by Siobhan Muir
I gasped and froze, holding my breath. Not that they knew I was there, but I wasn’t about to take any chances they’d notice me.
“All right, come on. Get his legs and throw him in the stairwell. They won’t find him until we’re long gone. And don’t forget to police your brass.”
Stairwell? Fuck! Whatever they were planning to do, it involved my stairwell and they were very likely to see me. And shoot my unlucky ass. Panic hit me in a wave and I backed away from the door, my shoes clattering loud enough to be heard over the party.
Swearing under my breath, I bent over and yanked off my heels before I padded down several steps and ducked under the curve of the stairs. I flattened myself against the wall as the door above me opened and light spilled into the stairwell. I didn’t dare move as two guys dropped something heavy onto the steps, grumbling about the weight.
“Shit, did the guy have to eat all those frozen pizzas? He’s fuckin’ heavy.”
“Shut up, Inky. Just make sure he’s got no ID on him.”
Inky snorted. “How’s that gonna help? His fuckin’ face is all over the newspapers and internet. Takin’ his ID won’t hide who he is.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and get some cops who don’t know who he is.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Look, just clear his pockets and let’s get outta here. I don’t want any of those partiers findin’ us here with him. Backlog says we got too much to do in prep for the big boss comin’ to town.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on.” There was some rustling as they rifled through the body’s pockets. “Okay, I think I got everything. Keys, phone, wallet, and Chapstick. No wonder his lips looked so soft.”
“Eww, Inky, that’s nasty.”
“No, nasty is your lips, Tinder. There’s no excuse for not keeping your lips healthy. You know the skin is the biggest organ on your body, right?”
Their voices faded as the door above started to close. Too late I realized that was my only ticket out of the stairwell with the dead guy. I whimpered with distaste and padded back up the stairs, hoping I’d be able to catch the door before it latched.
Turns out, I needn’t have worried. The dead guy’s foot had caught in the door, holding it open about an inch. I glanced down at the body’s face as I made to pass it and stopped, my stomach dropping into my bare feet.
“Holy shit, that’s ADA Patrick O’Donnell.”
Inky had been right. Everyone knew Assistant District Attorney O’Donnell and they wouldn’t need his ID to identify him. And I’d been present at the scene of his murder. Without a functioning phone. This night just kept getting better and better.
I had to find a way to both report on the ADA’s death and get home anonymously because I couldn’t do a damn thing about a dead guy in the stairwell. Whoever Backlog was, they were powerful enough to take out a famous ADA, and I didn’t want them to find out about me. I crept up to the door and peered around the edge. The room beyond looked like a new office space with furniture wrapped in plastic and boxes of office equipment piled around. Nothing remained of the murder except some blood splatter on the floor and plastic wrap.
I reached for the door to pull it open but stopped. Think forensics. The last thing I wanted to leave were footprints or fingerprints. I used the heel of my shoe to pull the door open wide enough to slip through, careful not to step in any of the blood. I wanted to bolt toward the elevators, but I forced myself to go slow enough to miss smudging the evidence. Forensics, forensics, forensics.
I made it to the elevators and used the heel of my shoes to press the down button. Take only mental pictures and leave nothing else. Yeah, didn’t have the same ring to it as the usual line, but I didn’t want to broadcast my involvement. I put my shoes back on, the heels tight and cold, and stepped into the car. Shit, how am I gonna press the floor number?
I stood there a few moments, trying to decide when I remembered the party on the next floor down. Hundreds of people had pressed that floor number to get to it. Mine would be with everyone else’s print on the button. Despite that reassurance, I used the hem of my dress to cover my finger as I made my selection.
I could hear the holiday music long before the doors opened and the volume blasted at me as soon as they did. I grimaced and stepped into the room, the party going full swing. More so if the bra hanging from the overhead light fixture is any indication. People were “dirty dancing” in the middle of the room where they’d pushed the furniture aside. Some were pretty good at it—er, correction, those people might actually be having sex—while others swayed drunkenly along the edges. One woman bent over, her shoulders heaving as she puked. On her knees. In some guy’s lap? Definitely not puking.
Holy shit, I’d gone away for about an hour, and the party turned into a drunken holiday orgy while the ADA got murdered upstairs. Might as well have been the Nakatomi Plaza. Yippy-kai-yay, mudfucker. I spotted my “date” sharing a ménage with the man and women he’d been hanging around earlier and headed for the coat room. Was sex at a holiday party considered prostitution? I didn’t really want to know. I had to find a phone.
I threw my coat over my shoulders and shoved my arms through the sleeves just as someone stumbled into me. Two someones. I lost my balance and fell into the mass of coats on the hangers, dropping to the floor. A high-pitched giggle was followed by the sound of a belt buckle coming undone and a drunken male grunt.
“Oh, yeah, baby. Whip out that man-meat.”
They’re not gonna—Never mind.
Another male grunt combined with a matching female grunt and the sound of bodies hitting the wall, rhythmically, filled the coatroom space. The scent of arousal mixed with alcohol perfumed the air and I rubbed my face with my hands. I so don’t need this.
Gritting my teeth, I stood up and pushed my way through the coats. “Excuse me.”
The woman squawked, which was pretty impressive since the guy had her damn near folded in half against the wall as he jack-hammered into her. He didn’t even pause as I shoved past. leaving them to their conjugal relations as I returned to the elevators. I needed to get out of here and find a phone.
And a ride. How the hell was I gonna get home? What I really need is a guardian angel. I stepped onto the elevator and let it carry me away from the folks getting carried away upstairs. If the lobby didn’t have a phone I could use, I’d go to the little convenience store across the street and beg them to call the cops.
When the elevator doors opened, I headed for the security desk as I checked to be sure I had my dead phone and my keys. Yeah, I didn’t have a ride home, but I could get in when I got there. I’m definitely done with Carl. Maybe I’d break up with him over text message. Nah, that was low even if he deserved it. I’ll send him an email. I couldn’t help the smirk curling my lips as I slipped behind abandoned desk.
Where the hell is the security guard?
I shook my head and built up my gasping breaths as I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
“Nine-One-One, what’s your emergency?”
“Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, there a dead guy. I think he was shot. He’s in the stairwell. Oh my gawd.” I thought I sounded properly panicked as I turned my face away from the few security cameras I could see from the desk.
“Ma’am, I need you to calm down and tell me where you are.”
“I was at a party. On the ninth floor of the Turner Williams Building downtown in Denver. I am calling Denver’s emergency line, right? Oh my gawd. I heard him get shot and then they threw him in the stairwell.”
“Okay, ma’am, I’m dispatching emergency personnel and police to your location. Just stay on the line while I get your name and number.”
Oh hell no. They’d killed the ADA of Denver while mentioning Backlog. There was no way I’d give my name to anyone. But I’d make sure the cops knew all they needed.
“I was just going out for a smoke and I got locked outta the party, but then I heard the shots and the guy was thrown in the stairwell and no
w he’s dead and bleeding and—”
“Ma’am, the police and emergency personnel are on their way. Let’s start with your name.”
I had to admit the dispatch operator had a voice full of nothing but serenity and bliss. Or at least Ninja-level calm.
“Oh my gawd, someone’s coming. They might see me. I gotta go.” And I hung up with a satisfied nod.
I took my scarf and wiped down the phone so I didn’t leave fingerprints—Think forensics—and slipped from behind the desk. I kept my face averted from the cameras but scanned the area for the security guards. Where had they all gone? Surely, they didn’t take this long for a bathroom break.
I zipped up my coat and headed for the doors. I wasn’t gonna wait around for the cops to show up and I didn’t really need anyone remembering I’d been here. I doubted Carl would remember his first name by the time he was done with those people upstairs. I shook my head and wondered how I’d start the “Dear Carl” email.
Probably with, Dear Carl, it’s not me, it’s you.
I laughed aloud but cut the sound off the moment I stepped outside. My breath stalled in my chest as I came to an abrupt stop. My gaze landed on the man waiting for me on a black, opalescent Harley.
Holy moly, it’s the guy from the Denver Museum.
He wore faded black jeans, a white scarf, and a black leather jacket with a gargoyle riding a motorcycle on it. The patch read SCHNOZ and I remembered those wise eyes and large nose. His eyebrows went up under his black brain bucket as he caught sight of me and my heart pounded for a completely different reason.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” His voice reminded me of warm fleece blankets and the comforting rumble of a well-kept engine.
How the hell would I answer that? I couldn’t tell him it was an accident—hell, I’d been invited to the party upstairs. But it might start to look hinky if I told him about the dead body in the stairwell.
“I was at a Valentine’s Day party and my date found someone else to hang with.” I shrugged as I mentally broke up with Carl. It would be awkward going to work on Monday, but that was more on him than me. Again, I wished my phone hadn’t died. The blackmail photos would’ve been to die for.
I bit my bottom lip. “Do you think you could let me use your phone to call someone to take me home?”
His dark eyes ran the length of me starting at my head, dropping to my feet and rising to my face. “I could. Or I could just give you a ride since I’m already here and we met at the museum.” He winked.
“Where I thought you had wings.” Only the Mojave Desert was dryer than my voice.
He shrugged and grinned. “I blame my cut for that. I am part of the Concrete Angels MC after all.”
And I wished for a guardian angel to come get me.
His grin faded into surprise as if he heard my thought. “Anyway, I’m here. How ’bout I give you a ride home?”
I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. “You might have kissed me at the museum, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell you where I live.” I heard the sirens of the cops and took a couple steps closer to him. “But I will let you take me to a coffee shop or somewhere I can get something warm to drink. What do you say?”
I hoped my voice didn’t sound too desperate, but I really wanted to get away from the Turner Williams building before the police showed up. He raised an eyebrow at my bold move and shot a look toward the sirens. My heart rate went up. Did he suspect I knew something about the sirens? Or that I was trying to get away from them?
Hell, he should be wanting to get away from them, too. When anything went wrong, the cops often blamed the dangerous-looking biker dudes first. And hot damn, is he dangerous-looking. Which was why my self-preservation mode wasn’t sure which was worse for me, the cops or the biker dude.
“I might know a place that has good coffee. But it’s Valentine’s Day. Shouldn’t your boyfriend take you somewhere nice?”
I barely stopped the grimace and shrugged. “What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” Especially since the man-whore upstairs wasn’t getting anywhere near me ever again.
He shot me a half-smile. “A beautiful woman like you should be beating men off with a stick.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Maybe it’s my winning personality. Let’s get out of here. I’d rather not be here when the cops arrive.” I didn’t wait for his invitation as I hiked up my skirt and straddled his bike behind him.
“How do you know the cops are coming here?”
I snorted. “Because I called them. Can we go?”
He laughed and the sound washed over me like springtime sunshine and hot tea. It warmed places that I hadn’t realized were cold. I wrapped my arms around his waist and snuggled up to his back, trying not to enjoy the solidness of his body against my chest. He’s just a means to an end. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy the means.
The rumble of his bike’s engine between my legs warmed me in naughty ways as he pulled away from the curb. The sirens and firetrucks rounded the corner behind us as we roared away and I ducked my head out of the wind. I was safe for the moment, even if that was just an illusion.
Chapter Three
Michael
Haley cuddled up to my back and my cock roared to life between my legs. Which was a mean feat given how tight my jeans were when I sat my bike. But I wouldn’t trade her presence for comfort for love or money. I liked her wrapping herself around me, especially in the frigid wind of our ride. She smelled like sunrise and magic, both of which had ambrosia-like scents, and I was determined to enjoy them.
The cops never saw us leave—I made sure of it—but she didn’t know that and I liked her closeness. She came out of the building just as I stopped in front and asked me for a ride. I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried.
I’m gonna have to thank Luke for making this happen.
I just hoped she wasn’t mentally scarred for life by whatever my brother had set in motion.
The snow-filled air whipped past our faces as I headed north on 287. She ducked her head to keep it out of the wind and I tried to hurry to our destination. I really wished I could take her back to the Concrete Angels’ compound up above Fort Collins, but I thought it might be better for both of us to talk on neutral ground.
Especially because if she comes in, I might not be able to let her go.
I found my favorite coffee shop and pulled into the parking lot. She didn’t look up until I’d shut off the engine and pushed the kick-stand down.
“Where are we?”
“One of my favorite coffee shops that’s open late. You ever been to Jitters?”
Her eyes widened along with her smile. “That’s my favorite coffee shop.”
Pleasure bloomed in my chest at that small similarity between us. “Really? Then I guess I’m pretty lucky to have chosen it. Come on. Let’s go in where it’s warm.”
I let her slide off the bike first before swinging my leg over. I offered her my arm to help her walk through the small drifts of snow already accumulating. I glanced down at her feet in elegant heels and wondered if I should carry her.
“Are you going to be okay in those shoes?”
She raised her chin and smirked. “Oh yeah, I’m a professional.”
I laughed. “I meant in the snow.”
“Yeah, but let’s get inside quick.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. We hustled over the icy parking lot and she grabbed my arm a couple times as her heels slipped. I tried not to enjoy it too much, but her trust and touch made me want to strut, and I usually didn’t have so much of an ego. I pulled the door open and helped her through before following. And my gaze slid down to her feet in those heels.
Aw hell, I better carry her back to the bike. And maybe make sure she was covered with my wings on the ride home because the weather promised to shift toward hard wind and heavy snow.
“Welcome to Jitters. What can I get you folks?” The young
man behind the counter smiled at Haley and damn near batted his eyes.
“I want a large coffee, please.”
“Want me to leave room for cream?”
“Not this time. Just black, like my soul.” She grinned as his eyes widened.
I waved with a grin. “I can vouch for her soul. Not nearly as dark.” And I winked. The guy relaxed a little. “I’d like hot Jasmine tea with room for cream.”
“You take cream in your tea?” She widened her own glorious brown eyes.
“Yeah. Don’t you?” I raised my eyebrows in mock amazement. “It’s the proper way to drink English tea.”
The young guy cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything else, miss?”
“No, that’s it.”
He nodded with a smile, scrawling her name on the cup in black Sharpie, and I narrowed my eyes. This guy knew Haley pretty well. He set the cup down and grabbed another, filling it with hot water before thrusting it at me along with a teabag. “Your water and tea. Cream is over there.”
Nothing like service with a smile. “Thanks.” I dug out my wallet but Haley waved her hand.
“I got this. My treat for the assist.”
She gave me a grimace. I didn’t know if her expression was for the need of rescue or the fawning way barista treated her, but I nodded and found a table near the window where I could keep an eye on my bike and the snow.
The barista took his time getting her black coffee—how hard is it to fill a cup with coffee?—and chatted her up until Haley gave him a patently false smile and walked away. I tried not to puff out my chest at her choosing me over him, but it happened anyway. Dammit, I’m too old to be jealous. Apparently not.
“Sorry. I’ve known Earl for a couple of months and he thinks he needs to defend my honor or some such crap from the badass biker.” She rolled her eyes as she gracefully settled into the chair across from me. “I get the impression he thinks I’m not actually here by choice.”
“He’s right about one thing.”