The Villa

almost lazily, certainly pleasurably, into his system.
    His lips rubbed over hers, turning her inside out. Somehow he'd flipped it all around on her, and the tempted had become the tempter. Knowing it, she couldn't resist.
    There was so much more here than she'd imagined. More than she'd ever been offered, or had accepted.
    He watched her, intensely. Even as he toyed with her mouth, sent her head spinning and her body churning, he watched her with all the patience of a cat. That alone was a fresh and shocking thrill.
    He ran his hands down her sides again, those wide hands just brushing her breasts. And drew her away.
    "You push my buttons, Sophia. I don't like it."
    He turned away to take a pull from the bottle of water used to cleanse the palate.
    "A vintner's also a scientist." The air felt thick as she drew in a breath. "You've heard of chemical reactions."
    He turned, held the bottle out to her. "Yeah. And a good vintner always takes his time, because some chemical reactions leave nothing but a mess."
    The little stab disappointed as much as it stung. "Can't you just say you want me?"
    "Yeah, I can say it. I want you, enough that it sometimes hurts to breathe when you're too close."
    Like now, he thought, when the taste of her was alive inside him.
    "But when I get you into bed, you're going to look at me the way you looked at me just now. It's not going to be just another time, just another man. It's going to be me, and you're going to know it."
    There was a ripple along her skin. She had to force herself not to rub her hands over her arms to chase it away again. "Why do you make that sound like a threat?"
    "Because it is." Moving away from her, he picked up the next glass of wine and went back to work.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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    Claremont studied the Avano file. He spent a great deal of what he could eke out as spare time studying the data, the evidence, the crime scene and medical examiner reports. He could nearly recite the statements and interviews by rote.
    After nearly eight weeks it was considered by most to be a dead end. No viable suspects, no tangible leads, no easy answers.
    It stuck in his craw.
    He didn't believe in perfect crimes but in missed opportunities.
    What was he missing?
    "Alex." Maguire stopped by his desk, sat on the corner. She already wore her coat against the misery that was February in San Francisco. Her youngest had a history project due the next day, her husband was fighting off a cold and they were having leftover meat loaf for dinner.
    Nobody was going to be happy at her house, but she needed to be there.
    "Go home," she told him.
    "There's always a loose end," he complained.
    "Yeah, but you're not always able to tie it off. Avano stays open, and it looks like it's going to stay that way unless we get lucky and something falls in our laps."
    "I don't like luck."
    "Yeah, well, I live for it."
    "He uses the daughter's apartment for a meet," Claremont began and ignored his partner's long-suffering sigh. "Nobody sees him go in, nobody hears the gunshots, nobody sees anyone else go in or out."
    "Because it was in the neighborhood of three in the morning. The neighbors were asleep and, used to city noises, didn't hear the pop of a twenty-five-caliber."
    "Pissant gun. Woman's gun."
    "Excuse me." She patted her own police-issue nine-millimeter.
    "Civilian woman's gun," he corrected with what was nearly a smile. "Wine and cheese, late-night meet in an empty apartment. Sneaking out on the wife, apparently. Victim's a guy who liked to cheat on the wife. Smells like a woman. And maybe that's the angle. Maybe it was set to smell like a woman."
    "We looked at men, too."
    "Maybe we need to look again. The ex-Mrs. Avano, as opposed to the widow Avano, has been seen socializing in the company of one David Cutter."
    "That tells me her taste in men has improved."
    "She stays legally married to a philandering son of a bitch for nearly thirty years. Why?"
    "Look, my husband doesn't run around and I love him like crazy. But sometimes I wonder why I stay legally married to him. She's Catholic," Maguire finished with another sigh, knowing she wasn't getting home anytime soon. "Italian Catholic and practicing. Divorce wouldn't come easy."
    "She gave him one when he asked."
    "She didn't stand in his way. Different thing."
    "Yeah, and as a divorced Catholic she wouldn't be able to remarry, would she? Or snuggle up with another man with the approval of the Church."
    "So she kills him to