“Reese. What do you want?”
Fine. She’d call him back when the girlfriend wasn’t around and get him to spill his guts. “I need to know what these drugs are.” She read him the list of four prescription drugs.
“They’re narcotic analgesics, or painkillers, usually given to people after surgery, or to terminal cancer patients.”
“Are there generic versions of these? Are they expensive?”
“Very expensive. They’re third tier drugs, meaning they probably run hundreds of dollars for a prescription before insurance. And the generic form isn’t readily available.”
Because Delco and Stanfield had rigged it that way. This went beyond price-fixing. This was insurance fraud, which explained the FBI’s interest, as well. This kind of price-fixing and suppression of market alternatives would cost Medicare millions of dollars every year.
Reese thought about Knight’s quick acceptance of her invitation to the wedding. He was clearly knee-deep in this case, given he had been sent to retrieve the envelope left by an insider at Delco. Did he plan on making a move on Chatterton at the wedding?
If he did, she was going to witness it, stuck to his thigh like a toddler to her mother. Not that it would be a sacrifice to cling to Knight all night.
“Why do you need to know about painkillers?”
“I’m chasing a story.”
“Of course.” Riley sounded amused.
Urgent whispering came from the woman. Not happy whispering. Reese wondered what exactly she had interrupted, then stopped her thoughts from driving down that dark alley. She didn’t need to know about her brother’s sex life. “Sorry I called so late, I didn’t know what time it was. I’ll let you get back to your girlfriend.”
“Thanks.”
Reese said good-bye and hung up her cell phone, tossing it onto the nightstand. Suddenly her bed felt large, cold, and empty, scattered with papers and generic white hotel pillows. The floral bedspread had her pinned beneath it, not an ounce of softness in its durable threads. She tugged on the rubber looking blanket, the color of orange juice in concentrate form.
It was lonely and lacking a certain rigid male presence that had sprawled across the bed and her earlier. The memory had her yanking down the bottom of her nightshirt in restless anticipation.
Her panties were pulled too tight, nudging into her folds, the satin hot as she shuffled on the bed, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Her breasts were tender, her nipples beading as they brushed against the soft cotton, forcing her to press her hand against them to stop the fabric from shifting in torturous waves.
Grabbing the remote, she turned up the volume and grimaced at a talk show. She hit the button to change the channel and loud panting filled the room. A couple writhed on a bed, interlaced with one another, naked limbs sliding and melding as they sprawled across a bed.
Reese flipped the TV off and prepared to while away the night in sexual frustration.
On the plane earlier in the evening, sex had been the last thing on her mind. Now she could think of nothing else but bare sweaty flesh slapping together in mutual pleasure.
She turned on her stomach and recoiled instantly. God, that was ten times worse.
How could Knight have left her like this? He was probably fine, not suffering in the least, having compartmentalized his sexual needs. On and off like a faucet.
Not on the verge of sliding his fingers down to appease himself the way she was.
Just fine.
The sexy jerk.
FIFTEEN
Derek was a lot of things.Worried about this case, having just spent two hours trying to coax his whistle-blower into wearing a wire.
Tired, sleep avoiding him in the last few weeks.
And hungry, sharp pangs gnawing at the edge of his stomach, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since he’d bitten that chicken wing and celery stick umpteen hours earlier.
As he turned the key in the lock to his apartment, he was very much aware that none of those were the first and most urgent need on his mind. Or in his body.
It was Reese and his deep, pulsing, biting desire for her that had him taut and frustrated, wound up and weary at the same time.