One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3)

by Irish Winters

  “Give me a minute, will ya?” she snapped as she cleaned herself and straightened her clothes. Down went her bra and shirt. Up went her pants. Damned if that didn’t change everything. Isaiah pulled himself together, too.

  “The way I remember it, Bozo,” Roxy quipped when she was done, “I don’t owe you anything. You stood me up.”

  So now I’m Bozo. That should’ve hurt, but now that he knew the real Roxy, Isaiah could’ve stood there in the dark and listened to her the rest of his life. She was all woman, and the dim light creeping under the door gave him just enough view of her that he knew he wanted more. She hadn’t looked at him since she’d shoved off. An elastic appeared out of nowhere. She secured all those tangles and curls back into a rigid, tight ponytail before she finally met his eyes.

  Taking a chance with his life, Isaiah ran a fingertip up her arm, past her neck, and over the silky smoothness of her hair, content to have shared something priceless despite what she’d said. Resistant at first, she finally mellowed and asked, “What?”

  “I didn’t stand you up, Roxy,” he told her firmly. “I couldn’t get away until now, and you know it.”

  She huffed. “Not even for a break? We get those down at the precinct, you know. Bet you FBI jocks do, too.”

  Isaiah suppressed a smile. She must’ve really been looking forward to that drink. “After giving her statement, Candace volunteered to take a polygraph, and because of who her ex-father-in-law is, questioning took longer than expected. You know how complicated these cases can be. Nothing’s easy in our line of work. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Eight o’clock, moron. At night.” Roxy tossed the tissues into the waste can under the counter. Without a second’s hesitation, she dropped off the counter and melted into him, her cheek against his chest. Her hands snaked around his waist, coming to rest at the small of his back. Will surprises never end?

  Isaiah stooped to wrap his arms around her much smaller, shorter frame. Bowing his chin to the top of her head, he realized he was content for the first time in years. What a forbidden delight it was to hold this delightful bully girl close enough to feel the beats of her strong, proud heart. Whatever had happened in her past to make her so defensive now, Isaiah wanted her to trust him enough to tell him about it. Someday.

  He stilled when it dawned on him that her heart beat in sync with his. That anomaly brought an odd sense of joy he hadn’t expected to find in the dark of a janitor’s broom closet. Sinking his nose into the fragrant tendrils of her sleek black hair, he took a deep breath of the exotic combination of coconut shampoo and their forbidden sex, mixed with a healthy dose of the janitor’s lemon cleaner.

  “Too bad. I won’t be free ’til this thing with Garrett Randall’s settled,” she said, her fingertips fluttering over his pecs. Soothing him. Making him believe the fire between them could forge these last few forbidden minutes into something lasting. “He’s still on the run, but I’ll be the one who nails his ass.”

  ‘I’d rather nail yours,’ sprang to Isaiah’s normally very-much-in-control mind, but he caught himself before it breached his lips, and he said, “Haven’t you heard? We’re partners now. I’ll be working with you until Randall’s behind bars.”

  She tipped back from Isaiah then, her keen Metro PD eyes razor sharp and her beat cop chin up. “You’re kidding. Your boss fell for the line of BS I told him?”

  Isaiah grinned like he hadn’t in years. Ah, he knew it now. He was in for a wild ride these next few days, weeks, or months. “Director Chase is a guy, not a saint. Of course he fell for it.” Just like I’m falling for you.

  The identical grin cracking her face was the best answer she could’ve given.

  Pulling her back into his embrace, Isaiah tipped her chin up and branded her with a slow kiss. Somehow, this one felt better than the others he’d rained all over her face and mouth minutes ago. This one was different. It was pure and deliberate, and there was nothing out of control about it. If anything, it was simple and sweet and tender. Just the way he’d planned it.

  Chapter Six

  “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Candace Bratton murmured as Roxy drove her home.

  “It’s a tough break,” Roxy agreed, “but it’s over and you’re a survivor. Focus on that.”

  “Ha,” Bratton breathed. “Surviving’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Officer Thurston. Trust me. Me and my kids know.”

  Roxy glanced sideways at her passenger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bratton lifted her chin and faced straight ahead, a definite tell she was hiding something. Could be her pride or it could be a defensive reaction to the disastrous day she’d had. But it could be a lot of other things, too. “Are you married?” she asked, her face to the window and a tone of yearning in her voice.

  Roxy shook her head as she maneuvered her unmarked sedan around a double-parked white utility van on East Capitol Street Southeast. Bratton and her kids lived on 11th Street, north of the Navy Yard at the mouth of the Anacostia River. She didn’t yet know that she and her little family would soon be relocated to an FBI safe house across the District. Roxy left that dirty job up to Isaiah.

  At the thought of his name, a tiny flame sparked pleasantly to life in her gut, warming the blood in her veins and making her mouth water. Man, the chemistry between them was off the charts crazy, and those amazing eyes of his…

  A coy smile curled Roxy’s usually snarky lips, just thinking about how quickly she’d fallen apart in his very capable hands. The man was a nice package of sizzling eye candy with just the right touch of humility and charm. She still answered Bratton with a definite, “Nope.” Not only no, but hell no. Marriage took commitment Roxy didn’t need in her already jammed-packed life. Pure and simple, Isaiah was a red-hot distraction she had no time for. He had to go.

  “Why not?” Candace asked. “You’re young and gorgeous. I mean, look at you. I’m sure you have no trouble getting dates.” The way she’d emphasized ‘you’ made it sound as if Bratton had trouble dating. Stick a pin in that interesting info byte.

  Annnnnnnnnnd... it was past time to set some ground rules. Roxy cranked the wheel and took a sharp turn onto Eleventh. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mrs. Bratton. I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not a cozy sleepover with Special Agent Zaroyin and me. Our business with Garrett Randall is deadly serious, and trust me, he will come after you again. You don’t think he’ll hesitate to use deadly force when he does? Guess again. You got off easy today. Randall will kill to get what he wants, and you and your kids are just in his way. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” Bratton replied to the city flying by her window. “The only reason I asked is because there has to be more to life than just surviving, know what I mean? That’s all I’ve done for years. I go to work and the kids go to school. We work hard, but at the end of every day, I’ve still got bills I can’t pay and more crap to do than I’ll ever have time for. Working at the diner sucks, but it’s not like I have much choice, do I? I can’t quit work to take night classes to better myself because I’m the only thing standing between my kids and foster care. Life shouldn’t have to be so hard for a single woman.”

  By the time she’d finished that rant, Roxy was certain Bratton was crying. The quick dash of her hand across her face confirmed it. Roxy took a second look at the side of Bratton’s face, now hidden beneath a curtain of messy, red tangled hair. The woman was a neurotic mess, but know it or not, she’d just given Roxy one helluva motive. She could very well be stringing everyone along while working with Garrett Randall to make that better, easier life.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, but surely there’s something you get out of this, like your family, right? Kids make it all worthwhile, don’t they?” That’s what some of her married friends said, when they weren’t complaining about the high cost of healthcare, childcare, and the messy rooms of the spoiled brats they’d spawned.

  A deep sigh answered
. “I don’t know what I’d do without them,” Bratton murmured as she straightened in her seat and looked out the windshield. “What are the police doing at my house?”

  Excellent question. Roxy parked behind the cruiser, its blue and red lights still flashing over the front of a shabby colonial townhouse. Unsnapping her seatbelt, Bratton had one foot out the door before Roxy grabbed her elbow and jerked her back to her seat. “Shut your door and stay down.”

  “But my kids are in there!” Bratton cried, tugging to get away.

  Roxy dug her fingernails into Bratton’s bicep, determined to hold her in place until Roxy knew what had happened. “No, you’ll stay here until I know what’s going on.”

  Thank God, a black SUV rolled to the opposite curb. Agent Zaroyin unfolded his long legs from the vehicle and climbed to his feet. Unexpectedly thrilled to see him again, Roxy rolled her window down, hoping he knew something. “What’s going on?” she asked, her throat gone dry at the mouthwatering sight of him. Isaiah made that black suit he’d changed into look good. Tall, dark, and wickedly handsome, the man was sex on two long, lean legs.

  “Break in,” he replied easily, his gaze warm enough to make her blush. “Stay here and keep your ears on. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to go inside.”

  “My kids!” Bratton screamed from the passenger seat, blasting Roxy’s eardrums with her panic. “Were they home when this happened?”

  Superman’s brows creased to a sharp V. “Not as far as I know, but I’ll make sure for you, ma’am. You stay here with Officer Thurston, Candy. I’ll be right back.” With long strides, he ate up the sidewalk, ducked and disappeared beyond the yellow police tape.

  Oh, so now it’s Candy. Roxy rolled her neck at the sudden stranglehold of the green-eyed monster within her.

  Just as quickly as he’d ducked inside, Isaiah leaned back out and waved for her to bring Bratton in.

  “I want you to open your door and walk straight into your house,” Roxy told Bratton. “Don’t look around and don’t dawdle. I’ll cover you.”

  “Whatever,” Bratton said as she bolted. Roxy scrambled to keep up, her weapon drawn and her eyes raking the surroundings.

  Not one of the District’s affluent neighborhoods, Candace Bratton’s home showed its age. The gate to the fenced-in backyard sagged open at an angle, indicating a malfunctioning hinge. Silver duct tape stretched across one corner of the cracked front window. No spring flowers brightened the weedy flowerbed under the same window, and if these homes had been built ten feet closer to each other, they could’ve been row houses. With postage stamp-sized yards, they all needed paint. Overall, the entire area spoke of lean, hard times. No wonder Bratton knew the difference between surviving and living.

  At the door, Roxy greeted two patrol officers, Humphrey and White. The place had been ransacked, pictures torn off the walls, their frames smashed and broken glass all over the floors. Overturned furniture littered the front room, kitchen, and down the hall. No spray paint though, which teenagers would’ve done out of sheer stupidity. They always seemed to need to tag their work, like it made them somebody when it didn’t. But who’d ever broken into this place had taken time to open every CD case in the black plastic tower, now broken into several pieces on the floor. Whoever did this was looking for something.

  “What’s going on, guys?” she asked, holstering her piece to survey the damage.

  “Neighbor called in a B and E.”

  “Did that neighbor get a plate? Can he or she make a positive ID?” That’d sure as hell be a nice change.

  “Running it now,” Officer White replied. Tall, dark, and black, his surname made as much sense as hers. Most people probably didn’t expect a black man to respond when they were told Officer White was coming to their aid. Many didn’t expect a Hispanic female officer named Thurston when she showed up at crime scenes, either, but hey. If there was one thing Daddy Thurston got right in his life, it was marrying and loving Maria del Rosa Thurston the way he did. If only Mama could see me now.

  By then, Isaiah had righted the couch and straightened the cushions. He’d also assured Bratton her children weren’t home at the time of the break-in. “Do you know where they might be?” he asked her.

  “Phones,” Bratton muttered, scratching her hands over her scalp as she tossed a handful of her red hair over her shoulder. “They both have cell phones, but that creep in the bank took my purse, and I don’t… and I…”

  Roxy’s ears perked up. Weren’t the kids a little young to be trusted with cell phones? How could the beleaguered Candy afford extravagances like that when she was struggling to make ends meet? Or so she’d said.

  “Give me the numbers,” Isaiah said smoothly. “I’ll make the call, so you can talk to them.”

  “Oh, yes,” she cried, her eyes glistening. “I’m losing my mind. Of course, call them. Please hurry.” She rattled off two numbers that Isaiah deftly entered into his cell. In a second, he handed it over, and Bratton sank to the ratty couch crying, the phone to her ear. “Kitty. Hi, it’s Mom. Where are you, honey?” She nodded, wiping her eyes at whatever Kitty was saying. “Um, yes, you can stay another half hour, but please don’t walk home.”

  “Tell her to stay put. I’ll pick her up,” Isaiah said.

  Bratton’s eyes welled as she mouthed, “Thank you,” and Roxy couldn’t stomach the scenery any longer. She turned away. Something was very off-putting about Candace Bratton. Roxy damned well knew it. She just couldn’t put her itchy finger on precisely what that something was.

  “A friend of mine will come get you, honey. Stay inside. Yes, you can trust him. He’s an FBI agent and…”

  “Send her my photo,” Isaiah said as he thumbed through his phone. “Here. Send this. That way she’ll know who to expect.”

  “Yes, okay. I’m sending you a picture of the gentleman who’ll be there. Yes, I’ll tell you all about it when you get home, but please, baby. Do as I tell you and don’t go anywhere else, okay? What? You want to come home now?”

  Isaiah nodded. “I’m on my way. Tell her to watch for a black SUV with FBI on the side doors, but to stay inside. I’ll give her the code word ‘homework’ when I get there. She’s not to go with anyone who can’t give her that code.”

  Bratton relayed those instructions and finished the call. She gave him directions to Kitty’s choir director’s home while he forwarded his picture to Kitty’s number. “I hope you don’t mind, but she’s worried.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll get Darrin, too. Where’s he?”

  “Probably playing with his friend, Jimmy. Let me check.” Bratton dialed another number, the cords in her throat tight as she waited. “Jimmy? Hi, it’s Darrin’s mom. Is he there with you?” she asked, her eyes bright with relief again. “Good, hey, listen. Something happened today, and I need you to come home. No, Jimmy can’t sleep over tonight, so listen to me, okay? A good friend of mine’s coming to pick you up right after he gets Kitty. No, baby. I’m not hurt. I’m okay, promise, just....”

  She closed her eyes, her lower lip quivering. “Please stay inside until he gets there. His name is Isaiah Zaroyin and he’s a really good guy. You can trust him, and when he gets there, he’ll give you the code word ‘homework.’ Don’t go with anyone who can’t give you that secret code, okay? I need you here with me, Darrin. Understand?”

  Bratton seemed anxious by the end of that conversation, but overall, it went smoother than Roxy anticipated. Most kids would’ve pitched a fit at being pulled away from their friends. Maybe she was wrong about Bratton.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Bratton asked Isaiah, her eyes translucent with unshed tears as she gave his phone back.

  Resting his hand on her shoulder, he ducked to her level and peered into her eyes. “This is what we do, ma’am. Try not to worry while I’m gone. Officer Thurston?” he asked as he lifted to his feet and directed her to the front door with a quick nod.

  Like a new recruit, she’d just st
ood there watching him handle Bratton instead of questioning the investigating officers. How unprofessional. “Yes?”

  “My money’s on Randall for this B and E,” Isaiah said quietly, his sharp gaze back on Bratton. “He knew where she lived and he’s trying to intimidate her.”

  “Or he thinks the money’s here and she’s in on it with him,” Roxy bit back. For a psychic, Isaiah sure couldn’t see the forest for the trees. This act of Bratton’s could be just that, an act, and her kids might be in on it for all Roxy knew. Yeah, Bratton did seem truly worried, but Roxy had seen a lot in her time with MPD, and she didn’t trust anyone. Not even Isaiah. Yet.

  He stared her down. “You may be right.” Well, at least he gave her that. “Don’t let her out of your sight while I’m gone.”

  Roxy bristled, feeling like a yo-yo caught between Isaiah and the sad lady who seemed to have his undivided attention the way his eyes kept straying back to her. “You think I don’t know my job? Get over yourself, Zaroyin.”

  Damn, there was that handsome smile again, lighting her insides like a flash bang, then gone before she knew it, leaving behind only the shockwave she’d tasted in the broom closet.

  “On the contrary, Officer Thurston. I think you know more than I do about a lot of things.” His lips pursed for one split second as if he wanted to kiss her goodbye. Talk about unprofessional.

  Roxy took a deliberate step back. “Make it quick,” she hissed, using her best cop voice to keep him in his place—and to keep her hands off him. Now was not the time for play. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he turned on his heel and left.

  One second later her cell rang with an incoming. She checked her caller ID. Damn Zaroyin. He had her number and now she had his. Sneaky, but effective.

  Roxy strode back to the couch and knelt at Bratton’s knee. “How about you and I go through your apartment to see if anything’s missing?”