Undercover Connection, page 12
“I think...” she murmured, and he leaned closer, as if to hear her. His lips were almost upon hers again, his body was all but touching hers. To her amazement, she almost smiled, and she said softly, “Oh, screw this!”
She moved back into his arms. She was tall, but she moved up on tiptoe, the length of her body against his. She moved her mouth that one inch closer, found his lips and kissed him, parting his mouth, delving deep within it with her tongue, initiating all. She was stunned by her own movements, but more so by the depth of the longing and desire that was sweeping through her.
The kiss deepened and deepened. She pressed closer to him, flush against him, and felt his hands travel down the length of her body. The kiss broke, and he eased back slightly.
She felt she was panting like an idiot, and he had moved away. A flush of heat broke over her, and her limbs began to tremble. She had to force herself to bring her eyes to his, but when she did, she saw he was still watching her, intensely alert. He smiled slightly and said, “Ummmm.” He was still holding her, and then he arched a brow and whispered, “Oh, screw this.”
He swept her up, higher, into his arms. His mouth found hers again, but he moved as he kissed her, across the floor, toward the apartment bedroom. In seconds, they were lying down together on the bed. He braced himself over her, and said softly, “Only if it’s what you really want.”
She smiled. His pausing to question her, to be very sure, added to her sense of attraction and desperation.
She reached out, drawing his face down to hers again. She replied with her hands on his face, caressing his face as she drew him to her. “Yes. So much.” They kissed again...just kissed, and then he straddled above her, doffing his jacket. The Glock he carried was evident then, and he reached back for the gun and holster, leaning over to set them on the dresser.
He looked down at her a moment.
“Mine’s inside the bedside drawer, to the left,” she told him. Now they both knew where to reach if they were threatened in any way at any time.
That solved, he struggled from his shirt; she rose up to help him. He was still in trousers, socks and shoes. He halfway rolled from her, divesting his clothing, and she slipped out of the cool knit dress she’d been wearing, as well as her bra and panties.
To her surprise, he suddenly made an urgent sound, almost like a growl, rising to meet her again.
Naked flesh against naked flesh, he whispered, “So wrong of me. I knew the moment I saw you on the runway that you were extraordinary, you were grace and laughter and beauty, and I wanted you, but I didn’t know what it would mean when I knew you...”
When his mouth found hers again, she felt the burn that had teased her lips become something of a raging wildfire that snaked down the length of her body. She allowed herself to roam free with her hands, loving the curve of his shoulders, the clench of muscle in his shoulders and down his back. She felt his body harden against her own, and she couldn’t wrap herself tightly enough to him, to be both almost in his skin and touch him just the same.
They fell back on the bed together and she lay on top of him, landing kisses on his neck and his shoulders, the hard planes of his stomach, and moving lower against his body.
His hands grabbed her back, and they flipped in the bed. His mouth fell upon her throat and her breasts and lingered and teased and caressed. Those kisses continued downward, and she arched and writhed against him, finding his flesh and returning each touch of passion and hunger and longing.
She thought she would burn to a cinder, she was so alive, burning with a need unlike anything she’d ever known, wanting the play to go on forever, yet desperate that something be touched, that he be within her, as well.
And then he was, and they were moving, and moving, and moving...
They rolled, their lips melded together again and the rock of his hips was incredible. The sense of him within her was almost more than she could bear, the absolute sweetness, the rise of that fire, that longing to be ever more a part of him. Rising...and bursting out upon her like a flow of liquid gold.
The night seemed to sweep in all around her for long moments as she felt little bits of ecstasy shoot through her, ebbing bit by incredible bit, until she felt the damp sheen of their flesh, still so taut together, the rise and fall of her breath, the rock-hard pounding of her heart. And him, still holding her, still clinging in the darkness to the awesome beauty of what had been. So real, flesh and blood and pulse and their gasps for air...
They didn’t speak at first; they just breathed.
And then he whispered softly, “I don’t think I’ll be putting that in the report.”
She smiled and turned to him. “I understand you’re often by the book. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” He straddled her again, catching her hands and leaning low, his eyes alight with humor and tenderness. “Ah, my dear Detective Adair. It is I who must ask forgiveness. On second thought, no. Can’t ask forgiveness. This was—”
“Incredible,” she whispered.
“More than incredible. I don’t know the words... Maybe there are none.”
She pulled him back to her, and the kiss they shared was sweet and tender, and still, she knew, could arouse again at any second.
He pulled away and got out of bed suddenly. Light from the living room swept into the bedroom and she could see the full leanly muscled perfection of his tightly honed body in the doorway. He wasn’t self-conscious as he padded out to the living room. Curious, she rose up on an arm.
Then he was back, every movement sleek and fluid, and he fell down beside her again. “Checking the door,” he murmured.
“There’s still someone out there?” she asked.
“Sitting by the pool. We’ll order in,” he told her.
He moved toward her and she jumped back suddenly, stricken. She’d been so enraptured with the man she’d been lucky enough to come to know that she had all but forgotten this wasn’t an ordinary job.
She was looking for Mary. And even though Mary still seemed beyond her reach...
“Kari!” she exclaimed. “I’m worried, Jacob. What about Kari—and Mr. Connor?”
“I’ll call in,” he assured her. He found his jacket where he’d flung it earlier and dug his phone out of the pocket. After a minute, he had the info.
“Kari is back at her apartment.”
“She’s all right? And they’re back inside?”
“Just Kari is back at her place. Connor took her out for a steak dinner and then a moonlit stroll on the beach. Then he brought her home. He left shortly, a smile on his face.”
“Oh,” Jasmine said. “Jacob, you don’t think she’ll be in any trouble with the gang for...for not sleeping with him?”
“No, I don’t think she’ll be in trouble.”
Jasmine was still unsure. “He’s being watched, Jasmine. Kari will be okay. Someone will get to Connor soon enough.”
“Kari was worried though. I think she felt something was off. And I can’t forget about Mary...”
“We’ll find Mary. I swear it,” he told her.
She believed him. And miraculously, she could move forward with her own night, grateful that the young blonde woman was all right. For now.
And there was nothing they could do. Not for the night.
She moved forward, catching his face, looking up into the dazzling blue of his eyes. “Thank you.”
He kissed her again, that tender kiss... But the kiss deepened, and then it began to travel, and he was kissing her breasts again, affording each the most tender caresses, and her belly and thighs, bringing that erotic fire with every touch.
She let the night seize her again, and she returned his caresses, unable to stop seeking more and more of him, know the taste of his skin, the taste of him.
They embraced tightly, and he was within her, and they rolled, and she was atop him, and this time they laughed and teased and whispered.
And then they lay together again, just breathing, still afrire, savoring the beauty of the darkness of the night, the coolness of the sheets beneath their bodies.
She was the one to sit up and straddle him this time.
He smiled, catching her hands with his. “Leave it to a cop to always want to be on top.” He rolled her over, covering her with his body.
“And leave it to a Fed to think he must be in control.”
“This Fed,” he said softly, “is just happy to be with you.”
She smiled back at him, wishing that the night would never end; that this was all they needed in reality and that the world would go away.
It could not.
He rolled from her, standing. “Food—we need to order food.”
“I am hungry,” she agreed.
She leaped out of bed, reaching to the foot of it for the caftan robe she kept there. He found his boxers but bothered with nothing else. He was already out in the living room, his phone drawn from his pocket. He looked at her. “I have a delivery service so, Chinese, Indian, Italian... Steaks? Seafood? What’s your pleasure?”
You are my pleasure! she thought.
She managed not to say it out loud. “I’m easy. Food-wise,” she added quickly. “Anything.”
“Wow. I found one with pizza and champagne. Now there’s an interesting combo. But I don’t think that champagne... Not tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she agreed.
It was one thing to be drunk on desire when you were supposed to be drunk on desire. But quite another to have anything that might alter the mind with a goon outside on the porch.
“I don’t believe we’re in any danger, but I’ve seen things change quickly,” he told her. “Ah, Thai food!”
“Perfect.”
She stood near him and looked over his shoulder as he went through the offerings. They decided on one noodle dish and one rice dish.
Jasmine suddenly felt extremely awkward.
“Coffee!” she said. “I should make some coffee.”
She started to walk into the kitchen. He caught her arm and pulled her back to him, holding her there, looking into her eyes. “Please, don’t go away from me,” he said softly.
She knew he didn’t mean she shouldn’t go into the kitchen and make coffee.
“I...it sounds like a line,” she told him, “but I’ve never...in my life...just done this so quickly... I guess I don’t know how to act.”
“And I hope you believe me. I’ve always drawn a line. Until tonight.”
She stood on her toes and kissed his lips lightly. “I won’t go away,” she promised.
She made coffee; Thai food arrived. Jacob made a point of answering the door still clad just in his boxers. He was careful to double-bolt the door again, and then to bring his Glock back out to sit on the table while they ate.
“You know, I’m a damned good markswoman,” she told him.
He smiled at her. “I’d expect no less.” He picked at a strand of the noodles. “Oh, by the way, Kozak gave you to me today.” His smiled deepened as he saw her stiffen. “Sorry. All in a role.”
She hesitated. “But in truth, I give myself where I choose.”
“And so do I,” he told her.
She laughed softly. Much of the Thai food went uneaten; they wound up laughing over a noodle they had both chosen.
And then they wound up in one another’s arms again.
* * *
THERE WAS A knock on the door.
Jacob rolled out of bed, instantly awake. He grabbed his trousers and then his gun. Jasmine followed him out of bed in a flash, slipping on a robe, going for her own weapon.
He took a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand: 9:00 a.m. He headed out of the bedroom quickly, with Jasmine on his heels.
But one look out the peephole had Jacob unlocking the door. “It’s all right. A friend,” he told her.
Jorge stepped in, looked at both of them and then smiled.
“Method acting!” he said. “I like it. Just wondering what the hell took you two so long.”
Chapter Ten
The funeral service was long. Speaking in Russian, the priest delivered the service with all respect and care—while the man might have known about Smirnoff and his deeds, he didn’t judge when it came time for a man to meet his Maker. It was actually beautiful, though Jacob was sure many in the congregation had no idea what was being said.
Victor Kozak gave an emotional speech about his friend, and he did so in English for the benefit of the mourners who had gathered.
Many had come out to pay their respects—not so many would be invited to the celebration of life that would come later, at the club. Equally, not so many would travel with the funeral train that would follow the hearse to the cemetery.
Jacob had spoken with his Miami counterpart, Dean Jenkins. He knew agents were already waiting at the cemetery.
It would be a fine day for an attempt on Victor Kozak’s life.
Jenkins also filled him in on what was happening with events at the morgue, and with the local crime scene technicians.
“They identified one of the dead men, from the hand they got out of the alligator’s gullet. Ain’t technology great? Although, to be honest, it wasn’t fingerprints or anything like that. One of my guys working in Little Havana recognized the ring.
“The victim was Leonardo Gonzalez—an undocumented Venezuelan immigrant. He and a few of his fellows had traveled through Mexico and, according to our agent, onto a cruise ship and into Miami. He’d been a contract killer at home and was looking for work in Little Havana. He was happy to work for anyone but was looking for connections in the Little Havana area because he didn’t speak any English.
“Anyway...according to our sources, he was the kind of really bad guy taking serious advantage of the criminal activity going on down there right now, but he might have crossed another crime lord, meaning it was time for him to get out. But he had his own little gang. I’m working under the assumption our other two headless bodies are associates of his.”
“Thanks—Anything new on Donald McPherson Connor?”
“We followed him. He was a perfect gentleman with the young lady. And he left her at her door. An agent is still outside. He could have followed Connor, or he could have kept his eye on her. He chose to protect the one we know to be an innocent. Anyway, we have a new crew out on the streets today. Oh, they’re checking in at your art gallery, too, making sure that Special Agent Partridge is doing okay.”
“Thanks. Hey, should I be getting a new phone?”
“Not to worry, I’m listed as a local artist. You any closer?” Jenkins asked him.
“I don’t know. I’m going to see what happens at the funeral.”
They ended their call, and Jacob joined the mourners, making himself one with Ivan Petrov and the three goons.
Jasmine was not invited to this part of the day; she would be at the club, preparing to work with the food and drinks that would be served. He tried not to worry. He knew she was an accomplished policewoman, and he believed she was an excellent markswoman. She was also vulnerable, though he had warned her that she should be wary at all times—and armed if any way possible.
She knew that, of course.
Kozak hadn’t asked Jacob to drive to the cemetery; he wanted him next to him in his car, behind the driver, who would be Antonovich.
Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Kozak was afraid that Antonovich could shoot them both if Jacob was driving—he’d be easy prey for a man sitting behind him.
They arrived safely at the cemetery. It was just west of the downtown area known as Calle Ocho. The cemetery had recently joined with two different companies that had been offering funeral arrangements and grave sites since the 1850s back in Cuba. It was at the edge of a neighborhood close to downtown known as Little Havana.
But like most of Miami, anyone and everyone might be here.
They entered through Gothic arches. The grounds were sweeping, well tended and beautiful. Trees cast shady spots everywhere, and the park stretched for long blocks. They drove around a winding trail until they reached the canopy that stood over the area where the body of Josef Smirnoff would be laid to rest.
The cars parked; Jacob got out and waited for Kozak to emerge from the car, as well. He looked around. A lovely marble angel stood guard over a nearby family lot; a small family mausoleum stood about fifty yards away. Another, about a hundred yards farther out.
They were under a gracious old oak, near to a grouping of military headstones. Down a bit farther was a large concrete memorial to a man who had been a Mason and with the Mahi Shrine. His memorial gave witness to the fact that he had spent forty years as a Shriner, dedicating his time to raising funds for the children’s hospital.
Probably a great guy. Right now, Jacob had to be certain that his memorial wasn’t hiding a sniper.
He continued his scan of the area. The large mausoleum with its beautiful stained-glass windows, known to house many, many bodies, was perhaps a hundred yards behind them. A great place for a sniper to hide.
He reminded himself that the Miami agents knew this cemetery, where to be and where to watch.
And still he was on high alert.
“There, Mr. Kozak,” Antonovich said, coming around to Kozak’s side. “The chairs in front, sir. Those are for you and those who were close to Josef.”
Sticking to Kozak’s side like a piece of lint, Jacob led the man to the chairs.
Josef Smirnoff might not have been a cold-blooded killer, but he sure as hell had been a criminal. Victor Kozak had taken over from him, and while he might not be a cold-blooded killer either, he was also a major criminal.
But the showing of respectable people at the cemetery was large enough; the local news media brought trucks to the winding road that led through the very large cemetery—another place for a shooter to hide. Politicians and other respectable citizens arrived to say goodbye to Smirnoff.
