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“Jaclyn. Is something wrong?”
Startled, she took the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it were inhabited by aliens. It was one thing for her mother to answer the phone with a question, because after all she would recognize the number and know who was calling, but she’d never called Eric before. Cautiously she put the phone back to her ear. “How did you know who it was?”
“I recognized the number.”
“I’ve never called you before.”
“No, but I’ve called you. Remember the occasion? I was inside you almost before your back hit the mattress.”
A tidal wave of heat washed over her, because, yes, oh God yes, she remembered. She might want to forget, but in that moment physical memory was stronger and her flesh relived the feel of him pushing into her, thick and hot and deep. She vividly felt his arms around her again, his chest hair roughly rubbing her nipples, his hands gripping her bottom and lifting her into each thrust. Every muscle inside her tightened as if she was holding him again, clamping down around him as she came. Her nipples tightened on their own, standing out as flushed and firm as if he’d been sucking on them.
“I—” she said, then fell silent because there was nothing she could say, no rebuttal she could make. What had happened, happened. She squeezed her eyes shut and her legs tightly together, trying to make the ache go away.
“Yes,” he said roughly, his tone making it plain he was reliving his own moments. “You.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. She’d never understood the charm of phone sex until that moment, and this was a damn poor time for it, too. “Ah … someone, a woman, called Mom yesterday and said she was an old college friend and we were supposed to get together
for drinks—” She was blabbering. She stopped, took another breath. “Anyway, Mom told her where I’d be last night. And, no, I haven’t been in touch with any old college friends about having drinks.”
“Caller ID?” he asked sharply, evidently making the transition from pleasure to business a lot more smoothly than she had.
“No, it was on the office phone. Mom said something about having the call traced. We don’t have caller ID on the office line.”
He muttered something that she doubted was complimentary, then said, “Okay, find out what time the call came in. We’ll get the ball rolling with the phone company.”
“It was a woman. That knocks a hole in your theory about the gray-haired man trying to kill me, doesn’t it?”
“No, in fact, it doesn’t. Look, I really need you to look at some photographs. If you can’t come here, tell me where you’ll be and I’ll bring them to you.”
A sense of alarm seized her at the words “come here.” Surely he wasn’t—
“Ah … where are you?”
“At work.”
Her face heated as she thought of what he’d said. Had anyone heard him?
“Don’t worry, no one’s near enough to eavesdrop,” he said in amusement. “Can you come now?”
She didn’t know what devil seized her, but she did know that payback was sweet. “Almost,” she murmured, and listened to the sudden fumbling and background cursing as he dropped his cell phone.
Garvey approached Eric’s desk, some papers in hand. “The senator’s alibied tighter than Dick’s hatband,” he said in disgust. “He was at a fund-raiser, with Mrs. Dennison, in Savannah last night. It lasted until midnight. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“He might not have done it, but he had it done,” Eric growled. “The fucker screwed up. If he’d just left it alone, we didn’t have enough on him to get a search warrant, but he was afraid Jaclyn could identify him. Now we’re going to look real hard at his girlfriend. Jaclyn just called; a woman pretending to be an old friend called her business yesterday, and her mother told the woman where Jaclyn would be. That was a puzzle, figuring out how anyone knew where Jaclyn would be at any given time, but the answer was simple.”
“The girlfriend.”
“Yep.” Eric pulled up some information on his computer. “Atlanta P.D. sent over their ballistic report. They found one bullet in the Jag’s upholstery; the other one went through the passenger door. The weight of the bullet is consistent with a nine millimeter. Ms. Taite Boyne is registered as the owner of a Glock 26, which is a subcompact nine millimeter.”
“If she’s smart, that pistol is at the bottom of Lake Lanier.”
“Problem is, she thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. People like that make stupid mistakes. We’ll trace the call to Premier’s office, see what pops. Maybe she used her cell phone.”
“She can toss that, too, say it was stolen.”
“Pistol and cell phone both come up missing? I’d say that’s suspicious behavior. Anyway, she might have been smart enough to use a calling card, so we can’t bank on the call leading directly to her. But the Atlanta P.D. didn’t find any shell casings at the scene last night, which means they ejected inside the car. There may be scorch marks, gunpowder residue in the car, on the steering wheel from contact with her hands. At any rate, it’ll be interesting to see if she has an alibi for last night.”
Garvey rubbed his hands together. “I love it when all the details fall in place,” he said happily.
