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  “No pressure,” I warned her as I set dirty dishes in the sink and turned on the hot water.

  “Why would I do that? I’ve learned my lesson with you.” Then Nana started to laugh again. She seemed like her old self again. She’d gotten a clean bill of health from her doctor, or so she said.

  I went back to the dining room to clear away the rest of the dishes, but I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek out the front window to check on Jamilla and the kids.

  They were out in the street, tossing around Damon’s football. The three of them were laughing. I also noticed that Jamilla had a real good arm, threw a tight spiral. She was used to playing with the boys, wasn’t she?

  Chapter 34

  JAMILLA WAS STAYING in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the room we always kept for special guests — presidents, queens, prime ministers, and the like. The kids thought we were doing it for appearances, and we would have, but the unvarnished truth was, Jam and I had never been together that way, had never even kissed before the airport reunion. Jamilla was here to find out if things should go any further between the two of us.

  She came in through the back door of the kitchen while I was finishing up the dishes. The kids were still playing outside and Nana was straightening up God knows what upstairs.

  Probably the guest room, but maybe the hall bathroom. Or the linen closet?

  “I can’t stand it,” I finally said.

  “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course I do. We’re buddies, right?”

  I didn’t answer, but I grabbed hold of Jamilla’s shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. Then I kissed her again. I was keeping an eye peeled for the kids.

  And Nana, of course.

  And Rosie our cat, who is a big gossip too.

  Jamilla started to laugh. “They all think we’re doing a lot worse than this, the kids, your grandmother, even that nosy cat.”

  “Thinking is different from knowing,” I said.

  “I like your family a lot,” Jamilla said as she stared into my eyes. “I even like the cat. Hiya there, Rosie. You gonna tell everybody about our kisses?”

  “I like you,” I said as I held Jamilla in my arms.

  “A lot?” she asked as she pulled away. “You better like me a lot after I came all the way here from San Francisco. God, I hate plane rides these days!”

  “Maybe I do like you a lot. I don’t see you saying too much. Not a lot of reciprocation going on here.”

  She grabbed me again and kissed me harder. She pressed into me and then Jamilla slid her tongue into my mouth. I liked that — a lot. I was starting to respond in kind, which probably wasn’t a fantastic idea in the kitchen.

  “Get a room,” said a voice behind us.

  Nana was there, but she was laughing. “Let me call in the kids. I want them to see this too,” she said. “Let me get my Instamatic camera.”

  “She’s fooling with us,” I told Jam.

  “I know,” she said.

  “Heck I am,” said Nana. “I’m rooting for Alex to get to third base.” She was cackling like a cartoon crow again.

  Chapter 35

  I WOKE UP alone in bed the next morning with the sheets thrown every which way around my body. I was kind of used to the feeling, but I didn’t like it any more than I ever had, especially with Jamilla sleeping just down the hallway in the spare bedroom.

  I lay in bed for a few minutes, thinking about other people who wake up feeling alone, even though some of them share a bed with somebody else. I finally slid into some loose-fitting clothes, then tiptoed down the hall to check on Jamilla.

  I tapped lightly on the door.

  “I’m awake. Come in,” I heard her say. It was a nice sound, her voice — musical, sweet. I pushed against the door, and it opened with a soft whine.

  “Morning, Alex. I slept great,” Jamilla said. She was sitting up in bed, wearing a white T-shirt with SFPD in black printed on it. She started to laugh. “Sexy, huh?”

  “Actually, yeah. Detectives can be sexy. Samuel T. Jackson in Shaft, Pam Grier in Foxy Brown. Jamilla Hughes in the guest bedroom.”

  She whispered, “Come over here, you. Just for a minute. Come here, Alex. That’s an order.”

  I went forward and Jamilla reached out her arms and I slid into them as though I belonged there. Kind of nice. “Where were you when I needed you last night?” I asked her.

  “I was right here in the guest room.” She smiled and winked. “Listen, I don’t want your kids to get the wrong idea either. But . . .”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “But?” I asked. “But what?”

  “Just but. I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

  As we were finishing breakfast — in the kitchen, without the cloth napkins — I told Nana and the kids that Jamilla and I were going to tour Washington for the rest of the day. We needed a little time to ourselves. The kids just nodded over their cereal bowls; they’d been expecting as much.

  “I won’t expect you two home for supper, then,” Nana said. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We’ll catch a meal in town.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nana said.

  “Uh-huh,” said the kids.

  I drove about four miles from the house on Fifth. I pulled up to 2020 O Street and stopped the car. Some people might have trouble finding the place, or even any information about the Mansion on O Street. There’s no sign hanging outside, no indication that it isn’t a private residence. Most guests come to the Mansion by word of mouth. I happen to know the owner through friends at Kinkead’s restaurant in Foggy Bottom.

  Jamilla and I went inside, where I registered, and then we were brought upstairs to the Log Cabin Room. Along the way, just about every surface, corner, cranny, and crevice was filled with antique puppets, lithographs, jewelry in glass cases. We took it all in. Silently.

  A strange thing happened to me on our way upstairs. I had the thought Here I go again. It almost caused me to stop walking and head back to the car. But something inside told me not to give up, not to shut feelings out, to put my trust in Jamilla.

  Neither of us said a word until the bellman was gone.

  Chapter 36

  “WOW, I COULD get used to this in a hurry,” Jamilla whispered when we were alone in the room. “Let’s explore this place. It’s beautiful, perfect, Alex. Almost too nice.”

  And so we explored.

  The Log Cabin Room was an amazing two stories that even included a sauna-Jacuzzi. The loft was reached by spiral stairs and had a full kitchen. The walls and floors were wood paneled to suggest the simply hewn tongue-and-groove design of a cabin. A rough-cut stone-framed fireplace was there to keep everything cozy. There was also an aquarium.

  Jamilla did a quick, gleeful dance. She obviously approved, and so did I, mainly because she was happy. It sure was a whole lot better than the front seats of cars where we’d spent so many hours together during surveillance details in New Orleans.

  As we checked out the suite, we were exploring each other a little too. We stopped to kiss, and I discovered once again that Jamilla had the sweetest-tasting mouth. We held each other, and danced in place a bit. We kissed some more, and my head began to feel light. I was still nervous, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.

  Jamilla slowly unbuttoned my denim shirt, and I helped her loosen and then slip out of a cream-colored silk blouse. Under her shirt, she wore a plain, thin silver chain. Very simple and lovely.

  Her hands gently unfastened my belt, then loosened my pants. I helped her out of her leather ones. “Such a gentleman,” she said. Somewhere along the way I kicked off my shoes and she did the same with her sandals.

  Which finally, somehow, brought the two of us to the centerpiece of the suite — a king-size bed.

  “I like this,” she whispered against my cheek. “Nicest bed I ever saw.”

  The bed was definitely the visual focus of the room. It had four wooden c
olumns suggesting a canopy bed, but without the frills. It was covered with a flannelly comforter and half a dozen throw pillows, which we immediately tossed onto the floor. The room looked even better a little messed-up.

  “Music?” Jamilla asked.

  “Be nice,” I said. “You pick something.”

  She switched on the CD player and found WPFW, 89.3. Nina Simone’s “Wild Is the Wind” was playing.

  “Our song. From now on,” she said.

  Jamilla and I kissed again, and her mouth was soft. I was happy to see that the homicide inspector had a gentle side. Her lips continued to press into mine, and I felt myself melting. Maybe that was why I was afraid. Here I go again.

  “I’d never hurt you,” she whispered as if she knew my thoughts. “You don’t have to be afraid. Just don’t hurt me, Alex.”

  “I won’t.”

  A few minutes later, we were dancing to “Just the Two of Us” and I folded Jam in real close. This was good.

  She was strong, but she knew how to be tender. Another detective. How about that? We moved well together. My lips brushed the top of her shoulders, then the hollow in her throat, and just lingered.

  “Bite me there. Just a little,” she whispered.

  I nipped her gently, slowly. I didn’t want to hurry any of this. The first time with someone wasn’t like any other. Not always the best, though sometimes, but always different, exciting, mysterious. Jamilla reminded me of my dead wife, Maria, and I thought that was a good thing. She was tough on the outside, a city girl, but she could be tender and sweet. The contrast was special, and dramatic enough to give me goosebumps.

  I could feel her breasts touch my chest, then her whole body was pressing into me. Our kisses became deeper and more passionate, and lasted longer.

  I undid her bra, and it slipped to the floor. Then I slid off her panties and she pulled down my shorts.

  We stood there and looked at each other for a long time, appraising — admiring, I guess — building up anticipation and passion and whatever else was going on between us. I wanted Jamilla badly now, but I waited. We waited.

  “Disappointed?” she whispered so low that I almost couldn’t hear what she said.

  Her question threw me a little. “God, no. Why should I be? Who could be disappointed with you?”

  She didn’t say anything, but I thought I knew who she was talking about. Her ex-husband had said things that had hurt her. I pulled Jamilla to me, and her body felt hot all over. She was trembling. We slid down on the bed, and she rolled on top of me. She kissed my cheeks, then my lips. “You sure you’re not disappointed?”

  “Definitely not disappointed,” I said. “You’re beautiful, Jamilla.”

  “In your eyes.”

  “Okay. In my eyes, you’re beautiful.”

  I raised my head to her breasts, and she lowered herself to me. I kissed one, then the other, playing no favorites. Her breasts were small, just right. In my eyes. I continued to be amazed that Jamilla didn’t seem to know that she was attractive. I knew it was a terrible thing that happened to some women, and some men too.

  I lay my head down and looked at her face, studied it some. I kissed her nose, her cheeks.

  She was smiling in a way I’d never seen before. Open and relaxed, beginning to trust, which I loved to see. I felt that I could stare into her deep brown eyes forever.

  I eased myself inside Jamilla, and I had a thought that this was just about perfect. I had been right to trust her. Then I had another thought that I hated — What will spoil it this time?

  Chapter 37

  JAMILLA STARTED TO laugh and then she said, “Phew.” She ran her hand over 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, probably to shut me up. Her lips were soft and sweet. We kissed — a long, lingering one. 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 flash on the telephone on the nightstand. 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. 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.”

  Jamilla pulled back a little. She looked deeply into my eyes. “That’s okay,” she said. “Doesn’t mean anything. Except I really love that you were guilty about it. That’s nice. I’ll always remember that about my trip to Washington.”

  “Your first trip,” I said.

  “My first trip,” Jamilla agreed.

  Chapter 38

  OUR TIME TOGETHER in Washington raced by like a couple of blinks of an eye, and before I knew it Jamilla had to go back to San Francisco. Sunday afternoon at a very crowded Reagan National. Fortunately, my badge got me out to the gate area. I was bummed to see her leave, and I didn’t think she wanted to go, actually. The two of us hugged for a long time at the gate and didn’t much care if anyone was staring.

  Then Jam had to run to her plane, or miss it.

  “Why don’t you just stay another night?” I asked. “Lots of planes tomorrow. And the next day. Day after that.”

  “I really, really liked this,” she said as she pulled away from me and started to backpedal. “Bye, Alex. Please miss me. I liked Washington more than I thought I would.”

  A flight attendant followed her in and closed the door between us. Jeez, I even liked the way Jamilla ran. She glided.

  And I did miss her already. I was starting to fall again, and that scared me.

  That night at home I was up long after midnight. At one particularly low point, I went out to the sunporch and sat at the piano, playing a pretty pathetic “Someone to Watch
Over Me,” thinking about Jamilla Hughes, romanticizing like hell, loving every painful second of it.

  I wondered what was going to happen to the two of us? Then I remembered something Sampson had once said. Don’t ever be Alex’s girlfriend. It’s dangerous. Unfortunately, he had been right so far.

  A few minutes later I became aware of banging on the screen door out front. I went around and found Sampson leaning against the doorjamb. He didn’t look real good. Actually, he looked awful.

  Chapter 39

  HE WAS UNSHAVED, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes red and swollen. I had the feeling he’d been drinking. Then I opened the door and smelled liquor all over him as if he’d taken a bath in the stuff.

  “Figured you’d be up,” he slurred out a few words. “Knew you would be.”

  Yeah, he’d been drinking — a lot. I hadn’t seen John like this in a long time, maybe ever. He didn’t look real happy either.

  “C’mon inside,” I said. “C’mon, John.”

  “Don’t need to go anywhere,” he said loudly. “Don’t need any more help from you. You helped enough, man.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, and tried again to guide him inside the house.

  He shook loose, his long, powerful arms flailing. “What did I say? I don’t need your help!” he yelled at me. “You already fucked up enough. The great Dr. Cross! Yeah, right. Not this time. Not for Ellis Cooper.”

  I took a step back away from him. “Keep your voice down. Everybody’s sleeping inside. You hear me?”

  “Don’t tell me what the hell to do. Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled. “You fucked up. We fucked up, but you’re supposed to be so smart.”

  I finally told Sampson, “Go home and sleep it off.” I shut the door on him. But he pulled it open again, almost took the damn thing off its hinges.

  “Don’t walk away from me either!” he yelled.