Mary's Child Page 17

Smiling at the ploy, Joe slid his arm across the back of the couch and waited for Hallie to send his niece on her way and straighten quite conveniently under that arm. He bent his head to breathe, “Careful there, woman, you’re playing with fire.”

  She slid her near hand up his thigh. “And if I want fire to play with me?” she murmured back.

  His arm convulsed around her shoulders, his belly tightened. With mouth and tongue he made quick, spine-tingling love to her ear. “Where and when?”

  “Hmm?” She leaned into his clandestine caress, unable to think. Unable to want to think.

  Able only to want to be part of him again as soon as possible. “Joe...” His name was a breath, a whisper on her lips as she turned her face toward him.

  Across the room someone male coughed discreetly, arresting the movement. In concert, as fluid as a waning wind, they separated. Hallie looked at Frank, who motioned her out of the room with a slanting of his head. When Joe moved to follow, she stayed him with a hand on his thigh.

  “Not yet,” she told him quietly—although the expression she turned on him was more plea than request. “Later.”

  He looked at her, measuring his desire to leave her out of this completely, against the wisdom of the moment. Then, because he trusted her, he unwillingly let her go.

  She got up and walked across the room without a backward glance. Afraid that if she turned her head, he’d see the lie on her face.

  Knowing that because he trusted her, the things she wouldn’t tell him were the lies.

  Chapter 13

  Though insulated, the garage was cold. Hallie grabbed the jacket she kept hanging beside the door to the house, slipped it on, pulled it up around her ears and zipped it. Then she eased quietly down the landing steps to the garage floor and around to Joe’s truck.

  She felt like a perfect heel spying on Joe instead of asking him what she wanted to know straight out, but a quick glance through Zeke’s file on Mary had convinced her to move first and apologize later. Clearly her late friend had not been a woman to keep two truths in the same barrel; even if Joe had the answers he needed to put the puzzle of Mary’s killer and Mary’s stalker together, he might not realize it. And truth be known, Hallie wanted to protect Joe as much from Mary’s duplicities as she wanted to know what Joe himself was hiding about Mary. Finding out, solving the riddle, freeing Joe from his quest... It was the only way she could think to have a custody battle over Maura end happily.

  It was the only way she could think of that might allow Joe the freedom to choose to stay in town. And selfish or not, after last night, this morning, the discovery of the emotion that had brought her willingly into his arms in the first place, she wanted very badly to have Joe around. To have him want to stay.

  Permanently.

  If, when he discovered what she’d done, he didn’t hate her for the rest of his life, that is.

  But that was later’s concern. Now her only worry was moving quickly enough so Frank and company wouldn’t have to keep Joe occupied for long. Sometimes the man could be just too damned prescient for her good.

  Not that he’d yet exhibited that particular talent since he’d been home. She made a face, puffed air through one corner of her mouth. Give him time and a toothpick, she thought. It wouldn’t take more than that.

  Which meant she had to move.

  The passenger door of his truck was farthest from the house; she slipped around, found the door locked, swore. The driver’s side was also locked. Okay, no problem. A little time wasted, but no big deal. Since they’d had to stop using them to help stranded motorists due to insurance considerations, she had her handy-dandy keys-locked-in-thecar tool at home.

  Not that unlocking Joe’s truck would have been difficult anyway; he’d shown her how to do it when they were kids. But the right tool was always more effective and quicker to use than one—like a coat hanger—that was jerry-built.

  It was also easier for her to disguise its use because she was less likely to miss and scratch the paint. Now all she had to do was slip the flat metal between frame and door in the right place and...

  Voilà! A satisfying clack announced success.

  Quickly she popped open the door and slid into the truck; let her hands glide swiftly above the sun visors and beneath the dash and front of the seat, the inside door pockets before she turned her attention to the glove box. For a moment it stuck and she thought it, too, was locked, but it was simply overfull. When it opened, half the contents dumped onto the floor. pens, pencils, notepad, microcassette recorder; a small high-tech 35-mm camera with telephoto lens...

  For a moment all she could do was stare at the camera, her jaw painfully clenched against a suspicion she couldn’t begin to reconcile—and didn’t want to entertain. Then she forced herself to relax, to think, to behave like a detective rather than an automatically distrusting, uncertain lover.

  Though a few of the photos she’d seen yesterday were indeed 35-mm, most were either Polaroids or stills from videotape. Which meant that finding a single camera in Joe’s truck meant nothing. No doubt he occasionally used a camera in his work, she told herself. Surveillance, same as they did on the job. Or maybe it was a tourist thing—although she didn’t remember Joe Martinez ever in his life having a proclivity toward photography in any form whatever. Still, it was what she wanted to believe; to trust Joe was who she’d always thought he was.

  Her lower jaw working, she laid the camera on the seat and sifted through the remainder of the glove compartment’s contents. Truck owner’s manual, a copy of his registration, proof of insurance, upkeep records, a pair of socks, an unopened package of plaid boxers, a box of condoms...

  The double take was immediate and painful. Condoms. Joe had condoms in his glove box? Damn it to hell, and she’d thought...assumed...

  She shut her eyes against the nauseating taste of jealousy on the back of her tongue. How could she even have considered he wouldn’t...? It had been nearly a year, after all. It probably wasn’t reasonable to think...

  Damn. This was worse than discovering the camera. She didn’t want him sleeping with anybody else. Having sex with anyone else.

  Making love to anyone but her.

  As Zeke had seen, whether Hallie had ever chosen to admit it or not, it had been difficult enough sometimes watching Joe with Mary when they were couples, let alone imagining—

  “Find anything interesting?” Joe’s voice was deliberate, quiet—anger waiting for a good explanation.

  Hoping for one.

  He didn’t get it. Instead Hallie flinched, startled, and swung on him; initially guilty, then defensive. Then any pretense at guilt disappeared, was replaced by wariness—and, Joe thought, surprised by the un-Hallie-like characteristic, pique. When she shoved the box of prophylactics at him, he understood perfectly.

  And started to laugh. Unquestionably the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself. For the first time since he’d turned up on her doorstep yesterday he knew exactly what she was thinking. Here she was, searching his truck for whatever he might have hidden from her, and the thing that ticked her off was the last thing that should. The very thought of her getting sidetracked from anything at all by a box of condoms he’d never used...

  The concept and the result were simply too funny and too terrifyingly wonderful for words. So he laughed.

  “You have condoms in your truck, Joe.”

  It was an accusation if ever he’d heard one. “Yes.” He laughed harder. “I do.”

  “This is not funny, Joe.”

  “Oh, but it is, Hallie.” His sides hurt; it had been a long time since he’d laughed like this. Hallie had been there then, too. “If only you knew.”

  “Enlighten me,” she snapped.

  “Hallie...”

  Still laughing, he attempted to gather her up, draw her in, but it was like attempting to embrace the thorn-apple tree in her backyard. She shoved him away.

  “I mean—” She waved a hand, stamped the length of his truck
and back. “I don’t do this. I don’t sleep casually with men who need to keep condoms in their trucks ‘just in case’ even if they do practice safe sex. The whole idea is they have to practice it at all. I mean it’s not like the ability gets rusty if you don’t use it. And honest to John, if I’m any judge—and I’m probably not, but there we are, it’s what we’re stuck with—my abilities haven’t gone bad from disuse. And I don’t sleep with anyone like I did with you, period. Who has time? Not to mention there’re the kids, and I mean really, Joe, I thought...and you could have said... and...” She stopped and looked at him, eyes deeply blue and bewildered. “There’re condoms in your damned truck, Joe.”

  “Hallie.” Amusement lessened to a chuckle. He caught her wrists, held her still when she would have wrenched away. “Pay attention to me. I’ll explain.”

  “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Joe,” she said sadly, contradicting her previous request. “I don’t own you.” Her mouth twisted. “Heck, it’s obvious I don’t even own myself. And it’s not like I wasn’t the one who got carried away, who didn’t even think—I mean, it’s my body, my protection, right? But I don’t know. I guess I thought...or didn’t think—And it was you, damn it. It’s been forever since anyone...since I wanted...and my period should start in the next couple of days and—”

  “Hallie.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  He sighed. Then he slid his hands up her arms, sandwiched her face between his palms and kissed her hard, pouring everything he’d ever felt for her—or thought he might ever feel for her—into it.

  “Shut up a minute,” he said.

  She bit back whatever else might have blathered out of her. The fact that she’d blathered at all was a bad sign. Lady lieutenant sheriffs did not blather about anything, ever. Especially not to best friends named Joe with whom they’d slept the night before. They couldn’t afford blathering. It gave best-friends-named-Joe far too much information and put lady-lieutenant-sheriffs—well, any lieutenant sheriffs, if you wanted to quibble, which she didn’t, since quibbling at this point could be construed as part of the blathering—at a disadvantage, set a precedent. And not a good precedent at that.

  “Okay.”

  A smile ghosted his mouth; he let it go. How could she be so smart, know him better than he knew himself and be such an idiot about him all at the same time? How could she be the brightest investigator he’d ever met, yet fail to miss the obvious when it came to one simple box of contraceptive devices?

  How could he have known her for thirty years and only now realize that when he measured beauty he measured it against Hallie. Always had, forever would.

  He took the condom box out of her hand, held it in front of her face. “I bought this box six months ago and it’s never been opened, Hallie.” He showed her the sealed ends. “See?”

  She took back the box, turned it over in her hands. It was, indeed, unopened. She looked up at him. Bit the inside of her cheek. Opened her mouth.

  What she meant to say was an almost-contrite-butmostly-sarcastic “Gee, Joe, that’s nice, but I already told you, you don’t owe me any explanations. I was out of line.”

  Instead, what she said was a tad furious and more than a little nose-in-the-air-haughty. “If you weren’t going to use them, why the devil did you buy them in the first place?”

  She was instantly mortified by her temerity.

  It wasn’t as though the question was one she’d never consider asking him. She’d asked him that very type of question often in the past; that was what friends did. But last night had changed the import, had changed what was allowed—particularly since she didn’t yet know where she stood either with him, or with herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Joe snorted. “Yes, you did. You always mean what you say, Hallie.”

  She shook her head. “No. Well, yes, you’re right. I mean what I say when I say it, but I really didn’t mean to say that. I meant to think it and say something else.”

  Again laughter swelled and burst its seams. “Damn, lady, you are something.” He looked behind her, spotted the camera on the seat, stilled. Tapped the box she held. “You found that—” he gestured toward the camera “—and all you’re worried about are these?”

  She made a face. “You think my priorities are skewed?”

  “I think you need your head examined.”

  “Naw.” She grimaced and shook her head. “Zeke already did that once today. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he found anything worth keeping.”

  “His loss,” Joe said softly.

  His eyes on her face were gentle, searching, open. Uncomfortable, Hallie ducked her head.

  “What are you looking for in my truck, Hallie?”

  “Not what I found.” Then, honestly, “The way it...we felt last night, I didn’t think you’d bothered to consider keeping anything like this in your glove compartment ‘just in case.’”

  “Just like you, I don’t sleep around, Hallie.” His tone was quiet, unapologetic, decisive. “But just because I’ve never needed to use them doesn’t mean I don’t know myself well enough to go unprepared. So ‘just in case’ I walk into a bar and get too loose to say no, I keep ’em around like part of my shaving kit, make sure I get a fresh box every so often. Just in case.”

  “Last night—”

  He hushed her with a brush of his mouth across hers. “Last night it was you. Seeing you blew me away. I wanted you so badly I didn’t—couldn’t—think. Not even—” his mouth twisted with belated apology “—long enough to remember to protect you.”

  Her hands went to his chest, gathered his jacket in her fingers, unflexed and smoothed it aside. Slid inside to brush a line down the center of his T-shirt, to still along his ribs. “Joe.” It was a whisper, a request, a promise.

  He let out a shuddering breath. His eyes were deep and hungry, his hands skimmed restlessly down her arms, around her back to her hips, her rump, fitting her intimately to him. “God, what you do to me, Hallie,” he muttered, and crushed her mouth beneath his.

  Wild and uncharted, the kiss lasted a mere heartbeat, long minutes, forever—left them both gulping for reason and unfulfilled.

  “We can’t,” Hallie gasped, unzipping his jacket so she could fit her arms around him inside it. “Can we?”

  “No,” he agreed, but his fingers brushing open the buttons of her jacket, blouse, camisole were unconvinced. When he undid the cups of her bra and grazed his nails over her already distended nipples, she was lost.

  “Joe.” Her own frantic fingers skated under the waistband of his jeans to the button fly, stumbled to open it. It occurred to him briefly that he should maybe try to stop her, but then she freed him, pushed aside his briefs and skimmed her own nails down his length, cupped him in her palm and he, too, was lost. “Joe, please. I need...I need...”

  His body jerked and trembled, already almost beyond his control, thrusting into her hand. “Hallie, wait.” He tore open the box of condoms, yanked out a foil packet and mashed it into her hand. “Put this on me.” Then he had to grit his teeth against the primitive urge to simply take her when she followed directions and tore the envelope open with her teeth, rolled the bit of latex over the head of his sex and down.

  Encouraged by Hallie’s soft pleas and his own matching cravings he made short work of her trouser fastenings. Shoved underwear and trousers down to her calves in one quick movement. Fit a foot between her knees and stepped her pants the rest of the way off her at the same time he tucked his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her out of them. She wrapped her legs around his hips on a moan; straining, sweating, holding back as much as he could, he centered her, pressed her hips and lower back against the side of his truck and thrust into her.

  Hard.

  She gasped and stiffened, then folded her arms around his neck and used this leverage to raise and lower herself on him faster and faster, flowing down onto each of his thrus
ts, belly tightening, tightening... breath whimpering in his ear...nipples chafing, sizzling at the soft texture of his shirt, the rough graze of the mat of hair beneath.

  His own breath was a harsh expellation of fire. He thrust into her, each drive raising the tension, the need to plunge deeper, until finally he felt her channel open to him totally, and she was a sobbing, begging bundle in his arms. Wrapping one arm hard about her waist and backing her once more into the truck, he guided the middle finger of his other hand around the cleft of her buttocks, found what he was looking for and touched her.

  Again she straightened and tensed, then her entire body collapsed around him; her movements grew as short, jerky, and frantic as his own strokes into her. Then they held each other tight, bellies flat together, her breasts crushed to his chest, mouths open on each other’s shoulders to muffle their cries as they spiraled into the long, drawn-out tremors of mutual release.

  The garage air was cold where her skin was bare; Joe’s face was hot, damp and heavy between the crook of her shoulder and her neck; her own face was warm and moist where her forehead rested against the T-shirt covering his collarbone. Her breath was a thick shudder in and out of her lungs, a harsh counterpoint to Joe’s heavily serrated respirations.

  “We have to stop doing this,” she whispered when she could speak.

  “This?”

  He flexed his hips and she trembled and shut her eyes against the sensation, reaching for control.

  “No.” Her head moved from side to side on his shoulder, too comfortable to lift. “I mean this, out here. Especially with all of them in there.”

  “Probably.” He ran his mouth through the moisture clinging to the side of her neck, relishing the salty flavor, the spice-scented vitality of her. “But out here is where you found my shaving kit.”

  Her answering laugh was breathless and amazed. “So it is.”

  For a moment longer they clung. Then Joe’s legs started to buckle a little and Hallie unwrapped hers from around him. He tried to keep her where she was.

  “Not yet,” he said.