He laughed softly. “As kids? Not so much. Yeah, like siblings get along. You know, we’d fight with each other, but tear anyone else apart if they had anything nasty to say. Not literally—you know, just whatever the hell you do, don’t bad-mouth my brother in front of me. Then, of course, we have our parents back, haunting us all. Guess they really do want to watch over us. We don’t make it easy for them. We all went into the service, and knew we’re all interested in investigation and law enforcement. How two actors had the three of us as children, I don’t know.”
“But...you just came out to LA, with no notice,” she said.
“We were kicking around the idea of opening our own firm for private investigation. Seemed a good idea. We’ve helped out—mostly unofficially—in a number of cases, in Virginia, and elsewhere. Anyway, trying to make a long story short—too late, I know—my parents were friends with Adam Harrison. And Adam has a touch...he can find people to help out at the right time in the right place, and he turned that into the Krewe of Hunters. Jackson Crow was his first recruit. Jackson met his wife, Angela, through that first investigation. I don’t know all the legal and jurisdictional procedures, but the Krewe of Hunters works as a separate and elite unit. After the investigation on the Blood-bone killer out here—as you know now—Bryan decided that he was going to try to join the FBI.”
“So what about you and Brodie?”
“Not sure. This all just came up. But, hey, Brodie and I might stick with the original plan, and then again, we may not.” He glanced her way and shrugged. “I’ve considered the Krewe. Jackson has convinced me that it’s a good place to be. And, hey, there are medical benefits and a retirement plan.”
She smiled.
“And you?” he asked her.
“I always knew I wanted to be a cop.”
“You have to be a hell of a good one—to have gotten where you are.”
“Well, thanks. I’ve had Grant’s support, too. Not many people luck out and come up with a man like him to be a mentor and a partner.”
“Your dad was a cop?”
“Yep.”
“And you grew up in LA?”
“I did.”
He grinned. “And you never wanted to be in the movies?”
She laughed. “Not once. Over the years, I’ve met the good, the bad and the ugly. Some of the nicest people I’ve ever met are performers. And, of course, I’ve seen the ones who strike out, get crazy with the money and attention, and go the other way. And I know the average working Joes—the guys working behind the scenes on every movie known to man, but they’ll never be household names.”
They’d reached her house; she realized that they’d gone a full twenty minutes without talking about the case. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
They headed up to the house. She slid her key into the lock with Bruce right behind her.
She realized that they both stepped in carefully, listening, looking around. But they could also both feel the emptiness.
No one was there.
“I’ll just gather up what I have,” Sophie said. “There’s water, sodas, iced tea, in the refrigerator.”
“You want something?”
“A bottle of tea, thanks.”
“We should probably eat something.”
“Food. Hmm. Not so sure about that,” Sophie admitted. “I mean, I really haven’t been here—”
He laughed. “And grocery shopping isn’t high on your ‘to-do’ list.”
“No,” she admitted, ducking into her office.
In a few minutes, she had gathered up everything she had printed off. Bruce was in the kitchen; he had a bottle of tea for her and one for himself.
“Ready?” he asked her.
They went out again, with her locking up.
“I like your place,” he told her. “Lots of pictures of your parents. No siblings?”
“No.”
“Parents gone?” he asked.
She looked his way and offered him a sad smile. “Really gone. They don’t come back to haunt me.”
He nodded. “And you were just taking care of an old, dear friend—who just passed away.”
“Yes.”
He fell silent. When they reached the lobby of the hotel, she turned to him. “Well, thank you. And if I’ve had a bad attitude, I’m truly sorry.”
“Not so fast. I ordered dinner to the room. One chicken, one beef. You take your pick. Oh, this is California. Just in case you’re a vegetarian, I ordered some fruit and spinach salad and—I think—asparagus and bread.”
She smiled. “I’m not a vegetarian. But I do like vegetables. And fruit. And...”
“And?”
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I hadn’t thought about food, and I am starving.”
“Good.”
She felt a little odd, heading up to his room. They passed a bellboy who just said nothing but “good evening” to the two of them.
Not so odd.
There was a table in the room, and their food had arrived.
“I really wasn’t being presumptuous—ordering for you, I mean. I just knew that room service was going to close.”
“It’s okay.”
There was one chair at the little work table where room service had set their tray; Bruce dragged another from the dresser area and they both sat and lifted the covers that had been keeping the food warm. One plate had a nicely broiled chicken breast and the other a really nice and thick steak.
She looked at him.
“Whatever you like.”
“Let’s split them both.”
“All right!”
She wondered for a minute—as they divided chicken and steak—if this wasn’t something like a date.
She couldn’t remember being on her last date.
The thought made her a little nervous, so she went and collected her papers, going through them. “Okay, suspects in the original case...they talked to Elizabeth Short’s father, who lived out here, but he was quickly eliminated. Then, of course, they asked him about her dates, and he was pretty callous—he seemed to believe that she’d go with anyone in a uniform. She was supposed to have been or gotten engaged at one point, but that fiancé was killed in the military. The police decided that it wasn’t someone she was dating. Obviously, this was a pretty sick individual.” She looked up at him suddenly. “What’s missing is a page I’d printed about the police and forensics at the time.”
“That’s interesting. But I’m not at all sure what it says. Spinach?”
“Um, yes, sure.”
He reached over and took the papers from her hand.
“I’ve been thinking about poor Michael Thoreau. Have you ever been shot at?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Twice. Caught in the upper arm...we’d been called to a domestic. Sad case.”
“A man shot his wife?”
“No, actually. The wife shot up the husband. He’d been cheating—with her best friend. She decided to end the affair.”
“Did she kill him?”
“He survived. And he married the best friend. She’s still in jail.”
“Weird justice—that goes to show you that you just can’t...well, divorce would have been a much better option.”
“Yep. It’s sad, but you’re right. You just can’t shoot people. Anyway, she got a round off at me. I was working patrol at the time. We were called in because the neighbors heard shots. She caught me blindly, but I got the gun from her.”
“And the second time?”
“The second time... A little boy had his dad’s gun. He didn’t hit me or his father on purpose. He had found the gun. He was sitting there crying with his dad on the floor, and he was talking to me and...dropped the gun. Got me in the foot. But...that was patrol, too. Patrol is the most dangerous job in the police, really.”
He nodded. “The patrol officer never knows when a routine traffic stop may get him shot. Patrol officers really do have their lives on the line all the time.”
“And you?” Sophie asked.
“Wanna see my scars?”
She laughed. “Depends on where they are!”
He grimaced and drew off his T-shirt in one smooth motion, revealing a scar across his chest.
“And you were working?”
“Navy. Iraq.” He was quiet a minute. “I was trying to get a gun from a ten-year-old. We got the gun—and we even got the kid into a good home and a school and...it was worth it.”
“When something goes right, it’s all worth it.” She didn’t mean to, but she was staring at his chest. He was bronzed, his muscles finely honed. And she was shaken to realize just how much she wanted to stretch out her fingers and touch him.
“You going to show me yours?” he asked, and then laughed suddenly.
“Hey,” she said with a shrug. “You are more than welcome to see my foot.” She pulled off both boots and her socks and wiggled her toes before him. “Left side, left foot. Oh, and on my arm. It’s just a nick there—right arm, biceps, toward the back of the muscle area.”
“Ah, poor foot!” he said, and gently ran a finger along the thick red line.
She almost jumped out of her seat. He didn’t hurt her, he didn’t tickle...
It was a touch she felt through to the core.
“It wasn’t that big a deal, honestly.”
“Had to have hurt.”
“Like a mother.”
He grinned at her, easing her foot down. He leaned closer. “Just when is the last time you had sex?”
“What?”
“Honestly, that isn’t a bad opening line. I can’t help but be really curious.”
“I... Okay, it’s been a while. When I say I took care of a friend, he was a friend. That is not a fair question!”
“I’m not trying to be fair—I’m trying to figure you out.”
“Fine. A while. Over a year. Now I’m also intrigued—what about you?”
“It’s been a bit,” he admitted. “I was in a relationship for a while...it kind of fizzled. I think I’m just too tightly wound for most people.”
She understood that. Some guys were afraid of a woman who was a cop; some wanted to know things they shouldn’t want to know about. And some wanted to prove that they were stronger and smarter than everyone else.
And for him...
Having dead parents around couldn’t help.
“You?” he repeated.
She inhaled a deep breath. She’d known him a matter of days. She wasn’t sure when she’d felt so intimate with someone.
“About five years,” she admitted.
“Five years?” he demanded, incredulous.
“I’ve been busy!”
He looked at her with amusement, but also something more. And she realized suddenly that he wouldn’t push anything.
To her own astonishment, she murmured, “We could fix that, tonight, I mean, if you’re at all interested.”
8
Wednesday, late night
Bruce wasn’t at all sure he had heard her correctly. But just what he thought he heard her say seemed to awaken his desire like a bolt of pure, hot lightning shot down right into his gut. And lower.
He was dead still for a minute, looking at her.
Now she was flushing again.
It was extremely attractive, somehow both very sweet and vulnerable—and sexy as all hell.
“Oh, God!” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t believe I just said any of that. I didn’t mean... I mean...oh! Seriously, I don’t need...”
Bruce found himself up from the table, then down on his knees by her. “Hey!”
“I—” she began.
He leaned to her, cupped her face into his hands and kissed her. He realized that whatever it was about her, he’d felt the draw since he’d first seen her on television—shaken but determined, brusque and yet graceful. Whatever it was about her...she seemed to beckon to him and enchant him in a way that was unique and absolutely charming.
Her lips gave beneath his and he tasted a sweet liquid heat that seemed to catch swift fire and burn between them. Her fingers fell on his naked chest. Her touch was featherlight, both natural and ridiculously erotic.
He stood, drawing her to her feet. They started to kiss again, tongues both dancing and dueling, as if neither could taste enough of, or draw deeply enough from, the other. Their lips were still all but glued together as they shed their clothing, pulling at their own, helping and hindering one another.
They wound up pushing away from the table. At some point—maybe when he shed his shoes—they crashed down on the bed together, and there was laughter. And then a very still moment when they paused, and he looked into her eyes, and he was amazed by not just the sense of desire he felt, but tenderness for her, a need to protect and cherish, even though he knew she was so capable and fine and...
Maybe cherish and protect was something you felt whether you were tough or not. He didn’t know, and he sure as hell didn’t understand, because it seemed that everything in him caught fire, and he was desperate to remember to be a courteous lover, because the desire in him seemed to be sparking out of control.
She was as lovely as a little sylph, tiny but finely muscled, her form exceptionally fit. He realized Sophie would be in great shape not for her ego, but out of determination to be as physically capable as possible.
Of course, he had to admit, it did work in bed.
She touched him, and it was a jolt of magic; she moved beneath him and he was on fire. He kissed her flesh, moved against her and then moved within her. And he wondered, feared, that he had not given enough, but she was with him, eager, sweetly, wickedly moving...against him...with him...
They rolled and moved, and every motion was electric.
She climaxed first; he followed in moments. And when he lay by her side and could breathe again, he spoke to her softly.
“Wow. Um, forgive me—”
“Forgive you?” She leaned her hands on his chest and arose to accost him, a frown furrowing her forehead. “For...?”
“Oh, babe. Five years.” He grinned, drawing her back down to lie atop him. “There should have been... I mean really...a lot more foreplay. Five years!”
She flushed, grimaced and fell by his side.
“I thought it was great.”
“Ah, well, thanks, but honestly, I can do much better.”
“Hard to believe. But hey, you’re definitely more of an expert.”
He laughed. “I sure as hell didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” He pulled her close to him. “It was just a bit spontaneous...”
“Well, it was a long day. I mean, actually, I would love a shower.”
“A shower,” he repeated. “Great idea.”
He leaped up, bowing slightly as he reached out a hand to her. “Seriously. I can’t be remiss. If I mess up too badly, you may let it all go another five years.”
“Oh, I rather think that you’ve piqued my memory quite well,” she assured him.
“But a shower...” he said, letting the word trail and then shaking his head. “I really have to show you what the shower is all about. Got to make absolutely sure that you don’t fall back into your old, lonely habits.”
He pulled her with him, laughing.
He started the shower, telling her how they needed the perfect water. And then he let it run, and found the soap, telling her it would be absolutely delightful to help her wash away the day.
He loved touching her.
Loved the way she felt as his hands moved over her.
And then she took the soap from him.
And did amazing t
hings.
“I’m a fast learner,” she whispered to him.
She was.
He wanted to give so much. Wanted to see that he gave her perfect moments, perfect sensations.
Five years without a loving touch. Other women might lie about something like that...or exaggerate. Not Sophie. Success at her chosen field had meant too much to her. Caring for a friend had meant even more. She’d put a lot of other things ahead of her own happiness.
He wanted the night to be...magic.
But they reached a point where the heat and the water and the steam and suds and their hands on one another became more than he could bear.
He managed to turn the water off, lift her out of the shower, pull her against him, and then back toward the bed, grabbing towels as he did so. She was still sleek and clean and she smelled amazing, and while he’d thought he was being driven insane with desire, he still managed to wait, kissing her, because the sweetness of her taste was something that he could not ignore.
She tugged him down to the crisp sheets, and made love to him. Later, they lay together, exhausted, catching their breath. And he was holding her, teasing her about something, when he realized that she was asleep.
He lay awake a while, grinning to himself, and then he slept, too.
Thursday morning
It was almost impossible to believe the way that she had behaved, Sophie thought vaguely, waking up with a smile. On several levels, it was all so wrong. They barely knew one another. They were working together. Okay, so he wasn’t a cop, but...
Then, of course, she just wasn’t sure that rational, career-driven, respectable young women were supposed to behave in such a way. Her folks had really taught her manners and courtesy...
Well, hopefully, she’d been polite!
She rolled slightly, curling more tightly against his bare chest, delighted by the warmth there, loving the feel of his breathing.
His arm came around her, moving her even more closely to him.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Hey,” she said.
“You good?” He sounded a little anxious. “You good with everything?”
“Excellent,” she said softly.
“I’m glad. I was afraid that you’d wake up...”