by R. T. Wolfe
"I always want you."
She freed her hands from his grasp and pulled the robe down around her shoulders, hugging it against her chest. "What about that painting?"
"You were reluctant the last time you posed for me."
She shrugged and dropped the robe to her waist, barely holding it to each of her breasts. "We're engaged now."
Her golden skin glimmered in the moonlight under the skylight windows. The soft curves of her cheekbones blushed as she stood in front of him. The light scent of lavender filled his senses. He metaphorically shook his head clear.
"I don't want to paint you when you're like this." He hated knocking her down when she'd opened herself to him. It was necessary.
Her eyes grew large and pained. She pulled up her robe and tied the waist. "Like what?"
"You're drunk from circumstance. I can practically see the adrenaline running through you. You were faced with your childhood nemesis and stood your ground, took a shot at him even. I understand where you're coming from, but we need to talk." He said the last three words separately and with conviction.
She sat at the bar and folded her hands. Her reaction could have been much worse. Had been in the past and it relieved him that they weren't going to debate his wishes.
"You're right," he said flatly and sat next to her.
She took another drink of his whiskey and Coke. "I'm right about a lot of things. Which thing are you talking about?"
Jun Zheng showed up at the fucking press conference. He tried to run Duncan down with his car. Duncan was done with it all and was losing his patience. Making himself think of the reasons for her reaction, he turned her stool to face him. "The part that says Zheng's got nothing left."
She tilted her head to the side as if she might agree with him.
He unbuttoned the next button of his shirt but only because he needed air. The man who put scars on his detective came to her place of employment. In broad daylight. With a few dozen witnesses, many of them reporters. Grabbing his leather-bound notebook from his briefcase, he set it in front of them more forcefully than he intended and opened it.
He wrote the number 1 in the top left corner. Next to it, he scribbled a few words describing the time Zheng was spotted at the press conference after Nickie's teenage escape. Next to the number 2, he listed the time Duncan spotted him in Vegas. The time Slippery Jimbo said Zheng had been asking around about her in Northridge. Zheng was the driver and escaped the day her former police captain and the fire chief abducted and tried to dispose of her. The Seneca Hotel and Casino photo with one of the johns they arrested at the white house bust. There was the shot of Zheng at the white house just a few hours before the bust. As he continued chronologically, he wrote the number 7 before he realized Nickie's hands were quivering next to him.
Shaking his head clear from his focus, he glanced to her face and recognized the look in her eyes. The red, glossy haze made him recall how she earned the nickname savage. "We should take a break," he said.
Her lifeless stare moved to his. "No."
"You haven't eaten."
"Neither have you. Next, are the footprints around your place. I don't think you were wrong about that anymore." Even as a sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead, an evil grin erupted over her face. "He's desperate and sloppy. Just what the doctor ordered."
He took her shivering hand and was glad she didn't pull away and instead squeezed his fingers. Progress. He decided closure might do both of them some good, so he continued. Number 7, the footprints around his house. Number 8, nearly a week ago when Slippery Jimbo said Zheng was spotted at the barbershop. Number 9, when Zheng broke into Nickie's town house and left handcuffs on her four bedposts. This time, he shook. He ground his teeth together and closed his eyes before taking an exaggerated breath.
She ran her hand along the fire tattoo on his left forearm. Slowly, she took the marker from his hand and wrote a number 10. Next to it, she wrote three words. NPD press conference.
He straightened and turned to face her. "I want you to go see Hurst and Goodrich." The mention of the special agents wouldn't sit well, but it had to be done.
"That's not how that works."
It was true. Because of her history, the FBI solicited her for help with missing person cases that involved child trafficking. They had an agreement. Nickie had even finagled a way to involve Duncan when needed. Her soliciting them for help was backward and wasn't part of the deal.
"They would want to know about Zheng," he argued. "He has to be on their radar."
She shook her head. "I'm not sure about that."
"That can't be true."
"They think Moody was the top man. He was the owner of the white house. He was the one caught with the girls."
He'd never considered the possibility. Sniffing, he sat up and straightened his back.
"I'm going to increase the parameters of the alarm system. You've got the access code and password. It's likely he either has our phones bugged or has access to the content through our carrier. It's something I would do if the positions were reversed."
"Okay, but I'm not sure he's as talented with all that as you are."
She thought that? "Regardless, I'm going to create something small for you to keep in both your shoulder holster and your gun belt. A GPS chip."
"A what? You're going to bug me like a teenager? Are you making me one for you?"
His patience eroded, and he found himself raising his voice. "We don't have time for this. He doesn't want me," he yelled, leaving his bar stool and standing over her.
"Why not use my phone?" she argued like a child, standing with him. Minus the boots, she was significantly shorter than he was, and under the circumstances, it helped.
"Or a prepay where you record the IP address thingy." Her hands flew to her hips, but it didn't have the same effect in the robe versus her detective clothing.
Closing his eyes, he took great effort to calm his bubbling nerves. All it did was play the images of Zheng on the backs of his eyelids like some sort of slide show. "Phones are too obvious," he explained through his teeth. "You won't know it's there. More importantly, he won't know it's there. I'm not asking, Nickie. I'm going to attach a chip to the base of one of the compartments on your holster and on your belt. The one you use for your latex gloves I think."
He felt the warmth of her body but didn't back away. She could push, argue and strut all she wanted. There was no room for compromise here. The scent of mint and lavender made him open his eyes halfway in a determined battle of wits. One he wouldn't lose.
She squinted and pulled her shoulders back in an obvious mode of decision. Looking from one of his eyes to the other, the corners of her lips turned into a grin. Of all the possible reactions? She smiled and dropped her robe to the floor. "It'll cost you."
A flood of release poured from his head. Winning the battle, keeping his detective safely within his grasp. Staring down at her, he reached over her shoulder, twisting her silky hair around his hand, and pulled enough to tilt her mouth to him. Her lips were full and parted, her breath a sweet mixture of liquor and woman.
He dove in as he took hold of the parts of her that had taunted him from beneath the fabric of the robe. The power struggle was long from over as their teeth grazed and tongues fought to take point. Nails dug into his shoulders as a warm, muscled thigh lifted around his hip and the back of her heel pulled their bodies closer. Limbs twined and hands groped. She tore at the rest of his buttons as he yanked at any other piece of clothing that kept him from her. Her soft, warm skin brushed over him turned his need for her into something primal.
Cheating or not, other parts of his body had taken the wheel as he used his size and strength to take her twined limbs and groping hands from him. In one, quick sweep, he cleared the bar, lifted her and plopped her on top.
The feel of the cold bar on her back did little to cool the aching need building in Nickie's core. She lifted to her elbows as she watched the desire in Duncan's deep choc
olate eyes. The defined, lanky muscles she'd grown so used to flexed and released as he climbed like a lion over the bar stool and onto the granite top.
The rise and fall in her chest quickened, her body aching to have him over her, around her, in her. He was her drug, one that could satiate and keep her safe all at the same time.
He had some need to be the alpha of alphas that day, and she pushed back just enough to make him writhe in it. Rising up to meet him, he maneuvered between her legs then growled and pressed her shoulders back to the stone.
"Me," he said and ran his hands over her neck, pausing to wrap his fingers around it. He drew a line down her throat and stopped at the indentation in the center of her collarbone.
Never had she been so free.
His hands created trails of fire as he moved them over her, circling, pulling, kneading. Her back arched, and she lifted her arms over her head in release. He growled louder and raised her legs around his neck, traveling lips and tongue over the insides of her calf and thigh. He was hers. Her head craned to the side when he reached her. Sensations flooded from head to toe to her center and back again. He would be hers forever, she thought as she slipped over the first peak.
A tear slipped from her eye as she cried out. It ran down the side of her temple. She shook as he gave, trembled as he gave more. In a moment of reprieve, she lifted to her elbows, his warm, hard body hovering over her. "You broke the glasses." She craned her head toward the floor behind the bar. "You left broken glass—"
But he dug in and over, taking her back to euphoria in seconds. Her chest pounded, her body thrashed. She lost her precious control, her need for boundaries... and for this moment, it was exactly what she needed. She let herself go. No restrictions. No safety barriers. She flew to a place she hadn't been before. Her cries were loud. She could hear them somewhere in her mind. Her hands and legs had become their own entities as they groped, feeling their way over the man that would be her husband.
As her body drifted down the mountain, she took him against her, over her, into her. The air left his lungs as they joined.
"You're mine," he said and pushed. She grabbed hold as they moved into frenzy. Digging her fingers and holding on with hands and legs. His eyes paused on the line of water that ran from her eye, but he didn't wipe it away. "This is ours forever," he choked and pressed his body closer. His honesty sent her over again. Her eyes closed and flashes of light sparkled in the dark, images of the sincere look in his eyes came to her and made her open to him.
The desperation on his face mixed with warmth and need, then turned opaque as he joined her. The stone top of the bar was no longer cold. He collapsed and rested over her, his nose pressing against her neck. "You are going to be my wife," he said as if it were surreal.
And it was. "Freaky, huh?" she said and turned her face into his hair. It smelled like his shampoo and like him. "No looking back."
His hands tucked around her and squeezed in response to her declaration. "What do we have against the bed?" he asked, making her laugh.
She looked around. The bar was taller than she thought. "This was your idea. I wash my hands of it."
* * *
Nickie didn't need to look up from her laptop. She could tell it was Eddy in her doorway. This damned case had dragged on long enough. If it weren't for chasing Zheng, she would have gone out to harass Sherie-Wendy-Joe-Johnson-Douglas—as Nickie liked to call her—last night. No. It was Duncan's fault she didn't get to her last night. A slick grin threatened the corners of her mouth, but she realized Eddy was still standing there.
Lifting her eyes, she noticed his legs were spread, knees locked. His expression was far from affectionate.
"What the fuck, Savage?"
"What the fuck and Savage? Ouch, Lynx. I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to thank you for covering for me at the press conference, okay?"
"I don't care about some freaking press conference screw up. You took Parker out on the Juracek case."
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation, and she was guilty as charged. Mostly. "You'd already spent enough overtime with red-eye work. Parker was on graveyard that night, and I had steam to burn."
"That was last fucking Thursday."
"You took Friday off."
"You ever hear of a cell, partner," he said the last word through his teeth.
He stepped around her desk and hovered over her. She didn't take too much to bully shit, even if it was possibly deserved. She stood and even with her lower heeled boots, glared at him eye-to-eye. "Make your move, Lynx. I could use a rumble."
He huffed and turned on his heels. "I'm not fighting a girl. Who the hell do you think I am?"
So, it was okay to get in a girl's face, just not hit her? She decided to keep that question to herself.
"So?" He raised his voice.
Looking at the floor, then up to him, she tried to think of what he might be getting at. Nope. She had nothing.
"So, what the fuck did you find out?" He was flat out yelling now. He paced and waved his arm as he barked, "Parker's got a split lip and his eye is nearly swollen shut. You wanna clue me in on who the two of you cozied up to and what you found out about our case?"
Cozied? He was jealous? At least he was out of her face.
She walked over and looked out her single window. Snow came down in buckets. What an insane winter. People were at least driving smarter, she thought, as she watched them on their way to work.
"I went looking for Slippery Jimbo to ask him what the hell The Guest House was. Apparently, it's some official nickname for T & A's." She decided not to tell him about Jimbo spotting Zheng. She could feel the veins start to bulge in her neck thinking about it.
"Nick?"
Shaking her head, she turned at the sound of Eddy's voice as the A.D.A. walked by her office window. Vaughn stopped and looked at Nickie through the slats in the mini-blinds, then to Eddy, then backtracked and came to her doorway. She knocked on the jamb even though the door was opened.
"Good morning, Nickie. Eddy."
What a loser. No one called anyone by his or her first name in a police station.
"I was on my way to an appointment with Captain Nolan."
What's stoppin' ya?
"Any development on the Juracek case? I'm sorry we had to take the guys off the SS8 bug."
It was her SS8 bug that led Nickie to discover Tommy Marino's other life. "The guys heard about a working gal with a name close to the one who William Juracek met with. It sounds like she might be meeting up with Juracek's stepson, too."
"The plot thickens. I suppose I should tell you what you have so far is circumstantial and won't hold up in court."
Nickie felt a twitch in her neck. She had the most solid arrest track record in Tompkins County. She wanted to bark that fact down Miss Miranda Vaughn's throat, but reined in her mouth. "No, you really shouldn't."
Eddy tipped his head to Vaughn. "Good to see you, Miranda. We appreciate your help with the case."
Good to see you? First name basis? What is it about this Vaughn woman that had all her colleagues acting like puppy dogs?
Vaughn tipped her head to him. "You're welcome." She smiled politely. Interesting shit.
"We headed out or what?" Nickie asked him.
"Headed out where?" Eddy said as Vaughn left. "You haven't told me shit."
"I'll tell you on the way."
Eddy followed her down the stairs.
"So, I walk into T & A's, aka The Guest House, and order me a Diet Coke while I took a look around." She wanted to tell him about Parker's frigging amazing undercover getup but thought she better not.
"Did they give you RC?"
"Tried to," she said as they walked through the parking garage to outdoor staff parking. "There was no way I was drinking that crap." Her boots disappeared in the fresh snow. The flakes were as big as dimes and the brightest of white.
"I turn around, and who do I see? Tommy Marino."
"Juracek's stepson?"
&nbs
p; "The very one. He is the Tommy in Tommy & Angie's."
"Or the T in tits and asses."
"You got that right. He's got his thug dude on one side and a brainless boob job on the other. I told the gal to scram and for Parker to watch said thug dude."
She'd finished the play-by-play by the time they pulled into Sherie-Wendy-Joe-Johnson-Douglas's condo. "So, Tommy's got this other life I don't think Grandpa or Juracek knew about. It looks like this SS8 was a family habit. Then, Wendy Douglas's name shows up."
"That's not her real name," Eddy added as he sipped his cold coffee from the station.
"I like it. Sherie sounds too obvious, and Sherie-Wendy-Joe-Johnson-Douglas is getting to be a mouthful."
Nickie looked up at the condo. Damn. It was one of the high-class ones where mostly retired rich people lived. Nickie parked her elderly town car near the entrance. It didn't exactly fit in with the rest of the aged metal residents.
They sat and mulled over ideas for fifteen, watching who came and went. The snow had slowed down to a few blowing flurries. There was no doorman, but then again, this wasn't exactly a sprawling metropolitan city.
Nickie almost didn't recognize her minus the red dress and matching pumps. She was with a girl about the age of Gil's twins. Nickie smacked Eddy's arm and got out of her car.
"Sherie," Nickie called out.
The woman turned instinctively. When she spotted Nickie, she stopped and pulled her daughter into her side. As Nickie and Eddy made their way to her, Sherie's eyes moved defiantly between the two of them.
"The Guest House, Sherie. Tell me what you know."
Sherie's arms wrapped tighter around her seemingly oblivious daughter. "I don't know anything."
Another part of her job Nickie hated but was necessary. She squatted down to eye level with the little girl. "What's your name, honey? You sure are pretty."
She was a sweet-looking kid. Sherie had her dressed in rubber boots. The flurries were gathering on her matching hat and mittens. "Wendy," the little girl answered.
Glancing up to Sherie, Nickie lifted a brow. "Wendy? Are you serious?"
"I told you I only..." She looked down to her daughter and seemed to be attempting to speak in code. "I only met with the gentleman one time."