In the scheme of things, that had been very shortsighted of him. This woman sitting naked on top of him was, he figured, just about the most important milestone in his life. She was what was real, what was urgent, more urgent to him than anything else in his life. He wanted her, right now, he wanted all of her. Slowly, he lifted his right hand and lightly touched his fingertips to her breast.
She drew back, as if surprised.
He cupped her breasts in his palms. Lovely, a perfect fit. Again, she flinched.
'What's wrong? You don't like me holding you?'
'Dillon, I should tell you something.'
He couldn't take his eyes off her breasts, but he did manage to drop his hands, for the moment, although his fingers itched like mad. But he knew he had to pay attention. Something wasn't quite right here. Now he was looking at her ribs, at her stomach, at the smooth expanse of thigh.
'Dillon?'
'Yes? Keep talking, I'll try to pay attention, but I can't help but look at you, Sherlock. You're really quite nice to look at.'
She sucked in her breath, then blurted it out. 'I've only done this once. When I was nineteen. It was in the backseat of Bobby Wellman's yellow Jaguar. It was really cramped and no fun at all. Actually it was messy and horrible, but I was philosophical about it, really. After all, it was the backseat of
a car. But then, well, after Belinda's death, I just couldn't stand to have any men around me.'
'Just once? In your whole life? In a Jaguar? Surely not an XJ6? That would be practically impossible.'
'That's the truth, but Bobby managed somehow. It wasn't at all pleasant, as I said, and I didn't realize how bony he was, all knees and elbows, even his chin was sharp. I guess if anybody was looking, they'd have laughed their heads off. Bobby loved that car. I remember that the leather was really smooth and slick because he was always oiling it. Then he'd leer and say he used his mother's extra-virgin olive oil.'
'What a jerk. Now that I think back on it, I did something similar to that when I was seventeen and eighteen. But you're twenty-seven, Sherlock.'
'Yes. When I was nineteen, after Belinda was murdered, I just shut down. I've never even been interested in another man since that time with Bobby. Not even remotely. Until you. Do you mind?'
'I don't think so. Never Douglas, then?' 'No. Once, just weeks ago, he kissed me, but that's all there was to it. No, it's just you.'
'Just me.' That sounded incredibly fine. Actually, he thought, as he eased her down on top of him, if he didn't suffer from sensory overload first, he would give her pleasure if it killed him.
When he'd gotten her level of interest up to at least half of his, he was so far gone, he just didn't know if he'd make it. He lifted her to his mouth, felt her surprise, her shock. After not more than a minute or two, he felt every quiver in her legs, the deep clenching of her stomach muscles. And when she cried out, her back arching wildly, her fists pounding on his shoulders, jerking on his hair, he knew that he was the luckiest man on the earth.
He wanted to bring her pleasure again, but he knew he simply couldn't take it any longer. 'Sherlock,' he said. Looking into her eyes he came into her fast and deep, his powerful arms shaking with his effort to control himself, to keep his weight off her, as he moved deeper and deeper, feeling her flesh easing slowly to accommodate him. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed. And when he touched her again with his fingers, he knew that being in deep shit was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life.
She came again when his fingers touched her, and as he watched her face, heard her whimpers of pleasure, felt her draw him close and closer still, he let himself go.
And it was just fine, all of it.
'Lacey, just close your eyes, that's right, and lean your head back. Let your shoulders drop. Good. No, don't stiffen up. Now, just breathe very deeply. Deeper, let go. Good. Yes, that's just fine.'
Dr. Lauren Bowers, a conservative congresswoman from Maryland and one of the best hypnotists Savich knew, raised her head and grinned at him. 'People like Ms. Sherlock here,' she said in her normal tone of voice, 'are usually the easiest to get under. Once you get past her defenses, she's an open book, all the pages ruffling in the wind, that sharp brain of hers just invites you right in. Now, Savich, you've written down your questions.'
She took the sheet of paper from him and scanned it. 'Did I ever tell you that you are really quite good? Of course you know you are, you've been trained by the best.'
Dr. Bowers turned back to the young woman who looked flaccid and pale, as if something had been sapping her from deep inside for far too long a time.
'Lacey? Can you hear me?'
'Of course, Dr. Bowers. I'm not deaf.'
Dr. Bowers laughed. 'That's very good. Now, I want you to go back, Lacey, back to the last time you saw Belinda. Do you remember when that was?'
'It was April thirteenth, three days before Belinda was killed.' Lacey suddenly lurched forward, then flopped back. She was shaking her head frantically, back and forth. 'No!'
'Lacey, it's all right. Just breathe in deeply.'
'I want Dillon.'
Without pause, he was lightly stroking her hand. 'I'm here, Sherlock. I won't leave you. Let's go back together, all right? You're going to have to do something for me. You're going to have to paint that day to me in words, so I can see it as you see it. Can you do that?'
Her expression changed, softening, and incredibly, she looked like a girl again, a teenager. She sighed, then smiled. 'It was very sunny, crisp and cool, just a low fog swirling in over and through the Golden Gate Bridge. I loved days like that, watching the sailboats on the Bay, seeing the Marin Headlands through open patches in the fog, all bleak and barren, but still green from all the winter rains.'
Dr. Bowers nodded to Savich to keep going. He said in his low, deep voice, 'What were you doing?'
'I was sitting out on the deck off the living room.'
'Were you alone?'
'Yes. My mother was in her room napping. My father was at the courthouse. He was prosecuting a big drug case, and he wanted to make sure the defense was sticking to the sitting judge's gag order. He said if they weren't, he'd skin them alive.'
'Where was Belinda?'
Her mouth tightened, her eyebrows drew together. She wasn't smiling anymore. She started to shake her head, back and forth.
'It's okay,' Savich said easily. 'Where was Douglas?'
'I thought he was at work.'
'But he wasn't?'
'No, he was there, in the house. He was with Belinda, upstairs in their suite. They were out on the balcony above me.'
'What were they doing?'
For an instant she looked incredibly angry, then her face smoothed out and her voice was smooth, unworried. 'They were making love.'
He hadn't expected that. 'You understood what was happening, right? It didn't freak you out?'
'No. It was just embarrassing. Douglas was saying lots of really dirty things.'
'Then what happened?'
'I heard Belinda cry out.'
'Was she having a climax?'
'I don't think so. I heard her roll off the chaise onto the brick balcony. I heard her crying, then she stopped.'
'Why?'
'I heard Douglas tell her that if she cried anymore someone might hear her and he wouldn't like that at all. In fact, if she kept whining, he just might throw her off the balcony.' 'Then what happened?'
'Nothing. Belinda was quiet then. After a few minutes, I heard them making love again. I heard Douglas tell her that she'd better moan because if she didn't moan, he wouldn't believe she really loved him. She moaned really loudly then and he said more really dirty things to her. He kept telling her that she owed him, owed him but good.' 'Do you know what he meant by that?' She shook her head. 'What happened then?'
