by Jory Strong
A waitress stopped next to the table before Savannah could completely wrap her mind around the our house bit.
“Can I get you something?” the waitress asked, putting the cash Vaccaro and Kelleher had left to cover their coffee on her tray.
Kye removed a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket as she reached for the dirty dishes. “I would like to take these two cups with me, in separate take-out containers, please.
The waitress stared for a long second. Then blinked. Processing the request and the fifty dollars being offered to her. “Be right back,” she said.
Savannah held her laughter until the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen. “Now she’s seen it all. Exactly what do you think you’re going to find on Kelleher and Vaccaro’s coffee cups? Evidence of drug use? Fingerprints that tell us they’re the bad guys impersonating the good guys?”
“I want to make sure I know who I am dealing with,” Kye said, leaning over, lightly nipping the place where he’d marked her neck.
Draigon’s forearm tensed against her palm, making Savannah’s heart swell and her thoughts return to her earlier conclusion about him feeling like the odd man out. She squeezed his arm again and leaned into him when Kye straightened away from her. She brushed her lips against Draigon’s cheek, inhaling the masculine scent of him and becoming aroused in the process. “It might be hell on my career, but that was sweet of you to threaten a couple of Feds on my behalf,” she said then laughed, giving him another light kiss.
Heat moved through Draigon. Flowing from the place where her lips had touched his skin and traveling downward, piercing his heart on the way to his cock.
For an instant he was paralyzed, held in place by her first display of affection. Her teasing. The emotions raging inside him a stark contrast to the frozen stillness of his body. Only breaking free when there was no way to contain them.
He turned his head, his mouth meeting hers in a searing kiss that was only the beginning of all they would share.
Savannah melted against him, opened her mouth under the pressure of his. Draigon’s need obliterating the awareness of anything but him.
His body vibrated with unspoken words and feelings so intense it seemed like a silent primal scream from the soul, and she responded to it. The hand resting on his forearm traveling to his chest, capturing the fierce, fast rush of his heart against her palm. The fingers of her other hand going to his hair, freeing it of the tie holding it in place, then spreading the luxurious strands of golden-red across his back and shoulders.
Savannah groaned and moved closer, undone by more than just the bold dueling of his tongue with hers. Undone by the depth of his desire and her own answering rush of need.
In the periphery of her consciousness she registered the waitress’s return. But the press of firm masculine lips to hers, the slide of his tongue against hers, the feel of Draigon’s hand on her side, burning through her thin top and tormenting her with its nearness to her breast, were too wonderful to pull away from.
Only the need for breath ended the kiss. And even then it was followed by a quick press of lips. A silent promise for later.
Savannah’s laugh was husky, her nipples visible points when she sat back in her seat, her eyes dancing with mischief as some of the heat faded. “I should have known. The brooding, silent ones are always powder kegs just waiting for a spark to ignite them.”
Draigon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and dismay. Did she think him brooding? Did she think he was shy and needing of assistance when it came to coupling and mating?
He pulled her to him, this time holding her so that her luscious breasts were flattened against his chest, her nipples hard against him, their presence sending a current of lust straight to his cock as his mouth captured hers, as his tongue pillaged and dominated, communicated his desire and also his ability to pleasure her.
They were both panting when they separated, and yet satisfaction roared through Draigon at her flushed features, at her stunned silence. He was beginning to think his bond-mate was rarely left speechless and it pleased him that he had managed it.
This time when she smiled and laughed, her happiness poured into him, though her comment about waiting until they got home before stirring up a hornet’s nest made no sense to Draigon until Kye’s thoughts touched his with a picture. Kye’s voice also holding amusement when he said, The people on this planet have an amazing number of interesting sayings, Savannah more than most. And as if to prove his point, Kye focused his attention on Savannah. “Shall we hit the road?”
“Yeah, let’s hit it before the Wingman and I get arrested for having sex in public.”
The nickname jolted Draigon. Did the name she was bestowing mean she saw hints of his true form? “Wingman?”
Savannah’s eyebrows drew together at the tone of his voice. Hope and confusion, a questioning, as though the nickname was important to him. And for an instant she wondered why she’d called him that—then again, nicknames had always just come to her out of the blue. Her subconscious picking up on something maybe. She’d never stopped to analyze it.
She was terrible with given names, so she usually just went with the flow. But Wingman? Where had that come from? She wasn’t a pilot and at the first glimpse of a war movie, she was history. Then again, Draigon’s kiss had sent her soaring.
“Flyboy works too,” she said, teasing him, watching as his aristocratic nose tightened and he returned to brooding silence, making her laugh and relent. “Wingman it is then. Let’s get out of here and see if we can hunt down The Ferret or the girls.”
They rose, Kye scooping up the two takeout containers, each labeled to reflect who had drunk from the coffee cups they contained. He had little doubt that the Council scientists would find traces of the Fallon in Kelleher and Vaccaro. It made the thought of leaving Draigon and Savannah alone after they’d finished their business in town acceptable, even palatable. To be able to offer hope to the women of Belizair…
* * * * *
Primitive. And ugly. Even more so than some of the establishments found in the Kotaka Gaming Sector, Draigon thought as he followed in Savannah’s wake, moving through yet another crowded, garish casino. Both he and Kye remaining in the background, guarding, protecting and yet never allowing too much distance between Savannah and them.
Draigon maneuvered around a bank of slot machines, glad Savannah was away from the streets and alleyways, pawn shops and rundown tenements where she had spent a large part of the day cornering oily, shiftless men and women whose behavior advertised that their compliance and cooperation could be had for a small price and with no questions asked.
He had known Earth was a backwater planet, though the view from the cabin had surprised him with its beauty. But now, surrounded, bombarded by noise, crowded, contained in a building which did not welcome either fresh air or sunshine, Draigon could not wait to finish this business of claiming Savannah and return to Belizair, though it was a task he no longer believed would be accomplished easily or quickly. Savannah was as driven as any bounty hunter and yet rather than put him off, he found he was pleased by her fire and determination.
Jeqon had told him that Adan was completely enamored by his human bond-mate even though Krista had led him on a wild, emotional chase. Draigon already felt the same about Savannah.
A day spent watching her work, seeing her skill and strength, her intelligence and integrity, as well as admiring her curves, the movement of her body, her voice—all of it left him enthralled. Hot and hard and anxious to mount her, to sheathe his cock in her tight wet channel and claim her body, to spill his seed as he brought her to orgasm.
He sifted his stance, surreptitiously tugging at his pants, concluding as he did so that human cocks must be smaller than those of his race. He had been on Earth for less than a day and he already hated the clothing he was forced to wear. The tightness of it over his erection was a constant source of irritation. An irritation that blossomed into a silent snarl when Savannah altered her course and joined a man
at the casino bar.
Who is he? Draigon sent to Kye, anger filling Draigon when the human male smiled at Savannah in way that clearly showed his intention to seduce her.
I do not know, Kye growled, both of them moving closer. Kye positioning himself in front of a slot machine and feeding tokens into it. Draigon entering the bar and taking a seat in a booth, only to be immediately joined by a large-breasted woman who smelled of sex and heavy perfume. Who tried to crowd him against the wall, her hand making an aggressive foray into his lap as Kye’s shout of laughter sounded in his mind.
Savannah was dying to turn around and watch Draigon disentangle himself from his conquest, but she had to content herself with watching him in the mirror behind the bar. “Tell me something, Holden,” her companion said, noticing her attention, though her choked laugh had clued him in to the scene in the first place. “Is long hair on a guy really that much of a turn-on? She didn’t even look at me when I sat down.”
“Could be because she thought vice cop when she saw you,” Savannah said, meeting Fowler’s eyes in the mirror. “What are you doing in here anyway?”
“I could ask the same about you. Seems like every place I’ve gone today I’ve heard you were there asking about Ricky Nowak and a couple of those girls you hauled in the other day. What gives? I thought you were on vacation. I also thought you were trying to stay below the radar screen until things die down in Vice. Like I said before, you want to work Vice, I’ll put in a word for you. Hell, I could even offer to help show you the ropes.”
His voiced dropped with the last sentence, making it sound intimate, and Savannah’s nipples tightened despite the fact she wasn’t interested in him, not now anyway. Fowler’s eyes flickered to her chest in a subtle move and he smiled, a GQ flash of teeth that might have turned her into a puddle at his feet if her sex drive wasn’t already keyed to Kye—and after the kiss in the coffee shop, to Draigon.
She forced her attention back to Draigon’s attempts to free himself from the blonde, noticing his scowl and harsh expression seemed to be cooling the woman’s interest. Poor guy, he looked like he might explode and she got the impression some of it had to do with her being with Fowler.
Savannah grinned. Yeah. The silent ones were always the ones to watch.
“Hey, Holden, you’re not doing anything for my ego,” Fowler said, drawing her attention back to him. “Besides, I thought I heard one of the guys in the department say you had a dark-haired pretty-boy with you over at Nowak’s apartment. A bounty hunter who acted like a boyfriend.”
“You can name names. I take it Creech and Mastrin are still gunning for me?” She wondered if the names Abrego, Guzman or Carlos Dominguez would ring any bells with them then shut the thought off. There was no proof there was a leak in Vice.
Fowler shrugged. “You know how they are. So what gives? How come you’re looking for Ricky Nowak?”
Savannah toyed with a stack of cocktail napkins on the bar. She was pretty sure Fowler had already heard it from Creech and Mastrin, so she didn’t see any harm in repeating it. “Ricky set up a meet with me, then he was a no-show.”
“A meet at The Dive? The same place Nowak’s car blew up?”
“That’s the place.”
Fowler gave a low whistle and shook his head. “You need a keeper, Holden.” His eyes met hers again, smoldering with intensity this time. “Let me give you some advice. Not cop to cop. But friend to friend. Because I hope that’s what you consider me. You should take your vacation time and leave Reno for a while. My gut’s telling me that whatever Nowak knows is going to get him killed, and the killers are going to clean house when they take him out.”
“Just your gut?” Savannah asked, figuring Vice’s golden boy probably knew more than he was saying and if he could pump her for information, she could return the favor.
“Just my gut. Whatever Mastrin and Creech have going, I don’t know the details. Only that they caught you at Ricky Nowak’s place after it had been trashed and they’re working a case involving some underage girls, one of which you’ve taken an interest in.” He shook his head. “You’ve been a cop long enough to know better than to get emotionally involved. I’m assuming that’s why you’re asking around after the girls.”
The picture of Holland’s face, her eyes tightly closed in the photograph, joined the images Savannah had from the day she’d hauled the girls and the pervert down to the station. “I don’t think it’s too late for one of them.”
“I’m going to kick myself for encouraging you. Which one?”
“The thirteen-year-old. Holland.” Savannah pulled the folded page from the Social Services’ file out of her pocket and showed it to Fowler.
“I’ll keep an eye out for her.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got some time before I’m meeting a snitch. You want to grab something to eat?”
Savannah’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “No, thanks, I’m going to pick up some takeout from Bert’s.”
Fowler laughed. “One meal from that place and I have to go to the gym for a couple of hours.” He rose from the stool and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I mean it, Holden, take a vacation. Get out of town and think about putting in for Vice when you get back.” The GQ smile flashed, his eyelids dropped. “You’re a beautiful woman and I don’t want to see you get hurt in whatever Nowak’s got going.”
“Thanks,” she said and watched him walk away as she replayed the conversation, revisited the smiles, the serious eye contact, the touches—and had to laugh. Men. Some of them were just programmed to compete, though with his looks she wouldn’t have pegged Fowler for the type. Then again, maybe the blonde ignoring him and going for Draigon had tweaked his ego. Maybe the knowledge she went for long-haired guys had made her a challenge.
A week ago she might have felt the heat between them, but right now she had enough on her plate. Her gaze went to Draigon who was alone but still looked wound up, then to Kye who had emerged from somewhere and didn’t look happy about her encounter with Fowler. Oh yeah, she had enough testosterone on her plate if their expressions were anything to go by.
Chapter Twelve
Savannah left the bar and headed for Bert’s, a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill within walking distance of the glitz but a world away in ambiance. It was a cheap place favored by prostitutes and down-on-their-luck chronic gamblers.
If she was just looking for information, she would have hit it first, but she’d saved it for last on the off chance word would travel fast and The Ferret might show up or get a message to her. They’d met at Bert’s a couple of times, accidentally. Joked about it a few more times—how it was one of the things that told him she was okay for a cop, because she would detour to Bert’s just to buy the fried chicken there.
It was a good place and a good way to end the working day—not that she had a lot to show for it, but she figured she’d stirred up enough shit. Now she had to give it time to land and hope someone would step forward and come clean—metaphorically speaking.
It bothered her that she hadn’t found a trace of Holland, her sister Ivy, or the friend, Camryn. Then again, maybe they were on their way back to Vegas.
Savannah’s eyebrows drew together as she replayed the conversation with Kelleher to make sure she’d gotten it right. Yeah, he’d said the three girls had come up from Vegas about six months ago. She wondered why—not that Reno wasn’t full of action, but it wasn’t Vegas.
Damn, she should have asked Fowler if he would give her a contact name in the Vegas PD. He’d only been the golden boy of Vice in Reno for a little under a year. Before that he’d been in Vegas. She made a mental note to hunt him down if she didn’t get any leads on the girls soon.
Savannah walked into Bert’s and found the place empty except for a stubble-jawed man behind the counter. Bert himself.
“The usual?” Bert asked, straightening the grease-spattered white apron covering a T-shirt that wasn’t in much better shape.
“Better triple it.” Savann
ah’s stomach growled and her mouth watered. All of a sudden it seemed like way too much time had passed since she fixed breakfast for Kye.
Bert nodded and turned, poking and prodding, selecting pieces that were precooked and throwing them on the grill for some extra heat before dropping them into a large take-out container.
“You hear anything interesting lately?” Savannah asked.
Bert grunted. “Lot of people are suddenly looking for Ricky Nowak. Including you.”
“You got names, besides mine?”
“Some cop names, but you’d know about that.”
“Vice cops?”
“Maybe.”
“Creech and Mastrin?”
“I’m not naming names.”
“Anybody else?”
“Some other names, foreign, but I make a point of forgetting them as soon as I hear them.”
“Abrego?” Savannah asked, thinking about the men who served as lieutenants for Carlos Dominguez, the two brothers Vaccaro had dubbed Psycho I and Psycho II.
Bert shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t remember them. I don’t want to remember them. Remembering can be bad for your health and I got a business to run, a family to worry about.”
“You hear from Ricky Nowak lately?”
“No.” Bert closed up the carton of chicken and placed it in a bag. “You want biscuits and coleslaw?”
“Sure.”
He got out another carton and started scooping coleslaw into it.
“You remember that tip you gave me, about the underage working girls?” Savannah asked, straightening when she saw his hands shake. Not much. But enough for intuition to kick in. “Ricky tell you about them?”
Bert didn’t answer either question. “You going to want drinks with this?”
“Maybe. One of the underage girls is missing. So are her sister and her sister’s friend.” Savannah pulled out the folded Social Services sheet and a now dog-eared photograph of Camryn. “You recognize them?”
Bert’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Look, all I know is what Ricky asked me to pass on to you. Okay? I don’t know anything else. I don’t want to know anything else. Now do you want drinks with this stuff?”