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On the way over to the morgue, Mace told her to think objectively. “It’s a corpse we got here,” he’d said. “Not a human being. All you gotta do is identify some itty-bitty thing—a signet ring, clothing, anything on the body you recognize as belonging to Nelson.”

One look at the gray, sodden, eaten face with holes for eyes, the chewed, ragged hands, and she’d gagged, found herself folding to her knees. Mace caught her and held her tight. She leaned into him gratefully.

As she fought back vomit burning her throat, her gaze returned to the sheet-covered body. The chewed stringy arms lay outside the sheet.

She saw a gold ring—Nelson always wore one on the forefinger of his right hand.

Except now it clung perilously to a flimsy gray stump that used to be the forefinger of the corpse’s right hand. Dumbly, she nodded. As far as she could see, this was Nelson, all right.

Mace took her home and poured out a brandy. He stood by while she drank it down.

Surprisingly, Leigh wasn’t feeling as wrecked as she’d expected. At least seeing Nelson’s remains meant she and Deana could put him, and his sick little games, behind them now. Reluctant to leave her alone, Mace asked, “Sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. No worries,” she answered with a brave smile. Seeing his concern, she added, “Really, Mace. I’ll be okay.”

“You make sure you rest, now. I’ll drop by later. Check you out.”

As good as his word, Mace arrived after dinner—complete with Dom Perignon champagne.

Deana pouted when she saw him, and stomped off to her room.

Shit.

Screw Mace.

It would have been nice to spend just one evening alone with Mom!

She switched on her TV, channel-hopped for a while, then decided on a rerun of Friday the 13th.

She’d seen it before.

But tonight, especially tonight, Friday the 13th suited her mood precisely.

THIRTY-THREE

Leigh planned the hot tub, intending it to be a nice, relaxing thing for them both to do. And if they moved on to other things—then so be it.

She figured either way would be great.

But the end result wasn’t working out quite as she’d planned. For one thing, Mace still wore his white T-shirt. And his undershorts.

She reminded herself that it was she who’d pulled him into the tub. Fully clothed. And strangely, it seemed like Mace was in no rush to remove them.

Except his jeans. He’d tugged at them, under water, struggled around, then tossed them onto the decking.

She grinned.

Good thing he’d left his leather jacket and gun holster in the living room.

She turned up the bubbles.

Mace was ready to play.

But, suddenly, she wasn’t.

What is it with me?

Why don’t I want to join in the fun?

Admit it, Leigh. You can’t get Nelson out of your mind.

Okay. He’s gone. But she still couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was partly responsible for his death.

She shuddered.

It had been so horrible, identifying his body this morning…

Thank God that was all over now.

Catching Leigh’s faraway look, Mace frowned. Christ, he thought impatiently, is she still thinking about Nelson?

Or was something else playing on her mind?

Right now, Mace had something on his mind.

And it sure wasn’t Nelson.

“Leigh. You know how I feel about you…”

“Don’t spoil it, Mace. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for now. Save the serious stuff for later, huh? It’s been an emotional time all around, and I think we’re both feeling the pressure. Let’s just relax…”

She slid down into the bubbles till only her head and the tops of her shoulders were visible. She felt Mace’s thighs moving in the water, touching hers.

Steam rose and puffed around them. She fought to stay awake, but her eyelids were drooping. As the bubbles massaged her body, her limbs began to feel heavy.

Her eyes closed all the way.

Mace slipped down, too. Tangling his legs with hers. Under the water, his hand reached out…

She jerked, went taut, pressing her legs together. Waves swelled up over her chin. She swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, and for a moment her face was submerged.

She swooshed to the surface, shaking her head, running fingers through her wet hair. As she struggled around on the seat, her pale skin gleamed in the darkness.

“Mace,” she snapped. “Quit foolin’ around!”

“Ssshhh!” Mace put a finger to his lips. “You’ll wake Deana. Do that, and she might want to join us!”

“MACE!”

Still feeling on edge, Leigh rose from the tub. The turbulent water swished and swirled around her. The cool air chilled her body. She shivered and folded her arms tight across her breasts.

Mace leaned back, admiring her slick form, glowing in the darkness above him. He whistled softly. She looked like da Vinci’s Venus rising from the foam.

“Mmmm. Ms. West. D’you know you have the most desirable body? Stay as you are…I’ll go get my camera.”

She gave an abrupt laugh and Mace stood up, water sluicing his body. He stepped out of the tub.