“Off?”
“It gets you hot, all that money and power.”
“No!” Susan exclaimed. “I mean… That’s not… I…” She trailed off when she realized she was making no sense. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “What right do you have, talking to me like this?”
“I’m just makin’ an observation,” Christian said calmly, even as his eyes twinkled at having gotten to her so easily.
“Well, keep your observations to yourself.”
Christian was silent for a long few minutes. “Joe don’t like it, you know,” he said finally.
“Like what?”
“You marrying this guy.”
Susan was taken aback, not sure whether or not to believe him. “How do you know?”
Christian looked over at her, his light blue eyes disconcerting her, then shrugged. “I heard him talkin’ to Midnight.”
Susan looked worried. “What did he say?”
“Just that he thought the guy was boring.”
Susan didn’t reply, her thoughts swirling. She hadn’t known that Joe didn’t like Warren; he hadn’t said anything. Christian ejected the tape and put in another, fast-forwarding to his favorite song on it—the title track on Def Leppard’s Slang. He liked the words a lot, and it had a fast-driving, harder-edged melody. He turned the volume up again and once more sang along. He looked for all intents and purposes like he meant every word, staring directly at Susan as he sang the first verse, disconcerting her further as she took in the words.
When the song ended, Susan looked at him pointedly. “What does ‘slang’ mean?”
Christian looked back at her openmouthed, then started to grin, shaking his head. “If you don’t know, he ain’t doin’ it right.”
“What?” Susan said, aghast at the insinuation in his voice.
“Sex,” Christian said, loudly and clearly. “It’s sex, okay?”
“Good Lord,” Susan said. Her sensibilities were being severely tested on this ride. She saw Christian shaking his head and immediately became angry again. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Christian said, his tone indicating disgust.
“What?”
“He’s the only guy you’ve slept with, ain’t he?” It was clear he thought she really didn’t need to answer.
“What business is it of yours?”
Christian looked at her for a long, measured moment, then shook his head again. “You don’t have to marry the first guy you fuck, you know.”
Susan couldn’t even begin to think of a reply. She sat staring out at the road ahead, feeling very impotent. Christian knew he’d hit home, and wondered if she’d even get past her injured dignity long enough to actually think about what he’d said. He figured he owed Joe a little bit of an effort, and he’d been trying to clue her in, but he also knew her sensibilities had been offended. “Diplomatic” was never a word anyone used to describe Christian Collins.
Later that day, Jeanie was spending her time with Donovan as she had many evenings since their first night together. They were lying on his couch, watching a movie, when his phone rang. Donovan reached up over his head and picked up the cordless phone.
“Hello?” he said, glancing down at Jeanie apologetically. She watched as he listened for a moment, then saw an irritated look cross his face.
“Look, Allison,” Donovan said, obviously straining to be patient, “I can’t, okay?” He listened for a couple more minutes, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. “No, alright, I just can’t.” He blew his breath out in an irritated sigh, glancing down at Jeanie again. “Because, Alli, I have a girlfriend now, okay?” Alli obviously went off on a tangent then, because Donovan listened resignedly with a very closed look on his face. When she was through he said, “Well, that’s how it is, okay? No, you don’t have to believe me, you just have to stop calling, okay?” He hung up a few minutes later. He looked down at Jeanie and saw that she was still watching him.
“Troubles?” Jeanie asked wryly.
Donovan grinned at her. “No, just an ex-girlfriend that doesn’t want to get the hint.”
“How many of those do you have?”
“How many of what?”
“Ex-girlfriends. A lot, huh?” she said, seeing the hesitant look on his face.
“A few, why?”
“Any of them really serious?” she said, ignoring his question.
“Why?”
“I’m just curious…” Jeanie’s voice took on a playful timbre. “About how many scores of women you’ve devastated along the way.”
“Funny,” Donovan said, moving to kiss her. A few minutes later, Jeanie’s questions and his answers didn’t matter nearly as much.
Two hours later they were in his bed, Jeanie lying over him, her hair fanned out across his chest. Donovan stroked her hair with one hand, gripping her waist with the other.
“So?” she said, her voice still reflecting the effects of their lovemaking.
Donovan grinned. “What? You want something else now?”
“Yes, I want to know if this is how you go about avoiding a simple question.”
Donovan looked back at her for a long moment, and she thought she saw the merest hint of irritation in his eyes. She was about to tell him never mind when he started to speak.
“Yes, one serious girlfriend. And yes, lots of others, hundreds, thousands,” he said, shrugging and rolling his eyes. “Maybe even millions. I lost count.”
Jeanie narrowed her eyes. “You rat. You know what I meant. One serious one, huh?”
Donovan sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if beseeching help from God to get him through this one. “Why do girls always want to talk about this stuff?”
“It’s genetic. So tell me about the serious one. Who was she?”
Donovan was quiet for a few moments, obviously debating whether to tell her, but then shrugged. “We got together halfway through our senior year in high school. She had her whole life planned, and it was kind of cool being with someone who had goals for a change.”
“What was her goal?”
He grinned. “To be a world-famous chef.”
“That’s where culinary classes came in?” Jeanie said, surprised. Though hearing it now, it made sense; he’d gone because of a woman.
“Yeah… that’s why I went. But I actually liked it too, for a while.”
“What happened?”
“Well,” Donovan said hesitantly, “I decided to go to the police academy, and it didn’t fit what she had planned for us.”
“And what was that?”
“She had us going to Paris after graduation and working in a very exclusive hotel there. She thought the police academy was a hideous idea.” He shrugged again, but Jeanie noticed that the look in his eyes had become very distant.
“Where is she now?” she asked, feeling jealous but not sure why.
“Still in Paris, as far as I know,” Donovan said nonchalantly.
“But she was serious, huh?”
“Yeah.” Donovan surprised her by turning onto his side and closing his eyes, signaling an end to the conversation.
Jeanie lay next to him, wondering at his mood. Was it talking about this particular girl that bothered him, or something else? After a long time, she got up and walked over to the pictures on his dresser. She was curious now. After looking at a few, she came to one of Donovan and a young woman. She had reddish-brown hair and ivory skin. Donovan was behind her with his arms around her waist. She was holding on to his arms, laughing up at him; Donovan was smiling too. Jeanie was just starting to take a closer look when she heard Donovan’s voice.
“What’re you doin?” he asked tiredly from the bed. He had opened one eye and was looking at her.
Jeanie shrugged. “Just looking.”
“At…”
“This is her, isn’t it?” She turned the picture around to him. Donovan looked at it for a long moment, as if reliving the time when it had been taken. Finally he nodded. “What’s her name?”
Jeanie asked doggedly.
“Serena.”
Jeanie examined the picture and saw again what she thought she’d seen before Donovan spoke. She looked up at him, her eyes widening a little bit. “Were you engaged to her?”
Again he hesitated, as if not sure how much he wanted her to know, but after a few moments he nodded.
Jeanie was stunned. She didn’t know exactly why she was so surprised about a guy like Donovan having been engaged before. God knew he was gorgeous, and funny, and everything else that attracted her to him, but engaged?
“When were you two supposed to be married?” she asked when she found her voice again.
“After graduation.”
“You were supposed to be married that year?”
“It was a long time ago, Jay,” Donovan said, irritated now.
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?” Donovan said sharply. “It’s over, okay? What’s the big deal? We wanted different things and it’s over. Can we just drop the subject now?” Donovan sat up and took the picture out of her hands, tossing it aside and pulling her to him. As if to make up for his tone, he kissed her softly on the lips. “When do you have to be home tonight?”
“Same as usual, by two,” Jeanie replied, already grinning at him.
“Someday I’m just going to kidnap you and never let you go home again,” he said as he began to kiss her again. He threatened to kidnap her just about every night.
Later, as they lay together having made love again, Jeanie looked over at him. “Why does it matter so much to you that I stay here after two o’clock? Most guys would probably be happy…”
Donovan raised an eyebrow. “Do I seem like most guys?”
“No,” Jeanie answered resoundingly. “But why does it matter to you?”
“Because I’d like to wake up to you in the morning, okay?”
“I can live with that,” Jeanie said. She left as usual at 1:30.
At 6:30 a.m. Donovan woke to the sensation of someone kissing his shoulder, his back, and then the other shoulder. He was lying on his stomach with his arms around his pillow. He tensed when he felt the lips on his skin, but then relaxed as the scent of Jeanie’s perfume came to him. Grinning, he turned over, grabbing her around the waist.
“What are you doing back here so soon?” he said, glancing at the clock on his nightstand.
“I said I was playing tennis,” she said with a sly grin.
“Jay,” Donovan said chidingly. “I don’t like you lying to them about me.”
“Donovan, you know I have to sometimes. They just don’t understand about, well, you know… this.”
“They don’t know we’re sleeping together,” Donovan supplied, shaking his head, showing his disapproval of her concealing the nature of their relationship.
“Donovan, if I told them that, I’d never get to see you. They’d probably make me quit the department altogether.”
“And what, lock you away in a tower?”
“No, just disown me and kick me out of the house,” Jeanie said, her tone indicating that was much worse.
“Okay, okay.” Donovan held up his hands in surrender. He kissed her again. “You win. I’ll just enjoy this unexpected visit.”
A little while later she snuggled under the blankets with him. They didn’t make love again, just enjoyed being together. Eventually they fell asleep. Donovan lay on his stomach with one leg and an arm thrown over Jeanie. She lay on her back with one hand resting on his shoulder, the other stroking the arm that lay across her.
They woke to the sound of a male voice yelling “Pony!” down the hallway.
“Darrell, stop!” Donovan shouted, putting his hand out in a halting gesture.
Darrell paid his little brother no mind whatsoever, striding into the bedroom. Luckily, Jeanie was still dressed.
“Hi,” Darrell said to her, his smile wide.
“Hi,” Jeanie replied, a little less enthusiastically since she felt quite embarrassed.
“I’m Darrell, Pony’s big brother.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “And you are?”
Jeanie didn’t answer, unable to muster her voice.
“Darrell,” Donovan said, sounding irritated, “this is Jeanie. Jeanie, as you can tell, this is Darrell.”
“Ah, Jeanie.” Darrell nodded. “The girl worth fighting over.”
Jeanie turned a few shades of red, and Donovan craned his neck around at his brother, giving him a narrowed look. “What is it you came here for?”
“Oh,” Darrell said, looking like he had just remembered himself. “I need to borrow a three-eighths wrench. You got one?”
Donovan looked at his older brother for a long moment, then nodded. “You know where my tools are.”
“Cool,” Darrell said, looking down at Jeanie and canting his head to the side. “Boy, I’ll tell ya, my baby brother does have a penchant for attracting beautiful women.” He grinned wryly. “Course, then he can’t get rid of ’em.”
“Don’t start, Darrell,” Donovan said, lying his head back on his pillow.
“What?” Darrell asked innocently, though he was grinning almost evilly now. “You see, Jeanie, the difference between my baby brother and me is that when I break it off with a girl she hates my guts. When Pony there breaks it off, they just all sit around waiting for him to come back. It’s disgusting. He never seems to know how good he’s got it either. Shit, Pony, remember Paris? Can’t believe you blew her off—she was beautiful!”
“Darrell!” Donovan said, levering himself up on his arm and looking at his brother as if he were ready to strangle him. “Shut up, okay?”
“Oops,” Darrell said, not bothering to look the least bit chagrined. Then he started to grin, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Just hold on to him with both hands, Jeanie. There’s hundreds of them out there waiting to take him back.”
“You can go find your wrench now, Darrell, then I’ll stuff it down your throat.” Donovan looked very definitely like he meant it. Darrell just grinned as he walked out of the room and back down the hall.
“Charming, isn’t he?” Donovan said.
“In a brutish, Neanderthal way, yes,” Jeanie replied, her grin lopsided.
“Yeah…” Donovan made a face. It was obvious to Jeanie that he was sincerely hoping she wouldn’t comment on what Darrell had said. She wondered what had caused Donovan to break it off with someone he was obviously serious enough about to ask to marry him. She wasn’t ready to ask him, though; she didn’t want to irritate him again. But it did make her wonder.
Frank Devereaux sat in the restaurant booth, his brown eyes surveying the area as he waited for his friends. He thought about what had brought him to this stage in his life. He’d been a police officer for twenty-one years and was still only the rank of sergeant. That fact irritated him no end, but he didn’t take into consideration that he was consistently late with his reports, when he did turn them in they were frequently returned, and he had been late for shifts a number of times over the years; sometimes he didn’t turn up at all when he went on a drinking binge. Of course, he didn’t know that Midnight Chevalier-Debenshire was also aware of his propensity toward violence against his wife, who happened to be her secretary. As far as Frank was concerned, his father had always hit his mother to keep her in line, as well as him and his two brothers, so it was okay to knock his wife around when she got mouthy. And much like his father, he had discovered buying on time early on in his career. He was proud of the Mercedes Benz he drove, as well as the four-bedroom house in Bonita, the boat in the marina at Seaport Village, and the best in home theater and electronic equipment for the house. It was a constant race to pay all the bills he’d racked up, which was why he and Cassandra had never had children—they couldn’t afford them. Life had been getting desperate until five years before, when Frank met Rico Gaston and things turned around.
Rico Gaston was a drug dealer, plain and simple. He was considered very high level in the Puerto Rican branch of the cartel. He also de
alt in stolen vehicles and weapons. He had learned from his father that the best way to keep the cops at bay was to buy them. That’s what he’d done—he’d bought the best. He had also set up a nice little side business that his father didn’t know about, which was turning out to be rather lucrative. He had had no idea how greedy cops could get when it came to money. He and Frank Devereaux, the property sergeant for the department, had devised a plan. Drug evidence was a major part of the inventory for the police department, and Frank Devereaux had discovered early on that the record keeping was hideous at best. When drugs came in as evidence they were weighed and labeled, but no one ever weighed them again. Devereaux skimmed a small amount of the “evidence” and, utilizing departmental supplies, repackaged it using the original tags. Then he got the drugs to Rico, who sold them and gave him a cut of the money.
They’d begun branching out into guns and drugs two years before, right as the new chief took office. Devereaux thought, like some of the other men in the department, that Midnight Chevalier had fucked her way up the chain of command. So he had no use for the female chief; he also figured her for an idiot and that she wouldn’t notice. He had found out from Jerry McCaffery that morning that the chief did indeed notice the inconsistencies in the reports he fed her.
Jerry McCaffery was another veteran of the department with connections throughout. He was Internal Affairs; he knew everything. As a lieutenant he had access to the most classified of files, and he knew when something was up. Something was up in the chief’s office now, and what bothered him the most was that the bitch was using her own people to conduct an investigation. He disliked Midnight Chevalier intensely. She had denied his promotion to captain the year before, citing his lack of efficiency and habitual insubordination to ranking officers, including herself.
She’d had problems with him as a captain of vice when some of her officers had been involved in a shooting. McCaffery hadn’t been used to the captains standing so staunchly behind their officers until he’d run into Midnight Chevalier. Two of the officers involved had been members of her old unit, along with three from narcotics. She’d read every report he’d written, pointing out inconsistencies in witness stories as well as statements from the shooting review board that had been marginally or literally biased. In the end the officers had been cleared when Midnight went through the chief, who had forced him to work with another Internal Affairs lieutenant to clear up the discrepancies. He’d hated Midnight ever since. Her denial of his promotion had only served to set his hatred in concrete.
For all Intents and Purposes (MidKnight Blue Book 6) Page 18