Sleight Malice (30 page)

“That’ll… teach… me...” Desley said, her voice cracking through
shivers.

“God, what person in their right mind would kick out a near naked
woman onto the street in this weather?” Fergus asked, draping the quilt around
her shoulders.

Her gaze darted toward the kitchen and then back at him. She shook
her head.

He dropped his voice. “You mean they weren’t prepared to stick
around to face...” He tilted his head in Grant’s direction.

“I didn’t want them to,” she whispered.

“What was he doing here, anyway?”

“Who?”

She had a point. He had meant Grant, but why had the Escotts,
specifically the elusive Paul Escott, been there?

Grant appeared, carrying a yellow mug with black writing on the
side. He handed it to Desley. “Get this into you.”

“Domesticated, I see,” Fergus said.

“More than I can say for you.”

Desley groaned and rolled her eyes. “Must you?”

“Sorry,” Fergus said.

Grant mumbled something, giving Fergus a you’ll-keep look.

She sipped the drink, screwing up her face. “Oh my God, what is
this?”

“Warmed milk and honey.”

“Ugh.” She pulled another face and set the mug on the coffee table.
“Could do with a touch of brandy.”

Grant shook his head. “Alcohol is a definite no-no for hypothermia,”
he said, picking up the mug and handing it to her again.

She frowned. “I’m cold, but not that cold. This isn’t the Antarctic,
you know.”

“Close to it.”

“Grant’s right. It’s better to err on the side of caution.” They
agreed on one thing at least.

She took the mug. “You’re making the place look untidy. Sit down if
you’re staying.”

Fergus settled next to Desley, leaving a cushion’s width between
them. And Grant perched on the opposite end of the couch, his bulging thigh
muscles straining his black trousers, one elbow propped on his knee, the other
on his hip.

Before he could say anything, Grant’s coat pocket buzzed. He stood.
“That’s my cue. Don’t forget your keys next time, Ms James,” he said, removing
his ringing mobile phone from his pocket and walking toward the front door.
“Buchanan. What have you got?”

Fergus waited until he heard the door close and then turned to
Desley. “What was all that about?”

“What was what all about? Is it me, or are you talking in riddles
tonight?” She stood, one hand clutching the edges of the quilt together at her
throat, the other carrying the mug containing Grant’s concoction and shuffled
to the kitchen.

Fergus leapt to his feet. “What are you doing? You should be
resting. I can get you whatever you need.”

“God, anyone would think I was ill or something. I’m getting a
proper drink. I can’t drink this muck; it’s disgusting.” She turned and smiled
at him, her nose now pink. “But thank you for your concern, Nurse Coleman.”

He blushed. He couldn’t stop himself.

She laughed that sexy, tinkly laugh of hers. “There’s a thought:
doctors and nurses,” she said, moving to the sink and tipping the contents of
the mug into it. She laughed again.

A hot rush of desire coursed through him. It was all he could do to
stop himself climbing inside the quilt with her. He gulped air, willing his
body to behave.

Desley rinsed the mug and left it sitting in the sink. “I haven’t
thanked you for coming to my rescue. If I had been out there much longer, I
probably would be hypothermic.” She shuffled toward him, the quilt trailing on
the floor. “So thank you.” Clutching his arm for support, she drew herself up
and kissed him on the cheek, her lips cool against his flushed skin.

He caught her in his arms, not letting her escape. She didn’t
resist, her lips parting and her eyes closing as he lowered his head to meet
her mouth. She tasted of milk and honey. He pulled her in closer.

The quilt fell away. “You’ll get cold,” he murmured.

“Then you’ll have to warm me up,” she said, pressing her body up
against his, one hand crawling down his chest and undoing buttons.

Half dreaming,
half awake, Desley stirred. Her fingers touched skin, warm and delicious. She
smiled, her eyelids fluttering open. Fergus lay on his side, his head propped
in one hand, his deep green eyes appraising her.

She snuggled up to him, the heat from his hard body seductive. “What
are you thinking?” she murmured.

“I'm thinking you should lock yourself out more often.” His hand
slid under the sheet, cupping her breast. She closed her eyes, her heart racing
as he traced the outline of her nipple, the pleasure almost unbearable. She
moaned, her back arching as she succumbed to his touch.

It was almost noon before she surfaced again, sated and content. She
couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Just thinking about it sent shivers of
delight through her body. Why had she waited so long?

Burrowing under the bedclothes, she ran the tip of her tongue over
his rippled stomach, savoring the salty muskiness of his skin. He groaned in
his sleep, his body already responding to her touch. Giggling, she wormed her
way back up the bed. From celibate to nymphomaniac in one fell swoop.

Fergus opened one eye. “What day is it?”

“Sunday. Are you hungry?”

“Always.” He reached between her legs.

“Not that,” she said with a laugh. “Real food.” For weeks, she had
been forcing herself to eat, but now she felt she could consume the contents of
her fridge and still be hungry.

“I’ll ring room
service…”

She biffed her pillow at him. “You’ll have to wait until room
service has a shower,” she said, getting out of bed and heading for the
bathroom, leaving him to doze.

Fifteen minutes later, clean and fresh and her hair still wet, she
emerged from the bathroom only to find the bed empty. Her heart sank. Then she
heard the clank of pots from downstairs.

She ransacked her wardrobe looking for something that said,
I’m
not trying to impress my lover, but I am
. She opted for a pair of low-rise,
hip-hugging jeans and a black, long-sleeved merino jumper that accentuated every
curve. A touch of lipgloss and she was done. Casual but sexy.

Mouth-watering aromas of braised onion and garlic met her as she
made her way down the stairs. The quilt from the guest bed lay crumpled on the
living room floor where they had abandoned it after their first fervent
lovemaking session. Likewise, her white bathrobe and Fergus’s black boots.

Fergus turned as she entered the kitchen, his eyebrows raising
appreciatively. He licked his lips.

She blushed, suddenly coy.

He laughed and went back to stirring the pan on the stove.

“Smells wonderful,” she said. “What is it?”

“Green pea risotto.”

“Mmmn… a man of many talents.”

Grinning, he hooked his free hand around her waist, drawing her in
close to him, and kissed her forehead. “You better believe it.”

For the first time in a long time, she felt safe, loved and at
peace. Her stomach grumbled.

And ravenous.

While Fergus dished up, she made coffee. “By the way, you never did
tell me the upshot of your meeting with Christine Lynas.”

“She won’t be bothering us again. Thomas made sure of that.” He
opened the cutlery drawer. “Told her in no uncertain terms what would happen to
her if she dared come near either one of us.” He poked a fork in each of the
bowls of risotto and handed her one. “Don’t worry; his bark is worse than his
bite.”

The bowl warmed her hands, the fragrant smell irresistible. She
would have eaten it where she stood, if she hadn’t thought it bad-mannered.

No sooner had they seated themselves at the breakfast bar, than a
muffled ringing came from the living room. Fergus’s mobile phone.

Sighing, he slid from his stool. “Better get it. Could be
important.” The ringing became louder and then stopped, as he picked up his
jacket and pulled the phone from the pocket.

“I’m just in the middle of something. Is it urgent? Can I call you
back?”

Silence.

“Hang on. Say that again.”

Unable to wait any longer, she tucked into her risotto, savoring
each mouthful of Fergus’s cooking as she listened in to his side of the
conversation.

“When was this? Was his wife with him?”

Pause.

“Thanks for letting me know. While I remember, have you done
anything about that other matter I asked you about?”

Silence.

“Okay. I’ll be seeing her shortly. I’ll give you a call later.”

By the time Fergus returned to the breakfast bar, she had demolished
her risotto and was eyeing off his bowl. “Paul Escott turned himself in to the
police first thing this morning,” he said.

Desley choked. “No,” she said, recovering her breath, “that can’t
be.”

“I’m only telling you what Kim told me.”

“What’s he confessed to?”

“Nothing yet, except a hatred for Ryan Moore and being a drunk.”

“Since when has that been a crime?”

“The man doesn’t have an alibi, Desley. And by his own admission, he
had motive and opportunity.”

She jumped from her stool, her brunch threatening to come back up.
“No, this is all wrong. It’s all my fault. It was me who told him that if he
told the truth, everything would be all right. Oh God, how could I have been so
naïve?”

“What makes you so sure he’s innocent?”

“Did he tell the police where he’s been all these weeks?”

He caught her wrist. “Drying out.”

“And did he say who paid for the treatment?”

His frown deepened. “Not that Kim mentioned.”

“Well, it was Laura. I told you she had been to see them. She
arranged for money to be put into a trust for the family. Even in a drunken
rage, I doubt Paul would be capable of harming Laura. Besides, he had never
even heard of Jeremy Stillson. What motive would he have to kill a perfect
stranger?”

“You only have his word for that.”

“But they can’t lock him up without more than circumstantial
evidence, can they?”

“At this stage, he’s only being held for questioning. He hasn’t been
charged with anything yet.”

“How long can they hold him for?”

“A reasonable time.”

“What sort of answer is that? Who decides what a reasonable time
is?”

“Come here,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “It’s not like they’re
going to beat a confession out of him or anything. Paul’s in safe hands, and if
he hasn’t done anything wrong, he has nothing to worry about.”

Where had she heard those words before? “I really hope you’re right.
Helen must be beside herself.”
And blaming herself as much as me
, she
thought.

“Anyway, who are you seeing shortly? And what’s the other matter you
were asking Kim about?”

“She asked if I would be seeing you, and not knowing how you would
feel, I played safe.” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I wasn’t
lying; I’m seeing you now. And the other matter was a follow-up on the
information you wanted.”

“About Selena?”

He nodded. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s not much to tell.
She shoplifted a lipstick in her teens and was cautioned, but since then
nothing. Not even a parking or speeding fine. Her credit checks came back all
A-okay. She’s your regular, upright model citizen. Of course, that doesn’t mean
she’s off the hook as far as the death of Jeremy Stillson and the disappearance
of your friends goes. She, like Paul Escott and your ex, can’t provide an alibi
for the time of the fire.”

“Maybe not, but unless she’s superwoman, there is no way, she could
have overpowered three people on her own, killing one that we know of. And
though she might be capable of many things, hitting herself over the back of
the head is not one of them. No, someone was lying in wait in that cottage, but
who?”

hi sis hows it
going thsi email thingy is not as hard as I thought gerge says helo any news
love b

Desley grinned. Her brother’s first email – short, unpunctuated and
full of typos as it was. She pictured him in the workshop’s office, hunched
over the keyboard, spending more time hunting for letters than anything else.
One day she would tell him about the Shift key. Right then she was just
delighted he’d had a go.

She hit Reply.

Hi Brandon

Welcome to
the 21st century. What a wonderful surprise. See, I told you it wouldn’t bite.