Vengeance to the Max (17 page)

He smiled, damn him. He’d discovered her occasional secret vice. “All right, maybe once in a while.”

He snorted. “All the time.”

“What else am I supposed to do with no DVD player?”

His tone changed, gentled. “Like the happy endings, don’cha?”

Her heart started to thud. “There’s no such thing.”

He searched her face. “I’ll give you a happy ending.”

He’d try. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for them. And she wished he’d quit saying stuff like that. It made her go sappy.

“We ought to be talking about Cameron’s sister and this BJ guy.” Which was easier than talking about happy endings that happened only in books and dreams. She ended the getting-to-know-you gig abruptly.

That meant they were back to Izzie, and she couldn’t think about Izzie, not without seeing Cameron’s handwriting in her mind’s eye, on a letter addressed to another woman.

She shook her head.
Don’t think about it
. Witt was right. It was long past being an important issue. All she had to do was remember that.

Witt’s hands slid down her arm. His touch should have left a trail of warmth. Instead she was cold, too cold for a room where she’d pushed the temperature up to eighty. Talking happy endings hadn’t helped.

Scooting forward on the edge of her bed, Witt leaned his elbows on his knees. “Let’s brainstorm then,” he said in a whisper, as if attempting seduction.

Max poised for flight despite her earlier begging.

Cordelia’s story according to Izzie had been simple, small town, and sordid. The father ran away with a bimbo who worked for him. Well, not exactly
ran
, but left the family. Cameron would have been eleven or twelve years old at the time.

Max clucked her tongue. An image of Cameron’s ruby stick pin popped into her mind. His father hadn’t left it to him, as in a will and death. He’d left it behind in the detritus of a failed marriage. Why had Cameron led her to believe otherwise?

“What?” Witt broke in.

“BJ Hastings,” she started, though the man had nothing to with why she’d made the noise. “Hastings isn’t his real name.”

“Calvin Hastings, Evelyn’s father. Hastings was Evelyn’s maiden name.” The man followed her thought patterns right back to that obituary they’d read. As if they had one mind.

Like Cameron.
Stop thinking about him
.

“Evelyn was so pissed, she dumped his name. Damn, we should have asked Izzie what it was.” She eyed Witt critically. He was the cop; he should have thought of that.

He held up his hands innocently. “Never said I was perfect.”

But he was, which meant he didn’t think it was important enough to ask right then.

“Who was BJ really? Question number one for Evelyn.” Max tipped her head to look at Witt. “Do you think she’ll answer?”

Witt shrugged. “Her reaction oughta be interesting.” Ahh, so that was his game, gauging reactions.

Okay, so BJ rolled into town a few months after Daddy found his new bimbo and a new job out of town. Romance sparked between the dumped wife and BJ, get this, Madeline’s Daddy’s newest lawyer at the family law firm. BJ had seemed enamored of Madeline’s kids and the idea of a ready-made family, but the relationship didn’t last long. Izzie hadn’t known why, but less than a year after that, BJ was married to the older, formerly spinster daughter, Evelyn.

“We have to find out why Madeline got dumped for the second time.” The brainstorm session was rolling right on through Max’s mind. She was hot and not from the sweltering room but from Witt’s thigh against her own. When had he inched closer?

Witt snorted. “I can see the look on the lady’s face when ya ask that one.” His eyes sparkled.

Her life didn’t seem as bad as it had half an hour ago. She could say exactly why. Witt. His closeness. His ability to make her stop thinking about herself.

“All right, smarty pants, what would you ask?”

“Just the facts, ma’am,” he quipped, undoing the top button of his black and red flannel shirt. Her favorite colors.

Just the facts, ma’am
. Per Izzie. While Max sat stupefied in the cafe’s booth, Witt pumped out questions for Izzie. The woman answered every one, as if telling the story after all these years was her duty. BJ married Evelyn, but maintained a caring relationship with his nephew and niece by marriage. Too friendly in Cordelia’s case. Izzie didn’t know when the affair started. Max doubted Evelyn did either. Cordelia was a year older than Cameron, thirteen or so at the time of the nuptials. Dear BJ had been in his mid-thirties. What a disgusting thought. Max’s insides curled. Had it been sexual abuse? Had he forced himself on her, then coerced her to leave with him when his deed was about to be discovered? Not so, claimed Izzie. She’d seen those days, especially Cordelia’s last year of high school, as idyllic. Cordelia had been in love, Izzie had been sure. The blond beauty, said without an ounce of jealousy on Izzie’s part, had blossomed and glowed. She’d confided a secret boyfriend to Izzie, who had confided it to Cameron. Neither guessed who and wouldn’t have in a million years.

“So what makes a man give up his career and turn to a girl almost half his age?”

“Being married to a forty-five-year-old spinster.” Witt shuddered.

“That’s horrible and sexist.” Not that Max wasn’t a sexist, too, on the right occasion. She believed in spike-heeled pumps and using all the female assets to get what you needed.

Witt ignored the jab, gave Max a raised-brow look. “Evelyn’s not gonna give you a reason for that either.”

Right, so
why
BJ had done it wasn’t a good question. There were some missing facts, though. Per Izzie, by graduation day Cordelia was getting
pleasantly plump
. How the hell could someone hide that they were almost six months pregnant? True, Izzie said she’d worn baggy clothes and seemed self-conscious about her weight, used that excuse, but still ... Madeline Starr had been out of touch with her daughter’s life, or mired in her own unhappiness. Two weeks after school let out, someone confronted Cordelia. Madeline or Evelyn, maybe both, Izzie wasn’t sure. The only thing she did know about that skirmish was Cordelia’s steadfast refusal to name the baby’s father.

The whole town knew she was pregnant by then, but she remained mum. Rampant gossip speculated on the captain of the football team. Cheerleader Cordelia had dated him. Some thought it was a boy from Notre Dame. How BJ must have prayed she wouldn’t open her mouth. By the end of the summer, when her time was near, she disappeared. So did BJ. So did the cash in the joint checking account, Evelyn’s jewelry, and the contents of the safety deposit box. BJ believed in diversifying. Amongst the important papers had been one hundred thousand dollars in gold coins. BJ’s secret was out, when it no longer mattered.

Cordelia and BJ were never seen again. Neither was the gold. End of Izzie’s story.

“Here’s what we know.” Her heart raced with the thrill of the hunt. She pushed thoughts of Cameron, and Izzie
with
Cameron, to the back of her mind.

Witt watched her with deep concentration, eyes on her lips. A thrill danced across her skin. What was he thinking?
Stop that, too
.

She raised her thumb. “First BJ seduces niece.”

Eyes on the pulse at her throat, Witt nodded.

Max raised her index finger. “Niece gets pregnant.” Her middle finger rose to join the first two. “They disappear forever.” She put her forefinger beneath Witt’s chin and lifted until his gaze met hers. “Methinks they’re both dead,” she began.

Witt finished. “And Evelyn Hastings killed them.”

* * * * *

They digested the idea in silence for a few moments.

Then Max couldn’t help herself. “Is it appropriate for me to ask you to make love to me right after we’ve decided there’s a thirty-year-old unsolved murder?”

Witt blinked, then stared at her.

Max resisted chewing on her lip nervously. “This is about you, because I want you. Not because of anything ... else.”

“And murder makes you hot?” His eyes gleamed.

“Not exactly.”
He
made her hot. And they were sitting on a bed. Alone. Together. Between yesterday and last night, he’d had her three times, if you considered that mutual masturbation was sex. “It seemed like a way to end the evening on a more positive note.”

He laughed. “That’s a ...
different
way of looking at it.”

She liked it when he laughed and smiled. Really, she hated having him mad at her. Or stern. She shrugged in answer.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well.” She looked down at the sudden tightness of his jeans. “I was thinking that I would very much like to take you in my mouth.” She smiled brightly, then rushed the next words. “And suck you till you scream.”

He wiped all expression from his face and tilted his head back and forth. Like a dog who smells a treat coming his way. “Tell me more before I decide.”

She had him. But he wanted to play first. God. It felt good. She hadn’t played at sex or making love in so damn long. “I seem to remember that I like the taste of you.” She licked her lips. His pupils dilated. “And I really like the way you grab my hair and make me take you deep.”

Flashes of heat winked in his eyes. “Did the initials BJ have anything to do with this sudden desire?”

“I have to admit, it got me thinking.”

“Wasn’t just murder talk that got you hot?”

She cupped the very hard spot in his jeans. “I’m still hot from last night.”

“Hmm.” He twisted his lips as if he really had to think about whether he’d allow her the blowjob.

“Please, please, please, Detective Long, come in my mouth.”

“Since you ask so sweetly, it would be churlish to refuse.”

Not to mention downright idiotic. Guys didn’t turn down blowjobs. Did they? “I promise I’ll make it really good.”

He chuckled. “Counting on it.”

She slipped to her knees between his legs. He leaned back far enough for her to get a good handle on his belt and zipper. “Oh my, what a big ... thing you have,” she murmured when he sprang free of his underwear.

“It’s not a
thing
. It’s my family jewel.”

He lifted when she tugged on his jeans and pulled them to his ankles. Leaning down, she licked his testicles. “These are the family jewels.” She followed through with a long swipe to the head of his cock. “This is
my
jewel. Oh look, there’s a little pearl right on the top. Must be mine, too.” She sucked it off, holding him a long two seconds in her mouth.

A sigh rumbled up from his belly. “I’m all yours, sweetheart, if you don’t stop.”

“Put your hands in my hair and make me take it.” She went all hot and gushy inside with the thought of all that beautiful hard meat deep enough to touch her throat.

Shoveling through her hair, he pushed her down, and at the same time his hips surged up to meet her. She held on to his thighs with both hands. Her nose got buried in his flannel shirt, still smelling of laundry soap. He was deep, as deep as she could take him without choking. Juice bathed her tongue. She hummed her pleasure, knowing the sound would vibrate against him.

Sliding back, she sucked hard all the way. His fingers tensed against her scalp, and he blew a noise through his teeth. When she looked up, he’d thrown his head back.

“Stand up and make love to my mouth as if you were inside me,” she begged. The idea was sexy and erotic and turned her legs to jelly.

He rose, planted one hand on her cheek and cupped the back of her head with the other. She clutched his hips and held on. She gave up all control to him. He simply fucked her mouth, dipping, bending, rocking, then finally driving hard. She took him all and loved it. Tears came to her eyes, and she moaned in time with his thrusts. Her nails dug into his flanks.

Then he groaned, his body jerked, and he held her flush against him. His warm, salty essence filled her mouth, the scent of his soap and exertion filled her nose, and soft flannel caressed her cheek. She drank, milking him for the last drops, swallowed, then circled his crown with her tongue.

His breath beat against the air, and his pulse throbbed against her ear. He held her close to him for the longest time.