Hurley pulls me closer and wraps a hand around the back of my head. Then he launches a full-frontal lip assault. Our mouths collide in a deliciously sensual lock and then his second hand is at the small of my back, pulling me into him. As his tongue starts a gentle probe, I feel the hot, throbbing parts of him against my own. My nipples jump to attention and I cop a cheap feel by rubbing my chest ever so slightly over his.
And then I hear an “Ahem” behind us.
Suddenly all that wonderful heat is gone as Hurley breaks his lip-lock and steps back, away from me. The action leaves me breathless, longing, slightly befuddled, and a tad pissed off. I look to Hurley for an answer and see that his eyes are no longer focused on me, but rather behind me. I turn and find Izzy standing there wearing a smirk nearly as wide as he is tall.
“I’d offer the two of you a private room,” Izzy says. “But I’m afraid the best I can come up with on such short notice is the morgue fridge. And not only are those tables kind of uncomfortable, I’m afraid the two of you would thaw out all the bodies.”
“Sorry,” Hurley mumbles, adjusting his pants in a vain attempt to hide the conspicuous bulge that has sprung up.
“No need to apologize,” Izzy says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But we are about to get started in the other room so if you want to attend, you might want to get yourselves together and head that way.”
“Be right there,” Hurley says.
Izzy turns and leaves the room. I look back at Hurley, expecting him to appear embarrassed or chagrined, but instead he’s wearing a smirk.
“So, was my reason good enough for you?” he says.
“Huh?”
“Did I persuade you?”
“Persuade me?” My mind can’t seem to wrap itself around what he’s asking because it’s still muddled up in a haze of glorious sensations and raging hormones.
Hurley shakes his head at me. “How quickly they forget,” he says. “You asked me to give you one good reason why you shouldn’t date Aaron Heinrich. So I’m asking you, was my reason good enough?”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, that.”
I lick my lips, relishing the lingering taste of him there. “Yeah,” I say, giving him a silly-assed grin. “I’d say you made your, um, point”—I shoot a salacious glance toward his crotch—“exceedingly well. Now you better find a way to make it go away or Easton Heinrich might think you’re coming on to him.”
“Want to help me?”
Oh, boy. Suddenly the Heinrich/Conklin fiasco doesn’t seem so interesting. But before I can answer, the main door to the office opens and two cops stroll in: Junior Feller and Larry Johnson.
At first I think the presence of the cops means the families in the other room must have gotten out of hand already, but the relaxed manner of Junior and Larry as they stroll into the room suggests otherwise.
“Hey, Steve,” Larry says, acknowledging him with a nod. He looks at me and his voice warms up several degrees as he says, “Good to see you again, Mattie.”
Hurley doesn’t miss the subtle change in Larry’s tone, but even if he did, the puppy-dog eyes Larry has every time he looks at me is a dead giveaway.
“What are you guys doing here?” Hurley asks, his tone gruff.
Junior says, “Izzy called us and wanted us to stand by. He said he’s got some news to deliver to that nutcase family that went bonkers at the hospital the other day and he wanted some backup on hand just in case.”
“Probably a smart idea,” I say.
Hurley puffs out his chest a bit and says, “I think I can handle things on my own.”
Apparently I’m not the only one whose hormones got a workout during that kiss. Clearly Hurley has more testosterone than brains at the moment. Not only do the Heinriches and Conklins have him clearly outnumbered, they’re also nuttier than squirrel shit. After working in the ER for a number of years, I can vouch for the added strength insanity imbues in people.
As soon as Hurley throws down his awkward gauntlet, a deafening silence fills the room. Larry, who is known for his painful bluntness and lack of verbal filters, remains thankfully quiet and continues to just stand there making moon eyes at me.
Junior, who is a bit more tactful, finally breaks the silence and says, “Oh, I’m sure you can, Steve. But to be honest, we want to be in on whatever’s going down. One of those crazy-assed Heinrich women nailed me in the cojones the other day during that melee at the hospital. And from what Izzy told us, the Heinriches aren’t going to be very happy with what he has to tell them. So personally, I’d like to be here. I can’t wait to see their hopes get crushed into tiny little pieces.”
Yikes! I make a mental note to never do anything that will piss Junior off.
Hurley ponders Junior’s request for a moment, and then says, “Okay, after you.” He gestures toward the door to the back part of the office and Junior and Larry head that way. I fall in behind them with Hurley bringing up the rear. As soon as the two cops are through the door, I pause, turn over my shoulder, and whisper to Hurley.
“Is it safe to let you walk behind me?”
He grins and arches his left eyebrow at me. “Absolutely not.”
Ride ’em, cowboy!
Chapter 37
The “conference room” is actually the library since it’s the only space other than the morgue fridge big enough to hold this many people, and Hurley and I already have dibs on that other room. As we enter the library, a cacophony of noise greets us. Everyone is talking to everyone else and most of the voices are a mere gnat’s ass away from shouting. Hurley’s little pup tent is safe, assuming it’s still up, because our entry into the room goes unnoticed by everyone other than Izzy.
Larry and Junior hang out by the door, leaning against the wall. Hurley and I make our way to the head of the table and take the two empty chairs, me next to Izzy and Hurley between me and Grace Heinrich. I take a moment to observe the rest of the group. Grace and Katrina are seated to our left and Easton is seated at the opposite end of the table. On the other side are Sarah and Tom Conklin, with Aaron at the end near his brother.
Grace is leaning across the table lecturing Sarah about the importance of family heritage. Sarah is lecturing right back at her about the ills of greediness and how righteous it is to share. Katrina is mostly listening to this exchange, though she punctuates her sister’s comments periodically with “Damn right!” and “You know it’s true!”
Farther down, Easton is leaning in front of his brother and shaking a finger in Tom’s face, ordering him to “just give it up, put your tail between your legs, and go the hell home.”
Aaron, once again the cool, detached observer in the group, is smiling past his brother’s arm at me. I hear Hurley mutter, “Asshole,” under his breath and know he hasn’t missed the focus of Aaron’s attention.
Izzy makes a couple of attempts to get the attention of everyone, but his efforts are wasted. It’s not until Hurley cuts loose with a shrill whistle that the conversations cease and everyone’s attention shifts to the head of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Izzy says.
“Cut the crap and just get on with it,” Easton snaps. Judging from the red roadmap I can see running over his eyeballs, I guess his blood is somewhere around ninety proof about now. “Which one of them died first?”
Izzy nervously shuffles the folder of papers in front of him. I know the others in the room probably think he has autopsy results in there, but I know otherwise.