Page 90 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“I won’t.” He said it easily, too easily, not as if it were a vow.

“Come here, you,” she said, and he did, tumbling onto the downy mattress, grabbing her and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. His hands were all over her, untying the knot of her robe, pushing the soft velvet over her shoulders almost roughly. As if he couldn’t wait. He kissed her breasts, his fingers kneading her back, but she wouldn’t let him get away with a quick, fast fuck. That was not what was going to happen. He was going to satisfy her long and hard, and she would do the same for him.

“Slow down,” she whispered into his ear even as she was melting and wanting inside.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can…. We’ve got all night.”

He didn’t argue and took his time, but long before she was ready, he was inside her, lost in wild abandon. She too was caught up in the frenzy of the lovemaking, begging him for more. “Harder,” she cried. “Oh, come on, faster.” She wanted so much from him. She was sweating and screaming and scratching as he pushed her to the brink and then over. No teasing, no making her beg only to deny her and then start over again.

Tonight was different. There was a desperation to his lovemaking. So fast. So hard. So furious. Almost as if he thought it would never happen again.

But that wasn’t right…was it?

As he collapsed on top of her and she stared at the flickering candles, she sensed how wrong things were becoming. He still loved his wife. And he always would. And it was killing her.

“I’m sorry, but I have to leave,” he said, catching his breath. “But, hey, that was…great.”

“Great,” she repeated.

“Always.” He kissed her forehead, and she felt a disappointment so deep it was a dark abyss in her soul.

“I thought you’d stay.”

“Can’t. Not tonight.” He rolled away and was already hastily donning his clothes, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Why?”

“You know why. Can’t risk getting caught. I’m dealing with the cops all the time, and the family, and we just can’t take any more chances.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” she asked, hating the sound of hysteria that had crawled into her voice, raising it to an unbecoming shriek. She had to get a grip on herself.

“Oh, no, no! Are you kidding? This is the best sex I’ve ever had, but we’ve got to keep our eyes on the prize.”

“And once we get it? The prize? What then?”

“The sky’s the limit,” he said, zipping up his pants and pulling in his abdomen as he buttoned the top button. “Just you wait.” He’d already picked up his shirt and was shoving his hands down the sleeves. She adjusted herself, tried a pouty, disappointed look, but he ignored it as he slid into his shoes in the candlelight.

“Don’t leave me, Jack,” she whispered, but he pretended he didn’t hear her, didn’t even have the balls to confront her. Instead he slipped out of the bedroom forty minutes after he’d slipped in.

And then the son of a bitch was gone.

“So get this,” Paterno said as Janet Quinn climbed into the passenger seat of his Caddy. “The Sausalito PD found hairs left at the scene of Cherise’s murder. Red hairs. Not Cherise’s, not anyone in the family’s.”

“Red?”

With a flick of his wrist, he fired the engine, and the old V-8 roared to life. “And they don’t match the hairs found around the screwdriver that was used to jam the gate at the Cahill house the night Cissy claims to have seen Marla.”

“Which she probably did, if the hospital parking-lot tape is to be believed.” Quinn shook her head and frowned. “Does that make sense?”

“Who knows?” Paterno sighed, still puzzling it out as he nosed the Cadillac into traffic and noticed how narrow the streets were. “Cissy claims her brush went missing along with her kid’s cup and her cell phone. Maybe Marla planted the hairs.”

“And then shed her own at the Favier house?” Quinn said skeptically.

He cranked on the wheel and headed north. “There were quite a few hairs found near the front door, along with one that wasn’t the same. In fact, it was synthetic.”

“A wig?”

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