Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

Now he has me, as well.

How had it happened? How could she have let it happen?

She felt helpless, trapped, not only by her own heart, but by circumstances. Rule number one for the independent woman: Never let a man become indispensable. It was the rule she tried to live by, and already she'd violated it. What she ought to do was step back, take a breath, put some time and distance between them.

Right. And where would I go? My house is up in smoke. Someone out there would love to blow me away. For the time being, Novak, you're stuck.

As in quicksand. And sinking deeper, fast.

She looked at Adam, sleeping soundly beside her, and felt yet again that stirring of hunger. And something else, having nothing to do with desire. Tenderness. Joy. He was a troubling man. What was she going to do about him?

She drifted, tossed about on the edge of sleep, felt herself pushed and pulled between wanting to believe in love and knowing better. She was too smart to believe, and too stupid to give up the fantasy.

When she finally did sleep, it was like falling into some small, dreamless space, a prison without windows.

She was the first to awaken. Sunlight was shining through the curtains. Adam slept on, his golden hair tousled beyond help of any mere combing. She left him and went into the bathroom to shower. It was only when she came out again, bundled in his robe, that he stirred awake and gazed at her with amusement.

"Good morning," he murmured. "Are you an early riser or am I just lazy?"

She smiled. "Since it's already eight-thirty, I guess that makes you lazy."

"Come here." He patted the bed. "Sit down with me."

Reluctantly she complied and was reminded yet again of how susceptible she was to his attractions. Already, those hormones were doing their dirty work; she could feel them flooding her face with heat.

"I dreamt about you last night," he said, his fingers lightly tracing the length of her spine.

"Adam," she said, "What happened last night-" She felt a shudder of pleasure as his hand moved upward, crept under the flap of the robe to graze her breast. At once she stood up and moved away from the bed. She shook her head. "It's not going to work."

He didn't say a thing. He just watched her, his gaze too searching for comfort.

She began to move around the room, anything to avoid that look of his, "I walk into your bathroom," she said. "And everything's marble and-and gold. The soap's French. And the towels all match." She stopped and laughed. "Adam, in all my life, I've never had towels that matched."

"You're saying it won't work because of my towels?"

"No, I'm saying I can't see myself… fitting in here. I can't see your friends accepting me. Or you accepting me. Right now, maybe, I'm exciting for you-"

"Without a doubt."

"But it doesn't last, the novelty of a girlfriend from South Lexington. Look, you're a nice guy. I know you don't mean to hurt me. Maybe you'll even feel guilty about it when it falls apart. But I'm not the kind of woman who gets hurt, okay? I refuse to be hurt. And that's why I'd much rather stay your friend."

"Because it's doomed? A foregone conclusion, that sort of thing."

"Well, yes. I guess."

For a moment he considered that statement without apparent emotion. Then he said, quite calmly, "I suppose it is better for you. We both know how it is with these rich bastards. Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Oh, Adam." She sighed. "Please."

He rose from the bed, angrily snatched up his clothes. "I'm insulted. I'm really insulted. We make love-what I thought was love-and then you hand me the script to the rest of the affair!"

"Because I've played this part before. With Ed. With other men-"

"Also rich bastards?"

The knock on the door startled them both.

"What is it?" snapped Adam.

Thomas entered, looking quite taken aback at his employer's tone of voice. "I… thought perhaps you should know. The police are downstairs."

"What?"

"Lieutenant Beamis and that chubby sergeant. Shall I set breakfast?"

Adam sighed. "Go ahead. Lay on the bagels for Shradick."

"And some extra cream cheese," Thomas added and withdrew.

Adam and M. J. looked at each other. The tension was still there, crackling between them. So was the desire.

Push and pull. Attraction and fear. That was what she felt when she looked at him.

She picked up her clothes. "I'll see you downstairs," she said. Then she left to get dressed in the other room.

The two cops were sitting at the dining table, Beamis nursing a cup of black coffee, Shradick wolfing down scrambled eggs and sausages. Both men seemed quiet, maybe a little cautious this morning. As though they had to be careful about what they said.

Something has changed , thought M. J, studying them.

She and Adam sat across the table from the cops. Though Adam was right beside her, he didn't touch her, didn't glance at her. She felt the distance between them widen with every minute that passed.

Beamis said, "It's about the Esterhaus murder. Rockwood Precinct's handed the case to us."

"Why?" asked Adam.

"Because of what's come to light." Beamis lay a large envelope on the table and slid it across to Adam. "I'm sorry to be the one to show these to you. But I need you to confirm the identity."

Puzzled, Adam pulled out a dozen photographs. At his first glimpse of the woman in the pictures, he paled. They were nude shots, in grainy black and white, amateurish and obviously home-processed. In one, the woman was sprawled suggestively across a bed, her hair fanned out, her hands cupping her breasts. In another, she pouted seductively from a bar stool, a whiskey glass raised to the camera. More photos, some taken with an apparent effort at artistic shading, others blatantly prurient. Adam stared at the thin and girlish face gazing back at him from an array of poses. Then he looked away and dropped his head in his hands.

Beamis asked: "Is it her?"

"Yes," murmured Adam. "It's Maeve."

Beamis nodded. "I thought so. I recognized her face from the photos you gave me earlier."

Adam looked up. "Where did you find these?"

"In Herbert Esterhaus's bedroom."

" What ?"

"They were in in a bureau drawer. Along with a lot of other… interesting things."

Adam stared at him, shocked by the revelation. "Esterhaus and Maeve…"

"We're trying to find her, bring her in for questioning. But we can't seem to get near her. That's a tight group she hangs out with in South Lexington. It's only routine questions, of course. Ex-girlfriends are always on the list-"

"You don't think Maeve had anything to do with it?"

"As I said, it's routine. Just a drill we go through-"

Adam pointed to the photos. "I'd say Maeve is the victim here, Lieutenant!" he shot back.

"I know exactly how you feel, Mr. Q.," said Beamis. "I've got a little girl of my own, and I'd want to wring the neck of any bastard who used her like this. But a man's been killed. And now we have to go through the paces."

"I know Maeve! She wouldn't-"

"Did you know about her and Esterhaus?"

Adam paused. "No," he admitted at last. "I didn't."

Beamis shook his head. "There's a lot you never know about people. Even your own family. I'm not saying you should get panicked or anything. You're probably right, she had nothing to do with it. With the evidence we found, I'm ninety-nine percent sure she didn't. Still-"

"What evidence?" asked M. J.

"Things we found. In the victim's house."

"Aside from nude photos of ex-girlfriends?"

"Yes." Beamis looked at Adam. "What did you know about Esterhaus when you hired him?"

"Just what was in his resume. As I recall, he came well-qualified. Excellent references. Had a research position somewhere out in California."