The 6th Target

'Sure thing. Sleep tight, Richie.'

The tiny green light went on, and the door handle opened under my hand.

Chapter 84

I CLOSED AND BOLTED THE DOOR to my room, my mind reeling with longing and desire, relief and regret. I stripped off my clothes, and a minute later, the blood was pounding in my temples as I stood under the hot spray of the shower.

Clean and glowing pink, I buffed my body with warm terry-cloth towels and blew my hair dry. I toweled the steam off the mirror over the sink and assessed my naked self. I still looked young and good and desirable. My breasts were firm, my tummy flat, and my sandy blond hair cascaded in waves to below my shoulders.

Why hadn't Joe called me?

I wrapped myself in a white hotel robe, went to the bedroom, checked the empty voice mail on my cell phone, much like my stubborn answering machine at home.

It had been six days since I'd seen Joe.

Was it really, truly over between us?

Would I never see him again? Why hadn't he come after me?

I pulled the drapes shut, folded the gold-quilted spread, and fluffed the pillows. Dizzy from the wine and the heat of the shower, I lay down.

Eyes closed, I found that the fading images of Joe were replaced by more urgent fantasies.

I was drawn back to only a half hour earlier, when Rich had held me. I relived the moment when dancing with him had gone from good to too good, when I'd felt him hard against me, when I'd put my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his.

It was okay to have these feelings, I told myself. I was only human, and so was he, and both of us were having a completely natural response to being alone together -.

A tapping at the door startled me.

My heart jumped as the knock came again.

Chapter 85

I CINCHED THE SASH OF MY ROBE and padded barefoot to the door. I saw Rich Conklin through the peephole. He was wearing a flimsy clear-plastic shower cap on his head!

I was laughing as I undid the bolt, my hand shaking as I pulled open the door. Conklin was wearing his trousers, his blue cotton shirt unbuttoned to about his third rib. And he was gripping a Marriott toothbrush with the stem in his fist, like it was a small white flag.

'I was wondering if you have any mouthwash, Lindsay. I got a lot of moisturizer in the complimentary toiletry basket, but no mouthwash.'

His serious expression, combined with the wacky request and the shower cap, cracked me up. I swung the door open wide, said, 'I didn't get mouthwash either, but I think I have something in my handbag.'

The door closed behind me, and as I stooped for the handbag I'd dropped on the floor, I stumbled over one of my shoes.

Rich grabbed my elbow to steady me, and there we were. Eye-to-eye. Woozy. Alone in LA in a hotel room. I reached up and pulled off the shower cap. His forelock of light-brown hair fell across his gorgeous face, and he dropped the toothbrush onto the floor. Then Rich put both arms around my waist and pulled me to him.

'I have only one problem with this working arrangement,' he said. 'And it's a big one.'

Rich bent to kiss me, and I wanted him to. My arms went around his neck again, and his mouth found mine. Our first kiss set off a chemical explosion.

I clung to Rich as he lowered me to the bed in the dimly lit room. I remember lying beneath him, our fingers interlaced, his hands pressing my hands against the bed, saying my name softly, oh so gently.

'I've wanted to be with you like this, Lindsay, before you even knew my name.'

'I've always known your name.'

I ached for him, and I had a right to give myself over to this. But when my young, handsome partner opened my robe and put his lips to my breast, a bolt of pure reasoned panic pulled the emergency brake in my brain.

This had been a bad idea. Really bad.

I heard myself whisper, 'Richie, no.'

I clasped the edges of my robe together as Rich rolled onto his side, panting and flushed, looking into my eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'No, don't be.' I took his hand and held it to my cheek, covered his hand with mine. 'I want this as much as you do. But we're partners, Rich. We have to take care of each other. Just… not in this way.'

He groaned as I said, 'We can never do this again.'

Chapter 86

I DROPPED THE KNOCKER ON THE DOOR of the Westwood Registry that sunless morning after our return from LA. Conklin stood beside me as a round-faced man cracked the door open. He was in his fifties, with blond-going- gray hair and clear gray eyes that peered at me through frameless lenses perched over a sharp beak of a nose.

Did he have something to do with Madison Tyler's abduction?

Did he know where she was?

I showed him my badge, introduced my partner and myself.

'Yes, I'm Paul Renfrew,' said the man at the door. 'You're the detectives who were here a few days ago?'

I told him that we were, that we had some questions about Paola Ricci.

Renfrew invited us inside, and we followed the natty man down the narrow hallway, through the green door that had been padlocked when we'd last seen it.

'Please. Please sit,' Renfrew said, so Conklin and I each sat on one of the small sofas at right angles in a corner of the cozy office as Renfrew pulled up a chair.

'I suppose you want to know where I was when Paola was abducted,' Renfrew said to us.

'That'd be a start,' Conklin said. He looked tired. I suppose we both did.

Renfrew took a narrow notebook from his breast pocket, a thin daybook of the type that preceded handheld computers. Without prompting, he gave us a short verbal report of his meetings north of San Francisco in the days before, during, and after Paola's death, along with the names of the potential clients he'd met with.

'I can make you a photocopy of this,' he offered. On a one-to-ten scale, ten being a three-alarm fire, the gauge in my gut was calling out a seven. Renfrew seemed too prepared and well rehearsed.

I accepted Renfrew's photocopy of his schedule and asked him about his wife's whereabouts during the same period.

'She's taking a slow tour through Germany and France,' Renfrew told me. 'I don't have a precise itinerary because she makes it up as she goes along, but I do expect her home next week.'

I asked, 'Do you have any thoughts about anyone who would have wanted to hurt Paola or Madison?'