Mr. Perfect Read online

  “How in hell can I cheat? You’re the one who blew into it!”

  “Then it’s wrong! It’s defective. We all drank the same amount, so how can I be over the limit when no one else is?”

  “They outweigh you,” he said patiently. “Luna’s pushing the edge, but she’s legal. You aren’t. I’ll drive you home.”

  Now she looked like a sulky kid. “Which vehicle are we going to leave here, yours or mine?”

  “Yours. Let it look as if Luna has company, if anyone checks the parking lot.”

  That argument got to her. She was still pouting, but after a minute she said, “Okay.” With only a little more trouble he got her bundled into his truck, where she promptly went back to sleep.

  She woke up enough to get into his house under her own power, but she stood glowering as he turned on the shower and began stripping himself, then her.

  “Did you intend to wash your hair?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then it won’t matter when I do this.” He picked her up and swung her into the shower, directly under the stream of water. She sputtered and coughed, but didn’t fight him. Instead she heaved a big sigh, as if the water felt good.

  After her hair was shampooed and rinsed, she said, “I’m not in a good mood.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I’m always cranky when I haven’t had enough sleep.”

  “Oh, is that the problem?” he asked dryly.

  “The biggest part. I’m usually very happy when I’ve had a few beers.”

  “You were happy last night. This morning is a different story.”

  “You think I have a hangover. I don’t. Well, a little headache, but not much. Just let this be a warning to you if you keep me from sleeping again tonight.”

  “I kept you from sleeping? I kept you from sleeping?” he repeated incredulously. “You are the same woman who shook me out of a sound sleep at two A.M. yesterday morning, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t shake you. I kind of bounced on you, but I didn’t shake you.”

  “Bounced,” he repeated.

  “You had a hard-on. I couldn’t let it go to waste, could I?”

  “You could have woke me up before you started not letting it go to waste.”

  “Look,” she said, exasperated, “if you don’t want it used, don’t lie on your back with it sticking up like that. If that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”

  “I was asleep. It does that on its own.” It was doing it on its own right now, as a matter of fact. It poked her in the stomach.

  She looked down … and smiled. It was a smile that made his testicles draw up in fear.

  With a sniff, she turned her back on him and ignored him as she finished showering.

  “Hey!” he said, to get her attention. Alarm was in his tone. “You aren’t going to let this one go to waste, are you?”

  They made it to the funeral home on time, but it was close. He drove her back to Luna’s to pick up her car, so if the killer was at the funeral, he wouldn’t see her getting out of Sam’s truck and figure out where she was staying. With the Cobra in his garage, he had to park the truck either in the driveway or in Jaine’s garage, which was a pain in the ass, since she didn’t have an automatic garage door opener.

  He was relaxed, and Jaine was in an infinitely more mellow mood, too. Medicinal sex was great stuff. She had managed to resist him for a full five minutes, but just when he was beginning to really sweat, she cuddled up to him with a sparkle in those blue eyes and whispered, “I’m feeling tense. I think I need relaxing.”

  She looked great, he thought, watching her from across the room. She wore a neat little navy suit that hit right at her knees, and sexy pumps. She had let him watch while she put on what she called her “funeral face.” Evidently women had a makeup strategy for every occasion. The eyeliner and mascara were waterproof, to head off smudges. No blush or foundation, just powder, because she would be hugging people and didn’t want to leave smears on their clothing. And kiss-proof lipstick in what she called a “discreet mauve,” though he had no idea what in hell mauve was. Her lipstick looked pinkish, but women couldn’t just say “pink.”

  Women were a different species. Aliens. That was the only explanation.

  Cheryl wore black and looked very dignified. Her husband had joined her, and stood beside her, holding her hand. T.J. wore a dark green suit, and her husband also attended with her. Mr. Yother was a trim, all-American type, with neat brown hair and regular features. He didn’t hold T.J.’s hand, and Sam noticed that T.J. didn’t look at him very often. There was trouble there, he thought.

  Luna wore a form-fitting column of red that hit her at mid-calf. She was, simply, beautiful. She walked over to join Jaine, and Sam moved closer, to hear what they were saying.

  “Marci loved red,” Jaine said, smiling at Luna and reaching for her hand. “I wish I had thought of it.”

  Luna’s lips trembled. “I wanted to send her off in style. This isn’t in bad taste, is it?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s great. Everyone who knew Marci will understand, and if they didn’t know Marci, then they don’t matter.”

  Roger Bernsen was there, trying to blend in. He didn’t do it very well, but he was trying. He didn’t come over to speak, but then, they weren’t here to socialize. They moved around, studying the crowd, listening to conversations.

  There were several blond men in attendance, but Sam carefully studied each one of them and none seemed to be paying any special attention to Jaine or the others. Most of them were with their wives. The killer could be married, he knew, and live a very normal life on the surface, but unless he was a stone-cold serial killer he would show some kind of emotion when faced with his handiwork, and his other targets.

  Sam didn’t think they were dealing with that kind of killer; the attacks were too personal, and too emotional, like someone out of control.

  He continued to watch all during the graveside service, which was mercifully brief. The heat was already stifling, though Cheryl had scheduled the service as early as possible to avoid the worst part of the day.

  He caught Bernsen’s eye, and Roger slowly shook his head. He hadn’t spotted anything either. Everything was being taped, and they would watch the film later, to see if there was anything they had missed, but Sam didn’t think there was. Damn it, he’d been certain the killer would attend.

  Cheryl was weeping a little, but mostly keeping it under control. Sam saw Jaine blot her eyes with the edge of a folded tissue: more female strategy to preserve the makeup. He didn’t think his sisters knew all these tricks.

  A pretty, slender woman in a black dress approached Cheryl and was extending her condolences when she suddenly broke down and collapsed in Cheryl’s startled arms, sobbing. “I just can’t believe it,” she wept. “The office isn’t the same without her.”

  T.J. and Luna moved closer to Jaine, both of them eyeing the woman with “what’s going on?” expressions. Sam walked over, too. People were grouping in clusters, politely ignoring the emotional storm, so he wouldn’t be conspicuous doing the same thing.

  “I might have known Leah would play this for all she’s worth,” T.J. muttered in disgust. “She’s a drama queen,” she added, for Sam’s benefit. “She’s in my department, and she does this on a regular basis. Give her something the least bit upsetting and she turns it into a tragedy.”

  Jaine was watching the display in disbelief, her eyes wide. She shook her head and said mournfully, “The wheel’s still going around, but her hamster’s dead.”

  T.J. choked on a bark of laughter and tried to turn it into a cough. She quickly turned her back, her face red as she tried to control herself. Luna was biting her lower lip, but a snicker broke through and she, too, had to turn her back to the scene. Sam covered his mouth with his hand, but his shoulders were shaking. Maybe people would think he was crying.

  A red dress! The bitch wore a red dress. Corin couldn’t believe his eyes. That