One Hot Mess Part 35

"Think about it." I was excited again. "No one's looking into the deaths. Everyone believes they're accidents. Even you," I added.

"Well..." He raised a practical hand. "I'm naive."

"Don't be an a.s.s, Rivera."

His lips twitched. "So it's finally come down to sweet talk."

"Listen," I said, "your father wants me to believe his campaigns were one big happy family, but I know there were problems."

"You think?"

I ignored him. "Ortez was Wiccan. Manny drank like a fish. Kathy was gay. I'm not sure what Bunting's deal was, but I'm certain there was something. All flawed, but all allowed into the senator's inner circle. What if they knew something they shouldn't... the sins of another..."

"Who?"

The senator himself? The idea flashed through my mind. But that would make him culpable, and I wasn't ready to believe that. "What about Salina?" I asked.

"What about her?" His voice was rumbly his body tense.

"What if someone thinks the senator was responsible for Salinas death? What if someone wants him to pay? Wants him to worry? Wants him to see the circle narrowing down to him?"

"Someone besides me?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it slowly. We stared at each other.

"If you're accusing me of murder, you can come out and say it," he said.

"What?"

"You're usually more straightforward than this." He stood very still, predator eyes steady.

"I never even considered-"

"Was this his idea?" he asked. "Or did you come up with this brainstorm all by yourself?"

"I didn't-"

"'Cuz it's not as if I don't want him dead. I just-"

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake! Shut the h.e.l.l up!" I rasped. "You're not half clever enough to think of something this complex."

He raised his brows at me. Seconds ticked tensely away. "Let me get this straight. You think I'm too stupid to commit murder?"

"And too d.a.m.n impatient. Can I explain now?"

He motioned expansively with one hand.

"What if someone thinks your dad killed Salina? Someone who cared about her." My mind was spinning like a cyclone. "Someone who's known him for a long while."

He didn't interrupt.

"They know he sees himself as the leader of the Moral Majority. His political team was his band of archangels."

Rivera snorted, but I gave him an impatient palms-out gesture and hurried on.

"They see the hypocrisy and want to make them suffer. All of them." I indicated the board. "But mostly him."

"The senator."

"Yes."

He studied the board. "You really think someone plans to kill him."

The entire idea suddenly seemed ridiculous, but I could hardly back down now. It would seem as if I'd just wanted to lure him over so he'd see me in my Wonder Woman ensemble. "I think it's a distinct possibility."

"Tomorrow."

I chewed on my lip, and he turned back to the board.

"Why is the time span narrowing?" he asked.

"Because of his bid for the presidency?"

"He hasn't announced his intent," he said. "At least not to the general public." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Or me."

I ignored his tone and skimmed the board. He didn't seem surprised by the news and I didn't particularly care if he was injured by his father taking me into his confidence. "Who?" I mused.

He stared at me. "Are you asking who else my father has killed?"

"No. Before-" I began.

"I was being sarcastic, McMullen."

I turned toward him with a scowl.

"This is asinine," he said.

"Because he couldn't have been somehow involved in a murder?"

"Because if he had I would have known."

I gave that a moment of thought and decided I believed him. "And?"

He shook his head.

"Then who's going to die on Friday?"

"On a Friday," he corrected.

I gave a conceding shrug but held my ground. We stared at each other for a minute, but finally he blew out a breath and half-turned away.

"Ever heard of coincidence?"

"Yeah, I heard there's no such thing."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"From you."

"I've said a lot of other s.h.i.t, too."

"Are you seriously telling me you think this is all just a strange twist of fate?"

He paused, stared at me, focusing intently, whittling the world down to me. "I wouldn't have thought white would be your color."

"Don't change the subject."

"You're the one in the nightie."

I cleared my throat, feeling hot and vulnerable. "It's a gown."

"Yeah? I can't tell with the robe."

I lifted my chin a notch. "Your loss."

"Take it off."

"You're crazy" I said, but I suddenly felt itchy and ... well, kind of h.o.r.n.y.

He took a step toward me. "Why'd you call?" he asked. "Really?"

"Isn't your dad's life reason enough?"

His grin was twisted, dark, and c.o.c.ky as h.e.l.l. "Whatever it takes to get you in the mood."

"Drop the act," I said, but he was close now, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body blast me.

"What act is that, McMullen?"

"I know you care about him."

He laughed, but his gaze never left mine. "You being a shrink again, McMullen?"

It was hard to breathe, harder to think. Despite everything that had happened between us, he did things to me that no one else did-heightened my senses, jangled my nerves. "No one needs a shrink more than you."

He reached out, touched my cheek. Feelings sparked through me like a live electrical wire. "That what you think I need?"

I swallowed and tried to be smart. "Listen, Rivera ..." I kept my tone cool. Kept my hands to myself. "I won't deny that I've been attracted to you in the past, but-" He skimmed his fingers along my jaw. My eyes flittered closed.

"But what?" he asked, voice tickling deep inside me. "Officer Milquetoast drove everyone else from your mind?"

It took me a moment to curl my fingers into my fists, lest they do something stupid, longer still to realize who he was referring to, but when I did I forced a nod. It was jerky and unsatisfying, but at least I hadn't yet mounted him like a jockey on the track favorite. "He's a nice guy," I said.

Rivera grinned. The expression did nasty things to my equilibrium. "If I remember correctly, the last nice guy you met turned out to be a hit man."

"This one's a cop."

His mouth twisted up even further. Dropping his hand slowly, he tugged the tie of my robe loose. It fell away, simply slipped to the floor as if on command. He put his hand on my waist.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd inhaled.

Warm, slow, and strong, his hand glided up my belly, over my ribs. He leaned in. His breath felt heavy against my face. His hand cupped my breast with light posses-siveness. And then he kissed me, lips slanting across mine, drinking me in, inhaling me.

My innards felt cold, my brain overheated. His thumb tripped over my marble-hard nipple. A shriek jerked at my lips but never escaped. It might have been a protest. It might have been a plea.

He drew back half an inch, eyes burning into mine. "Never trust a cop," he said, and left.

27.

Marriage: Just say no.

-Shirley Templeton "HRISSY?"

"Yes." The phone had jarred me out of that lovely s.p.a.ce between coherency and full-drool sleep. It was late Friday night. As far as I knew no one else had died. I had no idea what that meant.

"This is Donny."

My mind was spinning, but I wasn't gaining much ground.

"Donny Archer."

I shuffled upright, remembering he had promised to check out the senator. Shoving my pillow against the headboard, I glanced at Harlequin. He gave me a one-eyed squint, then twitched back to dreamland.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" I realized suddenly that I was crumpling the bed-sheets in nervous fingers. I loosened my grip and smoothed the faux linens. "I'm fine." A second ticked by. My fingers squeezed again, frozen. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason. I just...I've been thinking about you. I had a really good time the other-"

"Did you learn something?" My voice sounded croaky but I couldn't wait any longer.

It took him a moment to catch up. "Not much. I'm sorry."