corner of her, each curve and crevice. I could probably get away with saying I took her there in the living room on the floor, but it wouldn’t be the truth. She took me every bit as much as I took her, maybe more. Her body arched to meet mine, her fingers in my back spurred me, goaded me. My need and her need melded into one, and when the climax came, I heard an aching sob escape her lips. I kissed her cheek. It was wet with tears.
I moved away from her and lay on my side, watching her, “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I said.
She snuggled against me, nestling her back into the curve of my body, placing my hand so it rested on the sloping fullness of her breast. “I didn’t expect it to be that good. It hasn’t been that good in a long time.”
We lay like that together, letting the aftermath of our lovemaking slowly dissolve around us. She lay so still, I thought she had dozed off. My arm went to sleep. When I tried to move her to one side, she rolled away from me and stood up. “Do you have a robe I could wear?” she asked.
I dragged two of them out of the closet, one for her and one for me. Considering we had just made love, it was silly to be self-conscious, but we both were. The one I gave her was huge when she tied it around her slender frame. She rolled the sleeves up a turn or two so her hands showed. “I offered you a drink,” I said. “You want one now?”
All trace of tears was gone. She smiled mischievously. “No thanks, I already have what I came for.”
I grabbed her arm and swung her toward me. “Why, you little vixen,” I said. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m not,” she said. She gave me a glancing kiss, slipping away from me at the same time. I poured a drink for myself and turned on the lights. I watched with some amusement as she padded barefoot around the room, examining my decorator-dictated knickknacks as well as the pictures of Kelly and Scott on the wall in the entryway.
“Your kids?” she asked.
I nodded. “They’re both in high school now. They live in California with their mother.”
“How long have you been divorced?” she asked.
“Long time. Five years.”
“Girlfriends?”
“I’d like to think I’ve got one now,” I said. “What about you?”
She settled cross-legged on the couch, pulling the robe demurely around her. “I’m a widow. My husband died ten years ago.” She regarded me seriously. “I’ve had too much money to be able to tell who my friends are, to say nothing of lovers.”
“You’re a little young to be a widow.”
“I was a lot younger ten years ago.” She didn’t offer to divulge her age and I didn’t ask, although she couldn’t have been more than thirty, thirty-two at the outside. She sat there looking off into space. She had a way of mentally going off by herself that I found disconcerting. When she came back to the present she was looking directly into my eyes. “Are you going to ask me to spend the night, or do I have to get dressed and go home?”
I almost choked on a very small sip of MacNaughton’s. “Would you like to spend the night?”
“Yes,” she replied. She waited for me to finish my drink; then I led her into the bedroom. I squirmed that the bed wasn’t made, but she wasn’t paying attention to the furniture. She loosened the tie of the robe, letting it fall open. She pulled my hands inside it, wrapping them around her until I could feel the smooth swell of her breasts against my chest.
“Please,” she whispered.
We did.
Chapter 12
Through a sleepy haze, I sensed someone touching me. It was soft and teasing. I thought I was having one of my famous Beaumont dreams. Then I smelled her hair and felt warm lips on mine.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled.
“I’m getting you up,” she whispered softly, her lips nibbling my ear.
“I think I am up.”
“Ooh. So you are,” she smiled.
I pulled her onto my chest, settled her on me, our bodies blending comfortably. My hands closed on her slender waist. I watched her face, her lips parting as her body caught fire. Her hunger was almost frightening in its intensity. We each made love as we had never made love before. In the quiet that followed, she wept. This time I didn’t question her tears. I was grateful for them. This time I thought I knew what they meant.
She was resting on my chest, our heartbeats just then slowing, when the phone rang. It was Captain Powell. He was frantic. “Get your ass down here.”
I struggled to see the clock. It was a little before five. “What’s up?” I asked. The phone cord tangled in Anne’s hair, and I struggled to untangle it and listen at the same time.
“They’re dead. Brodie and the woman are dead! Somebody found them both at the church.”
I eased away from Anne. “Both of them? Have you called Peters?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way.”
“Tell him to meet me at the Warwick. I’ll go there to check on Carstogi.”
“You’d better have him under wraps, Beaumont.”
I looked out the bedroom window and could see the silhouette of the Warwick against a gradually graying sky. “Snug as a bug,” I said lightly.
“I hope to God you’re right,” Powell muttered, “for your sake and mine.”
Anne Corley was wide awake by the time I hung up the telephone. Wrapped in the voluminous robe, she looked wonderful, with that special glow a woman’s skin has after lovemaking. “Good morning,” she said, smiling.
I kissed her on the forehead, barely pausing in my headlong rush to the shower. “I’ve got to hurry.”
“Trouble?” she asked.
I nodded. “Emergency call. I need to be out of here in about ten minutes.” I left her standing in the bedroom and hurried into the bathroom. By the time I finished showering and shaving I could smell coffee. A steaming cup was waiting for me on the dresser. Anne Corley was back in bed, propped on a pillow, coffee mug in hand. She watched me thoughtfully as I dressed.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.
“No.” I planted a quick kiss on her forehead as I sat on the bed to pull on my shoes. “Thanks for the coffee,” I added.
“Consider it payment in kind for services rendered.” I looked at her, gray eyes alive with laughter over the top of her cup. She had evidently taken no offense at my not telling her what was going on. I appreciated that. “Do you mind if I stay for a while, or do you want me to leave when you do?” she asked.
“Make yourself at home,” I said. “Stay as long as you like.”
She lay back on the pillows, luxuriating. “Thanks. Any idea when you’ll be done?”
“None whatsoever.” I shrugged my way into the shoulder holster and pulled on a jacket. I bent over her. She pulled me down on the bed beside her and gave me a lingering kiss. I wanted to crawl back into bed with her and forget the world, the department, everything.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re more than welcome.” Reluctantly I pulled myself away. There was no mistaking that what had passed between us had been good for both of us. “You’re a very special lady,” I said as I straightened up to leave.
Euphoria lasted for a little over three minutes. I rode down the elevator in my building, walked the half block to the Warwick, and rode that elevator up to the seventh floor. I knocked on Carstogi’s door to no avail. When he didn’t answer the third barrage of hammering, I went looking for a night clerk, who used his passkey to let me into the room. Carstogi wasn’t there. The bedspread was rumpled, as though someone had lain on top of it to watch TV for a while, but the bed had not been slept in.
