CHAPTER
31
S TANDING ON THE CURB IN FRONT OF FRANKENSTEIN WAS Delno Pickens. He’d put on shoes for the trip into the city, but only one strap of his overalls was hooked, leaving most of his upper body bare. Under the streetlight, the sprouts of woolly white hair created a weird-looking aura.
Raley could well understand Steiner’s astonishment. “That’s my friend.”
“Our friend,” Britt said.
Delno eyed Steiner up and down as the three of them approached. He scowled his disapproval of the agent, then spat tobacco juice into the gutter.
Raley asked, “What in the world are you doing here, Delno?”
“I came to bust y’all out. I saw on the TV y’all being escorted out of the hospital emergency room by the feds.” He gave Steiner another baleful look and snorted with disdain.
“We’re not under arrest.” Raley explained that he’d been giving a deposition. “We’re finished and on our way home.”
“Well, that’s good then,” Delno said. “I can give you a ride.”
Raley hesitated, then said, “Thanks. That would be great.”
Steiner seemed reluctant to release them to Delno. Raley assured him that the old man looked stranger than he was. “He’s harmless. Basically.”
The agent shook hands with them in turn and wished them good luck—looking like he meant it—then returned to the building.
Raley helped Britt into the passenger side of Delno’s contraption and climbed in beside her, saying softly, “Be afraid.”
Britt gave Delno directions to her house, then she and Raley talked him through the events of the last couple of days. Raley concluded by telling his neighbor that what had started five years ago was finally over and relegated to the past, where it would stay.
Delno grumbled, “Good. Maybe your disposition will improve some.”
Despite the remark, Raley knew Delno shared his relief that it was, at last, over. As did his parents. He’d called them while waiting for his broken arm to be set, fearing they would hear headlines even in Augusta and fret. He’d told them that there was a lot to tell, but the upshot of it was that he’d been vindicated, and those who were responsible for Suzi Monroe’s death would be punished. His mom had cried. He thought maybe his dad had got choked up, too.
Turning onto Britt’s street, they were relieved to see that no media were staked out at her house. When Raley remarked on it, she said, “It’s been a heavy news day. First Fordyce, then Judge Mellors. The arrest of George McGowan. No one’s interested in me.”
As Delno clambered out and helped her from the vehicle, he said, “Don’t go being modest. I heard you’re scheduled for a TV interview in the morning.”
“I accepted the invitation, but only if certain conditions were met.”
“Well, this is one viewer who’ll be watching.”
She clasped both his hands in hers, then leaned forward and hugged him. “Thanks for the ride, Delno. Thanks for everything.”
He whipped the battered straw hat off his head and placed it over his heart. “My pleasure.” Then he nodded toward Raley’s arm sling and asked if he was going to be all right.
“The doc said it was a clean break, should heal in a few weeks.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t get yourself killed. Jumping out of a window. Damn fool thing to do.” He spat again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You coming back?”
“To the cabin?”
“Now that you’re a big shot, I thought maybe you’d be moving up, leaving the neighborhood.”
Raley was touched. He saw past his neighbor’s thorny exterior and knew the old man would miss him if he no longer lived nearby. “You can’t get rid of me. I’ll be back. And while I’m away, don’t set any traps where I’m likely to be walking.”
Delno’s maw was brown and sloppy with chewed tobacco, but it was an earnest grin. He climbed back into the amalgamated vehicle, and with a dozen distinguishable grinds, clatters, and clangs, it bounced down the street.
Raley, almost too exhausted to move, followed Britt up the walkway and into the house. After the front door was locked and the shutters closed, he asked, “How did Delno know you’re going to be on TV in the morning?”
“From the moment I agreed to the interview, the station has been promoting it all afternoon and evening.”
“What were your conditions?”
“First, a public apology from the general manager for putting me on leave when I was innocent of any malfeasance. Then my old job back, but with a hefty raise. Hour-long special features programs, no fewer than three per year, my choice of topics. A private office and an assistant. And all in writing.”
Raley whistled. “You’re tough.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “I’m in demand.”
“You could name your salary.” After a strategic pause, he added, “Anywhere.”
“Probably, but—”
“Fear of failure?”
“No. After today, what could I possibly fear?” she said softly. “The truth is, I don’t want to leave Charleston. It feels like home now, and I think I can do some good work here.” She tilted her head as she looked up at him. “What about you? The fire chief came to the emergency room while you were being treated. According to the people I talked to later—”
“Always following the scent of a story, aren’t you?”
“—he was clamoring to talk to you. You refused to see him. Why?”
“I guess I want to be courted, too. Let him stew for a day or two, then I’ll agree to meet with him.”
“And if he offers you your old job back?”
“I’ll turn it down.”
Her smile collapsed. “Oh.”
“I’m going to hold out for the promotion I was promised. There’s a veteran who took over when Brunner died, but he’s ready to retire. I want to be made senior arson inspector for the whole department, for every firehouse, citywide.”
“Oh,” she repeated, this time in a different tone.
“I could do good work here, too.”
“I believe that.”
They smiled at each other, and then she walked into his embrace as he curved his right arm around her waist and drew her to him. She looped her arms around his waist. He whispered into her hair, “I’m not hurt that bad. Hug me tight.”
She did, whispering back, “I just want to feel you, smell you, make sure you’re here.” There was a catch in her voice when she continued. “I’ve only known you for a few days. But when you jumped through that window, my heart stopped. You can’t imagine—”
“I don’t have to imagine. I know. I felt the same way when I realized that I’d sent you straight to the culprit who’d tried to kill you once already. If something had happened to you, I’d just as soon those feds shot me.” He tipped her head up and touched her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Has it really only been a few days?”
“Impossible as that seems.”
All the emotions they had experienced that day were unleashed when they kissed. It was deep and lasted forever. When they finally pulled apart, they were feverish with longing and reminded of the night before. He cleared his throat. “Britt, last night—”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“We shouldn’t have.”
“Especially after I’d made such a big deal of it the first time.”
“You were being conscientious.”
“I was being a jerk.”
“Sort of a jerk,” she said with a soft smile. “But last night was different. It just felt right.”
“It felt bloody great.”
“So you’re not…You don’t regret it?”
“God no,” he said huskily.
He had woken up with them spooned together, and for a time her nearness was enough. But then the sweet pressure of her bottom fit snugly against him, and the softness of her breast beneath his hand, had caused the predictable reaction.
His arousal woke her. She stirred. Lifting his hand to her mouth, she kissed his palm, gently sucked his fingertips, then lowered them to her nipples. With feather-light strokes he brought them erect, making her catch her breath. She rubbed against him in silent invitation.
He was hard and heavy, stretched to bursting. He intended to caress her with just the tip. But when he touched her, she was receptive and warm and very wet. He pushed himself into her, she enveloped him in her heat, and for a mindless, endless time, they mated with the merest of movements, rocking against each other in motions as fluid as a calm surf.
He withdrew only long enough to turn her onto her back before sinking into her again, then pressing himself deeper still. He barely had to move, he didn’t want to, because she sheathed him so tightly, so completely, the pulsing of their bodies, his inside hers, brought her to orgasm. He held her hips tightly between his hands and felt each sweet contraction.
Being unprotected, he knew he should pull out, but his willpower to do so abandoned him to his pleasure. And not only to the pleasure, but to his need to meld with her in this most elemental way. She tilted her hips up as though reaching for more, her hands on his back were restless and urgent, and understanding what those entreaties implied, he came inside her. And came. And came.
When it was over, he slid his tongue into her mouth and they kissed, sexily and meaningfully in equal measure. For a long time they made love just by kissing. Until sleepiness overcame them again. They resumed their original position, he hugging her close, nuzzling her nape, tasting the fragrant skin beneath her hair, until they drifted back to sleep.
Neither had spoken a word, but it had been an intensely sexual and intimate experience, ripe with promise, implicative of a future. Words hadn’t been necessary. And they weren’t now.
Taking her hand, he led her into the bedroom.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The fire in this novel is purely fictitious. In order to tell my story, I took creative license and invented a police station and the blaze that destroyed it.
I was well into writing this book when the deadly fire at the Sofa Super Store in Charleston occurred on June 18, 2007. It was an unsettling coincidence. For months, I considered changing the location of my story, fearing that it would appear insensitive to set it in a city that had withstood such a catastrophic loss.
But I changed my mind. That fire prompted reviews by numerous state and federal agencies, resulting in stricter safety measures and more effective fire-fighting procedures, which since have been adapted by fire departments all over the country. Hopefully this positive outcome will prevent another such devastating loss to a community, and to the individuals whose loss was much more personal.
Sandra Brown
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Charleston Police Department moved into its present headquarters in 1974. I became acquainted with that facility when I wrote The Alibi. Prior to its relocation, the department had occupied a venerable stone building at the corner of St. Philip and Vanderhorst streets in the historic district. Within a year of being vacated, that building was demolished. I appreciate the help of Amie Gray of my staff, along with Jan Hiester and The Charleston Museum, for providing me with information and photos.
Special thanks, too, to the three citizens of Yemassee, South Carolina, who on a quiet Sunday morning directed my husband, Michael, and me to the Combahee River, which wasn’t where it was supposed to be according to our map of the back roads. Once we assured these gentlemen that we weren’t property developers, they were friendly, hospitable, and most generous with their assistance.
When lost, I’ve often “…depended on the kindness of strangers.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandra Brown is the author of numerous New York Times bestsellers, including Play Dirty, Ricochet, Chill Factor, White Hot, The Crush, Envy, and The Switch. She lives with her husband in Arlington, Texas.