Tami Hoag - Deeper Than the Dead

Vince shed his jacket, his gun, his clothes, never separating from her for more than a few seconds. He wanted nothing between them but flesh and desire. And when he came to her, naked, she reached out and closed her hand around him, and he thought he might die on the spot.

They made love by turns both slowly and urgently; without words, but in full communication in a language of gasps and groans and eyes locked on each other. Their bodies moved together, arched against each other, tangled and tugged and stroked. She was tight and hot and wet around him. He pushed deep, deep inside her, and they went over the edge together, reality giving way to bliss.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweating, panting, communicating entirely with tender looks and soft smiles and sweet kisses. Vince had worried Anne might now recall they hadn’t known each other two days ago, and would retreat into regret, but she didn’t. He certainly didn’t.

Maybe the bullet made him impulsive. Maybe a year ago he wouldn’t have pressed her so hard, so soon. But he sure as hell didn’t regret it. He hadn’t felt anything so satisfying and right in a long time.

Her hair was damp against her cheek. He brushed it back and kissed her softly. She brought her hand up and touched his face. Her small foot slowly rubbed up and down the back of his calf.

“That was highly improper of you,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. They shared a soft chuckle and a softer kiss.

“You’re so beautiful, Anne,” he whispered. “So special.”

He drew breath to say something more, but the sound of his pager bleating broke the spell.

Swearing under his breath, he reached over the side of the sofa to grab his jacket. Pulling the pager out of the pocket, he hit the display button and swore again.

“Mendez.” He looked down at Anne and sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. I have to take this.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” he growled. “I want to hold you all night long. I want to make love to you again… and again.”

She smiled at him in a way that was knowing and sexy and absolutely female, and he felt himself getting heavy and hot.

The pager trilled again.

“Duty calls,” she said.

“Can I use your phone?”

“In the kitchen.”

Reluctantly, he got up off the sofa and pulled on his clothes. Anne sat up and drew her heavy sweater around herself, curling her bare legs beneath her. She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him that little half smile that quickened his heart a beat. He contemplated throwing his pager into the neighbor’s yard when it went off a third time.

He went into the kitchen, found the phone, and dialed Mendez back.

“What?” he said impatiently by way of a greeting.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“This had better be good.”

“It’s good,” Mendez promised. “I just got a Telex from Oxnard PD. Julie Paulson’s last arrest for prostitution happened in a vice sweep. Guess who else got caught in the net?”

“Who?”

“Peter Crane.”

He watched from the oleander bushes to one side of the backyard. From his angle he was able to see right onto the back porch. He was able to see where they sat down. He was able to see everything.

He watched them kiss. He watched the man take her pants off, watched him go down between her legs to eat her pussy. He watched the man take his clothes off, get on top of her, and fuck her.

She let him. She let him do all of that. And she liked it. He could hear the sounds she made.

She was supposed to be perfect. The perfect teacher. The perfect example. The perfect woman. But she was just another whore…

“Someone has some ’splainin’ to do,” Mendez said as Vince got into the car.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to be in Dr. Crane’s shoes.”

Mendez gave him a look. “I wasn’t talking about the dentist.”

Leone scowled a bit and made no eye contact. He had the grace to look a little embarrassed at least.

“Just how did you end up here with no car?” he asked, pulling away from the curb in front of Anne Navarre’s home. “And why did it take three pages before you called me back?”

“I saw Miss Navarre home from the vigil downtown, and none of your goddamn business,” Vince answered, a big self-satisfied grin splitting his face.

Mendez groaned. “I don’t want to know.”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, junior.”

“You just did,” Mendez groused. Damn, the man moved fast. He had homed in on Anne Navarre like a fucking heat-seeking missile. And she had clearly welcomed him. “You’re a dog.”

“No,” he said, dead serious. His expression held a hint of warning. “No.”

Mendez raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“Tell me about the dentist.”

“So the Telex came in, then I called Oxnard PD and talked to one of the detectives there. They were running a series of sweeps for drugs and prostitution. This would have been fall eighty-three. Nothing fancy, just normal street sweeps. Round ’em up and herd ’em into the paddy wagon kind of thing.”

“Did they put Crane with Julie Paulson?”

“Interestingly, no. But Crane was among the johns, and Paulson was one of the hookers. He sat in the clink overnight, posted bond in the morning. He showed up for his court date later on, pled no contest, and paid his fine.”

“The detective remembered him?”

“In that Crane was the only one who wasn’t whining and crying and trying to get out of it when they busted him.”

“It wasn’t his first time then.”

“I’ve requested his record. We’ll see.”

“How big was this bust?”

“Twenty-five arrests. There was some kind of festival going on. I guess they get up to some mischief down in Oxnard. Who knew?”

“How far is that from here?”

“Thirty-five, forty minutes, depending on traffic on the 101.”

“It’s not in your jurisdiction.”

“No. It’s Ventura County.”

“And that bust was how long before the Paulson murder?”

“Seven months. Then Paulson showed up at the Thomas Center about six weeks before her death. She washed out of the program pretty quickly, which is why it’s taken us this long to find out she was ever there.”

“Crane goes to another county to have his fun,” Vince speculated. “It won’t make the papers here if he gets caught. He’s just another john in Oxnard. Then the hooker shows up here. At the Thomas Center, no less.”

“Blackmail?” Mendez suggested.

“Maybe. Or maybe Ventura County should be going back through their missing persons reports and unsolved homicides. The second homicide was in another jurisdiction too, right?”

“Yeah. To the east of here.”

They pulled up in the Cranes’ driveway. There were no cars parked in the driveway, but lights were on in the downstairs windows. Someone was home.

“Hicks called a while ago and asked for Dr. Crane,” he said. “Janet Crane said he wasn’t home and she isn’t expecting him until late.”

“That’s all right,” Vince said, getting out of the car. “That’s fine, actually. I have a thing or two to say to Mrs. Crane.”

“Should I call you an ambulance now or wait?” Mendez asked.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Let me show you how to handle Janet Crane.”

“Better you than me,” Mendez said as they started up the sidewalk.

“Walk up right behind me,” Vince instructed. “I don’t want her to see you when she opens the door. After that, just follow my lead.”

Vince went to the Crane’s front door and rang the bell. Beautiful home. Mr. and Mrs. California lived here. The perfect couple with the perfect home and perfect jobs and a perfect child; perfect tans and perfect white smiles. A pretty facade. The thing Vince had learned over the years was that a lot of not-so-perfect things often lived behind a beautiful exterior.