Jude Devine Mystery Series (5 page)

“A casualty of the partisan witch hunt?”

These days it didn’t pay to comment openly about the stifling political atmosphere in the Bureau, so Jude made like she had no idea what Mercy was talking about. She’d requested an assignment out of D.C. anyway, so she said truthfully, “I was looking for a change of pace.”

“Uh-huh.” Mercy’s enchanting blue eyes bored into her.

Jude told her what she wanted to hear. “Okay. So the environment was getting uncomfortable and I bailed.”

“And you came
here
? Why, for God’s sake?”

Jude tossed the question back. “Why are
you
here?”

“Because my father is dying and he needs me.”

Jesus. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. He’s all I have.” As if the simple candor of the statement rocked her, too, Mercy added, “It sounds pathetic to say that. I mean, I have friends, of course. But my mother died a few years ago. She was an immigrant, so all her people are in Scandinavia. And my father’s an only child.”

“You don’t have any siblings?”

“No. Just a few distant cousins in Atlanta.”

Jude thought about her social-climbing older sister with the homophobe hubby and wanted to tell Mercy she wasn’t missing out on a whole lot. But still, family was important, whether you liked them or not.

Her own parents had moved to Mexico recently, to enjoy a retirement where the dollar stretched further. They lived in Sayulita, a seaside fishing village near Puerto Vallarta. Selling their home in D.C. had given them enough cash to buy a luxury villa in the hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and have some left to add to their savings. Her dad’s pension as a retired cop was barely enough to maintain a decent standard of living in the U.S., with the cost of health insurance going through the roof. Jude couldn’t blame them for leaving. Money wasn’t the only reason, but in Mexico their income bought a nice lifestyle with cheap medication and a maid service.

“So you’re single?” Mercy cut to the chase.

“Yes. You?”

“Extremely.”

What did that mean?

Before Jude could ask, Mercy said, “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re shopping for the love of your life.”

“Aren’t we all? I mean, even if it’s not conscious.”

“I guess that’s a yes.”

“I’m trying to be honest.”

“Never met Ms. Right?”

“Only in my dreams. Sometimes I get…entangled.”

“What happens? You rent the U-Haul?”

“No, she does. And I get dumped for backing off.”

“Ah, but you want to be dumped by then anyway, don’t you?” Mercy smiled with the mournful contentment of a blackjack dealer listening to a tale of gambler’s ruin.

How did she know? The pattern irritated the hell out of Jude. She knew she was a chicken when it came to relationships—anything to avoid confrontation. But she was making progress. Lately, she hadn’t done anything really stupid. In fact, she hadn’t done anything at all. No relationship meant no screwups.

“I’m not too successful in that department, either,” Mercy informed her. “I got out of the worst relationship of my life three years ago. What’s your story?”

“Ineptitude,” Jude offered the bald truth. “I have trouble juggling work with a private life. It was a nightmare in both my quote unquote
serious
relationships. Since then, I’ve just focused on staying out of trouble. Guess you could call it the path of least resistance.”

“Good, then I’d like to sleep with you,” Mercy said, taking her breath away.

“It’s completely mutual,” Jude replied after stifling a choke.
In fact, what are we waiting for?
She got real. They had a crime to solve. She dragged her eyes away from Mercy’s delicious body to the road ahead. Was this happening?

“Is tonight too soon?” Mercy inquired.

“No, tonight works.” Jude’s mouth was as dry as the dust their tires were kicking up. Unbelievable. They were negotiating a sexual encounter. There was a god after all.

“I know it seems rather forward. But we’re adults, and there’s some chemistry. Why waste time on the pretence of getting to know one another?”

“Agreed. Would you like to come back to my place or check into the Holiday Inn?” Jude wished there were better alternatives, but Cortez was no one’s idea of a romantic getaway destination.

“Your place sounds good. Thank you.” Mercy pondered the scenery anew, then shared, “I’m so horny I could fuck for hours. How about you?”

Jude almost drove off the road. “I haven’t had any in a year.”

“Excellent.” Mercy shifted in her seat, laughing softly. “You’ve got me all wet just thinking about it.”

Jude’s palms slid on the wheel. They reached the Slick Rock Bridge and she swerved into the parking area and cut the motor. For a moment they sat in silence, then they unfastened their safety belts and faced one another.

Jude had a thought. “Who’s Elspeth Harwood?”

“A former fling.” Naked lust glittered in Mercy’s eyes. Her mouth invited Jude’s.

Unable to resist, she moved close enough for the kiss she’d been thinking about ever since they’d met. Mercy tasted of the mint she’d been chewing, her lips still sweetly coated. As far as kisses went, this one was right up there with the first Jude ever had with the first girl she’d ever loved. The gear stick and steering wheel cramped her style as she tried to find a more comfortable position. She reached across Mercy and located the seat lever. Instead of tilting back to a reasonable incline, the seat jerked flat, their combined weights overwhelming the mechanism.

“Oh fuck,” Jude said.

“Exactly my thought.” Mercy caught a handful of Jude’s crotch and bumped hard.

Jude gasped. The backseat was looking pretty good right now.

“How far is your place?” Mercy asked.

“Not very.” Jude could not believe she was seriously considering shirking duty so she could get laid. On the other hand, these were desperate times. “What about the crime scene?” she asked halfheartedly.

“It’s not going anywhere.” Mercy inserted the tip of her tongue beneath Jude’s upper lip and slowly sucked. After a long hot moment, she broke off to confess, “And just so you know, the real reason I came down here was to see you.”

*

In the sack, Mercy was every bit as forthright as she had been in the car. “I’m in the mood for a little rough play. Nothing heavy.”

All things being relative, Jude obligingly cuffed only one of the pathologist’s delicate wrists to the headboard rail. “No marks, right?”

“Nothing visible.”

She slid her hand between Mercy’s supple thighs. Mercy resisted and twisted away.

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.” Jude forced her onto her back. Softly, she said, “Be a good girl and it won’t hurt.”

“Fuck you.” Mercy locked her knees together.

Jude yanked them apart. “If you’re going to talk like a slut, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

“Perfect,” Mercy murmured before slipping back into role. “You and whose army? How’s it going to be when I notify your boss that his new detective forced me into her apartment and fucked me in the ass.”

“And what will that Channel 8 reporter say when I tell her you loved it. You were on your knees, begging for it.”

“Please don’t,” Mercy implored. “It would excite her
way
too much.”

They started laughing. Helplessly, Jude cradled her forehead in her hand. The whole situation felt surreal.

“Hold me,” Mercy said once they’d settled down. Her smile faded and there was a vulnerability in her face that hadn’t been there before.

Sensing a change in her mood, Jude removed the cuff and gathered her into a firm embrace, kissing her cornsilk hair, wanting suddenly to know her better.

Mercy’s voice was muffled against her chest. “Sometimes I’m so damned lonely I think I could die.”

Jude’s throat constricted and a rush of sadness made her feel ridiculously weepy. She pulled herself together before Mercy could notice. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Oh, yes, we do.” Mercy seemed unruffled once more, her vulnerable self tucked out of sight. She touched Jude’s cheek. “Just this once. And then we have to be professional colleagues again.”

Jude slid a caressing hand over her body. She was a babe. Lithe and silky smooth. Her flesh goose-bumped in reply to fingertips and tongue. They moved together softly, then hard. Mercy gave herself over to pleasure with thrilling abandon, frankly communicating her preferences. All the while, as Jude stroked and licked and fucked her into orgasm, Ms. Forensic Pathology bit and kissed, dug her nails in and talked really dirty.

Sprawled on her back some time later, she patted her chest and invited, “Sit here. I want you to come in my mouth.”

Jude knelt over her and gripped the headboard. She had to hand it to Mercy. Her oral technique was impeccable.

Tulley was brooding. If he played with his gun anymore his palms would go numb, Jude thought. This had been going on for three days.

“What’s eating you?” she asked.

He paused over the stack of hefty books he was slowly banging his head on. Dark amber eyes peered at her from beneath a coal-black cowlick. Even with his wavy hair cut shorter than usual, his deputy uniform, and the muscles he’d developed on the Bowflex that occupied their holding cell, he looked like an overgrown kid.

“Friday sure came ’round quick,” he said dourly.

“Yep. It sure did.” Jude figured he was stressing about the investigation.

So was she. They hadn’t made a whole lot of progress and Smoke’m had failed to turn up the key evidence Tulley had fantasized about. He had, however, sniffed out a trash bag containing two thousand bucks in cash and checks belonging to a local gas station. No prizes for guessing what Bobby Lee Parker and Frank Horton had been looking for that day at Slick Rock.

“Tell me something,” her gloomy subordinate said. “What would you give to a young lady?”

Jude blinked. Mercy’s face loomed in her mind’s eye, its pale perfection flushed. She could hear her gasping and groaning in the throes of orgasm. Instantly, wetly, she ached for another clandestine assignation. They hadn’t spoken since that day. Jude tried not to conclude she had disappointed Mercy in some crucial way. Should she have kept her handcuffed, after all?

With an air of frustration, Tulley asked, “When you were younger, what kind of gift did you like getting? I read as how women don’t like chocolates because they’re worried about their figures. And flowers could bring on a hay fever attack.”

“You’re trying to choose a gift for a young lady?” Jude kept her face and tone free of astonishment. Tulley had a girlfriend? He’d never mentioned one, and he seemed so excruciatingly shy around women she’d assumed he was single.

“I already chose it. But I don’t want to send the wrong signal.”

“What signal would that be?”

Tulley reached into his desk drawer and produced a book called
The Rules of Dating for Clueless Christians
. A skirt of torn Post-it notes fluttered around the edges, marking pages for ready reference.

He opened the guide and read aloud, “‘A well brought up young lady is easily spooked by expensive or overly personal gifts. She may think you are trying to buy her favors. Do you want the woman who could one day be your wife to feel cheap?’”