Hot Rocks

hips, rose on her toes and met his mouth with hers. She took it slow, rocking into him, changing the angle to tease, using her teeth to challenge. She felt his hands tunnel through her hair, fingers tangling. When the heat rose inside her, when she felt it pumping off him, she slid her hands around, gave his butt a squeeze.
    Her own pulse was tripping, but she enjoyed the sensation of being in control and turned her head so her lips were close to his ear.
    “That oughta hold me,” she whispered, then drew away.
    “Now I’ll kiss you goodbye.”
    She laughed and slapped a hand on his chest. “I don’t think so. Mark your place, then you can kiss me hello. I should be home by seven.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    He went out with her, followed her into town and peeled off to go to his hotel.
    He stopped by the desk to ask the clerk to make up his bill for checkout.
    She scanned his face. “Oh, Mr. Gannon, are you all right? Were you in an accident?”
    “It was pretty much on purpose, but I’m fine, thanks. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
    He got in the elevator. He’d already decided to work on his notes and reports once he’d set up at Laine’s. Might as well make himself comfortable. A man who traveled as often as he did knew how to pack quickly and with the least amount of fuss. He swung the strap of his garment bag over one shoulder, the strap of his laptop case over the other, and was walking out of the room fifteen minutes after he’d walked in.
    Back at the desk, he glanced over his bill, signed the credit slip.
    “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”
    “I did.” He made a note of her name tag. “One thing before I head out, Marti.” Bending, he pulled a file out of his laptop case, flipped through for the photos of Jack O’Hara, William Young and Alex Crew. He laid them faceup on the desk. “Have you seen any of these men?”
    “Oh.” She blinked at him. “Why?”
    “Because I’m looking for them.” To this he added a thousand-watt smile. “How about it?”
    “Oh,” she repeated, but this time she looked down at the photos. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
    “That’s okay. Anybody in the back? Maybe they could come out for a minute, take a look?”
    “Sure, I guess. Mike’s here. If you’ll just wait a minute.”
    He ran the same routine with the second clerk, minus the flirtatious smile, and garnered the same results.
    After stowing his bags in the trunk of his car, he made the rounds. First stop, he took the photos to Vince, waited while copies were made. Then he hit the other hotels, motels, B and B’s within a ten-mile radius.
    Three hours later, the most tangible thing he had to show for his efforts was a raging headache. He popped four extra-strength ibuprofen like candy, then got a take-out sandwich at a sub shop.
    Back at Laine’s he generously split the cold cut sub with a grateful Henry and hoped that would be their little secret. With the headache down to an ugly throb he decided to spend the rest of the day unpacking, setting up some sort of work space and reviewing his notes.
    He spent about ten seconds debating where to put his clothes. The lady had said she wanted him in bed, so it was only fair his clothes be handy.
    He opened her closet, poked through the clothes. Imagined her in some of them, imagined her out of all of them. He noted that she apparently shared his mother’s odd devotion to shoes.
    After another short debate, he concluded that he was entitled to reasonable drawer space. Because rearranging her underwear made him feel like a pervert, he made a stack of his own in a drawer with a colorful army of neatly folded sweaters and shirts.
    With Henry clipping after him, he surveyed Laine’s home office, then her sitting room, then the guest room. The fancy little writing desk in the guest room wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it was the best space available.
    He set up. He typed up his notes, a progress report, read them both over and did some editing. He checked his e-mail, his voice mail, and answered what needed answering.
    Then he sat at the pretty little desk, stared up at the ceiling and let theories ramble through his mind.
    He knows where you are now.
    So, who was he? Her father. If Willy knew where Laine was, odds were so did Big Jack. But from what Laine had said, Jack had kept tabs on her off and on all along. So the phrase didn’t work. He knows where you are now . The arrow in Max’s mind pointed to Alex Crew.
    There was no