Макс Коллинз - No One Will Hear You

Tomorrow, he would have something to talk about with Nucci that wasn’t the goddamn Gruners. In fact, when he got to Gail’s room at a former Ramada Inn, and they were safely inside, her arms wrapped around him tight, his ribs — where Lloyd Gruner had piled on him — didn’t even hurt anymore.

They kissed standing up for a while; then Gail fanned herself, let out some air, rolled her eyes, said, “Wow,” and took a short breather. She built them each a mixed drink from some bottles of liquor and soda on the dresser; these they downed quickly, both eager to finish what they’d started.

Soon she was wrapping herself around him as they stood by the bed, kissing him hard, tongue darting in and out of his mouth, his hand on her blouse cupping a full, firm braless breast, its tip diamond hard.

The lightheaded feeling was coming back, but Danny didn’t think that was the drink — he was drunk on Gail, and anyway there wasn’t any blood in his head, not the big head, anyway...

She unsnapped his shirt, quick but methodical; then her mouth moved down his neck onto his smooth, nearly hairless chest, even as her hands started fiddling with his belt and that giant, prizewinner’s buckle.

Her kisses reached his stomach as she pushed him backward onto the bed, where he sat, legs dangling off its edge. She peppered his stomach with kisses as she unbuttoned his jeans, then tugged them to his ankles.

Danny fumbled with her top, but wasn’t having much luck. For some reason, his hands seemed to be about half a minute behind his brain.

She stuck a thumb inside the waistband of his shorts, tugged them down, too, as his erection sprang up and had a look around, as if seeing what it had missed. The throb of his member was a pleasant ache, oddly the only feeling that seemed to dent the haze.

Then everything turned soft and warm as she slipped him into her mouth, suckled, then moved up and down the shaft as hypnotically as her swaying hips when they had lured him to this room.

She must have sensed how close he was and let him ease away. Rising, she said, “I have to slip something in me, lover, before you can slip inside me...”

“Mmmmmm,” he said.

“Only be gone a minute. Get those damn boots off and be buck nekkid when I get back. I’ll show you the kind of dancing you don’t do in a line...”

She smiled mischievously, and moved away.

Groggily, Danny sat up and tried to focus on her fine, sweet shape as she headed toward the bathroom. She was still dressed, but there was no mystery about the heart-shaped bottom awaiting under those tight jeans. Slowly, she pulled the spaghetti-strapped top over her head and showed him the ivory skin of her lovely back.

With a smile, before ducking into the bathroom, Gail turned off the room light, scant illumination filtering in through sheer curtains on this second-floor window. For a moment she was caught in a shaft of light from the bathroom, a topless beauty with a wicked smile.

Then she shut herself within.

He bent down and started tugging at a boot. Then another boot. Finally he sprawled out on the bed. He was there a while. Long enough for his erection to lose interest.

When the bathroom door did open, the light wasn’t on. Danny had no idea how long she had been gone. Had he drifted off awhile? Might have been ten seconds or ten minutes. In the darkness, all he could make out was curly hair, the ivory skin of one shoulder, and the fact that she was holding something.

In this light it was impossible to tell what. If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was hauling over a pair of those big garden shears, like the ones back in his folks’ garage. The ones the old man to this day used to trim the hedges. No Mexican gardener for his old man...

But in this pitch-black room, he’d seen very little, really, and the thought that had registered seemed absurd. Garden shears — really...

She was coming to him now, cooing... or was it more like... purring, even... growling? He tried to reach out for her, but his arms felt leaden and he wondered if he could even lift them.

The wooziness seemed worse now; then the figure was towering over him, only he could no longer focus, his eyelids heavy, so very heavy. He would swear she was holding garden shears . He tried to focus on the point of the object, but it dropped out of sight.

There was a quick, terrible, sharp, excruciating pain at his gut, forcing horrible momentary clarity upon him, followed by warmth, all-encompassing liquid warmth, spreading over his stomach, dripping onto his legs.

That feeling was followed by overwhelming cold in his upper body, as if all his body heat were being siphoned off. He worked hard at keeping his eyes open, but could not. Thoughts flitted through his brain, butterflies on a sunny day, but he couldn’t catch them, not any of them; then the butterflies were gone and so was the sun and any other light.

As the coldness seeped through him, Danny Terrant thought, I think those were garden shears .

Then the world turned black.

Harrow’s take on Lieutenant Anna Amari was this: she was efficient and smart and tough; and she smelled really good for a cop.

Tuesday, she’d brought over the sketch of the John Doe victim and a copy of the security video from the Star Struck. Apparently not content to leave them with Harrow’s assistant, Amari had handed them over personally.

They had discussed the drawing briefly, then took a pass through the grainy footage. She was a knowledgeable cop and provided some insights.

“Real planning went into this,” she said, as they sat together at Harrow’s desk before his computer screen. “Killer did his homework. Knew where the cameras were, not just in the hotel, but along his route.”

“You’ve checked the traffic cams, then.”

“Yes, and every convenience store and other business that might have a view on the streets approaching the Star Struck.”

“Were you able to tie him to a car?”

“No.” Abruptly she rose. “Okay, gotta get back at it.”

And she was gone.

On Wednesday, she called. She grilled him pretty hard about his team and their capabilities. Not nosy, exactly, but clearly up to something. He had no idea what.

Now here it was Thursday, and Vicki had just buzzed him to say that Lieutenant Amari was on line two. If she was stalking him, he didn’t think he minded.

“Harrow,” he said.

“What’s your opinion of the Dodgers?”

He smiled. “I never thought about it, Lieutenant Amari. Are they suspects in the Star Struck investigation?”

“What kind of straight male has never thought about the Dodgers?”

“We can talk later about how you made that deduction. I’m an Iowa boy. We don’t have any big-time professional teams. I always kind of dug the Yankees, though.”

“That’s just sad.”

“What is? That Iowa doesn’t have a big-time baseball franchise, or that I’ve watched a Yankee game in my time?”

“Yankees. Just so obvious. You need retraining. I’ll pick you up at your office.”

“Okay. When?”

“Six-thirty. Dodgers and Cards tonight. That’s the Cardinals?”

“Yeah, I know that much.”

“Prepare to be reborn, J.C.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Just be out front at six-thirty.”

“Okay — dinner after?”

“Dinner during . Dodger Dogs.”

“What’s a Dodger Dog?”

“Jesus, J.C., you really were born in a barn.”

She hung up.

He smiled. He hadn’t been bossed around by a woman like that since... his smiled faded a little. Since Ellen.

Funny thing, he caught himself checking his watch as the afternoon rolled by. Did he actually have a date? Beyond his life at Crime Seen , and the colleagues who’d become his surrogate family, he had no real friends in California. He knew people out here, of course, had neighbors he spoke to, retail businesses where he was friendly with staff, but that wasn’t much of a social life...