Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [117]
“How would you watch him? Would you ask the FBI to do that? What if he left the area?”
“I’ve already thought of that. The FBI will be put on alert, and we’d keep track of where he’s gone and what he’s doing through his probation officer.”
“Assuming that you catch Giordano, what are the chances he’ll confess and tell you about the conspiracy?”
“None.” Sean shook his head. “I’d bet my life on it. If he’s going to go down on someone else’s behalf, you can damn well be sure that he’s going to want the whole thing played out.”
Amanda stared at the fire for a few minutes. When she looked away, she found that Sean was staring at her.
“What?” She prodded his ribs and he caught her hand in his.
“I was just wondering if you’d . . . well, if you’d been married before. Engaged, whatever.”
“Never married. Came close once, though,” she acknowledged. “And almost close one time before that.”
“What happened?” he asked, mindful of the little stab of jealousy that poked at his ribs.
“Just didn’t work out. Not to make light of it, but that’s pretty much it. When it came right down to it, neither time felt completely right. Something just seemed to be missing. How ’bout you?”
“Not really. There was a girl I met while I was in the service—her sister was engaged to a friend of mine—and we spent a lot of time together. It almost worked out.”
“But . . . ?”
“Well, as you said. It didn’t feel completely right.”
He put his arm around her and drew her closer. “This, however, feels right. Completely.”
He leaned down and kissed her upturned face, tugged playfully at her bottom lip before getting down to the business of kissing her seriously. Her mouth was wet and warm and opened to his at just the right moment. His tongue traced her mouth before sliding inside, and she leaned back against the sofa, taking him with her. She twisted under his weight, and he eased himself alongside her, his lips never leaving hers. He felt like he was drowning, and he was loving every second of it.
“More,” she whispered when she thought he was about to stop, and he covered her mouth again, assuring her that he had no intention of stopping.
His hands slid the length of her torso and back to her waist, once, twice, three times. She pulled her shirt out from the waistband of her jeans and began to unbutton it, bringing his hands to her flesh. His lips trailed from the curve of her mouth to her chin, to her throat, where they began a slow descent to her collarbone.
“He can’t have you,” Sean whispered as his hands claimed the soft flesh of her breasts. “He’ll have to kill me to get to you, Amanda. He can’t have you. . . .”
She leaned her head back as she undid the last button, urging his mouth lower. His lips made a hot trail across her skin, and she arched her back as the warmth spread through her with each passing second. She moved lower on the sofa, so that she was fully on her back. Sean’s long body was just about to cover hers, when through a fog of tension and desire they heard the back door slam.
“Honeys, I’m home,” Miranda sang from the kitchen, “and I have lots of goodies.”
Paper bags rustled in the other room.
“Hey, Amanda, are you here? I could use some help with the grocery bags, if you have a minute.”
“I’m here.” Amanda made a face as she pushed Sean off, sat up, and began to hastily rebutton her blouse. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Swearing gruffly, Sean gritted his teeth. “Damn feds . . .”
“Maybe it’s too soon,” Amanda whispered in the darkness. “Maybe he’ll wait a few more days.”
“He’s already been held at bay for two days. Anne Marie thinks he won’t be able to hold out past tonight.”
Sean still didn’t like the idea of Giordano coming into Amanda’s house, contaminating it with his presence, but it was too late to think about that now. “The patrol car and the guards left this morning, just as we planned. If Anne Marie knows what she’s talking about—and your brother seems to think she does—it should be tonight.”
“I think if Anne Marie told Evan that Vince Giordano was the ghost of