Deadline (Sandra Brown)

sensitized tip of his erection and her soft pajama bottoms. The contact caused a low groan to vibrate in his throat.
    Amelia rubbed against him seductively, each movement sweetly feminine and small but breath stealing. He wasn’t as subtle. His hands roved selfishly and impatiently, greedy for the feel of her skin. He pushed his hand into the loose waistband of her pajama bottoms and caressed the curve of her hip. In response, her thighs shifted, separated. He fit himself into the notch.
    When the doorbell rang, he was in such a fog of lust that it didn’t at first register with him what it was. When it rang a second time, they jerked apart and stared at each other, breathing loudly, sharing incredulity over someone’s ill timing. Blistering the walls of the room with a scorching curse, he rolled off her.
    She scrambled off the bed and yanked her clothing back into place. “It must be Stef.”
    “Or Bernie.” He snatched his gym shorts from the chair beside the bed and pulled them on. “I invited him for breakfast, but, Christ, it’s barely dawn.”
    He went to the window that overlooked the front of the house, expecting to see a familiar person below. He didn’t. When he turned back to Amelia, she must have read the foreboding in his expression, because her hand moved to the base of her throat.
    “What?”
    “It’s the police.”

Chapter 12
    Q uickly, she checked on the boys, but they had slept through the ringing of the doorbell. By the time she got downstairs, Dawson was admitting a uniformed officer and a man in plainclothes into the house and saying to them, “She’s here.”
    They introduced themselves as deputies from the Chatham County Sheriff’s Office in Savannah. Saint Nelda’s Island didn’t have a police force of its own. To Amelia’s knowledge, there had never been a need for one.
    The uniformed man was young, so cleanly shaven that his cheeks were abraded. The tops of his ears turned red when he looked beyond Dawson’s bare torso and took in her dishevelment.
    It was clear to her that he was the junior official of the pair, probably serving as a chauffeur to the other man, who introduced himself as Deputy Tucker, a detective for the sheriff’s office. He was potbellied, ruddy-faced, and all-business.
    Amelia asked him why he was looking for her.
    He took a small spiral notebook from the pocket of his rain jacket. “Do you own a car with Georgia license plate number…” He flipped open the notebook and read out the characters of her license plate.
    She confirmed that that was her car.
    “Are you acquainted with a young woman named Stephanie Elaine DeMarco?”
    “She’s my children’s nanny. Is something…Has she been involved in an accident?”
    “No, ma’am. I’m sorry to have to tell you that Miss DeMarco was found dead this morning.”
    Her knees gave way. Dawson and the uniformed deputy both reached for her, but Dawson got to her first. He supported her as he backed her into the nearest chair, where she sank down onto the seat. “Dead?” she wheezed. “Stef is dead?”
    “My condolences, ma’am.”
    Madly, she wondered if she was dreaming. Or if someone was playing a vicious practical joke. Or if a dreadful mistake had been made, a mix-up of identities, perhaps. It happened, not often, but she’d read about such instances. Anything was possible except that vibrant, healthy, funny Stef was dead . Her mind refused to accept it. “There must be some mistake.”
    Tucker said, “A purse containing her identification was found on the passenger seat of your car. Her body was discovered just a few yards away.”
    “Discovered by whom?” Dawson asked. “Where?”
    “In the parking lot behind the café. Kid who works the kitchen at Mickey’s was taking out trash, noticed the car and wondered what it was doing there that time of morning. Then he saw the body behind the Dumpster. When my partner and I got to the island, we were told she worked for you. Your numbers were programmed into the cell phone found inside her purse. We’ve been trying to reach you.”
    “I haven’t checked my phone this morning, but the last time I did, I didn’t have service. I’ve been here since late last evening. I left Stef a note so she’d know where we were when she got home.” Her voice cracked with emotion and she stifled a sob.
    Dawson took over the explanation. “Practically the whole island lost power last night. This house has an emergency generator. I invited Ms. Nolan