Playing Dead

mouth parted and her tongue found his. She tasted of hops and peppermint. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her, her fingers rubbing his muscles, his hair, his shoulders. Her lithe body molded to his and all Mitch wanted to do was take her to his bed, right now.

His mouth opened to suggest it, but he stopped himself. He was staying at Nolan’s house. Nolan had a damn congressional medal of honor on his wall with the salutation “Special Agent Nolan Cassidy” plus a bunch of news articles in his den, extra guns in his bedroom. Damn.

“Come home with me,” Claire murmured.

Was she drunk or just tipsy? What was he thinking? It didn’t matter! She was Tom O’Brien’s daughter. He couldn’t sleep with her, no matter how much he wanted to.

He was about to protest, but instead pinned her to his car and kissed her as hard as she’d kissed him. Their bodies were as close as possible while still being fully clothed. He held her chin, kissing her repeatedly, not wanting to give up this moment.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away. Her blue eyes looked black in the yellow light of the parking lot. Her skin was flushed, breathing heavy, lips red and lush.

“I want to.” He swallowed. “But-”

She put her finger to his lips. He kissed it and she smiled. “No buts. No promises. I want to, you want to.” She gave him a feather of a kiss that was as erotic as the deep kiss a moment before.

“Claire.”

He wanted her.

He couldn’t have her.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

If she was hurt by his rejection, she didn’t show it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He wanted to make love to her.

But not like this. Not with lies between them.

He drove the short distance to her house.

“Thanks,” she said, making a move to open the door.

“Claire-” He took her arm, pulled her across the middle seat, and kissed her. Long and hard, showing her his feelings when he couldn’t speak the whole truth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” he whispered as his lips pulled back, lightly touching hers, teasing both of them.

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Good night.”

“ ’Night.”

He watched her walk into her house alone, and he prayed he had the willpower to resist her next time they went out.

And he knew the only way he’d be able to resist her would be if he never saw her again.

But that wouldn’t happen.

ELEVEN

Steve walked through the door of the Fox amp; Goose at seven thirty. Mitch had to get him out of there before Claire showed. He doubted Claire would be early, but he wanted Steve gone by eight thirty.

“You started without me.” Steve slid into the chair next to him and motioned to the waitress to get him what Mitch was drinking.

“You’re late.”

“Got a lead on the Pinter case, but it didn’t pan out. Arrested one of his minions, though, practically a kid-but with two hundred counterfeited credit cards in his possession.”

“No shit.”

“Credit-card fraud is out of control, and until we get the big players like Pinter we’ll never even make a dent.” He shook his head. “Here we are, at one of Claire O’Brien’s favorite hangouts. But of course you already knew that.”

Mitch said nothing. What could he say?

“If Meg finds out about your off-duty investigation of Tom O’Brien, that’s one thing. You get a slap on the wrist. But if you’re involved with Claire, that’s a whole different ball game.”

“It’s not like that.”

“So what the fuck is it like?”

“It’s complicated.”

Steve sipped his beer. “Dammit, Bianchi, I went to bat for you today with Meg. I told her I needed you as a partner, that you are invaluable to the squad. So no more bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t put you at risk, Steve.”

“Why are you obsessed with Tom O’Brien? Just because he saved your life three months ago? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

Mitch didn’t want to talk about his own father railroading another innocent guy into prison. It still burned him and he hated that he came from the same gene pool as Rod Bianchi. But Steve was smart, maybe he’d see the same problems with the O’Brien conviction that Mitch saw. That while Mitch couldn’t right the wrongs committed by his father long ago, he could help another wrongfully convicted man find justice and exoneration.

“Let me lay out what I know,” Mitch said. “The fact that Oliver Maddox is dead makes it even more suspicious.” Mitch filled Steve in on Maddox looking into an appeal of O’Brien’s death sentence. “What if Maddox had real information?”

“And the real killer didn’t want it to get out?” Steve shook his head. “This is a wild-goose chase. Maddox’s death was probably an accident. Dozens of people drown in the Delta every year. Most are accidents.”

“Convenient accident,” Mitch said.

“Could have been suicide.”

“By drowning? Rare. Let’s wait until the autopsy tomorrow. And we have the meeting with the detective in Davis. But look at the facts. Maddox disappeared two days before O’Brien was moved into the general prison population. He was actively looking into the O’Brien case, had met with O’Brien at Quentin, and phoned him six times after that meeting. There was a meeting scheduled on the books for the Monday after Maddox disappeared.”

“How’d you find that? I didn’t see it in the file from Quentin.”

“It wasn’t, but when I interviewed the warden and the head guard of North Seg, I got a copy of the schedule. It wasn’t in the file because Maddox never showed up. He was already dead.”

“You’re certain it’s murder.”

Mitch nodded. “Steve, I’m sure as hell not perfect, but you know I’m a good cop. I smelled murder the minute I saw the body.”

“I’m not going to doubt your instincts, Mitch. They’ve been right on the money in the past. But this time you’re too close to it.”

“Maybe, but there’s more than Maddox being dead.”

“What? Just because O’Brien helped capture the Goethe gang, that psycho up in Montana, and a bunch of other prisoners, he’s redeemed from a double-murder charge?”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say, but now that you mention it, I think those actions say a lot about his character.”

“What it says is O’Brien isn’t a repeat offender. He killed in a crime of passion. Most spouses who off their unfaithful wives aren’t out to kill a half-dozen other people.”

“He risked himself-his freedom and his life-staying close to San Francisco to set up Goethe’s gang.”