The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [621]
“Who are you?”
He sighed and tucked in his shirt. Then he flipped the sheet and blanket over the bed. He straightened the single too-soft pillow that smelled, unexpectedly, of violets.
When he finally turned to face her again, she was gone. She’d heard Krimakov’s name. It didn’t matter. She’d never hear it again. The bastard was dead. Finally dead, and Thomas Matlock was free. To come and finally meet his daughter. Why hadn’t Thomas said anything about that? He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and headed downstairs.
She fed him pancakes with blueberry syrup and crispy bacon, just the way he liked it. The coffee was strong, black as Hatch’s fantasies, the fresh cantaloupe she’d sliced, ripe and sweet.
Neither of them said a word. She ate a slice of dry toast and had a cup of tea. It looked like she was having trouble getting that much down.
He said, a dark eyebrow arched, his mouth full of bacon, “What is this? No questions right in my face? No bitching at me? By God, could it be that you’re sulking?”
That got her, just as he hoped it would.
“How would you like that nice sticky syrup down the back of your neck?”
He grinned at her and saluted with his coffee cup. “I wouldn’t like that at all. At least you’re speaking to me again. Look, Becca, I’m just trying to find out what’s going on. Everyone is floating a lot of ideas, a lot of names. Now we have this skeleton.”
He was so slippery, she’d bet if he were a pig in a greased pig contest, no one could hold him down, but she was tenacious.
“Who were you telling not to smoke?”
“Hatch. He’s my main assistant. He has more contacts than a centipede has legs, speaks six languages, and is real smart except when it comes to cigarettes and loose women. That’s the way I can control his smoking. I pay him very well and threaten to fire him if he lights up.”
“But I heard you tell him to put out the cigarette. Obviously he’s still smoking. And he knew you were on the other end of the line.”
“Yeah. It’s more a game now than anything else. He lights up just to hear me blow.”
“Did he find out anything about the skeleton? What’s this about DNA testing? They think they know who that poor girl was?”
He stretched, drank down the last of his coffee, carefully set the cup on the table, then stood up.
She was on her feet in the next instant. Two fast steps and she was in his face. She was fast, he’d give her that, and she was mad. He was grinning down at her when she slammed her fist in his belly. Becca felt her face turning red. “Damn you, you will not treat me like a cipher, like I’m a moron who isn’t even important enough to talk to. Who are you?”
He grabbed her wrist. “That was a good shot. No, don’t hit me again or I’ll have to do something. I want to keep those pancakes happy.”
“Yeah, what?” She just didn’t care anymore. She smashed her other fist into his left kidney.
He held both her wrists now. He knew she’d bring up her knee next so he jerked her around so her back was pressed against his chest. He held her arms pressed to her sides. “You’d look better as a blonde. Usually a woman’s roots are darker than her hair. In your case, you’ve got all this baby-light hair at the roots.”
She kicked back, grazing his shin. He grunted. He sat back down on the chair, holding her on his lap. She was pinned against him and couldn’t move. “Now,” he said, “I’m sorry that we’re playing only by my rules, but that’s the way it’s got to be unless I’m told otherwise.”
“You need to shave. You look like a convict.”
“How do you know? You’ve got the back of your head to me.”
“You’ve got as much hair on your face as you do on your chest.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you did get an eyeful in the bedroom.”
“Go to hell.”
Adam’s cell phone