by R. T. Wolfe
"I should have gone home," she mumbled and pulled her overnight bag over her shoulder. She climbed the steps, letting the steam from her breath lead the way. The steps were one of the few things that survived the fire. The fire that burned Duncan's first home to the ground. The fire that was set for her alone. What was she doing? she asked herself as she unlocked the door.
She walked directly to the alarm. She never wanted to experience Duncan's alarm. As she punched in the code to tell it she was friend and not foe, she spotted a note in his artist's handwriting. Gone for a swim.
He knew to leave it at the front door alarm and not the one inside the door leading from the garage. Good. He needs to know they should have boundaries.
The place was immaculate as usual. No coats hanging on the banister or magazines left on tables. His extra set of house keys hung neatly on one of the key hooks. The hardwood floors didn't have drips from snowy boots or dust at the edges. A swim would do her good, she decided. Shrugging, she plopped her bag at the bottom of the stairs and headed for the basement.
The water always took out tension and loosened her joints. She stopped at the top of the stairs leading down and considered. It was much more than that to him. The water drowned out the sights and sounds that cluttered his eidetic memory. It was hard for her to wrap her head around the idea of thirty-three years of images, sounds and smells, all whirling through his mind 24-7.
He was the best thing that had been given to her. She smacked her forehead against the stairwell wall. What would she do when they were over? With a defiant sniff, she lifted her shoulders and jogged down the stairs, through the boy room, she liked to call it. Big screen TV, leather armchairs, pool table, wet bar, and a large table designed for playing cards.
She found him still going full throttle. Forgetting all about her swim, she leaned against the jamb of the door and watched. The water slid like liquid ice over his chocolate hair and down the lanky muscles of his back. He used his arms like he hadn't been shot in the shoulder a few short weeks before. The strokes were long and smooth, his hips hardly rotating as he kicked. Reaching for the end of the pool, he flipped quick as an otter, turned over and came out barely tilting his head as he took a short breath.
When he reached the other end, he stopped and rose. Of course he knew she was there. He never missed anything. His eyes were a mixture of relief and warmth. "There you are," he mouthed as he rubbed the gunshot wound scar on his shoulder.
They were the three words they shared between each other and only at the most intimate of moments. Her heart melted into a puddle of mush enough to gag any rational person.
When he pulled himself out of the water, she nearly choked. His golden skin sparkled as the water dripped over him. The tattoo of Black Creek lay over his pectoral and below his fresh, circular scar. Both dripped with water, making it look like a storm was coming. Her feet were magnets, leading the way to her hard, golden creature with the deep brown eyes.
Their lips met in a meeting of hearts and minds as they worked together to rid her of the layers of clothing that kept flesh from flesh. His skin was wet and cool from the water, his lips warm and exploring. They trailed icy lines over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. She was naked and pinned to the nearest wall in seconds.
Flesh. Glorious flesh covered her as she let her tongue taste the water and the man. She assaulted him with lips and hands. There was never enough of him. Of his skin or his love.
"Duncan," she cried as he adjusted her legs and cupped her. Both threatened to fail her. He lifted one and draped it over his forearm, pressing her harder into the wall and allowing her to lean into him. In how many ways did he take the weight from her? Too many to count.
She turned into a useless pawn. He took her up, turning her arms and legs into noodles. Her head turned from side to side as he gave.
"There you are," he repeated, making the rush take her higher than the moon that lit the snow. Euphoria seared through her veins, lifted her arms in triumph and shook her core. He knew her, knew exactly how long to keep her there and how to lead her on the slow journey down. It was the perfect harmony with just the right amount of melody.
The sound of his Nickie's magical voice purred his name and sent a sense of urgency deep within Duncan. Her body's reactions were like his most treasured paints. He knew them well, yet the response to his touch intoxicated him. He pressed against her, using his weight to keep her grounded as he brought her down from her high.
She should be exhausted after her last few days. He should have been able to lead her back up that hill of sensation, but he didn't have the chance. The steel gray of her eyes opened with determination, the slight scent of lavender permeated his mind. Slithering down, she took him in. His hands smacked the wall, fingers spread and elbows braced. The air left his lungs as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him.
Her lips, her hands. She would be his undoing. His Nickie. Just before it was too late, she knew. Knew him as well as he did her. His body shook as her tongue drew a lazy line up his chest.
"Take me," she purred, the invitation making his vision blur.
His body responded long before his head. He grabbed her muscled thighs, and pushed into her. Groaning, he clenched his teeth and lifted his eyes to her. "Look at me," he demanded as they moved together.
She did, even as her head fell back against the wall and deep catlike growls came from within her. He pressed his forehead to hers and the air left his lungs. His legs nearly betrayed him, but they kept moving, kept climbing. That last ounce, that last push. He could tell the moment she was ready. Limbs trembling in his arms and beneath him, she arched, held for what seemed like eternity, then pushed again.
The calm after the storm was long and slow. Her legs twined lazily around his back, the backs of her feet locked together. Her arms fell over his shoulders, and she rested her soft cheek against him.
Why hadn't he installed an elevator? Could he make it up the stairs? "I'm in love with you," he said into the long locks of her honey-wheat hair. She responded with a tiny croon that gave him the energy to try.
He cupped her backside and linked his fingers together. She must have sensed what he was doing, because she pulled back her head. "Three flights? I'm not a small woman, Duncan." Her smile was too composed considering what they'd just done. She unlocked her feet, slid to the ground and headed for the bathroom. Pulling on his robe, he sat on the nearest wicker chair. He ran his hands through his hair and let himself have a moment to be relieved he didn't have to carry her up three flights after his swim workout and his workout. And a moment to inhale the relief that she chose to come home to him.
She came out with a towel wrapped around her in all the wrong places. "You were going to carry me upstairs," she accused as she pulled her hair over her shoulder. "You told me you love me after sex and were going to carry me upstairs. Your brother would call you whipped."
"That's not exactly how the saying goes." He stood and took her hand.
"I was being a lady." She left her clothes on the pool deck. It made the corner of his mouth lift.
It wasn't time. But soon.
Chapter 4
Nickie had no leads, no weapon and a caffeine headache. Pushing away from her desk, she stood and stretched. Her joints were still slightly unhinged from the night before. A wicked smile threatened to escape her lips as she headed for the pop machine. The Diet Coke was sold out. She could kick someone's ass.
A twenty-ounce bottle came from behind her and hung in front of her nose. Eddy. She grabbed it and turned. "I could kiss you." The words came out before she had time to take them back. Back pedal? Explain? Apologize? Ignore. She liked the last option and walked with him to the break room table.
Good ole police department break rooms. She'd been in enough of them. The academy, Liberty, Vegas. And as a victim, getting her first real meal in over a year. They might be ritzier in some places than others, but they always had a few things in common. Dirty microwaves, the smell of bu
rnt coffee and a large table surrounded by a handful of chairs. "I haven't had a bite on this case in hours. I feel bad since the captain took us off everything else." She twisted her cap halfway, letting the sound of the sizzle wet her lips.
"Me either," he said. "What's with the Jane Does and the John Smiths? This SS8 must think no one's going to look too close at its records."
She huffed and set her boots on a nearby chair, one then the other. "Or that whoever does is stupid." She took a long swig, letting the burn of the first drink wake her senses, then set her bottle on the table. Jane Doe. John Smith.
Joe Johnson. She'd seen that one in more places than SS8. Slinging her legs to the floor, she grabbed her soda and headed for her office. "See ya later, Lynx."
He must have recognized her epiphany because he said, "I don't think so," and followed.
She unburied William Juracek's date book from the middle of her pile and started flipping through pages.
It wasn't long ago. A week? A few days? "There," she said. She leaned back in her chair so Eddy could see. "Juracek had a meeting with a Joe Johnson at the Seneca Hotel and Casino last week."
"You gonna let me in on where you're going with this any time soon, Nick?"
She pulled the SS8 bank records from the top of the pile. There was a five-thousand dollar deposit from a Joe Johnson. She put her finger on the entry, letting Eddy get a look. Of course, he dipped closer to her than he needed to. Men.
"Diamonds and money laundering at a casino?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. Let's see if we can find out."
Grabbing her coat with one hand, she shut down her computer with the other. "I'm taking a trip to the casino."
He picked up her Diet Coke, making her auto-defense go on high alert.
"You might need backup."
She didn't. But it was okay, she convinced herself. She could always turn up the radio.
* * *
The Seneca Hotel and Casino wasn't a place of great memories for Nickie. It was under new management since the former owner was doing time in the big house for aiding and abetting. The place seemed the same to her. Marble this and marble that. Shiny floors. Loud noises. Wall-to-wall people leaving the unmistakable scent of bodies and stale cigarettes that no amount of air freshener could mask. Those weren't even the bad memories.
Eddy took point as they approached reception. "Hello, miss." He pulled out his badge but from the look on the gal's face, he probably could have just asked. "I'm Detective Eddy Lynx. I need some information on a Joe Johnson. We believe he was a visitor at your fine establishment. Could you check and see if you have records on him... " He leaned over to see her name tag around her computer screen. "Louisa?"
The girl adjusted the collar of her uniform. Nickie would choke herself if she had to wear a suit vest and skirt as a uniform. How would she sling her boot over her knee when she needed to make an impression? Not a hair was out of place from Miss Louisa's smooth ponytail, but she still ran a hand over it like she was making sure.
"I'm really supposed to get my manager for things like this." In a tone that sounded like it should come from a small child, Louisa giggled and moved her eyes from one side to the other. "But since you're a detective and all, I'm sure it's okay."
Louisa pretended to lean over and check Eddy's badge, her cleavage nearly falling out onto the counter. Nickie almost puked.
"Yes, sir, Detective. We had a Joe Johnson stay last Sunday in our Sweethearts Fox River Suite. Shall I print a copy of the record for you?"
"That's it?" Nickie never could keep quiet when it was Eddy's turn to lead. "One night?"
The girl looked at Nickie like she was a fly in her non-fat latte. Turning her eyes to Eddy, Nickie attempted to silently apologize.
"The printout would be helpful," he said, ignoring Nickie. "Thank you."
"Ask her if he has any reservations," Nickie whispered to Eddy loud enough for the girl to hear.
Louisa huffed and pounded away at her keyboard. "He has a room reserved for this Tuesday." She squinted her eyes and looked closer at the monitor. "The same suite actually."
"Is there anyone in that room today?" Eddy asked. "We'd like to take a look."
Sighing, Louisa confessed, "For that I really had better call my manager."
It was Nickie's turn to sigh.
They waited a few minutes. It gave Nickie time to assess. Sweethearts Fox River Suite? It was an odd choice as a place to exchange diamonds or discuss money laundering, but stranger things happen. What kind of people came to a place like this to have sex with a man when they're married to a woman? It made her smile. Now, she was making assumptions. "Keep an open mind," she randomly reminded Eddy.
He scowled at her as a short man in a tailored suit approached them. "Hello, I'm Mr. Edwin McGowan. Welcome to the Seneca Hotel and Casino." He held out his arms like he was the owner. "What can I do for you, this afternoon, Miss...?"
Nickie stepped forward and smiled wide. "Detective Savage. This is Detective Lynx, Mr. McGowan." She emphasized the mister. "We need to take a look in your Fox River Suite."
McGowan smiled condescendingly and steepled his fingertips to his lips. "Do you have a warrant, Miss Savage?"
She stepped forward and stood nose-to-nose with the little dweeb. Or, at least, nose-to-forehead.
"Oh, boy," she heard Eddy huff.
"Listen, Mr. I-have-short-man's-complex." She smiled as she cocked her head from side to side. "I took point at the operation that took place in this casino about a year ago." She pulled out her phone and pretended to look at the date. "Just about exactly one year ago." She stepped forward as the little prick stepped back. "I'm worried some of the same trysts could be continuing. Right here. Under your supervision. Do I need to call in the feds? 'Cause I have them on speed dial."
"Ha," McGowan breathed. "N-no need. I believe that room is empty for the next few days. Louisa!" he called over his shoulder. "Get these officers a key to the Sweethearts Fox River Suite."
"Detectives," Nickie spat.
"Picky," Eddy mumbled in her ear.
Nickie glanced to him and grinned. "You're just mad because Louisa's going to want in my pants now instead of yours."
Eddy took the key card from Louisa, then they made their way to the elevator. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat. It shouldn't annoy her, and yet. "We have a handy latex gloves compartment on our gun belts."
"Free country," he said as they approached the suite. He used it to turn the knob on the door. "Wow," Eddy said as he opened it. "Think of the broads you could get for the price of this room."
He wasn't wrong. It reminded her of the suite she and Duncan stayed in while in Vegas. She wasn't about to mention that to Eddy. She could use Duncan right about now. "They reserved this room for both nights. Could be a sex thing but look around for bugs."
It was a nice enough place. The places she'd been forced to turn tricks were generally single rooms with no connecting bathrooms. Fancy beds and satin sheets, but certainly none of these fresh flowers in vases or chocolates on the pillows.
Nothing in the ceiling lights. Phones looked good. Lamps, desk hook-ups. They looked around for a good hour and came up empty. It was beginning to be a habit.
"Come back next Tuesday?" Eddy suggested.
Nickie nodded as she took one last look.
* * *
When you're dating Duncan Reed, you learn to keep a change of dress clothes in your locker. She was done for the night and tomorrow was Saturday. Unless the ME came up with something profound, she was on-call until Monday. The lack of leads in the case was making her crazy. She'd planned to go in the next day regardless, but it was satisfying to know she didn't have to if she didn't want to.
He took her to Rossetti's. Romantic. Intimate. She would have to do an extra mile in the pool to burn off the calories, but the food would be worth it. The company very worth it. Sweet, but she drew the line at leaving her car at the station. Boundaries were necessary.
It was dark and the tablecloths were, well, cloth. Real candles and a waiter who actually held a towel thing over his forearm. He brought a silver bowl full of bread so fresh, she could smell it before he set it on the table.
Duncan ordered food she couldn't pronounce but knew she would love. He chose the wine, but she decided on a single glass since she planned to get in some hours on the case bright and early.
"Abigail is restless," he said, running a thumb over her knuckles as he watched the string quartet. His horse. Abigail preferred Nickie over Duncan, but that was their little secret.
"I haven't seen Rose in days either." Sliding her hand from underneath Duncan's, she pulled out her phone and texted her, 'you free tomorrow night?'
"Are you texting on our date?" A rare smile took his lips. It may have been slight, but it made her lose her breath anyway.
"She's your relative, so it doesn't count." Her phone vibrated and lit up. Yikes. She turned down the brightness to its lowest setting before reading. 'let's kick up some dust, friend'
Nickie was terrible with women. Other than her foster family, she didn't have a single girlfriend. Other than Rose, that is. 'you got it. cheap drinks and slutty men?'
'ha. i'll get andy to watch the baby.'
"The deed is set," she said and lifted her eyes to him. He wasn't smiling anymore, his eyes penetrated into her. Did she have something on her face? If she could only dig into that eidetic mind of his at times like this.
The string quartet changed to the music of the Trecento. It distracted her, making her yearn for her cello. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine it resting between her legs as her hand danced over the neck and her bow teased the strings.
He must have noted her shift in attention, because he covered her hand with his. "Will you play for me tonight?"
"My cello? I shouldn't." She wrinkled her nose. "I stayed at your place the last two nights. I'm going to crash at my town house."