She guided him into her, felt the absolute thrill of him filling her perfectly, the same as she had felt every single time they'd ever made love. The sensation, the wonder of it, had never dulled, only sharpened. For him as well as for her. She could see it in his eyes as he looked down at her in the lamplight: the intense pleasure, the heat, the surprise, the hint of desperation that came from knowing this magic happened only with each other.
The last made her want to cry. He was the one, the only one. The man she'd married, whose child she'd borne, had never come close to making her feel what John Quinn made her feel with his mere presence in the room.
She held him tighter, moved against him stronger, dug her fingernails into his back. He kissed her deeply, possessively, with his tongue, with his teeth. He moved into her with building force, then pulled himself back, gentled, eased them both away from the edge.
Time lost all meaning. There were no seconds, only breaths and murmured words; no minutes, just the ebb and flow of pleasure. And when the end finally came, it was with an explosion of emotion running head-on from each extreme of the spectrum. And then came an odd mix of peace and tension, contentment and completion and wariness, until exhaustion overrode all else, and they fell asleep in each other's arms.
25
CHAPTER
“LISTEN UP!”
Kovac leaned heavily on the end of the table in the Loving Touch of Death war room. He had been home long enough to fall asleep on a kitchen chair while waiting for the coffee to brew. He hadn't showered or shaved, and imagined he looked like a bum in the same limp, wrinkled suit he'd worn the day before. He hadn't had time to even change his shirt.
Everyone on the team was showing similar signs of wear. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Deep frown lines etched into pale faces.
The room stank of cigarettes, sweat, and bitter coffee over the original aromas of mice and mildew. A portable radio on the counter tuned to WCCO competed with a ten-inch television tuned to KSTP, both on to catch the latest reports the media had to offer. Photos from the car fire and of victim number four had been hastily pinned to one of the boards, so fresh from the developing trays, they were curling in on themselves.
“The media is going nuts with the stuff from last night,” Kovac said. “Smokey Joe lights up a vic practically under our noses, and we look like we've been sitting around picking our toenails. I've already had the chief and Lieutenant Fowler on me like a couple of trick riders this morning. Long story short: If we can't make something happen fast, we'll all be on jail duty doing body cavity searches.”
“That'd be the closest thing to sex Tip's had in years,” Adler said.
Tippen fired a paper clip at him from a rubber-band slingshot. “Very funny. Let me start with you, Chunk. Mind if I use a crowbar?”
Kovac ignored them. “We managed to keep word of that cassette tape away from them.”
“Thank God none of them found it,” Walsh said, contemplating the state of his handkerchief. “They'd be playing it on every station in town.”
Kovac hadn't been able to get the sound of those screams out of his head. The idea of that tape playing into every house in the Twin Cities was enough to make his stomach roll.
“The tape is at the BCA lab,” he said. “Some techno-geek is going over it, trying to pick up background noise and the like. We'll see what he has to say later. Tinks, did you find Vanlees?”
Liska shook her head. “No go. It seems the only close friend he's got is whoever he's house-sitting for. And he sure won't be making any new ones soon. Mary and I managed to piss off everyone he knows, calling up in the middle of the night. One guy said Vanlees was bragging on this house though. He thought it sounded like it might be Uptown or thereabouts. Near a lake.”
“I've got a car sitting on his Lyndale apartment,” Kovac said. “Another one at the Target Center, and one at the Edgewater town houses. And every cop in town is looking for his truck.”
“We've got no probable cause to arrest him,” Yurek pointed out.
“You won't need it,” Quinn said, walking into the middle of the conversation. Flecks of snow melted in his hair. He shrugged out of his trench coat and tossed it on the counter. “It's not an arrest. We're asking for his assistance. If this guy is Smokey Joe, then he's feeling cocky and smug. He made us look like idiots last night. The idea of the cops asking him for help will have enormous appeal to his ego.”
“We don't want to lose the guy on a technicality, that's all,” Yurek pointed out.
“The first person to screw up that way, I will personally shoot in the kneecaps,” Kovac promised.
“So, G,” Tippen said, eyes narrowed. “You think this guy is it?”
“He fits the picture pretty well. We'll get him in here and have a chat, then I'd recommend a bumper-lock surveillance. Make him sweat, see what we can get him to do. If we can rattle him, get him to spook, doors will open. If things fall right, we'll end up with cause for a search warrant.”
“I'll head over to the Edgewater,” Liska said. “I'd like to be on hand, try to put him at ease, get his guard down.”
“How did he seem at the meeting last night?” Quinn asked.
“Fascinated, a little excited, full of theories.”
“Do we know where he was Sunday night?”
“The ever-popular home alone.”
“I want to be there when you get him in the box,” Quinn said. “Not in the room, but watching.”
“You don't want to question him?”
“Not right off the bat. We'll have you in there, and someone he's never seen before. Probably Sam. I'll come in later.”
“Beep me as soon as you've got him,” Kovac said as a phone rang in the background. Elwood got up to answer it. “Tip, Charm, did you find anybody who saw the DiMarco girl get in a truck Sunday night?”
“No,” Tippen said. “And the going rate for that answer is ten bucks. Unless you're Charm. In which case, you can get that answer and a blow job for a smile.”
Yurek gave him a dirty look. “Like it's some kind of treat to get the clap for free.”
“It is for Tip,” Liska pointed out.
“Charm! Telephone!” Elwood called.
“Stay on it,” Kovac ordered. “Get some fliers printed off with the girl's picture and a picture of a GMC Jimmy. Ask Lieutenant Fowler about a reward. Chances are someone just hanging out in that area at that time of night will be willing to turn in his mother for a couple hundred bucks.”
“Will do.”
“Someone diplomatic has to go to the Phoenix and talk again to this hooker that knew the second vic,” Kovac went on.
“I'll do it,” Moss offered.
“Ask her if Fawn Pierce had a tattoo,” Quinn said, forcing himself to sit ahead. He rubbed at a knot in the back of his neck. “Lila White had a tattoo exactly where that chunk of flesh was missing from her chest. Smokey Joe may be an art lover. Or an artist.”
“Where'd you get that?” Tippen asked, skeptical, as if maybe Quinn had just pulled it down out of the sky.
“I did something no one else bothered to do: I looked,” he said bluntly. “I looked at the photographs Lila White's parents gave Agent Moss. They were taken days before her death. If it turns out Fawn Pierce had a tattoo removed by the killer, you'll need to find where both women got them done and check out the parlors and everyone associated with them.”
“Do we know if Jillian Bondurant had any tattoos?” Hamill asked.
“Her father says none he knew of.”