And neither did Rocky.
He didn’t even speak once they got to his room. He quickly shed his jacket and holster, and then she was in his arms. They kissed and stripped until their clothing was strewn along a path to the bed. She pushed him down on the bed, then straddled him and began to ease down his body, her hair fluttering over his skin, her lips teasing his flesh and every erotic zone. He rose against her, pulling her into his arms, pulling her down and locking them together. They stared into each other’s eyes and began to move, until sheer physical pleasure swept away the events of the day and everything that had ever come between them.
He lay against her and whispered in her ear―teasing, sexual things―and his breath was hot and damp and it felt as if they had barely finished before they began again. She caressed his face as they moved together, loving its lines and planes. She writhed against him and wondered if it was possible to hang on to this world where they were one, or if the best she could do was to cling tightly to this feeling while it lasted. His body was slick and hard, and the way he whispered to her was arousing all by itself, and when they climaxed together in an explosion of heat, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.
After that they just lay together. She heard the beat of his heart and reveled in the security she felt as he held her and she held him in return.
She had never in her life slept so well as she did that night.
*
In the morning Devin found a note on the table next to a large pot of coffee. It told her to come to the suite next door. “Went into your room already—no new ‘gifts’ today. Cameras are working in the elevators and hallways. No visitors during the night—oh, and the maids are around, so dress to be seen.”
She smiled, but she didn’t need to go to her room. Rocky had brought back her things; she just had to shower and dress.
Before she did so, to be safe, she dead-bolted the door.
*
When she knocked on the door of the Krewe suite, a cup of coffee in hand, she was let in by Angela. Rocky was bent over a computer, watching as Jane worked. A printer was busily spewing out pictures.
They were, she realized, of everyone who had attended their party the night before.
Rocky looked up at her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said.
“Are you any good at research?” Angela asked her.
“Not too bad,” Devin said. “I used to be a reporter.”
Rocky straightened. “Jenna and I are heading out. I want to stop by the bar to speak with the staff again. They should be around even if they don’t open till lunch. She’s going to join Sam at the courthouse, where he’s checking on Vince’s records and activities over the past few years, especially in relation to his work as an attorney. On his way he dropped off the glasses at the lab for fingerprint analysis. I want the three of you to do some genealogical research, see what you can find online, check out some of the local archives.”
Devin nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Sure.” She turned to Angela. “So what are we researching exactly?”
“We’re going to find out who might have been related to Margaret Nottingham, the Myles family, and who the someone might have been who killed her. Then, we’re going to try and figure out if she was killed because someone loved her, was afraid because of her—or, perhaps, afraid of her.”
“Big order for the day!” Devin said.
“Yes,” Angela agreed. “So....” She stood up. “Jane?”
“Last of the pictures coming off now,” Jane said.
“Okay, Jenna and I are out of here, then,” Rocky said, collecting the pictures.
Rocky waved to Devin and then they were gone. She noticed that he hadn’t specifically warned her to stay with Angela and Jane.
Trained agents.
Who carried guns.
He seemed to have faith in her intelligence.
That or her natural instinct to survive.
Because she had no intention of going anywhere alone.
*
The bar staff were indeed getting ready for lunch, but the same crew wasn’t on and Rocky could have kicked himself. He should have known that.
But the day manager, Tilda Merton, was a pleasant and cooperative woman who immediately understood his need. She was clearly rattled that the last victim had been in the bar shortly before her death, and that her phone had disappeared there.
She had taken Rocky back to the office to obtain the phone numbers he needed of the employees who had been on the night of Barbara Benton’s death, so he could call and make arrangements to show them his stack of photographs.
“It must have been planned, don’t you think?” Tilda asked. “I mean...someone must have taken her phone so she’d have to come back for it. It’s scary, knowing that guy—that killer—is still out there. It’s still daylight when I get off, but my husband comes to get me.”