“You have the softest touch of anyone,” she whispered. “Unbelievable.”

“So do you.”

“You seem surprised.”

“A little bit,” I admitted. “It's probably because I saw your tough-as-nails side when we were working together.”

“Is that a problem for you? My tough side?”

“No. It isn't,” I told her,“ I like your tough side. As long as you don't get too rough with me.”

Jam immediately pushed me back onto the bed, then fell on top of me. I kissed her cheeks, then her sweet lips. She smelled and tasted so good. I could feel the pulse under her skin. There's no hurry.

“I was a tomboy when I was a kid in Oakland. Baseball player, fast-pitch softball,” she said. “I wanted my father and my brothers to approve of me.”

“Did they?”

“Oh yeah. Are you kidding? I was all-state in baseball and track.”

“Do they still approve?”

“I think so. Yeah, they do. My pop's a little disappointed I'm not playing for the Giants,” she said, and laughed. “He thinks I could give Barry Bonds a run.”

Jamilla helped me with my pants while I unhooked her skirt. I shivered, couldn't control it. All the time in the world.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Fifty-Three

When his interview with Mrs. Billie Houston was finished, it was too late for Sampson to head back to Washington, plus he liked the atmosphere at the shore, so he checked into Conover's Bay Head Inn, a bed and breakfast in town that Billie had recommended.

He had just stepped into his room on the third floor when the phone rang. He wondered who could be calling him here?

“Yeah?”he spoke into the receiver. “John Sampson.”

There was a short silence.

“This is Billie. Mrs. Houston.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and found that he was surprised, but he was smiling. He definitely hadn't expected the call, hadn't expected to hear from her again. “Well, hi. I haven't spoken to you... in minutes. Did you forget to tell me something?”

“No. Well, yes I did, actually. Here you are helping Laurence, and I do absolutely nothing to make your visit more comfortable. Would you have dinner at the house tonight? I've already got food in, so please don't say no. What do you have to lose? I'm a good cook, by the way.”

Sampson hesitated. He wasn't sure this was such a good idea. It wasn't that he thought dinner with Billie Houston would be a chore. It was just, well, a potentially uncomfortable situation, maybe a conflict of interest.

Still, the way she'd put it, what choice did he have? And what real harm could it do?

“That's a fine idea. I'd like to have dinner at the house. What time should I come by?”

“Whatever suits you is fine. It's nothing fancy, Detective. I'll start up the grill as soon as you arrive.”

“How about an hour? Is that all right? I'm John, by the way. Not Detective.”