Caress Part Three (Arcadia Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Especially not when the other option was to stay deep
inside her, thrusting hard, savoring her throaty little moans and the way her
pussy clenched around me when--
    Damn, this had to stop! I was a grown man, not a kid. I
needed to get my head back in the game.
    If some jerk ass with a grudge against her father had
approached her, I needed to know about it. It would be a simple enough matter
to put security on her, enough to discourage anyone who was inclined to mouth
off or worse. Simple, that was, if she agreed. And only a little trickier if
she didn’t.
    But one other possibility had occurred to me. Emma had
mentioned that the Feds still touched base with her from time to time, letting
her know she remained on their radar. Had one of them decided that she was due
for another reminder?
    Before I could think better of it, I picked up my phone,
scrolled through the list of private contacts, and hit the number for Sean
Feeney at the F.B.I. He answered seconds later.
    “You must be psychic,” Feeney said. “I’ve got a note in my
email to check in with you.”
    “Oh, yeah? Why would you want to do that?” I thought that I
knew but I asked any way.
    Feeney sighed. “Because as much as you and John Whittaker’s
daughter make a lovely couple, the two of you popping up together has raised eyebrows.”
    I’d seen the photos taken at the gala. They didn’t bother me
in the least; I wanted the world to know that we were together. Feeney and his
pals could make whatever they wanted of that.
    “She’s the reason I’m calling,” I said.
    “I’m listening,” Feeney replied.
    I pictured him leaning back in his chair, short-cropped dark
blond hair, more tats than I’d expect on a Fed, and a rangy but powerful build like
the ace downhill skier that he was. Feeney had silvered in the Olympics a few
years back, more power to him.
    “I know you’re still keeping tabs on her,” I said. “Did you
or any of your colleagues happen to speak to her yesterday?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Because something spooked her. If I can take the F.B.I. off
the list, I’ll be that much closer to figuring out who did do it.”
    I could practically hear him smirking. “I’m no relationship
expert but have you thought of just asking her?”
    Smart ass.
    “It’s not that simple,” I said. “When I say she was spooked,
I mean it. She doesn’t want to talk about it but she looked as though she’d
seen a--”
    I stopped abruptly as the full significance of what I’d been
about to say hit me.
    As much as I’d pushed Emma about the possibility that her father
could still be alive, I’d seen the video of his suicide. It was graphic,
horrible, and seemingly irrefutable. Even without a body, John Whittaker’s
death should have been a foregone conclusion.
    That it wasn’t could be credited solely to the F.B.I.’s
refusal to stop searching for him. Everyone, including myself, figured that
they had to have reasons that they weren’t willing to talk about. At least not
without sufficient persuasion.
    “A ghost?” Feeney asked, picking up where I’d left off. “Is
that what you were going to say?”
    I got the impression he wasn’t so relaxed any more. On the
contrary, he sounded razor sharp.
    “Yeah,” I admitted. “But before you jump on that, I want to
be clear about something. Is it the F.B.I.’s position that Whittaker is still
alive?”
    “We’ve never said so…officially.”
    “But you’re still putting resources into the search for him?”
    Official announcements meant nothing. It was money that
mattered. If the Feds were still funding the search for Whittaker, they had to
believe that he was out there somewhere.
    “Yeah, we are,” Feeney said grudgingly.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “You know why. It’s never been any secret.”
    I stayed mute, letting him remind me, which he did finally.
    “Within an hour of Whittaker going into the river, we
brought in experts--guys who know the currents and tides along the Hudson