lips touched her, the slow boil that had been simmering since she’d seen Joe yesterday morning bubbled over. She grabbed him and held on as he pushed her against the counter, his mouth open on hers, one hand tangled in her hair, the other on her back, under her shirt, clutching her. Flashes of hot, fast, hard sex ripped through her thoughts and she gasped as his mouth moved down her neck and his hands moved everywhere. Joe’s thigh pressed between her legs, and she returned the favor, rubbing his dick as it pushed to escape.
She pulled his shirt from his slacks and kneaded his hard chest. Joe was all man, all cop, lean and ripped.
He unholstered his gun and dropped it on the counter, then pushed her onto the kitchen table, her copy of the crime photos flying. Her shirt flew in another direction, and when his mouth found her breasts she moaned. He nibbled at her, hard enough for her to feel his teeth but not hard enough to hurt. He pushed his hand down the front of her jeans and found her wet spot. He grinned at her as he slipped in one finger, then another, a promise for what would come as soon as she stripped. She kneaded her fingers over the heavy bulge in his pants and his cat-ate-canary smile disappeared. He fought with her jeans. “God, Suzi.”
She pulled his head to hers and bit his ear, then licked it, his muscles tensing under her moving hands. He unzipped her jeans.
Her phone rang.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled in her ear, pinning her to the table.
She closed her eyes and reached for the button of his pants.
Her phone kept singing to her. AFI’s “Miss Murder.” Headquarters.
She pushed Joe off and grabbed her phone.
“Madeaux.”
“This is Ray Jordan from the night desk. I have Assistant Director Hans Vigo from national headquarters on the line for you.”
“I’ll take it.”
Joe walked across the room and stared out the window, all sweaty and sexy. She turned her back to him.
Two clicks later and Dr. Hans Vigo said, “I’m sorry to bother you this late at night, but it’s important.”
“What can I do for you Assistant Director?”
“You worked with SSA Tony Presidio today, correct?”
“Yes.” Suzanne knew immediately something was up. Not just because of a call from an assistant director but also because of his tone. “The murder of Rosemary Weber, which I’m working with NYPD.”
“I need all your reports and a detailed list of every place Tony went while he was in New York. Anything you can remember about what he said and did.”
“Of course; may I ask why?” She picked her shirt off the floor and slipped it on. She held her phone with her shoulder and began to button it up.
“He died of a heart attack thirty minutes after arriving back at Quantico.”
Suzanne sat down, forgetting about her shirt.
“He went back early to go through his notes. I had no idea he was ill.”
“He left a message for me before he boarded the plane in LaGuardia, concerned about FBI exposure on this case. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“No, sir. We discovered some of Weber’s files were missing, and Tony’s having an analyst re-create them off shorthand notes. Unless—he did leak specific information to the press about how we know the killer staged Weber’s murder to look like a robbery. He’s hoping the killer will try to pawn the ring to prove us wrong.”
“Thereby proving us right,” Hans said. “Sounds like Tony. Stay on it, and keep me in the loop. I’m heading down to Quantico in the morning to take care of Tony’s affairs.”
Joe smiled but didn’t look at her. He walked back toward the kitchen and grabbed his gun off the counter.
“I’ll send you everything first thing in the morning.” She hung up. “Joe—”
He shook his head, leaned over, and kissed her. “Next time, I’ll flush your phone.”
“There won’t—”
He put his hand over her mouth. “There’s always a next time.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ten Years Ago
No one was happy with me that I’d lied about my parents being dead, especially not my parents. But in my defense, they were dead to me. Grams had been my legal guardian for five years, but I was fourteen when she died and the idiot judge thought that I had to live with someone. He picked my mom.
Mom and Dad had divorced after the trial and Mom tried to force me to live with her. Grams had been stronger then and stood