It was one of those situations where sheer muscle power dictated the outcome. He knew from the expression on Clare’s face that she understood that as well as he did. But it only made her more determined.
He heaved upward and forced her down onto her back, pinning her to the bed.
“You ever hear of the concept of taking defeat gracefully?” he asked.
“Heard about it.” Her teeth gleamed in a wicked, seductive laugh. “But I don’t buy it. What about you?”
“Can’t say that I’m a fan of it, either.”
“I’ll bet you like variety, though, don’t you?” she asked smoothly.
“Variety, huh? Now that sounds interesting.”
She smiled again. “That’s what I’m offering here. A little change of pace.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
He rolled onto his back. She came down on top of him.
It didn’t take long. They were both too close.
“Jake.”
He felt her constrict around him and knew that she had made the leap. He wanted to luxuriate in the sensation of her climax but the pulses of her release pulled him over the edge with her.
Together they fell, weightless, into the night.
Chapter Thirty-four
“So Brad was screwing his massage therapist?” Elizabeth asked.
“By all accounts, yes,” Clare said.
They were sitting in Elizabeth’s Mercedes, which was parked in the lot in front of a sleek steel-and-glass office building. The nine-story commercial tower that housed the practice of Dr. Ronald Mowbray glinted like armor in the hot sun.
“And she just up and disappeared around the time Brad was killed,” Elizabeth said. She tapped a forefinger on the steering wheel. “Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting?”
“There may be nothing terribly sinister about it,” Clare cautioned. “At this point we simply don’t know much about Kimberley Todd.”
“You’re wrong,” Elizabeth said. Her fingers closed tightly around the steering wheel, whitening her knuckles. “We do know one thing about her for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever else she is, she must be a very, very good massage therapist.”
“Only the best for Brad?”
“Only the best.” Elizabeth opened the door on the driver’s side and got out of the car.
Clare popped her own door and emerged into the full glare of the sun. She examined the landscaped commercial park through the protective shield of her sunglasses. It was mid-morning, not yet eleven o’clock. The pavement was already radiating steady, palpable waves of heat. The sparkling fountains and impossibly green lawns that graced the office tower looked like an artificial oasis.
She glanced at Elizabeth across the roof of the Mercedes. “Nice real estate.”
Elizabeth’s smile was brittle. “Nothing but the best shrink in town for Brad McAllister’s poor, mentally ill wife.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“To tell you the truth, I’ve been dreading it since you suggested it,” Elizabeth said. “When I woke up this morning, coming here was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. But now that I’m actually here, I’m looking forward to telling Dr. Mowbray what I think of his third-rate medical skills.”
Clare walked with her toward the heavily tinted glass doors of the lobby. “Probably can’t blame him entirely for being taken in by Brad. Everyone else was, too.”
“I’ve read that sociopaths can even fool lie detectors.”
“Heard that, too.”
Elizabeth smiled. “But he didn’t fool you.”
“No.”
Clare braced for the blast of icy, machine-chilled air that she knew awaited her and followed Elizabeth inside the building.
The lobby had the sleek, polished feel typical of modern office buildings. Walls of black glass that reduced the intense sunlight to a comfortable level and gleaming slate floors generated the impression that only dignified, important business was carried on here.
Elizabeth did not pause at the directory. She marched straight toward the bank of elevators and punched the button.
“Dr. Mowbray’s office is on the fourth floor,” she said. “Not something I’m likely to forget.”
Clare followed her into the elevator. She glanced down at the white-knuckled grip Elizabeth had on the strap of her purse. She didn’t say anything, just reached out a hand and touched her sister’s arm.
Elizabeth gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m okay. Really.”
“I know,” Clare said.
The doors opened on the fourth floor. They went along a carpeted corridor, passing two small accounting firms and a law office.
“I don’t see any other doctors’ offices or clinics on this floor,” Clare said. “Don’t medical professionals tend to hang out together?”
“Depends on the type of medicine they practice,” Elizabeth explained. “It isn’t uncommon for psychologists and psychiatrists to establish their businesses in office buildings like this one. It allows patients more privacy when they arrive for appointments.”
“Makes sense. A person walking into that lobby downstairs could just as well be on her way to visit a lawyer or an accountant or a stockbroker. No need to advertise that she’s seeing a shrink.”
“Not that Brad went to any great effort to conceal the fact that I was being treated by a psychiatrist,” Elizabeth added bitterly.
She led the way around a corner and stopped in front of number 410. Squaring her shoulders, she reached for the doorknob.
Clare glanced at the sign on the door. It read “J. C. Connors, Attorney-at-Law.”
“Hang on,” she said. “Wrong door.”
Elizabeth’s hand froze on the knob. She, too, stared at the sign.
“This is the right door,” she whispered. “I’m positive.”
She opened the door. Clare followed her into a modestly appointed reception room. The middle-aged woman behind the desk had been filing her nails. She looked up quickly.
“May I help you?”
“We’re looking for Dr. Mowbray’s office,” Clare said.
“This isn’t it,” the receptionist said. “Did you check the directory downstairs?”
Elizabeth took a step closer to the desk. There was a brittle tension about her that worried Clare.
“I’m sure this is the right office,” Elizabeth said. “I remember coming here. I know this was the place.”