There was something very focused about the way he carried her down the hall. She had the sense that he would have walked through hell to get to his destination. She liked knowing that, she discovered. She liked it a lot.
He fell with her onto the tumbled bed. She came down on top of him. He got the robe off her shoulders, yanked the sleeves down her arms and tossed the garment aside. A moment later he hauled her nightgown up over her head and flung it out of the way.
His hands closed gently over her breasts.
“Charlotte,” he said.
Her name was a hoarse whisper in the shadows.
She fought to get rid of his T-shirt and then she started to work on the zipper of his trousers. He was fully aroused, his erection thrust firmly against the fabric of the pants.
The zipper resisted. She took a firmer grip on it and prepared to yank hard.
Max sucked in his breath and stopped her with his hand.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
She rolled onto her side so that he could deal with his trousers. He got up, stripped off the pants and then stepped out of his briefs. He lowered himself alongside her and gathered her to him. One of his hands moved on her, gliding over her thigh. When she touched him, she discovered that his back was damp with sweat.
He found her hot, wet core with his fingers, and she gave herself up to the wild, elemental thrill of pure sensation. A fierce urgency tightened her lower body. She was stunned to realize that she was on the brink of a climax. She hadn’t even plugged in the vibrator.
“Now,” she said. She clenched her fingers in his hair. “Do it now.”
He moved between her legs. She raised her knees, welcoming him. He entered her slowly, pushing deep. She had never felt so tight, so stretched. He forged into her again and again.
Her release crashed through her in waves. She wanted to scream with the sheer pleasure of it all, but she could not catch her breath. Instead she dug her nails into Max’s shoulders and held on for dear life.
The raw energy of her climax pulled him into the vortex. The muscles of his back and shoulders were as taut as steel bands. His skin was slick with perspiration.
The storm broke.
When it was over, he collapsed slowly along the length of her, crushing her into the bedding. She held him close and listened as his breathing returned to normal.
After a while he untangled himself and stretched out beside her.
“Charlotte,” he said again.
“Shush.” She levered herself up on her elbow and put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say anything that will ruin the moment.”
“I don’t think the announcement of the end of the world could ruin it for me.” He watched her through half-closed eyes. “Can I ask if it was good for you, too?”
She smiled slowly. “It was good. Very, very good. The first time I’ve ever been able to finish without a small household appliance.”
“Huh. You usually use a vibrator?”
“I keep it in the drawer beside my bed. Why?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just curious.”
She wondered if she should inform him that he did not do innocent well.
“Why are you interested in my vibrator, Max Cutler?”
“You know how it is with us guys. We like to fool around with gadgets.”
She stroked a finger slowly down his chest and smiled again. “You don’t need to use a gadget.”
“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t come up with something interesting to do with one,” he said.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
CHAPTER 38
He awoke to dark skies, the gentle sound of rain on the window and the tantalizing fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. He tried to remember the last time he had felt this good. He wasn’t sure how to describe his mood. Refreshed, maybe. Relaxed. Invigorated. Good. That was it. He felt good. He could get used to this feeling. He could get used to it in a hurry.
Memories of the night tumbled through his head. He thought about the vibrator and smiled to himself. Unfortunately, he was alone in the bed. On the plus side, Charlotte and coffee were not far away.
He shoved the covers aside, sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for his trousers. He and Charlotte had made a lot of progress with their relationship the previous night, but he was pretty sure it was too soon for him to wander naked into the kitchen.
He stood and closed the zipper with some care. He was half-aroused.
Satisfied that he had met the minimal sartorial requirements for morning-after attire, he shoved his fingers through his hair and headed down the hall.
Charlotte was in the kitchen. She looked fresh from a shower. Her hair was caught back in a careless twist. Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a blue T-shirt, she somehow hit the sweet spot between sexy and innocent.
It wasn’t an act, he thought. It was the natural Charlotte. There was an innate wholesomeness about her that could easily be mistaken for naïveté or vulnerability.
No wonder her stepsister had felt compelled to protect her. Maybe Jocelyn Pruett hadn’t understood that it took a certain strength of character to hold fast to qualities like optimism and kindness and, yes, wholesomeness, in the face of all the hard evidence of evil in the world.
Charlotte smiled at him. “You’re awake. Want to shower before breakfast?”
He rubbed his face and winced at the rough stubble of his morning beard. “Probably a good idea.” He watched her open the refrigerator door. “I take it you’re an early riser.”
“I’m definitely a morning person.” She took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “You?”
“I think so.”
“You think so? You don’t know for sure?”
He lounged in the doorway, enjoying the sight of her bustling around the kitchen. “Mostly I’m whatever I need to be on a particular job. Sometimes that means getting up early. Sometimes it means staying up late or all night.”
She nodded. “Your profession demands flexibility.”
He smiled.
She shot him a suspicious look. “What did I say?”
“I don’t think of my work as a profession. It’s just what I do.”
“What you need to do.”
He thought about it. “Okay, what I need to do.”
“That makes it a profession.” She paused. “No, I take that back. That makes it a calling.”
He chuckled. “First time I’ve ever heard anyone label my line of work a calling.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. Go take your shower.”
“Right.”
He went into the living room, collected his duffel and started back down the hall toward her bathroom.
Charlotte spoke again as he went past the kitchen door.
“Any more thoughts on how we move forward with the search for Jocelyn?” she asked.
“By the time I get out of the shower, I’ll have a plan.”
“Ah, you’re one of those people who think more clearly in the shower.”
“Wrong. Turns out I’m one of those people who think more clearly after great sex.”
She gave him a ferocious scowl and cracked an egg against the side of a bowl with considerable force.
He went on down the hall, smiling to himself. He had been teasing her, but only a little. The truth was, he was discovering that it was easy to think clearly when he was with her; when he could talk to her.
A short time later he sat down at the dining bar. Charlotte placed a plate of creamy scrambled eggs, sausage patties and buttered toast in front of him. He took a closer look at the sausage.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Tempeh sausages,” she said. “I make them myself.”
“From tempeh.”
“Ex
actly.”
“Tempeh, I take it, is not meat.”
“It’s a fermented soy-based product.”
“Huh.”
“Let me guess. Real detectives don’t eat tofu or tempeh,” she said.
“Don’t know what real detectives eat. I’m still new at the business. But I’ll give the fake sausages a try.”
“Excellent decision, considering that I don’t have any other kind in my kitchen.” She forked up a bite of her eggs. “How did the planning session in the shower go?”
“Would have gone a lot better if you had been in the shower with me.”
“I doubt it.”
He took a tentative bite of fake sausage and concluded that it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t real meat, but it wasn’t inedible. Luckily there was a really big pile of eggs and some toast. He would not starve.
“What I concluded is that it’s past time we had a chat with Jocelyn’s closest friends,” he said. “The members of the investment club.”
Charlotte considered that briefly. “All right. I’ll ask my boss for some vacation time so that I can go with you. I doubt if they’ll be able to tell us anything useful, though. As far as they’re concerned, Louise died of an overdose and Jocelyn is on retreat somewhere in the Caribbean.”
“Stuff has happened. Might be interesting to see if it changes their minds about the situation.”
Charlotte paused her fork halfway to her mouth. “We should probably start with Madison Benson. She’s the one who founded the club.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Not a lot. She owns her own financial planning business. Quite successful. She donates regularly to the women’s shelter where Louise worked and she’s active in the shelter’s fund-raisers. She recruited the other members of the club, including Jocelyn, from among the regular donors.”
“So they all had a connection to the shelter.”
“Right. But Louise and Jocelyn had a special friendship, not just because they were both passionate about funding the shelter, but because they had both been assaulted in the past. They understood each other in ways that no one else could. They thought of themselves as a small survivors’ club.”
“What do you know about the other members of the investment club?”
“Victoria Mathis is in marketing at a local sportswear company. She seems nice, but I really don’t know her very well. Emily Kelly is in human resources. Works for a local tech company. Again, I don’t know much about her.”
Max thought about that while he ate some of the tempeh sausage.
“Why an investment club?” he asked.
Charlotte had been about to drink some coffee. She stopped and gave him a quizzical look.
“Why not an investment club?” she asked. “After all, it was Madison Benson who brought them together and Madison’s expertise is in financial planning and investing.”
“But you said that the club has never made a lot of money.”
“There hasn’t been a big windfall. I think the club started out as an excuse for Jocelyn and the others to get together for drinks and conversation. But a few weeks ago Jocelyn told me that it looked like one of the start-ups they invested in is a good candidate for a buyout. She said that if the deal goes through, all the club members will make a very, very nice profit.”
“Except for Louise.”
Charlotte sighed. “Except for Louise.”
“What happens to her shares in the club?”
“Hmm.” Charlotte thought about that. “As I understand it, if a club member resigns, her shares go back into the club’s pool to be split up among the others.”
“And if a club member dies?”
Charlotte watched him with troubled eyes. “The same, I suppose. The shares are divided up among the rest of the club members. Jocelyn said something about not wanting to have to deal with heirs who might try to claim a share of the profits or dilute the value of the shares. It was intended to be a very exclusive, very private investment club.”
“So now we have a situation in which there is one less person to share in the profits of the start-up buyout.”
“Oh, crap.” Charlotte put down her fork. “But if this is about money, what was Louise Flint doing in Loring?”
“We both know that there’s only one logical answer. She was there because of what happened to Jocelyn all those years ago.”
“Then her death is linked to the past, not to the potential profits from the club’s investment in the start-up,” Charlotte said.
“In my experience, it’s never smart to ignore the money trail.”
“Okay, you’re the expert here. What’s our next move?”
“When you’re dealing with a group dynamic, you get better results if you don’t start at the top. The leader usually has the most to lose and he or she can exert some control over the others. We’ll talk to Victoria Mathis and Emily Kelly first and then circle back to Madison Benson.”
“What, exactly, are we going to ask Victoria and Emily?”
“I won’t know until we start talking to them.”
Charlotte raised her brows. “That’s how you work?”
“It’s called turning over rocks until you find something interesting.”
Charlotte started to respond to that, but her phone rang, visibly startling her. She jumped to her feet and grabbed the device off the kitchen counter.
“It’s the doorman,” she said.
Her disappointment spoke volumes. Max knew that she had been hoping that the call was from Jocelyn.
“Good morning, Phil,” she said. “A visitor? I’m not expecting anyone. Are you sure it’s not a delivery?” There was a pause. “Oh. I see. Huh. Well, as long as he’s here, you can send him on up. Thanks.”
She ended the call and put the phone back down on the counter.
“Sorry about this,” she said. “It’s my ex-fiancé. Evidently he told Phil, the doorman, that it was really important.”
“Interesting.”
She gave him a curious look. “Why?”
“Think it’s a coincidence that he’s back in your life at this particular juncture?”
“Wow. You really are the suspicious type, aren’t you? Yes, I think it’s just a coincidence. He called the other day and told me that the woman he left me for changed her mind about leaving her husband. She dumped Brian. He’s looking for a shoulder to cry on.”
“And he immediately thought of you.”
“Yep.” Charlotte smiled an angelic smile. “And when Phil told me that Brian was downstairs just now, I immediately concluded that this was a golden opportunity to demonstrate that I have moved on. Sorry, partner, I’m using you.”
He ate some more eggs. “I live to serve.”
The doorbell chimed. Charlotte hurried around the corner and disappeared into the small foyer.
“Hi, Brian. Come on in.”
Max smiled at her bright, vivacious tone.
“It’s so good to see you again, sweetie. I’ve missed you.”
Brian Conroy sounded warm, engaging, sincere. There was even a note of humility. It was the tone of a man who knew he had screwed up; a man who was hoping to find his way back into a woman’s good graces.
“We were just finishing breakfast,” Charlotte said. “Would you like some coffee?”
She was sounding more cheerful and enthusiastic by the second, Max thought. If she got any more upbeat, she would break out in song. The lady was looking forward to her little taste of revenge.
“Someone else is here?” Brian sounded uneasy now. “Jocelyn?”
It was clear that he did not want to confront Jocelyn.
“No, Jocelyn’s out of town,” Charlotte said.
“Good. I mean, right, that’s what I thought.”
“Come in and meet Max,” Charlo
tte said lightly.
“Who’s Max?” Brian asked. “Did you get a dog?”
Max winced.
“Nope,” Charlotte said.
She whisked Brian around the corner and into the kitchen.
The man went with the voice, Max decided. Pleasant, successful, clean-cut and sincere.
“Max Cutler, I’d like you to meet Brian Conroy,” Charlotte said. “I believe I mentioned him once or twice.”
“The guy who got cold feet five days before your wedding,” Max said. “I remember.”
He rose from the dining bar, but he did not offer to shake hands. Instead he picked up the coffeepot and poured himself another cup.
Brian got a deer-in-the-headlights look and then he turned to Charlotte, clearly shocked.
“What is going on here?” he said. “Who is this guy?”
“Not the dog,” Max offered, going for helpful.
Brian ignored him.
“Max is a friend,” Charlotte said. “A very good friend. He spent the night here and now we’re having breakfast, as you can see. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Brian lowered his voice, very earnest now. “Look, Charlotte, I really need to talk to you.”
“Go right ahead. I have no secrets from Max.”
“Well, I sure as hell do. Where did you meet him, anyway? Some kind of bar hookup? Or have you been hitting the online dating sites?”
“None of the above,” Max said. “We started out as business acquaintances. Things progressed from there.”
Brian drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I’m not buying that.”
“I’m not selling it,” Max said. “Just stating facts.”
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Brian asked softly. “If you think you can take advantage of Charlotte—”
For the first time Charlotte seemed to realize that she was playing with fire. Alarmed, she put a hand on Brian’s arm.
“That’s enough, Brian,” she said firmly. “What was so important that you felt you had to come and see me at this hour of the morning?”
“I am not about to discuss our personal business in front of some stranger.”