Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jamilla started to laugh and then she said, “Phew.” She ran her hand past her forehead.

“What's ”phew“?” I asked her. “Don't tell me you're tuckered out? You look in a lot better shape than that.”

“Phew. I was worried about the two of us being together, and now I'm not worried. Phew, sometimes men are really self-centered or rough in bed. Or it just feels all wrong.”

I smiled at her. “Slept with a lot of men, huh?”

Jamilla made a little face. Cute. “I'm thirty-six years old. I was married for four years, engaged another time. I date some. Not too much lately, but some. How about you? Was I your first?”

“Why? Did it seem like it?”

“Answer the question, smart guy.”

“I was married once, too,” I finally said.

Jamilla lightly punched my shoulder, then she rolled over on top of me. “I'm really glad I came to Washington. Took a little nerve on my part. I was definitely scared.”

“Oohh, Inspector Jamilla Hughes was scared. Well, so was I,” I admitted.

“How come? What scared you about me, Alex?”

"Some women are so self-centered. Or rough in bed '

Jamilla leaned over and kissed me a long, lingering kiss probably to shut me up. I was ready again, and so was she. Jamilla pulled me close and I moved inside her. This time I was on top.

“I am your love slave. Completely submissive,” she whispered against my cheek. “I'm definitely glad I came to Washington.”

Our second time together was even better than the first, and also edged out the third time. No, there had been nothing for either of us to be afraid of.

Jamilla and I stayed at the hotel through the afternoon and into the early evening. It was almost impossible to leave. As it had been right from the start with the two of us, we found it easy to talk about anything on the planet.

“I'll tell you something really strange, ”she said. “And the more I'm with you, the stranger this seems to me. See, my first husband and I could never really talk. Not the way you and I do. And we still got married. I don't know what I was thinking.”

A little while later, Jamilla got up and disappeared into the bathroom. I saw the light go on the telephone on the night stand. She was making a call.

Once a detective... oh boy. Here we go.

When she came out, she confessed, "I had to call work. Murder case I'm on out there is a mess. Nasty stuff. Sorry, sorry. Won't happen again. I promise. I'll be good. Or bad.

; 126

Whatever you want me to be."

“No, no, it's fine. I understand,” I said. I did, of course. Sort of, anyway. I saw so much of myself in Jamilla. The detective! I think that was a good thing.

I hugged her and held her close once she got back into bed. Then the truth finally came out. It was my turn to confess. “Long time ago,” I told her,“ I was at this hotel with my wife.”