Hostile Witness (Sanctuary, Inc. #1)

Chapter 29

29

V ince flinched in the front seat of his car as the red-haired lady cop disabled the detective. Oof , that had to hurt. Who’s the big man now, Mr. Detective? Vince was in his car, one street over from Tia’s, with a clear view through the yards. Binoculars were a handy way to watch the goings-on in the neighborhood from a distance.

Well, hell. Today wouldn’t be the day he’d get that dog. He’d scratch all of his neatly laid plans and start over, which was damn inconvenient considering he’d hoped to move to a new town sometime this week.

He’d need more equipment to deal with the redhead. Just because he recognized her self-defense moves didn’t mean he had the skill to fight her. Look at the massive dude lying on the grass. The man still hadn’t gotten up.

It was a damn shame he had to wait and plan some more. Sometimes the itch to strike again was unbearable. However, he’d been patient with Margie and had waited until she was her most vulnerable.

How would he disable the redhead? Shooting her wouldn’t be any fun. He wanted to play with her first.

Ethan eased down gingerly onto a kitchen chair. He would’ve preferred a softer seat, but he was covered in dirt and grass stains just like Tia. The woman could kick some serious ass, and as soon as his body stopped screaming in pain, he’d be proud of her.

Tia grabbed an ice bag and peas from the freezer and straddled his lap. “Here. Put these peas where you want, and I’ll hold the ice pack on your face.” She chuckled. “I kind of wondered if I’d be the one needing these today.”

Ethan swung the peas under his leg and sighed with relief. He let her perch on his legs again. “I can hold the bag myself,” he said, pressing it on his cheek. “Your hits are extremely accurate.”

“Thank you. I’ve worked at it. Do you want a beer or a cup of tea?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bottle of water and a few ibuprofen, if you have them.”

“Coming right up.” After placing both requests on the table, she straddled his legs again. “I’m so sorry you’re in pain. If it’s any consolation, you can keep the cameras up and the car locator in place. It isn’t that I don’t take security seriously, but I have Flynn and a gun. I handle myself pretty well. I was just madder than hell because you went into my phone and installed the camera without my permission.”

He laughed wryly. “When I looked at the situation from your point of view, you had a right to get upset. When is your security system being installed?”

She bit her lip and thought a second. “Ten days from now.”

Ethan glanced around. “Where’s Flynn?”

Tia cocked her head and smiled. “Remember? He’s upstairs in my room so he couldn’t watch us sparring. I’ll get him.”

She went to move, but he tugged her back. “Wait a minute. I like you here. Let’s talk about the things we said outside.” He pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and watched in fascination as the curls tumbled. And then it hit him. He didn’t want to talk at all.

Tia ran her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. “You’re looking at me like I’m a box of lemon doughnuts, Detective.”

He ran his thumb along her bottom lip and remembered the clinging powdered sugar. She was like his very own lemon doughnut, a little bit tart and a whole lot of sweet. His resolve snapped, and he pulled her flat against his chest, taking her mouth with greedy kisses and little nips.

She eased back, bathing his bruised face with angel kisses, whispering, “I’m sorry about the shiner.”

“Don’t be. I asked for it.” His voice had turned to gravel, and they were right back into devouring each other. He couldn’t kiss her deep enough. He couldn’t feel enough skin. At some point, it dawned on him that his equipment was working just fine, and he removed the bag of peas, tossing it onto the table.

Her soft squeals and little noises drove him onward. He wanted to please her. He hadn’t wanted to please any woman in a long time, but Tia—she urged him higher and higher with her barely audible sighs and the way she traced his ear with her tongue. It was maddening.

She was freaking hot—he was on fire. Together, they were combustible. He nudged her back an inch, dragged his T-shirt over his head, and tossed it somewhere. He waited for her to take hers off, but she kept it. No problem. Keep the shirt. He eased right back into taking her sassy mouth over and again.

He had no idea how long they feasted on each other, but he strained for control when she began rocking against his boner. His hand found the seam of her yoga pants and stroked. It was her moan that forced him into action. He stood with her legs tightly wrapped around his hips. “Couch...”

“Bed. Upstairs. Please.”

Her wish was his command. At the top of the stairs, he set her on her feet. He’d think the stairs would’ve cooled them down, but she pushed a door open, jumped into his arms, and kissed his chest with ravenous desire.

It was surreal. Ethan hardly recognized himself, addressing the dog like a drill sergeant. “Get off the bed, Flynn. Now.” The dog scrambled to the edge and leaped only seconds before they tumbled headlong into the middle.

He wanted sheets. Ethan tugged her back into his arms, yanked the coverlet down, and set her head on a white pillow with pink rosebuds. After removing the gun from under the pillow, he tossed his shorts and seconds later draped her yoga pants over the bedside table.

She was soft and sweet as whipped cream in his mouth, and a natural redhead. But the thing that slayed him was how she crooned with desire in his ear. Don’t stop. More. Oh yes. He could live his life as her love slave for nights like this.

Their passion crescendoed in the fading dusk with a moment of keening and murmurs, panting and pleading, and one final shout of ever-loving freaking joyful bliss.

Flynn barked twice, lifted his snout, and howled at the rising moon.

Sometime during the night, he awoke with the pictures from Margie Plante’s bookshelf on his mind. He stroked Tia’s back and hair, half resting and half thinking about Guy Evans’s fingerprints on the white keys of the piano.

Tia snuggled closer, traced the outline of his face with a finger and whispered, “Whatcha thinking?”

“Did you ever take piano lessons?”

“Yeah. For about four years when I was in elementary school. I wasn’t very good and dropped it. But my mother still has the piano in her living room.” She sighed. “Is this what you think about in between rounds of mind-blowing sex?”

He chuckled. “I do my best thinking when I’m relaxed and dozy. Go figure.”

She rose up on one elbow. “Are you thinking about Margie’s case?”

“Uh-huh. Someone’s fingerprints are on the white keys of her piano, but not on the black ones. I don’t get it, but I don’t play piano. And I can’t chalk it up to coincidence.”

“Hmm... there are finger exercises that only use the white keys. I remember doing some of them.”

He thought a minute. “I don’t think this person was doing finger exercises that day.”

Tia bolted upright. “There is this one song—Heart and Soul.”

Ethan’s eyes drifted lazily from her shoulders to the small of her back. She was exquisite as the light from a streetlamp illuminated her hair and creamy skin. “What’s heart and soul?”

“It’s a piece for piano, I think. I used to play it with my dad. I banged out the melody, and he played the chords on the bottom. It’s very easy to memorize and makes even the worst piano student feel like a pro when done as a duet.”

Ethan folded his arms under his head. “Okay.”

She waved her arms around excitedly. “You don’t get it. It’s only played on the white keys. That’s part of what makes it easy for a novice piano player to have fun.”

Huh. He reached for his cell phone, opened the picture library, and started enlarging the photos he’d taken of Margie’s pictures. Two of them had Margie and Guy Evans holding trophies. But what were the trophies for?

Ethan took a screenshot of the inscription on the trophy. He handed the phone to Tia. “Can you read the writing on that thing? I took my contacts out before your ass kicking.”

“No,” she murmured. “Let me get the magnifier from my desk.” She hurried over, turned on the light, and rummaged through the top drawer. “Here it is. The engraving says First Place Amateur Piano Duet, but I can’t make out the year. Does that help?” She glanced at him expectantly.

Oh, hell yes. That meant there was nothing nefarious about Guy Evans touching the white keys on Margie’s piano. They had played their duet when they were together. Maybe they’d been reminiscing. Ethan scrubbed his face with a hand. It would’ve been much easier to ask Guy Evans about the white keys, but he’d lawyered up and clammed shut after his first interview with NYPD detectives.

Ethan held out his hand. “You’re brilliant, Tia O’Rourke. Get your sweet ass back in this bed, please.”

“Ooh, I love it when you say please, Detective. Is there a reward for helping with your case?”

He patted his lap as his cock twitched and raised the sheet. “Sit down right here, and I’ll explain my incentive program.”

Tia laughed lightheartedly, turned out the light and crawled across the bed. “I can hardly wait to see what I won.”

“It’s better if I show you.” He fluttered the rosebud sheet over her and slid underneath.