Murder Take Two by Charlene Weir Page A

leave.”
    â€œThat the best you can do? No storming fit? Flashing eyes and flaring nostrils?”
    She smiled, then pointed to the door. “Out.”
    He got up and left without a backward glance. She was considering being outraged. At least he could have put up more protest.
    *   *   *
    The phone tore through the fog wrapped around his mind, collected a fistful of nerves, and jerked him awake. He grabbed the receiver to shut off the noise. “Yeah.”
    â€œOh, Ben, I’m so sorry. I woke you.”
    He cleared his throat and tried to do the same with his mind.
    â€œBen?”
    â€œYeah, Laura. What is it?”
    â€œI need you.”
    â€œI’m no longer working the Bender case.”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œWhat’s the problem?”
    â€œJust come.”
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œMy hotel room.” The dial tone hummed in his ear.
    He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the floor under his bare feet. My ex-wife, who is now a Hollywood sex goddess, has just invited me to her hotel room in the middle of the night. He replaced the receiver. It couldn’t get any better than that.
    He got into the shower with the idea of clearing his mind and stayed only long enough to sluice the sweat off his body. What Laura wanted teased at him while he brushed his teeth, zipped up his jeans, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. In ten minutes he had the Bronco headed for the Sunflower.
    *   *   *
    Laura wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as if she were drowning. She kissed him; the kiss was slightly aggressive. His arms went around her automatically, his hands felt the muscles of her back under her silky robe. Her perfume filled his mind with memories. The physical responses were still there; maybe they were always there between old lovers.
    She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “Oh, God, Ben, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
    â€œYou got me here in the middle of the night to tell me that?”
    â€œIt isn’t the middle of the night. It’s only eleven. Did you ever think about me after I left?”
    â€œNever.”
    She laughed: light, pleased. “Liar.”
    He smiled. “I read about you now and then, after you got famous. You did good, kid.” He let his arms drop, felt awkward, like he’d stumbled onto a movie set. Fancy hotel, subdued light, beautiful woman in slinky attire, and a rube who didn’t know what the hell he was doing here.
    She stepped back and tightened the belt on her robe, then took his hand and led him to the sofa. He sat; she perched beside him, hands together on her knees, and leaned slightly toward him. A small lamp on the end table created a halo effect around her platinum hair, picking out gold highlights.
    â€œRegrets?” she asked softly.
    â€œLaura, what are you doing? We made a mistake a long time ago. After all the hurt, and the scraped pride and ruffled feathers, there was sadness, and then there was relief.”
    â€œI had regrets. Lots of them. Still have sometimes.”
    That tugged at desire. Irritation came along. Well well, just like old times.
    â€œDon’t, Ben.” She barely touched his jaw. “This muscle always jumps when you get mad. Please don’t. I’m scared. I need you. I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”
    â€œWhat are you afraid of?”
    â€œDon’t be a cop!” Her hands clenched. “Jesus, why can’t you just be human?”
    â€œI was under the impression you wanted a cop. Did I get that wrong?”
    Her blue eyes glistened. “I wanted a friend.”
    Which made him feel like a total shit. This too was just like old times. He wondered if she was as snared in the undersurface nuances as he was. “To help, I have to ask questions. The only way I know how is as a cop. What’s the problem?”
    â€œAll business. No drinking a cup of