"Pull over," she said in a muffled voice. "Right now."
He did, terrified she was about to be sick, disgusted because he hadn't reined in his temper long enough to make her stay home. "Take it easy, Deanna. I'm sorry you had to see that, but—"
Whatever else he'd intended to say was lost as she lunged at him. In one fluid move, she tore off her seat belt and whipped toward him. Her mouth was hot and wet and hungry. Through his shock, and instant arousal, he felt the violent thud of her heart.
And her hands. Jesus. Her hands.
Cars sped by them. He could only groan as she dived deeper into his mouth, her tongue greedy, her teeth vicious.
Both of them were panting for air when she leaned back.
"Well," he managed, but his mind was wiped as clean as glass. "Well."
"I'm not proud of it." She flopped back in her seat, face flushed, eyes bright. "I don't approve of intimidation or fighting. I absolutely don't. Oh God." With a half laugh, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body was vibrating like an overheated engine. Intellect, she discovered, could be completely overpowered by glands. "I'm going to explode. Drive fast, will you?"
"Yeah." His aching hand trembled a bit as he turned the key again. Then, as he punched the accelerator, he started to grin. The grin became a hard, deep-throated laugh. "Deanna, I'm crazy about you."
She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep herself from tearing at his clothes. "We're both crazy," she decided. "Drive faster."
Marshall comforted himself as best he could, pampering his bruised stomach muscles, taking a painkiller. Shame and fury had driven him out of the house. He opted for a drink first, then two, before keeping his date at the opera.
He hadn't thought he'd enjoy the music, or the company. But both had soothed him. He was a civilized man, he reminded himself. A respected man. He would not be intimidated by some grandstanding reporter like Finn Riley. He would simply bide his time, calmly.
Enchanted by the diva's final aria, he still felt peaceful when he pulled in to his driveway, even though his stomach ached dully. Another dose of painkiller would take the edge off, he knew. Fury and frustration had been eased by Mozart's music. Humming lightly, Marshall set the security on his car. If Deanna had the file, and he could no longer be sure, he would convince her to return it to him. But he'd wait until Riley was away on assignment.
They would talk, he promised himself, and finally set the past behind them. As Angela was behind them.
His eyes gleamed as he reached for his keys. He thought he sensed a movement to his left. He had time to turn, time to understand. He didn't have time to scream.
Finn was watching Deanna sleep when the phone rang. They'd started on each other in the foyer, worked their way up the steps. Halfway up they'd decided, tactically, that they'd made it far enough.
It made him grin to remember how she'd torn at his clothes. Attacked him, he thought smugly. Of course, he'd been a willing victim, but she'd shown surprising energy, and amazing resilience. He almost thought it a shame he hadn't dealt so satisfactorily with Pike before.
He dismissed all thoughts of Pike as he settled back, pleasantly aroused when Deanna curled her body against his.
He wouldn't wake her, though it was very tempting to do so. He was too relieved that she no longer tossed and turned or awakened quaking as she had for several nights after Angela's murder. Instead, he simply enjoyed the way her body fit to his.
He swore when the phone rang and she woke. "Take it easy." Like Deanna, he expected to hear nothing but breathing when he lifted the receiver.
"Finn? It's Joe."
"Joe." He saw the tension dissolve from Deanna's shoulders. "I guess it would be pointless to mention it's after one A.m."
"Got a tip for you, pal. I was whiling away some time with Leno and monitoring my police scanner. We had us a murder over at Lincoln Park."
"I'm not on the crime beat."
"I checked it out, Finn. Figured you'd want to know right away, instead of catching it on the early news. It was Pike. You know, the shrink who hassled Dee today. Somebody did him."
Finn's gaze cut to Deanna's. "How?" "The same way as Angela. In the face. My police connection wouldn't give me much. But he bought it right on his own doorstep. A neighbor reported hearing gunshots around midnight. A black-
and-white checked it out and found him. I'm calling from the cop shop. We've got a unit on it. Story'll break top of the hour on Sunrise."
"Thanks."
"I figured Dee would take it better from you."
"Yeah. Keep me posted?"
"You bet."
He hung up, dispirited. "Something's wrong." She could see it in his face, in the way the air had seemed to thicken around him. "Just tell me straight out, Finn."
"Okay." He covered her hands with his. "Marshall Pike's been murdered."
Her hands jerked once, then went still. "How?" "He was shot."
She already knew, but had to ask. "The same as Angela? It was the same as Angela, wasn't it?"
"It looks that way."
She made a strangled sound in her throat, but eased back when he reached for her. "I'm all right. We need to tell the police about what happened after work today. It has to be connected."
"It's possible."
"Don't circle around it," she snapped out, and pushed off the bed. "Marshall harassed me today, and we went over there. Hours later, he's shot. We can't pretend that one had nothing to do with the other."
"And if it is connected, what can you do?" "Whatever I can." She dragged a sweater over her head, snatched trousers from the closet. "Even though I didn't pull the trigger, I am the cause, and there has to be something I can do."
She didn't resist when he put his arms around her, but clung to him, pressing her face to his shoulder.
"I have to do something, Finn. I can't bear it otherwise."
"We'll go see Jenner." He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her. "We'll figure something out."
"Okay." She finished dressing in silence. She was sure he wouldn't feel guilty about facing down Marshall only hours before, because he would see what he had done as pure and simple justice. And perhaps he was right.
Is that what whoever had leveled a gun at Marshall's face had thought as well?
The idea sickened her. "I'll wait downstairs," she said as he pulled out his boots.
She saw the envelope before she reached the bottom landing. It lay crisp and white against the glossy floor of the foyer, inches inside the door. There was a quick pain, a twist in the gut like a fist punching muscle. Then she went numb, crossing the polished wood, bending down.
She opened the envelope as Finn came down behind her.
"Goddamn it." He took it from her limp fingers, and read.
He'll never hurt you again.
When they left the house, someone was watching, a heart bursting with love and need and terrible grief. Killing for her had been nothing. It had been done before, and needed to be done again.
Perhaps she would see, at last.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jeff stood in the control booth overlooking the studio, biting his lip in agitation. Deanna was about to film her first show since Angela's death.
"Camera Three, on Dee." He barked out orders. "Take Two, zoom out. Wider on One, pan. Give me Dee tight, Three, music in. Great, great applause.
Start the playback tape."
He applauded himself, as did the others in the booth. From their perch overlooking the stage they could see the audience surge to its feet and cheer.