Killing Her Softly (8 page)

"And if I disagree with you?"

"About Powell?"

"About anything?"

"Honey, you're a very good lawyer. I trust you. But we both know that I'm the best damn criminal lawyer there is. As much as I trust your judgment, I trust my own more."

"Then maybe you'd better defend yourself if you wind up going to trial."

Quinn zeroed in on her, his gaze freezing her to the spot. She held her breath as he came toward her, grasped her by the shoulders and held her tightly in place.

"Don't do this. You're pissed at me because . . . well, be

cause you're all hot and bothered because you want me, because we want each other, but we agreed jumping into bed together might not be a good idea." She glared at him.

"I need you, Kendall. Together, we'll make an unbeatable team."

Clenching her teeth, she grunted admitting to herself that he was right. "Okay, this situation with Lulu's murder could wind up meaning your life is on the line, so I'm not going to argue with you. Besides, I should have known we'd have to play this game by your rules."

He smiled. "It's the only way I play."

Chapter 6

Griffin Powell opened the door to his suite and met Annabelle with a cordial
semismile
. His lips curved upward ever so slightly, but not enough to be a true smile. He was just as she remembered him from their one and only meeting and she found him just as overpoweringly mesmeric now as then. A large, broad-shouldered man, with platinum-blond hair and a pair of dark blue eyes that seemed blank and lifeless one moment, then pensive and calculating the next.

"Please, come in, Ms.
Vanderley
."

"Thank you." She walked into the suite as he stepped aside to allow her entrance. When he followed her into the lounge area, she turned and faced him. "I can't thank you enough for agreeing to meet with me. I hope I can persuade you to take this case."

"Won't you have a seat?" He indicated the sofa with a hand gesture. "Would you care for something to drink?"

Annabelle sat on the sofa, folded her hands and placed them in her lap as she slid one ankle demurely behind the other. She had learned at an early age, at her grandmother Austin's knee, the proper way for a young lady to sit. "I wouldn't care for anything to drink, but thank you."

Griffin sat across from her, on the gold brocade wing chair, and dropped his clasped hands between his knees as he leaned forward and looked directly at her.

"I'm very sorry about your cousin. It's tragic when someone dies so young, but even more so when murder is involved."

She offered him a weak, agreeable nod. "Yes, you're right. Lulu would have turned twenty-eight in a couple of months. I'm still finding it difficult to believe that she's really gone. And my uncle Louis—Lulu's father—is taking her death very hard. He's an old man, with numerous health problems. I believe the only thing that will keep him alive now is finding out who killed his daughter."

"And that's where I come in?"

"Yes. I want to hire you to investigate Lulu's

urder
."

"Isn't that a job for the Memphis police department?"

"Yes. Certainly. But I don't want any stone unturned no avenue not taken. The police don't have any real suspects and it's been nearly twenty-four hours. Don't they say that the first twenty-four hours is crucial to solving a crime?"

"Do they?" Griffin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

Not quite sure how to interpret his comment, she chose to ignore it. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to harm Lulu. She didn't have a mean bone in her body. Everyone who knew her liked her on some level. She had an electric type of personality and—"

"Did you like her?"

"I beg you pardon?"

"Did you like your cousin Lulu?"

Annabelle caught herself before she automatically said yes and gave her reply some thought. "I loved Lulu because we were cousins and very close when we were young. And I did like her, at least part of the time. She could be selfish and irresponsible and I certainly didn't approve of the kind of life she lived. Does that answer your question?"

He nodded. "You're aware that the media seems to be putting out their own scenarios concerning Lulu's death," Griffin said. "Their favorite appears to be that it's possible her latest lover killed her. How do you feel about that?"

"I've been ignoring the media as much as possible, but I'm well aware that not only is that scenario a favorite with the press, but also with the police."

"You know the identity of your cousin's latest lover, the man who discovered her body, don't you?"

"Yes . . .I. . .uh. . .I met Mr. Cortez this morning, at the police station."

"Did you? So what do you think? Could he have killed your cousin?"

Annabelle didn't know how to answer these unexpected questions. How could she tell Griffin Powell that she did not want to believe Quinn Cortez was capable of murder because he had struck a personal chord deep inside her, that her reaction to Lulu's lover had been that of a woman relating to a highly desirable man? The very thought of her response to Mr. Cortez's protective gestures made her feel cheap and sleazy. It was so out of character for her.

"I don't know Mr. Cortez well enough to have an opinion," she said.

"Hmm. . ."

"If you agree to take this case, naturally I'll want you to investigate Mr. Cortez, even though I'm certain the police will put him under a microscope."

"Yes, I'm sure they will, since he was her lover and he discovered the body. They will want to rule out any possibility that he killed her before they look further and that's the reason he has—" A repetitive knock on the door interrupted Griffin midsentence. "If you'll excuse me." He stood and walked to the door.

Annabelle turned halfway around and focused her gaze on Griffin as he opened the door. Her heart caught in her throat when she instantly recognized the couple who entered the suite. Kendall Wells, followed by Quinn Cortez.

What are they doing here?

"Please, come inside and meet my other guest," Griffin said.

Kendall Wells stopped instantly the moment she saw Annabelle. Quinn Cortez paused did a double-take, then glared at Griffin.

"I see you already have a guest," Quinn said. "Did I get the time wrong? Was our appointment for later?"

"No, you're here right on time," Griffin replied. "Ms.
Vanderley
was a few minutes early."

"What's she doing here?" Kendall asked.

Annabelle's gaze connected with Quinn's. An odd sensation hit her in the pit of her stomach. His gaze was not friendly; it even bordered on hostile, but she couldn't look away.

"It seems that Ms.
Vanderley
is in need of a private investigator, just as Mr. Cortez is," Griffin explained. "Imagine my surprise when I realized that both of my prospective clients want the same murder investigated."

"I see," Kendall said. "So you decided to meet with both Ms.
Vanderley
and Mr. Cortez and see who's willing to bid the highest for your services."

"Humph." The sound that came from Griffin was a combination of amused chuckle and disgusted irritation.

"I think you insulted Mr. Griffin," Quinn told Kendall. "Perhaps you should apologize."

"If I'm wrong, I'll say I'm sorry." Kendall shot Quinn a withering glare, then focused on Griffin with glowering intensity. "Am I wrong?"

"You're wrong," Griffin told her, a cold indifferent expression on his face. "I set up this meeting to see if Ms.
Vanderley
and Mr. Cortez would be willing to work together to find Lulu
Vanderley's
murderer."

"You what?" Kendall glanced back and forth from Quinn to Annabelle, then said to Griffin, "You're suggesting that they both hire you and the two of them join forces to track down Lulu's murderer. Is that correct?"

"No, I—I don't think that would work," Annabelle said. The last thing she wanted was to spend anymore time with Quinn Cortez than she already had.

"Why wouldn't it work?" Kendall asked. "I think it's a brilliant idea."

"But only if Ms.
Vanderley
believes I'm innocent," Quinn said as he walked toward the sofa. Stopping when he was less than two feet away from Annabelle, he looked right at her. "And you're not sure, are you? You believe there's a possibility that I killed your cousin."

Aaron shoved the naked girl over and positioned her so that she had to catch herself from falling by bracing her open palms flat against the bed. While she gasped and shivered he ran his hand over her sleek butt, then lifted his penis and rammed it into her. Damn, what a feeling. Grasping her hips, he maneuvered her back and forth, quickly increasing the speed and the pressure. Their naked flesh slapped together and that friction combined with her feminine moisture created a smacking sound. Despite the fact that this was their third time tonight, he was on the verge of coming. But hell, he was twenty-six and hadn't been with a woman in weeks. He'd built up a lot of steam and it was going to take awhile to blow it off.

The louder her grunts and groans, the more excited he became, the closer to losing it. He slid his arm around her, eased his hand between her legs and fingered her clitoris. Within a couple of minutes, she keened deep in her throat, then cried out when her climax hit. That was all it took to send him over the edge.

In the aftermath, sweaty and panting, they fell across the bed. As he lay there looking up at the dark ceiling, he sighed. He'd met Gala in a downtown bar this evening and they'd hit

it off from the first hello. It had taken him all of thirty minutes to talk her into coming back to his apartment with him. They'd practically ripped off each other's clothes the minute they got here and he'd humped her on the sofa the first time. The second time had been an hour later and he'd taken the missionary position, with her lying under him in bed. "I'm hungry," she said.

"I don't think I have anything," he told her as he worked the condom off his deflated penis and dropped it on a magazine lying on the floor beside the bed. "I've been out of town and haven't had a chance to restock."

Gala cuddled up against him. "Do you really work for Quinn Cortez?"

"Yeah, I really do." He reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket up and over them, covering him to just above his waist and her to the top of her tits.

"And you were with him in Nashville during the Terry
McBryar
case?"

"Every day he was there, I was there. I told you, I'm part of his personal staff."

"What's it like being that close to a man like Quinn Cortez?" She curled several strands of his chest hair around her index finger. "I mean the guy's like famous and all."

Gala wasn't the first woman he'd impressed by telling her that he worked for Quinn and she sure wouldn't be the last. He'd told Quinn about using his name to get chicks and his boss had just laughed and said "If it gets you laid go for it." Quinn was that kind of guy. When it came to scoring with a woman, nothing was off-limits. All was fair in love and war. And Quinn always won at both. Aaron figured there wasn't a woman alive Quinn couldn't conquer. And the man never lost when it came to courtroom warfare.

Gala propped herself up with her elbow and gazed down at Aaron. "You know, you look like him a little. Same black hair and brown eyes. You're Hispanic, too, aren't you?"

"You guessed it, sweetie. Me and Quinn are like two peas in a pod."

He wasn't Hispanic—not even half—and any resemblance to Quinn was purely superficial. They were about the same height at six one and they had similar coloring, although without a tan, Aaron was several shades lighter than Quinn. He owed his ethnic heritage to his maternal grandmother, a Navajo who still lived on the reservation. But since he'd probably never see Gala again, why spoil the image of him she had in her mind?

A loud aggressive pounding at the door brought Aaron up out of bed and sent Gala scooting toward the bathroom, picking up some of their discarded clothing as she went.

"You expecting somebody?" she called to him from the bathroom.

"Nope." He'd deliberately unplugged his phone after they'd done it the first time and turned off his cell, too. He didn't want anything interrupting what he'd hoped would be an all-night love-a-thon.

"Whoever it is, get rid of them." She winked at him before she shut the door.

Aaron grabbed his jeans off the floor, shimmied hurriedly into them and headed out of the bedroom. The knocking grew more intense.

"Hey, man, if you're in there, open the damn door,"
Jace
Morgan shouted.

What the hell was
Jace
doing here? After returning to Houston,
Jace
, Marcy and he had gone their separate ways, as they always did after the end of a business trip. Quinn's personal staff worked like a well-oiled machine when together, despite the difference in their personalities; but the minute a case ended they didn't make contact again until Quinn called them together. He usually gave them at least a week's downtime after a big case. And the Terry
McBryar
case had been one of the biggest. He expected to get a really nice bonus, something else Quinn did after winning a case. He was the kind of guy who took care of his people.

"Hold your horses," Aaron said as he raced through the living room. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Marcy Sims with
Jace
. He knew instantly that something was up. "What's wrong?"