Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(43)
Reyes squeezed me to him again and whispered, “Fucking hell.”
I agreed. And I was not ready to let him go. Not just yet.
Instead of getting dressed, he lifted me off the desk and sat down with me still straddling him. With him still inside me.
“Kiss me,” he said, in yet another command I was willing to obey. But just this once.
I felt his smile behind the kiss as I pressed my mouth to his.
I pulled back and licked my lips. Then smacked them and licked them again. “You taste like cotton candy.”
He pleasured me again with a satiated grin. “Do I?”
“You do.”
He licked his own lips and put his head back in thought. “You taste like—”
“Pot roast?” I offered.
He chuckled.
“Chiles rellenos? Cinnamon rolls? Battery acid? I’ve got to stop eating those things.”
“Salt,” he said at last. “From the sea.”
“From Scotland?”
He nodded, and I burrowed closer.
“I can’t believe I’ve been to Scotland. Think about all the plane fare we’re going to save. Oh, I think we should name your penis the Vampire Lestat.”
“Really? I was thinking Angry Johnny.”
I stifled a giggle. “Maybe we should sleep on it.”
As we sat there, the door opened, just barely, and a hand slid inside and dropped a set of keys on a side table. My keys. Reyes must have had Garrett pick up Misery. That’d save me a trip.
“Thanks, Garrett!” I called out.
He gave me a thumbs-up and closed the door.
“How do you suppose he knew we were performing sexual favors on each other?” I asked, snuggling against my man again.
“Possibly because you screamed my name about seven times.”
I bolted upright and gaped at him.
He’d brought out his most wicked grin. “But that’s just a guess.”
11
I never said I’d die without coffee. I said other people would.
—MEME
After Cookie picked Amber up from school, she and I went over everything she’d found out so far about the Fosters before going home. She’d hit a brick wall, but apparently she had a friend on it. I didn’t know she had any friends.
But she did find out about the other two adoptions that the shady adoption agency, the Divine Intervention, filed paperwork for.
“Okay,” she said, handing me a sheet of paper, “they were both adopted in Albuquerque. One boy and one girl. The boy died a few years ago in a fire. The fire inspector ruled it arson, but they never found who did it.” She pointed to the other name. “And this one. The girl. She’s your age and still living here. Oh, and I also found whose name was on the lease for the building.”
She handed me that information as well.
“Thanks, Cook.”
She seemed tired, and that worried me. Cookie didn’t get tired.
“How is Uncle Bob?”
She shrugged. “Not living with me.”
“He moved out?” I asked, shocked.
“No, I mean emotionally. It’s like he hasn’t really been home in days.”
I covered her hand with mine. “It’s a case, Cook. Classic symptoms. I promise you.”
She nodded and went home early. I went to see a girl about a building.
*
The woman who’d leased the building the adoption agent worked out of lived in Taylor Ranch, so I headed that way despite the hour. Nothing sucked the life out of a day like rush-hour traffic. Fortunately, it wasn’t that bad. The woman, a Karen Claffey, lived off Montano in a small white stucco with faded plastic flowers lining the drive.
I knocked on the door and heard a small dog barking inside when a car pulled up. A woman in her fifties got out and went around to her trunk to grab her groceries.
I smiled and waved as she walked from her drive to the front door. “Hi. Karen Claffey?”
She nodded and shifted her bags to get the door open.
“My name is Charley Davidson. I’m a private investigator looking into the Divine Intervention Adoption Agency, and—”
“I don’t know anything about that.” Her brusqueness threw me, but only for a moment.
“Really?” I took out the file. “According to city records, you leased the building the agency worked out of.”
“Not me. I don’t know anything about it.”
If she had a sign around her neck, it would be flashing LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE.
“No problem. But I should probably warn you, I’m working with APD on this. I have to turn in my findings, so they might show up in the next couple of days. Just routine stuff. Nothing to worry about.” I started toward Misery. “Have a good day.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that agency.”
“Excuse me?”
Annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of fear washed out of her. “It wasn’t me. They just put the lease in my name on account of I went to their church and we became friends.”
“Who, Mrs. Claffey?”
“Eve and Abraham. The Fosters. They needed the building but didn’t want it in their names.”
I stepped back to her. “Did they say why?”