Dirty

by Skye Warren

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a detective. Being observant is part of the job description. Besides, I was into you. By that, I mean hopelessly obsessed and crazy into you. You tend to notice someone’s beverage choices in that state.”

  I stared, mouth agape, as he made his casual pronunciation of being into me. What did that even mean? Besides amazing. He had already turned back to his laptop and was squinting at the bright glare.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m not usually so slow on the uptake, but it’s early, and in my defense, we almost died last night. Did you say you were into me?”

  He looked up, seeming slightly amused by my confusion. “Sure. I’m pretty sure everyone knew that. Except possibly you.”

  “There’s a reason for that. I just can’t think of it right now. Oh, wait. I know. It’s because you refused to touch me or really even look at me the entire time I was your informant, which is almost the entire time you’ve known me.”

  “That was to keep from jumping you.”

  “Which would have been bad, because…”

  “Aforementioned reasons.”

  He sounded almost cheerful. Dear God, was he a morning person?

  “The age difference. The guilt. The impropriety, considering my position of authority. The impossibility of a long-term relationship while you were an escort and I was a cop.”

  I had written off his objections last night, but in the sunny light of morning, they did seem like awfully big hurdles. “And now?”

  “It’s a little late for regrets.” He raised his eyebrow. “Do you regret what we did?”

  Did I? It terrified me, but I wasn’t sure that counted. It thrilled me, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit that. “As sexual escapades go, it was rather tame.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “You’re not the first cop I’ve slept with, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  I threw up my hands. “Then I don’t know what you want from me.”

  He was definitely amused. “It’s the morning after. I declared my feelings for you. Now is generally the time you do the same for me. Unless you don’t have feelings for me.”

  There was a protocol for this?

  “Is that it, Shelly?”

  He stood up and approached me, blocking me against the counter. His green eyes leveled with mine, measuring me, assessing.

  “Is that all? Was I nothing more than a quick, meaningless fuck?”

  Oh God, he was going to make me say it. And if I didn’t—what then? There were rules, apparently. Maybe he wouldn’t touch me again. “I have feelings,” I admitted sourly.

  I waited for him to throw it back in my face, to smirk or boast. Instead he dropped a quick kiss on my lips and said, “Good.” Then he returned to his work, adding, “There’s bread for toast or fruit in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

  Leaning on the counter for support, I caught my breath. Could it really be that simple, one declaration, then another? Could there really be hope for us, just two ordinary people caring for each other?

  “I need to send an e-mail off. Can I use your computer?”

  He hesitated for a moment before standing. He gestured to his laptop. “Go for it. It’s not traceable.”

  I pulled up a browser and typed off a quick e-mail to Allie, asking her to check on Ella—and Philip. Trust but verify seemed like a good policy with them, the self-destructive good girl and the honorable bastard.

  I believed that Philip would honor the terms of our deal, and Adrian could play nanny with the best of them. Ella was the unknown quantity. A girl with a crush was a dangerous thing.

  But leaving her there had been more than convenience; it was a life insurance policy. If I succeeded with Luke, she’d go back to her old life, untouched and intact. If I failed, if I died, then the safest place for her was with Philip. Even if she had to pay rent with her body, at least she’d be alive.

  After hitting Send, I turned my attention to the maps spread under and around the laptop.

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  “Tracing Henri’s payment from the brothels in Roseland.”

  “Ah.” Not so ordinary after all. I sat down heavily at the table.

  “He wouldn’t have skipped town, not with his entire business running out of Chicago. He’d stay near the money, which means he’s around here somewhere.” Lines of tension appeared in his forehead. “We need to find him soon. He’s already running. It’s time to go in for the kill.”

  Guiltily, I thought of the Barracks. For all I knew, it might not be a good lead. It could even be a trap. Maybe I was protecting him by not telling him. But that was a bunch of bullshit. He’d want to know. As it was, he would be pissed at me for keeping it from him.

  I was distracted from my guilt when he pulled out a gun and set it on the table. It was slightly smaller than the one Marguerite had given me but shaped the same.

  “Why’d you bring a gun to the club?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

  I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta stay safe.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. “Speaking of safety, do you know how to use the safety?”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Duh.”

  Marguerite had showed me a little metal ridge before I left. I couldn’t have reproduced her smooth actions, though. I had been too scared to touch the thing. From the look on Luke’s face, he knew that too, and he didn’t seem very happy about it.

  “I’m going to teach you how to use this.”

  “Really?” I was sure he’d tell me never to touch one again, not encourage the behavior.

  He shook his head. “I don’t like you with this, but if you’re determined to have a gun, I know you can just get another one. I’d rather you know what you’re doing with it than shoot your leg off.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  We spent the next hour with him showing me how to load and unload the subcompact and covering the many safety rules. When I had passed each of his instructions and questions multiple times, he took me outside, armed with rubber earmuffs and eyewear. Red concentric circles had been painted on a couple of trees. With me standing behind him, he took aim and shot. The report was loud even through the earmuffs, and a small tuft of tree bark flew out from the center of the red circle and fell to the ground.

  He handed the gun to me and stepped back. I looked at the gun, then back at him, but he only waited. Right.

  I tried to remember what he’d told me. Widen my legs for a firm stance. Left thumb on the side, not wrapped around the back. Aim using the sights. Finger off the trigger until I was ready to shoot, and then pull, slowly, steadily, until—I blinked. A new hole had been created in one of the outer circles. Not even close to the center, but…I had hit a tree. That was a hell of an improvement over barely being able to look at the target. I laughed, giddy.

  He was smiling too, but he nodded again toward the tree. I turned and shot off the rest of the clip. A few of them even landed inside the smallest circle.

  When I was done, I set the empty gun down and jumped at him. It felt…freeing. Violent too, but maybe a little violence was what I needed in my life, perpetrated by me this time. It was exactly like Marguerite had said. I felt empowered, like I was doing something more than running, like I was finally fighting back. I knew that a single shooting session wasn’t enough to combat all of Henri’s men, but the real value was the power that coursed through me. I could fight back.

  His grin faded slightly. “How’s your shoulder? Did the kick bother it at all?”

  He was referring to my gunshot wound.

  “It’s never felt better,” I said honestly. That small radius had always made me feel like a victim. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way.

  “Listen,” I said. “Do you remember when I went in the bathroom with that girl?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He got a faraway look. “I’m sorry I waited un
til you were gone to ask about Daisy. That wasn’t fair to you.”

  Deep breath. “She told me something about Henri while we were talking.”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We were partners in there, and you should have had all the information.”

  “There’s a warehouse or airport hangar or—”

  “I just didn’t want you to think less of me,” he said.

  Distracted, I asked, “Why would that make me think less of you?”

  “The way I grew up.” He focused on me. “There was a reason I fit in so well at the club. I know you noticed.”

  I had. “I figured it was your cop prowess.”

  He laughed shortly. “Not exactly. I grew up dirt-poor, in the scariest fucking neighborhood around. It’s gone now. They razed it down, built some fancy houses on top. It was for the best. That place needed to go.”

  My hand found his.

  “We lived in the basement of this house, renting, but my mom was a nurse, so she was gone for full days at a time. The guy who owned the house was a real jerk. It was worse when I got a job after school. Daisy would lock herself in her room until one of us got home.” He looked down at our linked fingers. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  I squeezed gently. “Because you can. Remember? You don’t have to pretend around me.”

  A faint smile brushed his lips. “That was supposed to go the other way. So that you could relax.”

  “I’m relaxed. And I don’t think less of you.”

  “It got worse.” He grew grim. “My mom died when I was fifteen. Some lunatic came into the ER, waving a gun around. Shot her and three other people because his wife had died there. How does that make sense? What kind of logic is that?”

  “I’m so sorry.” My heart ached for the grief on his face.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, the guy who owned the house ransacked our rooms. He took the money, any documents, everything important. When the police came, they said Daisy and I should stay there, that he had allowed us to live there and continue going to school until they determined a permanent solution. I guess he was supposed to be our temporary guardian, but we knew it would be bad. Maybe if I had said something. If I had spoken out against him then, they might have removed us from the home.”

  The way he spoke, it was clear he’d been down this line of questioning before, that the path was deeply rutted with guilt and what-ifs. I knew how dangerous that path could be. “You did what you thought was right at the time. You were a kid.”

  “That night when he came for Daisy, I fought him. I punched him, and he went down, hitting his head on a table. There was blood everywhere. I thought I’d killed him.” He met my eyes, a little dark, a little rueful. “I was sure I had. Only years later I looked him up and found out he’d lived another six months before his liver gave out.”

  “It was self-defense,” I said, stating the obvious, knowing it wouldn’t have mattered to a scared kid protecting his little sister.

  He stood up and paced, as if unable to stay still. “We didn’t wait to see if they’d believe us or where they’d put us next. We ran. For a while it wasn’t too bad. I was motivated. I worked all day and all night instead of going to school. I made enough to buy food, and that was about it. I’d bring her library books to read, but she had all day to sit around in the abandoned house we were staying in. She was bored and restless, like any twelve-year-old girl would be day after day.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said, heart heavy. After all, I already knew the ending to this story.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, but I knew he didn’t believe it. “She just wanted to make friends. But the only other street kids around stole shit and did drugs. She got caught up in it. We argued all the time, but I wasn’t there. I was out working for us so much of the time, and then when I was home, I was exhausted.” Regret stained his words. “I didn’t have enough patience with her, nor did I try to see her side of things. I just yelled at her to stop seeing them.”

  “A fifteen-year-old boy is not ready to parent a teenage girl. He’s not supposed to be ready to do that. That’s what parents are for.” Although it seemed like we’d both got the shaft in the parental department.

  “Then one day, she disappeared. She had gone missing a couple of nights and come back in the morning. The first few times, I had looked everywhere and given her a bunch of shit when she came back. This time I was going to be tough. I was going to tell her she had to shape up, or I wouldn’t help her anymore. No more giving money to her so-called friends for drugs. When she came back, I was going to cut her off. Only she never came back.”

  I hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head.

  “I looked for her, of course. Beat the shit out of a few of her friends; they told me she’d started hooking. Didn’t get very far on my own. I got my GED and enrolled into the academy.”

  “You’ve never stopped looking,” I said softly.

  “I can’t,” he admitted. “Even when I tell myself I’m done, that I’ve moved on, I find myself pulling up Jane Doe records. I hadn’t even planned on asking about her last night. Or maybe I knew I would. I don’t know anymore. But the guy told me he’d been with Henri from the early days, and the timing was right. Next thing I know, I’m questioning him and risking the whole damn operation, risking your safety, on a lost cause.”

  Frustration rolled off him in waves. Like a lion caught in a trap, he would pull and gnaw until he’d torn his paw off just to be free—maim himself to escape his demons.

  “Of course,” I said. “Of course you should have.”

  “I risked my cover. I put you in danger.” He vibrated with guilt.

  It would tear him apart—guilt for his sister, for me. “I’m glad you asked about her. At least now you know for sure she was with Henri, right?”

  “Yeah. I had suspected as much, but now I know for sure.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “You’re sweet.”

  I laughed softly. “All I did was listen.”

  “Always undervaluing yourself.”

  “I assure you, my price is very high,” I said in a mocking voice. “Don’t assume that because I gave it to you for free that I’m cheap.”

  “Hey.”

  He turned me in his arms so that I faced him. When I wouldn’t look at him, he raised my chin. Solemn green eyes met mine.

  “You honored me.”

  My eyes burned; my throat tightened. I was seconds away from embarrassing myself. I kissed him, using my sexuality as a shield like I’d always done. He responded at once, taking the lead with his hand on the back of my neck, holding me open. His grip on me was implacable, inescapable, but his lips were infinitely gentle. He ran his tongue along my lips, soothing, calming, and it felt like gratitude. I hoped he did feel lighter, having shared his burden. I hoped he would slake any remaining tension with my body. All of it food for my ramshackle soul. To be wanted, needed—even adored. Men praised me, they used me, and so I found sustenance.

  He deepened the kiss, grew rougher, more demanding.

  “Come into the bedroom,” he said, both question and demand.

  It didn’t matter. Anything, always. “Yes.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  We tumbled together, bare skin against abrasive ruffles, naked bodies to streaming sunlight. Playfully, I pulled away. He pounced, trapping me beneath his. I lay my cheek against the bed in surrender.

  “Stay,” he said. His weight lifted, but I felt the light pressure of his hand on the small of my back.

  I remained bent over the bed, with my feet touching the floor and my face turned into the sheets. Cool air brushed my backside, and I knew he was watching me. I had very few qualms about my body. My waist was slim, and the five pounds I’d gained in the past year went straight to my hips. My skin was waxed and shaved with careful precision, and I had a small blue vein running down my left thigh. I couldn’t shake the nervousness about what
he thought. I already knew I turned him on; shouldn’t that be enough? But this was Luke.

  Nervously, I shifted on the bed.

  He hissed a breath. His hand on me moved lower, over the curve of my ass, down the sensitive stretch on my thigh. Between my thighs, I felt his hot breath. Probing, possessive fingers spread me open, exposed me to his tongue.

  I moaned at the touch and ground myself against the bed. My thighs quivered as he spread them farther, reaching deeper.

  His exploration was so careful, so slow. Far too slow. Not a manipulation but a lesson, as if he was learning what I liked and where I liked it. It should have felt clinical, but instead my arousal reached a fever pitch. Being desired by a man who knew me inside as well as out, being helpless to a man who would never hurt me. It was foreign—and addictive. I wanted to lie open to his emerald gaze, to his careful fingers, to his sweetly curling tongue until eternity. I wanted to shake and cry out and come against his mouth forever. And then I couldn’t want anymore, couldn’t think at all—just feel. Oh God, the things I felt. There was anguish and ecstasy; there was anger and a sublime sense of connection.

  The tear of foil pierced my haze, but I didn’t move, not until he turned me over. I spread my legs, eager and hopeful. He entered me in a smooth, painless thrust. A gasp escaped me at the shock of being filled, at the pure joy of being filled by him. His answering groan sent shivers down my arms.

  We moved together in an ancient dance, a universal rhythm—one I had done a hundred times, more, and each one had been a sham. A parody of this act and this intimacy. I hooked my legs around him, pulling him closer, forcing him deeper. His lips found mine with no hesitation this time. He was joined to me at every point—my mouth, my sex, the hard planes of his chest against my breasts, and still it wasn’t enough. I scrabbled at his back, desperate and clawing, like some sort of wild sex animal, and he responded in kind, shoving his hand into my hair, holding down my hip, and growling a low sound of approval into my mouth. I spasmed and clenched around his cock, coming countless times, my orgasms bleeding together to form one long litany of sensual rapture.