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She was everything he’d ever wanted; everything he would ever need. His arms tightened around her as he thrust up hard a final time, his cock swelling and twitching as the base of his spine tingled and he began pumping her full of his cum. He held still for a moment even after he was done before lifting her off of him, sagging into her body, his forehead touching hers.
“I love you, Lori.”
“That’s good to know, because I love you, too.”
They began to soap each other’s bodies with gentle hands interspersed with kisses. Once they were clean, they got out of the shower, drying each other with the hotel’s towels.
“Remind me why we care who killed Cobain?” she asked with a grin.
“Because you’re a founding member of the Mystery Writer’s Murder Club, and I’m an investigative reporter. Apparently, there’s some rule about us giving a damn about stuff like that.”
“Do we always have to follow the rules?”
“No. And if you want to walk away, we’ll pack tonight and go anywhere you want and never look back.”
Shock registered in her eyes. “You can’t do that. This is your home. The paper is your legacy.”
He shook his head. “You’re my home now. We’ll build our own legacy. The AP has been trying to get me to take over one of their bureaus—I can pretty much choose—we could live wherever you want.”
The shock faded into acceptance of the truth of his words and then blossomed into a deep level of joy he’d only seen when his mother was alive, and she looked at his dad. Oh, they both loved him dearly, but they loved each other more, and he’d been secretly happy they died together as the survivor would have lived on for him but would never again have been truly happy.
“We can figure that out later, but let’s go solve this mystery. I despised Cobain and everything he stood for, but I don’t want the killer to get away or Middleton just to sweep his death under the rug.”
He grinned at her. “Dinner with Ezra and Annette it is.”
* * *
As they were headed down to the elevator, Ryker stopped one of the housekeepers.
“I’m afraid we kind of made a mess of our room.” He slipped her a folded fifty-dollar bill. “If you could give it a little extra care and maybe leave extra towels?”
“Yes sir. I’d be happy to do that. Anything else?”
“No, I think that’ll do.”
Taking Lori’s arm, he turned back toward the elevator, but stopped when Lori dug in her heels. “Excuse me?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“By any chance do you know if Ezra Kane has a typewriter in his room?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. I thought it was odd as he has his laptop and this old, antique typewriter. I wonder if it even works?”
“No idea, but thanks,” said Lori grinning at him.
“Clever girl,” Ryker said as they entered the elevator and the doors closed.
They were already seated when Ezra and Annette both showed up for dinner. Watching them enter the bistro and then being shown to the same table was almost comical.
Ryker leaned over to Lori and whispered, “They look like two kindergarteners who think the opposite sex has cooties.” Lori muffled her laugh and hid it behind her napkin as he stood. “Why don’t you both take a seat? I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“I only met you earlier today,” said Annette. “You indicated you wanted to interview me. I think Detective Middleton would not like to learn you two were continuing to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Middleton doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on, and the last thing he wants to call attention to is the fact that a murder took place here in Bleak Ridge and he hasn’t done jack about it. So, either call him on your way out, or take a seat, Annette.”
Ezra, who was already seated, leaned across to Lori. “He’s kind of a brute, isn’t he? Maybe I should model my next hero on him—a crusading reporter accused of a crime he didn’t commit…”
“No way, Ezra. I had dibs first.”
