Some Like It Lethal by Nancy Martin Page A

wrestling with how much truth to share.
    But I didn't want to address that now. Once again, the tug of needing him felt stronger than my fear that his business affairs might ruin both our lives.
    So I said, "How is Scotland?"
    "Beautiful. The fishing's like none I've ever done before. And they make some pretty good moonshine. We're staying in a castle—very swanky. You'd fit right in. It's no wonder Braveheart turned blue, though. It's freezing at night." After a pause, he said, "I think of you in bed."
    I closed my eyes again and immediately imagined myself skin-to-skin with him under an eiderdown. Our relationship had not slipped into the bedroom yet, though there was plenty of sexual attraction going on. Okay, he wasn't handsome, exactly. In fact, his face sometimes scared people. But he had a quick laugh, an endearingly old-fashioned sense of protectiveness and an intuitive mind that appealed to me.
    I might as well also admit he had astonishing shoulders, a supple stroll and a tight behind that any woman in her right mind would give up chocolate to get her hands on. He made me think of long, long nights between sweaty sheets, followed by mornings doing unmentionable things in the tub, against the bathroom sink, on the rug. . . .
    And lately, I found myself wondering if being a good girl was overrated.
    Emma had said, "Face it. You want to get laid, Sis."
    No kidding. Even though I feared Michael Abruzzo wasn't as law-abiding as he could be, I found myself embarrassingly aroused by the man. Just his voice on the phone was aphrodisiac enough to cause impure thoughts and a warm flush that started deep inside me.
    I swallowed hard. "I think of you, too."
    "In your bed?"
    I smiled. "Is this how phone sex starts?"
    "Just tell me what you're wearing."
    "A bathrobe, as a matter of fact. I think Libby is trying to book me a massage."
    He groaned. "This is definitely phone sex now."
    I laughed. "I'll get dressed. I'm going back to the hospital to see Emma."
    "Am I ever going to get the chance to give you a massage myself? Or are you still living with Libby and the baby?"
    "I'm moving out as soon as I can. But it's complicated."
    "I'll be back by Friday. We'll uncomplicate it then."
    Reluctantly, we said good-bye, and he disconnected. I listened to the overseas static for a moment.
    Then, just to hear how it sounded, I said, "I love you."
    The police did not arrest Emma, but they put a guard on the door to her hospital room and called it protective custody. They refused to allow Libby or me to see her.
    "Why not?" I asked, standing in the hallway outside her hospital room.
    "It's for her own safety," an officer assured me with a straight face.
    Furious at being denied access to my sister, I asked Libby, "What did you tell Bloom's boss? Something that would incriminate Em?"
    "No! Nothing. But I did suggest Captain Tucker try becoming a goddess. She has all the sacred potentials. She just needs to open herself to the cosmic possibilities."
    "It's a wonder she didn't arrest you," I said.
    "Hm." She was too distracted to be insulted. "Before we leave, I think I should find that nice Dr. Quartermaine to thank him for looking after you. Just wait here a minute."
    As crazy as Libby could get, I decided her idea wasn't a bad one. Except I went looking to thank Tim Naftzinger.
    Dr. Naftzinger was seeing patients on the pediatric floor, I was told, so I went upstairs to find him. While he consulted with a nurse in the corridor, I waited outside a room where a family of eight crowded around the bed of a pale little girl. The whole family was watching a Mr. Rogers rerun on the television, their faces turned up to the set and reflecting the same peaceful expression.
    Tim had always been quiet and controlled, and I wasn't surprised to see him just as sedate in his workplace as in his private life. He reminded me of a baseball pitcher—physically lanky, but mentally focused. Perhaps a pediatrician who faced life and death with small children