The Ex. BEVERLY BARTON
Cortez paused, did a double-take, then glared at Griffin.
“I see you already have a guest,” Quinn said. “Did I get the time wrong? Was our appointment for later?”
“No, you’re here right on time,” Griffin replied. “Ms. Vanderley was a few minutes early.”
“What’s she doing here?” Kendall asked.
Annabelle’s gaze connected with Quinn’s. An odd sensation hit her in the pit of her stomach. His gaze was not friendly; it even bordered on hostile, but she couldn’t look away.
“It seems that Ms. Vanderley is in need of a private investigator, just as Mr. Cortez is,” Griffin explained. “Imagine my surprise when I realized that both of my prospective clients want the same murder investigated.”
“I see,” Kendall said. “So you decided to meet with both Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez and see who’s willing to bid the highest for your services.”
“Humph.” The sound that came from Griffin was a combination of amused chuckle and disgusted irritation.
“I think you insulted Mr. Griffin,” Quinn told Kendall. “Perhaps you should apologize.”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll say I’m sorry.” Kendall shot Quinn a withering glare, then focused on Griffin with glowering intensity. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re wrong,” Griffin told her, a cold, indifferent expression on his face. “I set up this meeting to see if Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez would be willing to work together to find Lulu Vanderley’s murderer.”
“You what?” Kendall glanced back and forth from Quinn to Annabelle, then said to Griffin, “You’re suggesting that they both hire you and the two of them join forces to track down Lulu’s murderer. Is that correct?”
“No, I—I don’t think that would work,” Annabelle said. The last thing she wanted was to spend anymore time with Quinn Cortez than she already had.
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Kendall asked. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“But only if Ms. Vanderley believes I’m innocent,” Quinn said as he walked toward the sofa. Stopping when he was less than two feet away from Annabelle, he looked right at her. “And you’re not sure, are you? You believe there’s a possibility that I killed your cousin.”
Aaron shoved the naked girl over and positioned her so that she had to catch herself from falling by bracing her open palms flat against the bed. While she gasped and shivered, he ran his hand over her sleek butt, then lifted his penis and rammed it into her. Damn, what a feeling. Grasping her hips, he maneuvered her back and forth, quickly increasing the speed and the pressure. Their naked flesh slapped together and that friction combined with her feminine moisture created a smacking sound. Despite the fact that this was their third time tonight, he was on the verge of coming. But hell, he was twenty-six and hadn’t been with a woman in weeks. He’d built up a lot of steam and it was going to take awhile to blow it off.
The louder her grunts and groans, the more excited he became, the closer to losing it. He slid his arm around her, eased his hand between her legs and fingered her clitoris. Within a couple of minutes, she keened deep in her throat, then cried out when her climax hit. That was all it took to send him over the edge.
In the aftermath, sweaty and panting, they fell across the bed. As he lay there looking up at the dark ceiling, he sighed. He’d met Gala in a downtown bar this evening and they’d hit it off from the first hello. It had taken him all of thirty minutes to talk her into coming back to his apartment with him. They’d practically ripped off each other’s clothes the minute they got here and he’d humped her on the sofa the first time. The second time had been an hour later and he’d taken the missionary position, with her lying under him in bed.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“I don’t think I have anything,” he told her as he worked the condom off his deflated penis and dropped it on a magazine lying on the floor beside the bed. “I’ve been out of town and haven’t had a chance to restock.”
Gala cuddled up against him. “Do you really work for Quinn Cortez?”
“Yeah, I really do.” He reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket up and over them, covering him to just above his waist and her to the top of her tits.
“And you were with him in Nashville during the Terry McBryar case?”
“Every day he was there, I was there. I told you, I’m part of his personal staff.”
“What’s it like being that close to a man like Quinn Cortez?” She curled several strands of his chest hair around her index finger. “I mean the guy’s like famous and all.”
Gala wasn’t the first woman he’d impressed by telling her that he worked for Quinn and she sure wouldn’t be the last. He’d told Quinn about using his name to get chicks and his boss had just laughed and said, “If it gets you laid, go for it.” Quinn was that kind of guy. When it came to scoring with a woman, nothing was off-limits. All was fair in love and war. And Quinn always won at both. Aaron figured there wasn’t a woman alive Quinn couldn’t conquer. And the man never lost when it came to courtroom warfare.
Gala propped herself up with her elbow and gazed down at Aaron. “You know, you look like him a little. Same black hair and brown eyes. You’re Hispanic, too, aren’t you?”
“You guessed it, sweetie. Me and Quinn are like two peas in a pod.”
He wasn’t Hispanic—not even half—and any resemblance to Quinn was purely superficial. They were about the same height at six one and they had similar coloring, although without a tan, Aaron was several shades lighter than Quinn. He owed his ethnic heritage to his maternal grandmother, a Navajo who still lived on the reservation. But since he’d probably never see Gala again, why spoil the image of him she had in her mind?
A loud, aggressive pounding at the door brought Aaron up out of bed and sent Gala scooting toward the bathroom, picking up some of their discarded clothing as she went.
“You expecting somebody?” she called to him from the bathroom.
“Nope.” He’d deliberately unplugged his phone after they’d done it the first time and turned off his cell, too. He didn’t want anything interrupting what he’d hoped would be an all-night love-a-thon.
“Whoever it is, get rid of them.” She winked at him before she shut the door.
Aaron grabbed his jeans off the floor, shimmied hurriedly into them and headed out of the bedroom. The knocking grew more intense.
“Hey, man, if you’re in there, open the damn door,” Jace Morgan shouted.
What the hell was Jace doing here? After returning to Houston, Jace, Marcy and he had gone their separate ways, as they always did after the end of a business trip. Quinn’s personal staff worked like a well-oiled machine when together, despite the difference in their personalities; but the minute a case ended, they didn’t make contact again until Quinn called them together. He usually gave them at least a week’s downtime after a big case. And the Terry McBryar case had been one of the biggest. He expected to get a really nice bonus, something else Quinn did after winning a case. He was the kind of guy who took care of his people.
“Hold your horses,” Aaron said as he raced through the living room. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Marcy Sims with Jace. He knew instantly that something was up. “What’s wrong?”
Not waiting for an invitation, Marcy swept past him and into his apartment. “Quinn’s in trouble. He wants us in Nashville by tomorrow.”
“What kind of trouble?” Aaron asked.
“That Lulu Vanderley he was going to Nashville to see got herself murdered last night.” Jace closed the door and came inside behind Marcy.
“You’re shitting me?”