Wicked Craving Read Online Free PDF Page A

him, she laced her arm through his and half-cuddled up to him. Ten pairs of eyes shifted their way and a few of the fellows snickered. “Of course I want to see the body,” she murmured, leaning her head close to his, as though whispering sweet nothings. “You don’t think I rushed over here to see your body, do you?”
    She expected him to squirm and maybe even blush a little as, one by one, every cop on the scene turned to watch them. All were wide-eyed, and a couple had their mouths hanging open. But instead, he laughed, a big, hearty, deep-throated laugh that—on a day when she wasn’t mad at him about something—she had to admit was pretty darned sexy.
    â€œI know what you’re trying to do,” he whispered as they walked toward the front of the house. “You’re trying to ruin my reputation as a hard ass.”
    â€œDon’t you worry, darlin’,” she said. “These boys know you, through and through. They’ll always think of you as an ass.”
    â€œGee. Thanks.” He thought it over for a moment. “But a hard ass?”
    She shrugged. “Eh.”
    Â 
    When Dirk led her into the Wellman mansion, Savannah stepped three feet into the foyer and stood quietly for a moment as she looked around her and reevaluated her Life-contentment Level.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “Never mind.”
    â€œWhat?” Dirk asked.
    â€œI’ve reconsidered. I do want to be rich when I grow up. This is awesome.”
    Here, too, everything was painted a stark white, but the beveled glass in the double doors and sidelights cast rainbow prisms around the walls, giving the massive entry life and color. Some giant palms grew from a red mahogany vase in the center of the room, a container that was at least five feet tall.
    Savannah decided that she needed a five-foot vase in the middle of her living room. What a conversation piece that would be!
    The vaulted ceiling soared three stories high. And to the right, a graceful, floating staircase with clear, Lucite treads, wound upward, looking like an immense DNA molecule.
    And straight ahead, Savannah could see through the house and its floor-to-ceiling windows to the ocean.
    With the afternoon sunlight glittering on the water and the rows of lacy white foam lining up to wash ashore, the Pacific was a living postcard, advertising the glory of sunny Southern California.
    The house had been designed to create a sense of being one with that grandeur.
    â€œI love this,” she told Dirk. “You’d feel like a mermaid, living here.”
    He gave the house a dismissive wave and grunted. “Too big,” he said. “Too much to clean.”
    She shot him a sideways look. “Oh, right. It would just plum wear you to a frazzle, scrubbing this place the way you do that trailer of yours…once every year or two.”
    He grinned. “Whether it needs it or not.”
    When they walked into the living room, Savannah saw more mahogany vases filled with palms, and cubist leather furniture in white, black, and red—but no occupants.
    â€œWhere’s the family?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s just the husband. He wanted to go upstairs and make some phone calls. I told him he could.”
    â€œHow did he seem?”
    Dirk shrugged. “Shaking like a cold, wet dog. Seemed more scared than sad.”
    â€œHe did it. Woman gets murdered…you look at the intimate partner.”
    â€œYou always say that.”
    â€œAnd I’m usually right.”
    He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.
    Savannah chuckled. Dirk wasn’t one to argue when he knew he couldn’t win, and the statistics were on her side.
    â€œThrough here,” he said as he led her to a set of glass doors that opened onto a patio area.
    When they walked outside, the smell of the salt air and the warmth of the sunlight washed over her. Normally, Savannah would have closed her eyes, at least for a