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envelope onto her palm.
    His touch scorched her, a totally unexpected reaction, not unlike brushing against a boiling radiator. She resisted the urge to jerk away, but her gaze collided with his before she could stop herself. The touch affected him, too; maybe it didn’t burn him, but awareness glowed in the depths of his eyes.
    Damn.
    Time hung still until he finally stepped back. “There’s a card in there with my cell number. I’m not going to discuss Tasha here, so call me when you can talk.”
    She squinted at the envelope. “Why’d you put your card in an envelope?”
    “There’s a present in there for you, too.”
    MJ stared hard as he walked off, unable to avoid noticing his tight butt outlined by the soft faded blue jeans made the backside view every bit as tempting as the front. When he climbed into his truck and put it into gear, she turned her attention to the envelope. She wasn’t going to-
    Oh, hell, why not. She lifted the flap. At first she only saw his card, but once she pulled it out of the way she saw the present .
    The string from her door.
    She blinked in surprise. The smart ass.
    She ripped up the card, dropped it in the wastebasket, then folded the flap back over to hold the string in place and slid the envelope into her coverall pocket. It’d save her from having to get another string of the same color when she went back to her apartment.
    She didn’t admit to herself the least bit of curiosity about Tasha. The two had spent enough years living in the same household that MJ knew the woman could take care of herself. And if it was something important enough for Vista to send an agent, then he wasn’t going anywhere until he delivered his message.
    She pushed open the door connecting the office to the garage. And just like the swinging door closing behind her as she stepped over to her work area, MJ mentally swung the door closed on the encounter, and her unwanted reaction, with Mr. Ben Walker.
     
    * * *
     
    A week earlier:
    “Ah, baby, that’s it . . . just a little . . . um, yeah . . .” he urged. His low ragged moan changed to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline. If he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as well. Tasha slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.
    Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees. Her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce. She cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter, even if he didn’t. To temper her impatience she brought to mind the refrain from “Another One Bites the Dust,” letting it run through her head in a slow easy beat.
    “You like it when I do this?” Tasha increased her rhythm in time to music only she heard; faster, harder, squeezing him with her inner muscles, bringing him to the edge, denying him.
    He grabbed her hips with his bony, surprisingly strong hands, trying to buck his way deeper inside, and her resistance changed the sex into a struggle for dominance. How fitting that this time she wielded the power, and he would lose.
    His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control. His body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.
    Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought. Slender and sharp. Long and lethal.
    With experience born of practice, she used her palm and drove the six-inch long antique cloisonné hatpin deep into his ear. As his body jerked again, this time in a death spasm, Tasha whispered, “Goodbye, Mr. Senator.”
    And another one bites the dust.

 

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    Five hours after her encounter with Ben Walker, Tex called it an early day. Tonight was the