by Jamie Craig
Nathan resisted putting his fist into the wall as a new, sharp anger sparked. He almost didn’t care about the money, though he needed it very much. He just wanted to bring the asshole in.
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, feeling refreshed. The air was momentarily cool against his wet skin, and the grit had been washed from his eyes. Slinging a towel around his hips, he stepped out of the bathroom and listened in the darkness for Remy. Her breathing sounded deep and even.
Nathan knew he shouldn’t see her right then, but if she was asleep, how much damage could it do? He crept over to the couch, not making even a whisper of sound. Light filtered through the blinds and fell across her sleeping face. She was stretched out in his T-shirt, one blanket draped over her breasts, another pillowing her head.
He swallowed hard. She looked so soft, so inviting, but he suspected she knew how to be unbendable. Despite her confusion and injuries, she didn’t seem vulnerable. She had the look of a hunted animal, but one clever enough to outwit its pursuer.
Who are you?
Another moment passed before he scooped up her discarded pants. Once again, the oddness of the material struck him, but he didn’t linger on that. He rifled through the pockets, ignoring the coins in favor of her fake card. The card might tell him more about the creator than the girl sleeping on his couch, but it could still be useful for Isaac. If anybody could figure out who this stranger was, it would be him. And it was Nathan’s good luck that Isaac never slept. He padded back and fished his cell from his pocket. Isaac’s number was at the top of his address book.
It picked up on the first ring. In the background, a slamming door cut off the low hum of the police station, and then there was only quiet until a baritone came over the line. “McGuire.”
“Isaac, it’s me. I’ve got bad news and a favor to ask. Which do you want first?”
A stream of low curses whispered under Isaac’s breath. Nathan pictured him running his hand over his closely shorn hair. “The day I’ve been having, make it the bad first. Unless your favor means I have to do some ass kissing, in which case, the order doesn’t fucking matter.”
Nathan sighed inwardly. Of course, he’d caught Isaac at a bad time. But then, maybe the possible wild-goose chase would raise his spirits. “Bad it is. Tian got away. But,” he added before Isaac interrupted him, “that’s not the bad part. Apparently, he’s armed with grenades now. And he’s not shy about using them.”
“Where the hell did he get grenades? I thought we cut Cesar off at the knees when we locked up the Vasquez brothers.”
“How should I know? You’re the detective, you tell me. But if you check out the warehouse on Center and 10th in Culver City, you’ll see the evidence for yourself.” Nathan slapped his palm against his knee. “I almost had him, Isaac. He was mine.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get him next time. You’re not the best for nothing.” Though the words were meant to be reassuring, the tone was not. The creaking leather of Isaac’s chair came over the line as he got more comfortable. “What happened? Did you lose him because of the grenade?”
“No.” How to explain the next part without sounding like the crazy one in the story? “There was a girl. She, well, she came out of nowhere. At first, I thought she was an accomplice, but I didn’t recognize her name. In fact, that’s the favor.”
“You want me to tell you who she is?”
“And if she has a history of violence or psychotic behavior.” He held the card up to the light, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “The name on her identification, which is probably fake, is Remy Capra. Date of birth is March 15.” He paused, staring at the unexpected numbers. “I don’t know the year.”
He heard Isaac scribbling down the information. “Anything else you can give me? Age, stats, something actually helpful?”
Nathan searched his memory for any details he could recover from the strange night. “She claims she’s from D.C. Mid-twenties, perhaps. Brown hair, brown eyes, about five and a half feet. She’s the sort of girl you’d remember seeing.”
“Pretty, huh?” He was tapping away at his computer. Isaac was one of the few cops Nathan knew who didn’t have to hunt and peck. “Just give me a sec. If she’s with Tian, she’ll come through here pretty quick.”
“I don’t think she is. I hope she’s not.” He trusted his gut on this one. Despite the initial suspicion, it seemed her arrival was just a remarkable coincidence, not a conspiracy. “I think somebody is after her, but she wouldn’t give me any details, or let me take her to the hospital.”
Silence filled the line. Nathan patiently waited for the question he knew was coming.
“So…where is she now, Nathan?”
He hesitated a moment before answering. “On my couch.”
“Are you out of your mind?” The sudden switch in his friend’s tone had Nathan rubbing at his eyes, wishing he had avoided this entire line of questioning. “You’re not even sure if she’s not psychotic, and you’re putting her up on your couch? Since when did you start thinking with your dick instead of your brain?”
“If I were thinking with my dick, she wouldn’t be on my couch, now would she?” Nathan considered explaining his heroic and noble sacrifice, but decided that wouldn’t make Isaac feel better about the situation. “What was I supposed to do? Leave her bleeding in the warehouse?”
“Well, no.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just been a hell of a day. I know you wouldn’t do anything so stupid if she was a real threat.” Chuckling, he added, “I mean, it’s not like you fucked her, right?”
“Right. Anything come up yet?”
“No, not yet. There are Capras in D.C., but none matching your girl’s description. Hang on. If she’s running, there might be something in missing persons.” More beeping from the computer. “Nope. That comes up clean, too. Huh. You sure on the name? If her ID’s fake, the name might be, too.”
“I can’t be sure about the name. Do me a favor and keep an eye out for anything matching her description.” Nathan paused for a moment before explaining, “Her ID looks all wrong, of course, but the year of birth was 2060. Shoddy work.”
“Probably some new game cooked up by the college kids. See how bad they can make their IDs before someone notices and they get busted. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit they’ve been trying to pull.” Isaac’s chair groaned under his weight again. “The only thing I can tell you for sure is she’s not part of Tian’s gang. Unless it’s a dye job and she’s not a brunette. He was banging this blonde named Josie a few months back. Think it could be her?”
Nathan snorted. “No, Josie is sucking cock for money in Tijuana.” Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his damp hair. “I’ll let you go. But I’ll be sure to keep you posted on any new developments with my mystery girl.”
“Thanks, but…your mystery girl? Just how pretty are we talking here?”
“She’s an eleven.”
Isaac whistled. “She would have to be. I don’t think I’ve seen you notice anybody with breasts since before we broke up Parker’s gang.”
Nathan winced. The mention, or thought, of Parker was enough to make bile rise in his throat. Shuffling over to the bathroom, he pulled the chalky antacid tablets from the medicine cabinet. “Yeah, it’s been awhile. Hopefully this one doesn’t plan to kill me.”
“Crazy never strikes twice in the same place,” Isaac assured. When he next spoke, his voice had grown contemplative. He was shifting out of cop mode and into his friend shoes. “You want me to come over and check her out? I’m going off-duty anyway, and if there’s one person’s judgment I trust more than yours, it’s mine. I could even get her set up someplace else if you want. Get her off your couch.”
He knew, based on the still-present ache in his groin, he should accept Isaac’s offer. But he also knew Remy would react poorly to the presence of a cop, even if he assured her Isaac wasn’t a threat. Nathan didn’t know why, but the thought of her panicking and fleeing was not
an appealing one. “I appreciate it, but not tonight. Maybe if she’s still around tomorrow.”
“Well, offer’s there. And if something comes up on my end, I’ll let you know.” He paused. “Just be careful. Brains, not dick, okay?”
“Right. Thanks.” Nathan disconnected, returning to the bedroom to place the phone on the charger. “Brains, not dick. Easy as that. No problem.” Stretching out on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, considering the wisdom of the simple statement. It was the best advice he had ever heard.
He pushed the towel away, running his palm over his shaft before gripping it lightly. Brains, not dick. Right.
* * *
It felt like she’d been dragged tits first through an electric socket. Kirsten decided then and there the first thing she would do when she got back home was give her father a piece of her mind. Easy, my ass.
The coin had, however, worked as he had claimed it would. Pushing up from the ground, Kirsten stretched the kinks out of her still-humming muscles, scanning her surroundings at the same time. The smell of rotting garbage coated the air, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. A green-and-red sign glowed against a night sky lightened by the orange illumination of nearby lamps on tall poles. Heavy dumpsters overflowed in wait of garbage day. It was some type of uninviting store. Kirsten wondered why in hell Remy would want to go to it.
Her hard-heeled boots clicked against the concrete as she rounded the corner of the building. The darkness sucked away the red taillights of a vintage Mustang as it pulled from the lot, but other than that, the place was deserted except for another old-fashioned car. Her head swiveled toward the brightly lit store. Through the windows, she spotted an older woman behind the cash register and some customers milling around, but none of them looked like Remy Capra. That didn’t matter. Kirsten knew the coin wouldn’t have brought her here without a reason.
Inside the door, the blinding lights made her hesitate, her eyes adjusting to the difference in illumination. The mirror over the counter showed a tall, willowy woman, eyes a pale blue, skin like porcelain. Kirsten grimaced, self-consciously lifting a hand to smooth down her short blond hair. She looked like hell. That was something else to complain about once she got home again.
When Kirsten didn’t move from the entrance, the cashier offered a tight smile. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her voice high and wavering with age.
“Actually, yeah.” Adopting her friendliest smile, Kirsten walked up to the counter and leaned against it, bringing her down to the shorter woman’s level. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. She said to meet her here, but…” She glanced back, making sure Remy wasn’t lurking in a corner she hadn’t seen from outside. “…I think I might have missed her.”
“What does she look like?”
“My age. Ish. Long dark hair, brown eyes. About five-five and a hun—” She stopped. Friends didn’t give weights out when looking for each other; that was a cop thing. “Curvy. But still in shape. She likes to wear clothes to show off her…assets.”
The cashier frowned. “Well, there was a girl like that in here a couple minutes ago. But I don’t think it’s your friend.”
Kirsten tried to hold back her excitement. Maybe she could end this once and for all right now. “Why not?”
“She was with some British guy. They took off in an old Mustang.” The cashier patted her hand, as if consoling her. “But, honey, if she’s your friend, get her into a program and away from that boyfriend of hers. I’d bet my youngest grandkid she’s strung out on something, and I’m pretty sure he’s beating her up, too. She had blood all over her clothes.”
Though she made noises of disappointment, inwardly, Kirsten rejoiced. It was Remy, no doubt about it. Just before the bitch had crashed out the gallery’s window, Kirsten had sliced her with her best blade. It had been the ultimate in satisfaction until Remy vanished right before her eyes.
Somehow, she’d found an ally already, though it was hardly surprising her new friend was male. Remy knew what her strengths were. She would exploit them to get what she wanted. Chumping a guy into helping was the sort of stunt she would pull.
Thanking the cashier, Kirsten left the store, then stood in the cool night air, debating what to do next. British guy in an old Mustang.
Even out of her element, she knew that one was easy.
Even better, it would lead her straight to Remy Capra.
Chapter Four
As he woke up, Nathan became aware of two things.
One, the morning sun was much too bright and hot against his face. The shades had been drawn the night before, but now it felt like nothing protected his eyes from the summer light.
Two, he was being watched. The weight of her gaze crept along his skin, and the soft rhythm of her breath added a fresh pulse to his own. If he held very still, he could hear the whisper of his T-shirt against her legs.
“What do you want?” he asked, without opening his eyes.
“Well, I was looking for the bathroom.” Her voice was still rough from sleep, low and husky enough to evoke unbidden images of how untamed she must have looked waking up. “But damn if this view can’t make a girl forget her own name.”
Nathan groped for the towel he had discarded and pulled it over his hips. It had been too hot to consider sleeping with a blanket. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. His lust-fueled thoughts had seamlessly blended into dreams. Even this might not be real. He had two separate fantasies beginning this way with very different outcomes.
Covering his eyes with one arm, he pointed to the hall with the other. “Obviously, you made a wrong turn. It’s the door to the left.”
“Not so wrong.” A floorboard creaked. “But thanks.”
Nathan waited until the bathroom door clicked shut to open his eyes and sit up. He had been a little afraid to look at her; it was possible the sight of her would prompt him to throw her to the bed and turn all his fantasies and dreams into realities. He had never, in his life, devoted so much mental energy to a single girl.
Pulling on a pair of pants, he stumbled into the kitchen, his tongue dry and heavy, his stomach growling. After starting the coffee, he raided his cupboards until he found the almost expired box of Pop-Tarts tucked behind a very expired box of cereal in the pantry. Grinning, he tore the cellophane wrapper open with his teeth.
Soft footsteps padded into the room behind him. He barely had time to glance back before Remy stood at the counter, leaning over the coffee pot and inhaling deeply.
“God, nothing has ever smelled so good.” The forward bend of her body pulled her T-shirt up in the back, exposing the lower curve of her ass. “What’s a girl got to do to get some of this?”
“There are cups…” He paused. It was difficult to remember minor details when she stood so close. In that moment, he had no idea where the coffee cups were. He had to look away from her before the answer came. He grabbed two mismatched mugs from above the sink and handed one to her, along with one of the crumbling pastries. “Did you sleep well?”
The sight of her nimble fingers turning the Pop-Tart over in her hand more than once locked his gaze. She broke off a corner and put it in her mouth, but then it was a crumb lingering on her full lower lip that captivated him. The sudden desire to lean over and lick it off finally compelled Nathan into retreating a few steps. Distance was better.
“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Remy was saying. “Every time I rolled over, I’d wake up. You’ve got a broken spring that kept sticking in my back. Guess that’s why I’m up so early.” She shrugged as she busied herself with filling her cup. “Not that I’m not grateful. I am. I’m just pissed off I’m hurt in the first place.”
A slight pang of guilt stabbed through him. He should have offered his bed. “Yeah, sorry about that.” Pouring his coffee, he risked another glance. Shadows haunted her eyes, her skin drawn and pale in comparison. “How did you get hurt?”
Her amused smile deflected some of the pallor, though not all. “
I thought we agreed somebody attacked me with a knife.”
“Yes, I’m quite certain someone tried. What I mean is, why would someone want to skewer you?”
“Because she’s a schiz who thinks she has the right to say who lives and who dies, and I had the sauce to tell her to fuck off. That’s why.”
Nathan dipped a piece of his Pop-Tart into his coffee. Had the sauce? Who talked like that? And he thought Californians mangled the English language. “I’ve met a few of those, and they don’t like it when you tell them to fuck off.”
Who did this girl get mixed up with? What sort of shit would he find himself neck-deep in if he let her stay around? And why couldn’t she keep that shirt pulled down?
“I imagine she’s also the sort to hold a grudge?”
Abandoning the food, Remy cupped her steaming coffee between her hands and headed back to the living room. Nathan trailed after, watching her settle in the far corner of the couch, her legs curling Indian-style in front of her. His mouth went dry as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the black line of her briefs between her thighs.
“Not only does Kirsten hold a grudge…” Oh. She was talking again. “…she rocks it, feeds it, and tucks the thing into bed at night.” Her eyes seemed even larger as she looked up at him. “I think I’ve managed to shake her once and for all, but I shouldn’t stick around for too long. Better safe than sorry.”
Nathan couldn’t disagree with her. She shouldn’t stick around. She should go back to whatever passed for her life, and he’d go back to whatever passed for his, and he’d think of her some dark nights and chastise himself for being the biggest idiot on the planet. He meant to open his mouth to wish her well, but instead asked, “Where will you go?”
It took a second for her to shake her head. Her subsequent smile was meant to be cocky, but he saw straight through it.