Jude Devine Mystery Series (70 page)

“I was a late starter,” Chastity murmured, her breath dampening Jude’s cheek, “So I have this thing about making up for lost time.”

Jude placed her hands around Chastity’s waist and drew her firmly down, spreading her legs a little wider. The stifled gasp she heard made her ache even more, and she slid a hand between them, easing it beneath Chastity’s crotch. Slowly she worked the knuckles back and forth.

“Does that feel good?”

Chastity’s night-dark eyes met hers. She whispered, “Kiss me.”

They moved together, their mouths caressing, gently teasing, not really going there. Jude had no idea how long she could keep this up. Holding herself in check was going to make her crazy. She thought maybe two more minutes would be a safe bet, then she would have to take a cold shower or she would totally blow it.

She kissed Chastity with a little more intensity and moved her hands down over her hips and around to her great little ass, exactly the kind she liked to spank occasionally. Trying not to go
there
she continued the gentle caresses, waiting for a cue from Chastity that she wanted more.

But slow, subtle buildup didn’t seem to be working as it should. Chastity was returning her kisses and she seemed aroused, yet Jude had the impression she’d be happy if they made out on the sofa for the rest of the evening.

Experimentally, she parted Chastity’s mouth with her tongue and lifted a hand to one of her breasts, taking its modest weight in her palm and squeezing. Chastity responded by kissing her more urgently and bucking slightly against Jude, and in that moment the second base plan was off the menu entirely. Months without sex had made gradual exploration torture instead of the erotic fun it was meant to be. All Jude could think about was standing up with Chastity’s legs wrapped around her, finding the nearest wall, and fucking her senseless. What happened to finesse?

Jude’s legs felt weak, but she stood up anyway, holding Chastity close until her feet hit the floor. She was promptly flooded with uncertainty instead of arousal. If she made love to Chastity now, in this state, she would scare her.

“What is it?” Chastity touched her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Jude took a step back. “I think we’re going too fast.”

Chastity’s hand slipped into hers and she tugged Jude toward the bedroom. “We can slow down.”

They made it inside the door. Chastity reached for the waistband of Jude’s pants and unbuckled her belt. Jude cursed the tiny buttons that kept the gray shirt closed. She couldn’t believe she was fumbling, trying to squeeze them through the holes. Chastity saved her the trouble, pulling the shirt up and over her head in a single fluid motion.

They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

Jude said, “I can’t do the second-base thing.”

“I don’t care.” Chastity was so close Jude felt her shiver. “I just want you.”

They systematically discarded their clothes until they stood naked before one another. Chastity placed a fingertip on the hollow at the base of Jude’s throat and tentatively stroked. Then she drew Jude’s head down to hers and they kissed again, this time with greedy intensity.

As she lost herself in Chastity’s mouth, Jude walked her to the edge of the bed and lowered her onto the pale sheets. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “And I have to make love to you. Please don’t say no.”

Chastity gazed up at her and opened her arms. “Come here.”

Chapter Nineteen

“We should be selling tickets to this,” Sheriff Pratt grumbled as he and Jude fought their way through a swarm of reporters to the relative haven of the Montezuma County Courthouse.

Wade Miller’s trial had now occupied the court for two weeks, which was a long time by local standards. Jury members were complaining about the heat and the food. The judge had thrown various people out of the courtroom: friends of the accused who tried to slip him a bottle of beer, outraged citizens calling for a hanging, and vocal supporters of the goat’s head gang who kept leaping to their feet with placards that announced Gums Is Innocent. Jude thought Griffin Mahanes had probably hired these groupies.

Mahanes held court with the media on a daily basis, making the usual accusations: that police had a vendetta against his client and had ignored witnesses who might have implicated other potential killers; his client had been framed by planted evidence; and no one knew where Corban had been murdered.

Which was, as far as Jude was concerned, the biggest weakness in the people’s case. They hadn’t located the crime scene or clothing that would conclusively tie Miller to the killing. They also had no murder weapon. The sledgehammer used to weigh Corban’s body down was not the weapon, and its owner was unidentified.

To get a conviction, they had to win the jury because they were relying on a combination of circumstantial evidence and the obvious guilt of the defendant. If the jury believed Miller, they would not convict. If they believed Gums Thompson, they would. And today was the day Jude and the sheriff would know. Thompson was taking the stand, the star witness for the prosecution. They hadn’t found the key or the tequila bottle that would support his story, and
 
Jude hoped this would not prove too costly.

Jude had heard that Mahanes was planning to put Miller on the stand when the defense presented their case, a decision that surprised her. She’d been fairly certain he wouldn’t risk exposing his client to a probing cross-examination that was bound to expose him as lying through his teeth. But she figured he would want the jury to compare both men. Miller would be coached extensively, of course. He already looked like a blind date most women wouldn’t hide from. The mullet was gone and so was the black hair dye. Mahanes had dressed him like a schoolteacher.

Jude cast a sideways glance at Pratt and found him looking distinctly ill at ease. “You were right,” he said. “We should have waited.”

Jude didn’t comment. She was still seething over the rush to trial. Pratt had used all his considerable political muscle to obtain an early court date so they could get a guilty verdict in time for his re-election. Griffin Mahanes had played ball, falling over himself to make it easy for them. Jude would have done the same in his shoes. Why give the prosecution time to build a stronger case?

Throughout the trial, she and every other detective working the case had continued to chase every lead that could lead them to a murder site. This meant investigating the tips of half the crazies in the region, interviewing everyone they could track down who had ever had a beer with Miller, and canvassing door to door through most of the streets in Cortez. They had found more dead dogs and sorted through more bags of discarded clothing than she wanted to think about.

It confounded her that in a small town environment like this one, where every member of the public was obsessed with the case, a child could have been murdered bloodily and no one heard or saw a thing. She supposed there were a million places Wade Miller could have gone to do it. The Four Corners was a wilderness. One day, in years to come, hikers would probably find the rusted crowbar Mercy had flagged as the most likely murder weapon, and they would get the proof they needed long after the fat lady had sung.

Pratt mumbled something and stared past her toward a small crowd of people sweeping through the foyer. At their center was Griffin Mahanes, a man who dyed his light brown hair silver for added
gravitas
when he was appearing in the courtroom. This morning he was wearing a high quality but unpretentious navy blue suit and a conservative, almost dated, striped tie. He’d swapped his usual black cowboy boots for a pair of brown ones that had seen better days.

“His own family couldn’t trust him to play Santa on Christmas Eve,” Pratt commented in disgust.

Jude said, “I hope to Christ Gums can remember what he’s supposed to say.” Her cell phone was vibrating and she excused herself to take the call.

“I called to wish you luck.” It was Chastity, sounding calm and happy.

“Hey, how are you?”

“We’re doing fine. Adeline wants a tattoo.”

Jude laughed. “Welcome to fifteen.”

“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Just as soon as this fiasco is over.”

Despite their best intentions, they hadn’t seen each other since the visit in March. Four months felt like a long time. They spoke often, and Jude felt they were building a real friendship, but she had no idea where it was headed. And on some level, it hurt that Chastity hadn’t come back to the Four Corners to see her.

She knew it was impossible for Jude to get away. The investigation had consumed her, and she’d been preoccupied with her ongoing investigation into Sandy Lane. Arbiter was also on her tail about the ASS. So far, she had covertly entered two properties owned by the men in question, and the only biological agent she’d uncovered was a few sacks of chicken shit. With the Telluride film festival only six weeks away, they were no closer to confirming the credibility of the threat, and Arbiter had just ordered a bunch of agents into the area to focus on the case.

To be fair, Chastity had planned to make the trip several times, but something always came up. Jude wanted to believe that they were simply trapped by difficult circumstances and these would change once the Miller trial was over. She had promised to make the trip to Salt Lake City, and they had agreed to behave like adults in the meantime.

But Jude couldn’t shake the lingering suspicion that Chastity had backed off the moment their connection became sexual. She was trying to be patient, reasoning that any woman who had been brought up the way Chastity was and had spent her whole life assuming she was straight could not suddenly discover her true sexuality and adjust overnight. There would have to be a period of doubt and self-questioning like the one Jude had experienced when she was thirteen and fell in love with her softball coach. She had tormented herself for an entire week. It was bound to be worse for a woman of thirty-three.

Her other unhappy suspicion centered on their lovemaking. After a promising start, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. There was no happy, mutually orgasmic conclusion. Chastity had become self-conscious all of a sudden, and they couldn’t recapture the erotic connection that had driven them to the bedroom in the first place. Jude then got anxious about hurting her, or making her feel uncomfortable, and Chastity expressed some strange feelings about “leading you on, then disappointing you.” All in all, it was a memorable sexual encounter, but for the wrong reasons. Jude wasn’t surprised Chastity wasn’t breaking down any doors to repeat it.

She felt a queasy uncertainty about the Salt Lake City visit. In her experience, you could only have disastrous sex so many times with someone before a pattern of negative expectations was established. If it didn’t work early on, Jude had learned it probably never would. She had feelings for Chastity, and a sense of possibility with her that she seldom felt with anyone. She really liked the woman, and that mattered. But was it enough? If they were doomed never to have sex, or only to have careful sex, the kind where Jude could never be who she was, what was the point?

Gloomily, she tuned into Chastity’s happy chatter about Adeline and the surfing holiday she’d just had with friends. God, she missed Mercy. Seeing her in court was wrenching. Knowing she had married Elspeth made her physically sick. They spoke to each other like two professionals, but Jude was incapable of neutral feelings. Some days she hated her. Other days she felt consumed with anger and betrayal. Then there were days like today, when all she could think about was her skin, her scent, her lithe elegant femininity. Their perfect sexual accord.

That was it, she thought. In Mercy her erotic self found a home, and she knew it was exactly the same for Mercy. They were so alike. They shared the same sexual vocabulary. There was no need for translation or interpretation. When they made love, it was as if they were two bodies within a single skin.

Did Mercy have that with Elspeth? Jude knew the answer; she’d read it in her eyes on the rare occasions when Mercy let her guard slip.

“Jude? Are you there?” Chastity sounded confused.

“I’m sorry. The reception is lousy in here,” Jude disgusted herself by prevaricating.

“I was just saying my therapy is going pretty well.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of you.”

Was she insane? Jude thought. How could she stand here with Mercy Westmoreland on the brain when she had an adorable, real, honorable woman at the other end of the phone. A woman who genuinely cared about her.

“They’re going in now,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll be thinking of you,” Chastity replied warmly.

Jude truly wished that did it for her.

*

Griffin Mahanes knew how to make the most of a crazy witness. He didn’t offend the jurors’ sense of fair play by making fun of Gums Thompson or browbeating him. He was solicitous and respectful throughout the cross-examination, ensuring that by the end of Thompson’s testimony, the entire courtroom would be sickened that the prosecution had placed this pitiful basket case on the stand.

When it came time to discuss Thompson’s presence in Tonya’s house, Mahanes said, “Mr. Thompson, you told the court you stood inside Corban Foley’s bedroom. Did you speak?”