'Hmm?' Her voice was rough, as if she'd just woken up. 'What?'
'Can you channel Elvis Presley?'
'No,' she whispered and leaned into him. Her breasts brushed his chest, and the hard tips grazed his own flat nipples.
'Jesus,' he wheezed, 'can't you try?'
'Right now?'
'Yeah.'
She leaned back to look at him through her heavy-lidded eyes. 'I'm not psychic.'
'So, you can't communicate with the dead?'
'No.'
'Damn.'
She slid her hand to his shoulder and cleared her throat. 'But I have a cousin who communicates with whales.'
The corners of his mouth twitched. A cousin who communicated with whales was only a slight distraction, but he would take anything that diverted his attention from Gabrielle's firm breasts. 'Really?'
'Well, she thinks she does, anyway.'
'Tell me something about whales?' Joe reached behind her and flipped her suspenders back over her shoulders.
'What?'
'Well, what do they think about?' He fastened her suspenders to the bib of her dress and covered temptation as best he could.
'I don't know. Krill or squid maybe?'
Despite his still throbbing groin, Joe walked to the sofa, dropped the towel, and shoved his legs into his pants.
'You're leaving?'
He looked over at her, at the confusion wrinkling her brow, and at the swells of her breasts spilling out the sides of her dress. 'I have an early day tomorrow,' he said and reached for his shirt. He shoved his arms in the sleeves and pulled it over his head.
Even as Gabrielle watched Joe pull the ends of his polo down his chest, she couldn't believe he was leaving. Not when she could still feel and taste his mouth on her tongue.
'I painted the storage room in your shop today,' he said as if she weren't standing there without her shirt. As if her body wasn't humming from his touch. 'If this investigation drags into next week, we'll have to think of something else for me to do. Kevin said something about a countertop, but I don't have experience with that sort of carpentry.'
She moved behind the dining room chair she'd placed in front of the fire and wrapped her hands around the top wrung. Her knees shook, and she couldn't believe they were talking about his carpentry experience. For the first time since he'd stripped her to the waist, she felt exposed and raised her hands to her breasts. 'Okay,' she said.
Joe pulled out his keys and headed to the front door. 'So, I probably won't talk to you again until Monday. You have my pager number, don't you?'
'Yes.' He wouldn't try to call her or see her tomorrow. Maybe it was for the best. A few hours ago she wasn't sure she even liked him, yet now the thought of not seeing him made her feel hollow inside. She watched him walk from her house as if he couldn't get out fast enough, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Gabrielle slid into the chair.
The candles on the mantel flickered, but their scent did nothing to soothe her. Gabrielle's spirits pulled her north and south, yet all her desires seemed to be focused in the same direction-in Joe's direction. It made absolutely no sense. There was no balance in her life when he was around. No peaceful center, but standing so dose, feeling the warmth of his naked skin had felt so right. So complete. So whole. He'd confided in her, and she felt as if they'd connected on a more spiritual plane.
They'd known each other for such a short time, and yet she'd let him pour oil on her breasts and touch her as if they were lovers. He made her heart pound and her senses come alive until every part of her body, mind, and spirit focused on him. She responded to him like no man she'd ever known, yet she didn't know him. Her heart pounded as if she recognized him, and there could only be one explanation. She feared what it meant.
Yin and yang.
Darkness and light. Positive and negative. Two complete opposites coming together to make a perfectly balanced whole.
She feared it meant she was falling in love with Detective Joe Shanahan.
Chapter Thirteen
The midmorning sun that poured through the windows of the police station streamed across Joe's desk and lit up the plastic spring-loaded hula dancer like a religious icon. Joe scanned the form before him, and with little enthusiasm he signed the affidavit requesting a search warrant. He handed it to Captain Luchetti, then tossed his pen on the desk. The blue Bic rolled across the activity report he'd worked on earlier and bumped the hula dancer's bare feet, setting her hips into motion.
'Looks good,' the captain uttered as he glanced at the form.
Joe folded his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs. He'd been sitting in the squad room for three hours now discussing the Hillard case with the other detectives. He'd briefed them on what he'd seen in Kevin's house, starting with the stolen antiques in the guest room, continuing with the ivory chess set, and ending with the mirrors in the bedroom. He'd thought he'd have Kevin in custody by now and was disappointed as hell. 'Yeah, too bad we can't serve it today.'
'That's the problem with you, Shanahan, you're too impatient.' Captain Luchetti glanced at his watch and set the affidavit on Joe's desk. 'You want everything to wrap up in an hour, like one of those cop shows on television.'
Impatience wasn't Joe's problem. Well, maybe just a little, but he had his reasons for wanting the case resolved, and it had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with his redheaded informant.
The captain shrugged into his suit jacket and straightened his tie. 'You did good. We'll get our court order to tap Carter's home phone and our search warrant. We'll get him,' he said and walked from the room. No matter where he was or what he was doing, Vince Luchetti never missed Sunday mass. Joe wondered who the captain feared more, God, or his wife, Sonja.
He stretched his arms above his head and eyed the affidavit. He'd been meticulous with the language of the document, having learned long ago that defense attorneys thrived on vague or inadequate descriptions and looked for any excuse to claim entrapment. But for all his trouble, he didn't believe his effort would amount to squat. Oh, he'd get his warrant, there was enough probable cause for a judge to authorize a search, but Walker and Luchetti wanted to wait. Since Joe hadn't found the Monet the night before, they weren't convinced a search of Kevin's home would recover the painting, or that Kevin would rat out the collector who the police believed was behind ordering the theft.
So, the warrant would get shoved into the case file. They now had solid evidence that proved Kevin was guilty of fencing stolen antiques, but an arrest would not come of Joe's work from the night before. He'd received a pat on the back and a few high fives. But Joe wanted more. He wanted Kevin sitting in an interrogation room.
'Hey, Shannie.' Winston Densley, the only African American detective in property crimes, and one of three detectives assigned to tail Kevin, pulled up a chair next to Joe's desk. 'Tell me about those mirrors in Carter's bedroom.'
Joe chuckled and folded his arms over his chest. 'The room is covered all around, and he can check out his action from every angle.'
'Pretty kinky shit?'
'Yeah.' And Joe had stood in that kinky room of mirrors, checking out all the angles and images of Gabrielle
