Illicit

by Pryce, Madeline

  He squeezed her thigh. “Good, girl. Now, crawl inside. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She braced her weight with her hands on the sill. Peter lifted her from his shoulders, pushed with a hand on her ass. In an ungraceful heap, she tumbled through the open window into the pitch-black office. A desk broke her fall along with the sharp end of a pencil, damn near stabbing her back.

  “Graceful,” Peter said as he lifted first his head, then shoulders into the window, his bulk eclipsing the outside world. She wondered for a moment if he’d even fit.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, and then added, “There isn’t anything under the window, so brace yourself for a fall.” Ha. She hoped he fell on his face.

  Picking herself up, she crawled off Grady’s desk. In the darkness, the only things she could make out were heaps of paper and the silhouette of a large desk phone. She looked around, tried to gauge if anything was different from the last time she’d been there several months ago. The office was small, not much to forget. In the dark, she made out a large, single standing filing cabinet and the half wood, half glass door leading toward the main hall of offices.

  Against the wall next to the door, she flipped the light switch in time to watch Peter land soundlessly on the desk in a lethal-looking crouch.

  “Show-off,” she muttered.

  Without having to say it aloud, they split up, staying at opposites ends of the room. Peter took the desk and she looked through the filing cabinet. Numbers and letters stared at her on shiny, plastic-protected labels. Where were the names? The dates? The folders were arranged by some sort of numbering system she didn’t understand. How in the hell was she supposed to figure out where Greg’s uncensored file was? Surely the folder she’d been given was missing information.

  Behind her, drawers opened, closed, papers rustled together. All noise stopped, as if Peter had frozen in place.

  Her heart stilled. Peter had found something. Enough to convict Grady without a trial. Could he have killed Becca and Greg? Eva felt sick.

  “Isn’t this sweet.” The venomous note in Peter’s voice said it was anything but.

  She turned slowly. In his hand, he held up a framed photo. Taken years ago, the prom photo depicted a time in her life where Grady’s entire world rose and set at her feet. A beardless Grady, ten years younger, stared at her with stars in his eyes. And she...Eva looked ahead at the camera. She’d never realized how isolated she’d been until Greg’s death. She had no friends. No one accept Grady and even him she’d held at arm’s length.

  Pathetic insight aside, the photo Peter had found was hardly incriminating. The breath she’d been holding whooshed free.

  Peter glanced from her to the photo, back to her. “Is this the night you let him pop your cherry? Did he tell you he loved you? Is that how he got you on your back? Because honestly, you look less than thrilled in this picture.”

  She had been less than thrilled. “Screw you, Peter. Not everyone wants to go through life alone. There isn’t anything wrong with letting someone love you.”

  “Really? I can see Grady loving you turned out really well.” He threw the frame onto the desk, laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the detective’s chair as if it were his own. “How’s your face feel? No.” He paused. “How do you think Greg feels about Grady’s love for you?” Peter dropped his arms, slammed his feet to the floor. “Oh wait, he’s dead.”

  “He didn’t kill him,” she said, and turned to resume proving Grady’s innocence.

  The town’s boring history played before her in pictures and in files, and she was grateful for something other than Peter to concentrate on. She caught only glances of the files’ content, but soon discovered most of the town’s crime consisted of public disturbances, and a few drunken brawls. The time passed slowly and silently, neither productive for her spinning thoughts.

  “Found the file,” Peter said.

  “Where was it?” she asked, moving to stand behind him so she could read over his shoulder.

  “Taped under the desk. Paranoid fucker.”

  “Well, he has reason. We broke in here, didn’t we?”

  Peter opened the folder, scanned through documents they’d already seen.

  “There has to be more,” he muttered, flipped through the papers once more.

  He was right, there had to be more. Eva glanced around Grady’s desk, ruffled through loose Post-its and receipts Peter had pulled from the drawers. She looked closer, squinted at a boarding pass and tried to remember when Grady had gone out of town.

  The date stamp was faded, hard to read.

  “What is it?” Peter asked, looking up from the file.

  He spun the chair around, put them almost nose to nose. She swallowed, tried to look anywhere except his mouth, or his eyes. She shoved the ticket against his chest, stepped back.

  “Grady wasn’t in town the night Greg was killed, or I guess he was just getting in. Check the arrival time on this plane ticket. Five PM. He couldn’t have met Greg in the woods. Hell, he must have come to the clinic to investigate the murder right from the airport.”

  Peter sat back in the chair, studied the evidence. He was silent for a full minute.

  “Maybe this is his alibi.” Suspicion still filled his tone.

  “Look at the stamp, ‘ID Checked.’”

  He threw the stub to the desk. “Fuck.”

  A victorious smile filled her face. “I told you he didn’t do it.”

  Teeth clenched, Peter said slowly, unhappily, “He didn’t do it. But, his scent was all over the forest. It was fresh. He is guilty of something.”

  “Someone set him—”

  She cut off mid sentence when Peter stiffened, his head cocking toward the door. Without preternatural senses she could hear the sound too—boot steps. A shadow approached the door. A figure appeared through the glass. Eva grimaced at the murderous look on Grady’s face. It was too late to jump through the window; they’d already been seen.

  The detective threw open the door hard enough for it to crash against the wall. “What in the hell are you two doing in here?” he growled.

  Wrinkles lined his gray sweat pants and black tee. His thick brown coat wasn’t buttoned and his hair stuck out in several different directions. He’d just rolled from bed.

  “Would you believe me if I told you Peter wanted me to have sex on your desk to prove my loyalty to him?” she asked.

  Grady hiked an eyebrow, looked back and forth between them. Instead of panicking like her, Peter had lounged back in the chair and kicked his dirty boots up on the desk.

  “If I’d caught you two naked, maybe.” Grady pointed at Peter. “He seems like enough of asshole to do something like that. And, get your fucking boots off my desk.” Grady reached behind him, drawing a gun from the back waistband of his pants. Two handed, he held the butt and leveled the barrel. “You might also want to set the file down and put your hands in the air.”

  Her arms rose automatically, while beside her, Peter looked at the weapon with bored disinterest. He could cross the room in a second if he’d wanted; she didn’t have that luxury.

  “Put your hands down, Eva. He isn’t going to shoot us.”

  Peter had a point. Grady wasn’t a killer. Slowly, her hands fell to her sides in the same moment the cop dropped his gun on a sigh.

  “What the hell, Eva?” Grady asked. “You better start explaining before I throw your ass in jail.”

  “I didn’t think you’d given me the complete file on Greg’s case. I wanted to see the original for myself.”

  Emotion filled his eyes, and the depth of it looked almost as painful as his swollen nose and black eye. “You thought I killed him, didn’t you?” He looked to Peter. “That’s what earlier was about, you wanting to rip off my head.”

  “You punched Eva in the face,” Peter growled. “That was enough; the fact I thought you murdered my father, and then Becca, was a bonus.”

  Grady drew a hand down his face. “I was out of
town when Greg was murdered. My dad alerted me when I was on my way from the airport. You think he’d let me investigate the case unless I had an alibi? I would have been the prime suspect in Greg’s case.”

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “We, ah, found your boarding pass. So yes, we know you didn’t do it.”

  “I can’t believe you’d think I was capable of murder. In all the years we dated, did I ever display any violent tendencies? I didn’t mean to hit you the other night, Eva, you know that.” Grady stepped close.

  Peter rose to his feet in one fluid movement. His bulk filled the tiny room as if the space around them had shrunk. He made a noise in the back of his throat, a warning that stopped the detective mid step.

  “I know, Grady, I’m sorry. But,” she hesitated, tried to figure out a way to tell him about his scent at the hunting cabin without giving away the Pard’s secret. Looking at Peter, she touched her nose, hoped he’d get the hint.

  He took over the conversation, the hostility in his voice matching the venom lingering in his eyes. “Have you ever been out to Greg’s hunting cabin in the south bend of the forest, near the lake?”

  Grady’s gaze cut to her. “Not any time recently.”

  She and Peter exchanged a glance. Someone had purposefully made it seem like Grady had been there. Someone who knew Peter would be looking for a scent. Someone in the Pard.

  “Why?” Grady asked, not missing their exchange. “What do you two know?”

  “We’re leaving,” Peter said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward.

  Grady frowned, stepped in front of the door. “I can have you both arrested for breaking and entering, and if you’re withholding evidence—”

  “You won’t do shit,” Peter said confidently.

  Arms crossed over his chest, Grady narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you so sure?”

  “Because you’re in love with Eva.”

  “So are you,” Grady shot right back.

  Her heart raced, the sudden acceleration heating her from the inside out. The thud, thud, thud stopped and the sweat on her skin chilled. She looked at Peter, but he didn’t meet her gaze, didn’t move a single muscle. Silent, he stared at Grady until the other man shifted, blinked, and then looked away.

  “Get out of here, the both of you, before I come to my senses.”

  She went straight for the door, didn’t need to be told twice, didn’t need Peter’s hand on her arm to pull her out of the testosterone-filled room. Outside of the police station in the cold wintery night, she turned to Grady one last time. “How’d you know we were inside?”

  “Anonymous tip. Someone called my house, told me I needed to get to the station.”

  A frown shaped Peter’s brows. “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “Nah, but I requested a trace on the line. Sometimes I get results back in a few hours, sometimes a few days. Depends on how lazy the phone company is.”

  She waved good-bye, and her and Peter walked back to the bar toward his truck.

  “You think someone saw us breaking in?” she asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

  Peter stopped at the driver side door, looked at her over the top of the cab. “Whoever killed Greg and Becca is watching you, saw us go into the building and called Grady.”

  “It’s someone in the Pard, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Peter looked up one side of the deserted street, then the other. “Get in.”

  “About what Grady said…”

  The muscles in his cheeks flexed. “Drop it, Eva.”

  She shook her head, hated the kernel of hope simmering inside of her. Peter felt something for her. She wasn’t wrong, hadn’t misread him when he’d made love to her, when he’d laced their fingers together and looked at her as if she was his one and only.

  The hesitation lasted only seconds. “So we’re just going to ignore what’s between us?”

  “There is no us,” he said, his voice harsh and unyielding. “Now get in the fucking truck.”

  The drive back home was no more pleasant then the ride to the police station had been. She wasn’t surprised when they pulled in front of her house and Peter slammed the truck into park, then shoved open his door.

  “You aren’t coming inside, if that’s what you’re planning,” she said.

  Already angry, she got more upset when he ignored her, got out of the truck and walked the perimeter as if he lived there. He tilted his head back, sniffing the air, a gesture that would have looked arrogant to anyone else. She knew better. Her heart warmed at the realization he was protecting her. When he changed courses, heading for the front door, she scrambled out of the cab after him.

  “You can go now,” she said, brushing past him, keys already in her hand.

  He leaned into her, his height an imposing force that would have made most people shrink in on themselves. “Not until I’ve checked the inside as well, or have you forgotten almost every member of the Pard has a key?”

  She pressed a hand against his chest, tried to shove him back. He barely budged. “I can take care of myself. There is no us, as you put it, so stop trying to protect me. Either you care or you don’t. You don’t get it both ways.”

  “Wrong. I can have it any way I want it.” He ripped the keys from her hand, and pushed open the front door.

  Storming inside, he didn’t bother to kick the snow off his boots. He made quick work of scanning the house for any apparent danger, disappearing upstairs, returning before she could blink. She didn’t dare close the door behind, didn’t follow after him.

  He stopped in front of her, looked down. She didn’t miss the restless hunger in his eyes, or the way his gaze dipped to her mouth. Her insides heated.

  “You should come with a warning,” he growled, his words vague and unfocused. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped away. “Lock up when I leave. I’ll be in the woods out back, don’t go anywhere without me.”

  Not bothering to wait for her confirmation, he left the house the same way he’d come inside. She shoved the front door closed behind him, engaged the lock. Ripping off the beanie and her coat, she let out a soft breath. Alone. She toed off her boots, bent to remove her wool socks and made her way toward the kitchen. She needed to eat, to sleep.

  She needed to stop thinking about Peter.

  She opened the fridge. Cool air bathed her flushed cheeks. She reached inside, hand closing around the milk when the gust of frigid air ruffled the hair at her neck. The sensation came from behind her, as if someone had just opened the back door. Peter. He’d changed his mind. Her heart sped stupidly. She spun to face him, her smirk fading at the approaching figure.

  Not Peter. The unexpectedness of the man in her kitchen had her jumping back, slamming the refrigerator door shut with her ass.

  “God, James!” She pressed a hand over her racing heart, laughed. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  The stoic expression on his face didn’t waver. She glanced from the tight line of his lips to the hand he used to shut the back door. The lock snicked into place, the sound very loud in the nearly empty house.

  “I’m sorry, Eva,” he said, took a menacing step forward.

  Swallowing, thinking she was being ridiculous, she fought her mounting panic. This was James, her uncle, a man who’d cared for her for as long as she could remember. She forced her shoulders to relax. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, Eva, nothing is okay.” There was something in his voice, low and dangerous.

  Her tongue swiped over her lower lip, her only solution to appease the tight, chapped sensation. “How’d you get in here?” she asked.

  “Never you mind that.” He crossed the room, forcing her to press back against the steel fridge.

  She was being ridiculous. Frazzled nerves were her only explanation for the vehemence radiating off the man in front of her. In the blink of an eye, James was no longer the good old uncle she’d grown up with. He stopped a few inches before her, his bulk a large shad
ow looming over her, bathing her in darkness. Instincts screamed at her to run.

  “James?” she croaked, barely able to speak past the dry knot lodged in her throat. Subtly, she scooted to the left, her goal the open archway of the living room behind her.

  He sidestepped with her, a shadow she couldn’t outmaneuver.

  “Things would have gone to plan if he hadn’t showed up. He’s ruined everything and he’ll pay for it.”

  “He?” She glanced at the closed door leading out to the forest, leading to where Peter stalked through the darkness. Peter.

  “He stole you from me, just like my brother stole Jenny all those years ago.” Every word he spoke was a hot wash of breath against her face. Whiskey soured the air, clenched her gut. His face twisted with rage, the bracketing lines around his eyes and mouth now monstrous. “I’m not some weak submissive to bend at the Alpha’s will. I’ll be damned if Peter waltzes into town and takes everything I’ve earned. This Pard is mine. You’re mine.”

  Before she could process what his words meant, he flew at her. Instinct shoved her leg out. A poorly aimed boot glanced off his upper thigh, inches from where she’d meant to kick him. On a harsh growl, he speared his fingers through her hair and wrenched her against his hard body. Pain pricked her scalp, a sensation spurring her to fight even harder.

  He tumbled her toward the ground. The heavy weight of his body pinned her in place and made it impossible to punch him.

  “Stop struggling.” His words were a low, fierce whisper.

  Lifting a knee between them, she found his groin and shoved. His howl pierced the air. The second noise was her head thudding against the floor. Once, twice, he repeated the motion until her struggles weakened. Stars danced in front of her eyes. When she would have screamed, he pressed his forearm against her throat, cut off her air.

  Energy surged through her, giving her strength to score her nails across his face. Blood welled, dripped in hot splatters against her cheeks. Nothing deterred her attacker, her betrayer.

  James had killed her father. Killed Becca for some reason she still hadn’t been able to figure out. As her vision faded to black and her limbs fell useless to her sides, her uncle leaned down and pressed his mouth softly against hers.