by
Diane Maxwell
Manuscript Complete / 200,000 words / Contemporary Romance
Copyright 2001 All rights reserved to the author
No copying in any form electronically or by any given means without the expressed written consent of the author
Chapter 33
"Where are we going?" a Scarlet clone dressed in flaming crimson asked in a giggly, very drunken whisper. "And what was in that bottle you handed me in the garden?"
Her companion pulled her up the stairs then glanced around to make certain the hall was deserted before yanking her ahead of him into a dark bedroom. "Gin, of course. Society conscious Mrs. Greenworthy doesn't approve of alcohol at her parties. Aren't you glad I brought my own?"
'Scarlet' giggled again, so tipsy she swayed when she tried to stand still, her back facing him. "Yeah. I'm even gladder we're here. Sure my hubby won't find us?"
"Positive." He tugged up her tight red skirt and nudged her towards the bed at the same time.
"But you said that before, that time that police Capt'n caught us at the Governor's--"
"I took care of him too, didn't I? Now shut up and help me lift this damn costume out of the way."
"And my husband don't know where I am?"
"No one knows. He won't find us. Neither will my wife. No one's up here. Just us."
She squealed when his hands discovered her lack of underwear. "Well, if you're certain-- But just a quick one. And don't touch my hair. It took forever to get it like this."
He didn't need her hair. He bent her over, ripped down his trousers and showed her all he needed to touch.
She screamed, clutching at his thighs as he rode her hard from behind. "Ohh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Harder."
He gladly complied, knowing from past experience it wouldn't take long. He'd taken her to the garden, got her drunk and dragged her here for the excitement, the thrill of having sex right under all those holier-than-thou, so-called history buffs' noses.
"Ohh yes. Don't stop. I hear sirens you're sooo good."
He wasn't about to stop. Yet he heard the sirens, too. What in the world? Well, whatever was making all that screeching noise outside the window, it'd wait a couple more seconds. Speaking of noise. . . "Not so loud. Want someone to come in and--"
"All I want is you to come. Now!" 'Scarlet' screamed, then bucked wildly, finishing both of them none too soon. He barely had time to shove her on the bed and yank up his pants before the door behind them burst open.
A policeman stood in the doorway. One hand swatted at the wall until it encountered the light switch. The other clutched his aimed gun straight ahead as light flooded the room. "What the hell is going on in here?"
The man tilted his head at a regal angle. "How dare you question me! Explain who you are and why you have that weapon pointed at me before I write you up and assign you permanent desk duty!"
His furious tone had the desired effect. The officer swallowed and quickly fumbled his gun back in his holster. "I-I'm Officer Conn, sir. I-I just joined the force today. Detective Fogle told me you- you would meet me tomorrow once you returned from you- your vacation. I'm sorry that I--"
The man waved his hand, interrupting the stammered reply. "I meant what are my officers doing here? Is there a problem?"
Officer Conn nodded. "Yes sir. Someone named Sloan MacKenna called in an attempted murder and--"
"Sloan MacKenna?" the Chief of Police cut in. He heard his sharp, edged with hate tone and quickly composed himself. "He called in what? Why wasn't I informed?"
"An attempted murder, sir. Said get here right away and also send units to some penthouse hotel suite downtown." The officer shrugged. "I don't know why you weren't informed, sir. My sergeant told me to come up and check these rooms. When I heard a scream I thought--"
The woman giggled. The Chief shifted so he blocked more of her from Officer Conn's view. "I'm sure you did what you thought right. I'll accompany you downstairs so I can take over the investigation." He moved forward.
Officer Conn started to back up, then halted, sniffing the air. "Do you smell something, sir?"
"No." The Chief shoved him from the room.
"What about the lady, sir? Should I send someone to attend her?"
"No, she's just a little dizzy. Tell me more about this attempted murder. You say one Sloan Mac--"
"Excuse me sir." Officer Conn darted down the hall to throw open the door. A closet of smoldering rags and infant flames with thick black smoke poured out, encircled him and rapidly filled the hall. "Chief! We've got a fire, too!"