked up the notebook and put it on the table next to the recorder then started searching for her pen. “You could come back tomorrow and listen to the rest.”

“If I leave, I’m taking the recorder with me.”

She knew it wouldn’t matter if she pointed out it wasn’t his to take. He would still be difficult. Did she expect less? Of course not. He worked for an agency that had no misgivings about such things.

“Then you have to stay.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Meet you back at the sofa in five minutes.”

Sophie went into the bathroom off her bedroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. The cold water revived her. Now all she needed was a little more caffeine, and she could get through the rest
of the races without falling asleep. After glancing in the mirror, she decided to comb her hair and put on a little makeup. She had a bottle of perfume in her hand and was about to dab some on her wrist and her neck when she suddenly realized what she was doing and, worse, why she was doing it. She wanted to look pretty … for him.

“Have you lost your mind?” she whispered. She stared at her reflection a full ten seconds waiting for an answer. “Apparently so,” she said then. “FBI. Remember what that stands for?”

The reminder helped. And so did Jack. If he noticed she’d fluffed up, he didn’t comment. The fact was, he barely glanced at her. As soon as he heard her coming, he turned the recorder on.

William Harrington had just begun his riveting chat about blisters. To his credit, Jack managed to get through all the races without cursing.

“Nothing Harrington said would be helpful to Steinbeck in his investigation,” he concluded as he flipped the Off switch.

“Did you think there would be something? Whoever tried to kill me had to be someone who lost his pension when Kelly’s closed, or maybe was a relative or friend of someone who lost his pension. Harrington didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

“Maybe” was his noncommittal response.

“I don’t understand why Detective Steinbeck didn’t bring my recorder and listen to the interview himself.”

“Steinbeck is following up on leads and questioning people, and this interview is low on his priority list. Alec knew you wanted to get your recorder back. Like I said, I was doing him a favor.”

“Now you can tell Detective Steinbeck and Alec that there wasn’t anything relevant to the investigation.”

Jack headed to the door. “I
could
tell Alec, but
will
I? Doubtful,” he said. “Real doubtful.”

She could hear the mischievous smile in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying my partner would have to listen to the entire interview
if I were to suggest that there were some suspicious comments made.”

“You’d lie to your partner?” she asked, pretending shock but inwardly thinking it was a great idea.

“I’m seriously considering it.”

“What about Detective Steinbeck?”

“I’d tell him the truth.”

He unlocked the deadbolt, then turned around. Sophie took a step back, but she was still entirely too close to him. The foyer was cast in shadows.

“Sorry your evening was ruined,” she said. “It’s just a little after nine now, and didn’t you say you wanted to be in bed by ten? You can still make it.”

“I did say that, but I think I’ll go home instead.”

It took a second for her to understand what he was telling her. He had planned to be in some woman’s bed by ten, not his own.

“There’s always tomorrow.” She tried to sound cheerful.

“Or the day after. You can wait that long, can’t you?”

“Me?” she asked indignantly. “Are you suggesting that you’ll be in my bed? A bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”

“You haven’t thought about it?” he asked.

“I … um … I might have … but it’s too complicated … it’s all …”

He smiled and said, “Trust me. It will be worth the wait.”

He pulled her into his arms and slowly lowered his head, his lips lightly brushing hers in a sweet, no-nonsense, see-you-around kind of kiss. When he raised up, their eyes met. She could have pulled away, but instead she put her arms around his neck, and this time there was nothing sweet or hurried about their kiss. His mouth was hot, wonderfully hot. He didn’t have to force her lips apart; she willingly gave him what he wanted. His tongue slowly penetrated and rubbed against hers, igniting such heat inside her. He stroked and explored her mouth, learning the taste of her.

A kiss shouldn’t be lazy and erotic at the same time, but this one
was unbelievably arousing. He acted as though he had the rest of the night to seduce her, and when he ended the kiss, he could have taken anything he wanted.

He knew it, and so did she.

He didn’t say good-bye. He simply turned her into Jell-O and left. She didn’t know how long she stood there leaning against the wall, but she finally got it together and turned the deadbolt. She switched off the lights in the kitchen and the living room, then went into her bedroom.

She held her hands up in front of her face. They were trembling. But that was all right—she had simply been surprised by his kiss. Her curiosity was appeased, and she could move on. She’d just forget about it.

Sophie fell back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince herself that it hadn’t been any big deal. All the while, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered,
Holy Crap!

T
HERE WAS AN “INCIDENT” AT WILLIAM HARRINGTON’S
apartment. Gil had made a phone call to a Mr. Cross, the manager of the building, and with a little charm and a bit of bullying was able to get Sophie inside Harrington’s home.

Mr. Cross was waiting for them in the lobby. Fortunately, the thug masquerading as a security guard/receptionist wasn’t on duty. She didn’t think she would be able to get past him even with Mr. Cross attached to her elbow.

“We’ll miss Mr. Harrington,” Cross said as he followed them into the elevator. “He was the ideal tenant. Paid his dues on time, kept to himself, didn’t cause any problems, and he rarely had late-night visitors.

“I’m afraid you’re going to run into Mr. Harrington’s second cousin in the apartment. He’s been coming and going all week. He isn’t anything like Mr. Harrington. Quite the opposite,” he whispered. “A tad uncouth, if you ask me.”

Uncouth? Mr. Cross was being kind. Dwayne Wicker was stunningly crude. Sophie wasn’t one to make rash judgments about
anyone, for first impressions were often deceiving, but she made an exception with Dwayne. While Mr. Cross was making the introductions, Dwayne felt the need to adjust the crotch of his pants. Couldn’t get much more uncouth than that.

A toothpick dangled from the corner of Dwayne’s mouth. “What do you want? What are you doing here?” The toothpick bobbed with each word he spoke.

“I need to go through Mr. Harrington’s papers,” Sophie told him.

He squinted at her. “Why? Were you like his secretary or something?”

“You could say so.”

“Oh, then that’s okay. I don’t care about his papers. I already know where his cash and investments are,” he said.

“You hit the lottery, didn’t you?” Gil asked.

“Sure did.”

“How well did you know William?”

“Didn’t know him well at all. He didn’t have much use for me. He loaned me money a few times, but then he stopped. Bet he’s burning you-know-where for that. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and I was just scraping by. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t hold down a job. I’ve got back problems. Being blood relation, he should have shared. Right?”

Neither Sophie nor Gil said a word. Dwayne took their silence to mean they fully agreed.

“He was stingy is what he was, but he couldn’t take it with him, could he? Now I get it all.”

Dwayne was making Sophie sick to her stomach. “Where are William’s papers?”

“They’re all in a pile on the floor in the dining room. I already sold the table and chairs, so you’ll have to sit on the floor while you sort through it.”

“Isn’t it premature to be selling his things so soon after his death?” Gil asked.

“Nope,” Wicker answered. “I figure the minute the police confirmed that William was dead, all this was mine. I’m the closest relative he had. I could have gotten to this sooner if the police hadn’t insisted on absolute proof. They sent hair out of a brush up to Anchorage so they could run DNA tests. I’m sure it’s William.” He pointed to the dining room. “You’d better hurry up. I got movers coming any minute now, and a Realtor to tell me how much I can get for the place.”

Harrington’s apartment had been quite elegant at one time: high ceilings with beautiful, deep crown moldings, spacious rooms with lots of light. It now looked like Dwayne was getting it ready for a garage sale.

The pile of papers turned out to be a gold mine. Sophie found phone bills, letters from Harrington’s physicians, medical test results, his address book, and credit card bills, all filed in manila folders. She collected a huge stack and stuffed it into her oversized tote. She would have taken more if Dwayne hadn’t strolled in to see what she was up to.

“How come you’re so interested in his papers?”

“I just am,” she answered.

Dwayne was suddenly suspicious of her motives. “Are you looking for something in particular? Hey, wait a minute. What’s going on here?” Before she could answer, he asked, “Were you and William together? You know what I mean. Were you giving it to him?”

“Giving what, Mr. Wicker?”

The disgust in her voice set him off. “Screwing him,” he snapped. “You were, weren’t you?”

He squatted next to her, saw the letter from a law firm in her hand, and tried to snatch it. “I know what you’re up to. You think my cousin left you some money, and that’s why you’re going through his papers. I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. You’re not getting a dime.”

Gil sat on the window seat watching. He spoke before he
thought about the consequences and inadvertently threw gasoline on the budding fire. “Unless he wrote a new will and left his sweetheart every dime.”

The possibility sent Dwayne into a tailspin. He nearly swallowed his toothpick. “The hell he did. Give me those papers and get out of here.”

Sophie paused only long enough to stand and glare at Gil. “Seriously … ?”

A tug-of-war immediately ensued. Dwayne was no longer calling her “sweetheart.” “Bitch” was her new name as he tried to pull the tote out of her hands. Each time he tugged at her bag, she pulled it away. He had a few other crude names for her, but Sophie wasn’t bothered until he stepped over the line and slapped her.

She was so shocked by the attack, she froze. So did Dwayne, and then a smug smile began to spread across his face. Before Gil could bound across the room, Sophie curled her hand into a fist and, quick as a snake, struck, splitting Dwayne’s lip and snapping his toothpick. She might have broken his nose, too, but she couldn’t be sure.

After firmly locking the straps of her tote in her hands, she shook her head at Dwayne and said, “Shame on you, hitting a girl.”

Retreat seemed the logical move before Dwayne regained his senses and his temper.

“Lovely to meet you,” she said as she walked ahead of Gil out the door. “You have yourself a nice day now.”