Open Season by Linda Howard
His control broke, and he began thrusting deep and hard, over and over, and what had begun as simple pleasure became something more, something wrenching and powerful. Daisy clung to him because she could do nothing else, because with that one word she had demanded everything he could give her and could hold back none of herself. She arched in climax, her heels digging into his thighs, the shuddering starting deep and spreading out in convulsive waves. For a long moment she stopped breathing, stopped thinking, caught on a peak of sensation so sharp it blurred the world around her. Then it faded and slowly she went limp, muscle by muscle, legs and arms falling open and releasing him to move fast and strong in his own orgasm.
His heavy weight crushed her into the mattress, but she couldn’t find either the strength or the will to protest. He was utterly limp, his heartbeat slamming against his rib cage, his breath rushing in and out of his heaving lungs. Maybe they dozed; time certainly seemed to disappear.
After a while, groaning with the effort, he withdrew and moved off her to lie on his side and hold her close. Daisy buried her face against his throat, acutely aware of the wetness between her legs. This could be a disaster. But it didn’t feel like a disaster; it felt. . . right.
Gently he stroked her. She tried to think of something to say, but there didn’t seem to be anything to say, nothing that needed saying. All she needed to do was come to terms with what lay between them, a sudden awareness that this was much more than an affair.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
“God, I’ve got to get back to the office,” he muttered. “I can’t believe I let myself get sidetracked like this.”
“I’m sure five minutes one way or another won’t make much difference,” she consoled.
He opened one eye and glared at her. “Five minutes? I beg your pardon. I’ve been better than five minutes since I was sixteen.”
She twisted around to look at the clock on the bed-side table. The problem was, she didn’t know if they had dozed, or for how long. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Then I’m sure an hour one way or another—”
“An hour! Shit!”
He bolted out of bed and went into the bathroom. She heard the sound of water running, the toilet flushed, then he came back out and went to the foot of the bed, where he’d left his clothes on the floor. He looked down and froze.
Alarmed by his expression, Daisy struggled up on her elbows.
He looked up then, and in a very even tone said, “Your dog ate my shorts.”
She tried not to laugh; she really did. She managed to hold it in for about one second; then giggles started shaking her like little earthquakes. Once one erupted, they immediately morphed into a belly laugh that rolled her onto her side, holding her stomach as if she could contain them that way.
He bent down and picked up the puppy, holding him at eye level. It was impossible to deny Midas’s guilt, because shreds of the dark green boxers were hanging from his mouth. He seemed very happy about it, too, wagging his tail at a frantic beat, paddling his feet as he tried to get within licking distance.
Jack said, “Fuzzbutt, you’re a pain in the ass.” But he said it in an almost crooning tone, and he cuddled the puppy to him as he removed the shreds from the little mouth.
Daisy looked at the fuzzy puppy and the big, naked man holding him so gently, and she thought her heart would leap right out of her chest. She had already been halfway there, but in that moment she fell completely, irrevocably in love.
No, this wasn’t an affair, at least not on her part. It was much, much more.
He put Midas on the bed, leaving Daisy to deal with the puppy while he got dressed. As she fended off big feet and a madly licking tongue, Daisy watched the jeans slide up over his naked butt and had some very lascivious thoughts.
When he was dressed, he leaned over her and kissed her, and the kiss became longer and deeper than either of them had intended. Spots of color burned high on his cheekbones when he pulled back, and his eyes were narrowed again. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered.
“All I’m doing is lying here.” She caught Midas as he began pulling on the bedspread, told him no, and removed the fabric from his mouth.
“That’s what I said. A naked woman and a fuzzy puppy: what more can a man want? Well, maybe a beer. And a good ball game on the tube. And—”
She grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at him. “Go!”
“I’m going. Remember, don’t open the door—”
“—to anyone but you,” she finished.
“I don’t know what time I’ll be back. There’s a Huddle House next door if you get hungry.” He scribbled some numbers on the notepad by the bed. “This is my cell number, the number of my office, and Todd’s numbers here and at home. Call any or all of them if you need anything.”
“Why do you have Todd’s numbers?” she asked curiously.
“I might have known you’d ask,” he muttered.
“Well, why do you?”
“Because he’s helping us locate Sykes. He has some good contacts we’re using.” He kissed her again, scratched Midas behind the ears, then was out the door and gone.
Daisy climbed slowly out of bed, her legs protesting. Midas went over to examine the big wet spot on the bedspread, and she hastily grabbed him, setting him on the carpet. He followed her to the bathroom, nosily sniffing around as she washed off.
Embarrassed by the thought of the motel maids finding the bedspread in that condition, Daisy industriously worked at the spot with a wet washcloth and a hand towel until she was certain nothing would show when the spot was dry.
Her first wet spot, she thought, staring at the dark circle. She hoped it was the first of many, because she wanted Jack Russo to be the father of her children.
It remained to be seen whether or not he wanted the same thing. He hadn’t run when her mother had made that pointed comment about the kind of mother-in-law she was, but then he wouldn’t, not with a murder investigation going on and her to protect. He wasn’t a man who shirked his responsibilities.
She really should have made him stop, she thought as she dressed. She didn’t want him to marry her because she got pregnant; she wanted him to love her. This time it would probably be okay—the timing wasn’t right—but Mother Nature had a way of playing tricks and she wouldn’t breathe easy until she got her period.
She sat down and looked around the motel room. As motel rooms went, she supposed, it was nice. It was larger than normal, maybe because it was one of the rooms for people with pets. There was a recliner for sitting, a round table with two chairs, and a tiny refrigerator with a four-cup coffeemaker sitting on top. The bathroom was functional but unremarkable.
Now what?
On impulse, she got out the phone book and looked up Sykes. She didn’t know this particular Sykes’s first name or where he lived, so there was no point in the exercise, but she looked at the list of Sykeses and thought about calling each one. She could say something like, “Mr. Sykes, this is Daisy Minor. I hear you’re trying to kill me.”
Not a great idea. What if he had Caller ID? That would tell him where she was.
She didn’t normally watch much television, but there was nothing else to do. Midas had decided to have another snooze; when he woke, she would carry him out again, but how much time would that occupy? She picked up the remote, settled in the recliner, and turned on the television.
She didn’t like waiting and doing nothing. She didn’t like it at all.
At least her family was out of reach. Daisy knew she would have been a nervous wreck if Jack hadn’t gotten them out of town. Her mother was sure to call this evening to reassure herself Daisy was all right, and she’d be worried when there was no answer. On the other hand, Jack seemed to think of everything, so he had probably given her mother his cell phone number or another way she could check.
But what about Jack? She went cold. It was no secret they were involved, not after the way he had sat beside her in church. Wh
She made a dive for the telephone and called Jack’s cell phone. He answered after one ring. “Russo.”
“You have to be careful, too,” she said fiercely.
“What?”
“If the mayor finds out we’re involved, that makes you a target just the way my family was.”
“There’s a difference between your family and me.”
She loved them all, so she couldn’t see this difference. “Such as?”
“I’m armed.”
“Just be careful. Promise me.”
“I promise.” He paused. “Are you all right?”
“Bored. Hurry back with those books.”
Daisy fretted after she hung up, pacing around the room. She hated being stashed here out of the way, not knowing what was going on, not being able to help. It wasn’t in her nature to just sit and wait. Once she identified a chore or a problem, she couldn’t rest until it was handled.
Something had to happen soon, or she’d go crazy.
Jack frowned as he broke the connection. Daisy already sounded restless, which wasn’t good. He needed to know she was doing exactly as he’d told her; he needed to know she was safe so he could concentrate on finding Sykes.
The call he had received right before Daisy’s had him worried, though. One of his detectives had gone out to the Nolan place, but Mrs. Nolan hadn’t been there. They hadn’t located her yet. If Kendra Owens had gossiped about that phone call, it could already have gotten back to the mayor.
The little hairs on the back of his neck were standing up again.
TWENTY-THREE
Nadine hesitated in the doorway of Temple’s office, her indecision plain on her face. He looked up, irritated. He’d been on edge all day, waiting to hear from Sykes, wondering if he’d already accomplished the mission. The phone call from Mr. Phillips hadn’t been a joy, either. People who disappointed or ran afoul of Elton Phillips wound up dead. If Sykes didn’t succeed this time, Temple knew he’d have to do something to placate Phillips. Kill Sykes, maybe. The prospect of killing Sykes worried him, because Glenn Sykes wasn’t a fool and he wouldn’t be an easy man to kill.
Nadine still lingered in the doorway and Temple snapped, “For God’s sake, Nadine, what is it?”
She looked taken aback at his unusual irritability. Temple almost never let himself show temper; it wasn’t good for the image. Today, though, he had other things besides his damn image to worry about.
Nadine wrung her hands. “I’ve never said anything before. I think people’s private lives are just that, private. But I think you should know what Mrs. Nolan did today.”
Jesus, not now. Temple covered his eyes, massaging the ache that ran under his eyebrows. “Jennifer has . . . problems,” he managed to say, the way he had so many times in the past when he wanted to elicit sympathy. It was his pat answer, one he didn’t have to think about.
“Yes, sir, I know.”
When she didn’t continue, Temple sighed, realizing he’d have to prompt her rather than say what he really wanted to say—that he didn’t give a good goddamn what the bitch did, he hoped she’d T-boned a power pole and killed herself.
“What has she done this time?” That was another pat response, showing his patience and weariness.
Now that he had asked, Nadine spat the words out as if she couldn’t hold them in any longer. “She called the library and told Kendra Owens you were trying to have Daisy Minor killed.”
“What?” Temple shot up from his chair, color leeching out of his face. His knees wobbled in shock, and he had to grab the edge of his desk. My God. Oh, my God. He remembered the sudden uneasy feeling he’d had this morning, the one that had made him check to see what Jennifer was doing. The bitch had been listening in on her bedroom extension. Mr. Phillips would kill him. Literally.
“Kendra didn’t take her seriously, of course, but she was worried in case Mrs. Nolan did something, you know, sort of foolish, so she called the police department and reported it.”
“The fucking bitch!” Temple said fiercely, and he didn’t know if he meant Jennifer or Kendra, or both.
Nadine stepped back, more than a little affronted by his language. “I thought you ought to know,” she said stiffly, and closed the connecting door with a bang.
With a shaking hand Temple picked up his private line and called Sykes’s number. After the sixth ring, he replaced the receiver. Sykes wasn’t at home, of course; he was waiting to follow Daisy home from work. After Jennifer’s stupid call, if Daisy had disappeared after lunch, the police department would have been on full alert, hunting for her, so the lack of action meant nothing had happened yet. He had to find Sykes and tell him to call off the whole thing. If anything happened to Daisy now, he, Temple, would be number one on the list of suspects.
Something had to be done about Jennifer. With her drinking history, though, it would be easy to set up an “accident.” Bash her in the head, run her car into the river, and be done with it.
But not right away. Anything done right now would be too suspicious. They couldn’t do anything to jeopardize the shipment of Russians.
First thing, though, he had to mend fences with Nadine. It wouldn’t do to have her bad-mouthing him to her little circle of friends. Gossip like that had a way of spreading like kudzu vines.
He opened the door, mustered the charm, and said, “I’m sorry, Nadine. I had no right using language like that. Jennifer and I had an argument this morning, and I’m still on edge. Then to find out she did something like that...” He let his shoulders slump.
Nadine’s expression softened a little. “That’s all right. I understand.”
He rubbed his forehead again. “Was Daisy upset when Kendra told her about the call?”
“Daisy isn’t working today. Her mother called in and said she had a toothache. I have my own suspicions, but that’s the story.” She waggled her eyebrows, looking arch.
Nadine should never try to look arch, Temple thought; she resembled a flirtatious frog. “What do you mean, ‘suspicions’?”
“About where she is. Well, I don’t know where she is, but I doubt she has a toothache.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I had to call over to the police department right before lunch, and Eva Fay said Chief Russo hadn’t been in all day either.”
The throb behind Temple’s eyebrows worsened. “What does that have to do with Daisy?”
“You mean you haven’t heard? They’re seeing each other.” For Nadine her satisfaction at being the first to impart this news more than made up for his rudeness and bad language.
Temple felt as if he’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. “What? Seeing each other?” He could barely say the words, the shock was so great. Disaster yawned at his feet.
“Barbara Clud said they bought—well, they bought intimate articles together. Chief Russo sat with her at church on Sunday, too.”
“Then it has to be serious.” His voice sounded hoarse, and he made a show of clearing his throat. “Got a tickle in my throat.”
Nadine fished a cough drop out of her desk and gave it to him. “I’d say it’s serious, him going to church with her.”
Temple nodded and escaped back into his office, trying to grasp all the ramifications of what he’d just learned. Damn it! When Russo had run that tag number for him, he’d pretended not to know whose it was. Why would he do that? What had made him hide the fact that he knew Daisy? There was no reason to unless . . . unless he knew damn well Daisy hadn’t been parked in a fire lane at Dr. Bennett’s office, and the only way he could know that was if he’d been with her during the time in question.
The “intimate articles” bought at Clud’s Pharmacy had to be condoms, which meant they were sleeping together. Russo obviously wouldn’t have spent the night with Daisy at her mother’s house, but he had his own house to which he could take her.
So Russo knew he’d been lying about seeing the car. Russo wasn’t a fool; he’d figure out real quick that someone else had asked Temple to find out who the car belonged to. That wasn’t so bad, except for the lie. That was suspicious; Russo would wonder what was going on, and Temple didn’t want a man like Russo wondering about anything he did.
Right now he had to do damage control. He had to find Sykes and call him off, he had to do something about Jennifer, and he had to make certain the shipment of Russians was handled smoothly, because the least hint of trouble at this point would be more than Mr. Phillips would tolerate.
* * *
Jennifer drove aimlessly, afraid to go home because surely Temple would have heard by now what she’d done. You couldn’t keep things like that quiet in a small town. She couldn’t stop crying, though she didn’t know why she was crying at all, unless she was having a nervous breakdown and just didn’t realize it. She couldn’t do that, she thought; that would give Temple the chance to put her in a mental ward somewhere.
She had removed the little tape from the answering machine and dropped it in her purse. She would get someone to listen to it; she just didn’t know who. Part of her wanted to just drive to the police department, walk in making as much noise and fuss as she could, and get someone to play the tape right there in front of everyone. That way it couldn’t be disregarded, and no one would think she was drunk and imagining things. That would be the smart thing to do, but she couldn’t seem to get her act together enough to do it.
She felt as if she were shaking apart on the inside; she needed a drink, needed one worse than she had ever needed one before in her life, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid to take one. Once she did, she wouldn’t stop, and then she would be helpless. Her life depended on staying sober. She couldn’t seem to think straight now, but she wouldn’t be able to think at all if she drank.