Undone by Moonlight

by Wendy Etherington

  Over the past few months, she’d been by often to see Shelby and brought dates to dinner parties here, but Devin hadn’t visited since Labor Day, when they’d all shared a barbecue to celebrate another triumph for Robin Hood and his crew.

  Was he glad to be welcomed back, or wary of being the center of attention?

  The latter, definitely.

  Turning from him, she greeted her friends and got a big, lifted-off-her-feet hug from Victoria’s boyfriend, Jared, who she hadn’t seen since the wedding, as he’d been leading a scuba diving adventure to Maui.

  “You’re tan,” she commented as he set her down.

  “You look like you could use one,” he returned.

  “Book me on your next tour,” she said dryly. “I could use a little excitement in my life.”

  Shelby pressed a glass of wine into her hand, and Calla relaxed for the first time all day. With her friends by her side, there was nothing they couldn’t do.

  She received a kiss on the cheek from Trevor, who was elegantly dressed, as always, in navy pants and a pristine white shirt.

  Devin got miffed whenever Howard smiled at her. Why wasn’t he jumping in the middle of two gorgeous men kissing and hugging her? Granted, they were deeply in love with her two best friends, but still....

  Glancing at him, she noticed he had noticed her, after all. The ever-present scowl was back.

  “How’s the whiskey?” Trevor asked lightly, making Calla wonder if he understood the reason for Devin’s sour expression.

  After only a slight hesitation, he approached the group. “Perfect. Thanks.”

  “Do you feel like talking about the case against you?” Trevor asked. “We’d like to help.”

  “Calla tells it better,” Devin said.

  So Calla told it.

  Everybody agreed the frame-up was obvious to anybody who knew Devin, but they also agreed untangling the tricked-up evidence, identifying Jimmie’s partner and especially the why of it all, was going to be challenging.

  “I find it hard to believe the D.A. can bring a decent case,” Trevor commented. “The evidence is inconsistent, and there’s absolutely no motive. Why are they saying Devin suddenly decided to stalk and later assault a small-time thief with a mental condition?”

  “Bad cops are bad press for the NYPD,” Victoria said. “Allegedly bad cops in this case.”

  “So it’s better one of their officers is arrested?” Obviously baffled, Trevor shook his head. “Bad strategy.”

  “We’ve arrested regular people with less evidence,” Devin pointed out.

  “I’m with Trevor,” Shelby said firmly. “Officials would win more support in the long run standing by their top cops.”

  Devin set aside his glass. “My lieutenant does—as much as he can, anyway. He thinks my arrest might make the real culprits relax.”

  “Which would be great if he was running the investigation,” Calla reminded him. “Instead, there’s stoic Colin Reid and IAB.”

  “Leaving us to prove Devin’s innocence,” Jared concluded.

  Victoria sipped her wine. “We have experience chasing guilty people. Think we can reverse the procedure?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Shelby rose. “For now, though, we eat. How does everybody feel about steak?”

  Devin’s eyes lit as they did when he was aroused, and Calla felt an answering response deep in her belly. “Much better than I do about clearing my record.”

  While Shelby put the steaks on the grill, everybody else helped in the kitchen or with setting the table. Devin’s case wasn’t mentioned the rest of the night. He relaxed and even laughed, and Calla silently swore she’d keep that optimism alive, no matter what she had to do.

  She’d helped Shelby and Victoria with their recent troubles and understood their need to relieve their heartache, but she hadn’t fully realized the depths of their determination until now. She hadn’t grasped the lengths to which they’d undoubtably been willing to go to deliver justice.

  In or outside the law.

  As she and Devin got into a cab in front of the apartment building, he grasped her hand. “Will you come home with me?”

  Flustered by the direct question, she managed only a nod.

  “I want to check out my place,” he said after giving the cabbie the address. “See where Reid and his boys snooped. My gun safe for one.”

  “I thought you left your gun at my apartment when you went to the station.”

  “I did. Dark blue shoe box, gold lettering.”

  The blood drained from her face. “The Stuart Weitzmans? How could you—” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. You want me in your apartment so we can see what the NYPD poked into?”

  “You have a good eye.” He trailed his finger down her throat. “Plus I have this thing about you in my bed.”

  “This thing?”

  “Vision. Fantasy. Delusion, possibly,” he added quickly when she didn’t respond.

  She leaned close, stopping less than an inch from his lips. “Fantasy works. Are there costumes, sets and scripts?”

  He slid his hand around her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “No clothing needed, the bed works for me and you don’t have to say a word except yes.”

  She smiled. “The zipper on this dress sticks a bit.”

  When he slammed his apartment door closed behind them, he quickly discovered the truth of her statement. He solved the problem with quick action, ripping the zipper down the seam, while simultaneously muttering a promise to have it fixed.

  He pushed her dress past her hips, and she tossed his T-shirt on the floor as they crossed the threshold of the bedroom doorway. Indulging in his pumping heat, she wrapped her arms around his neck, trailing her lips across his skin.

  His enticing scent, inviting and masculine, spun her wits and intensified the hunger building inside. After the turmoil of the day, she craved his touch. When his hands cupped her breasts, she let her head fall back on a moan.

  He pressed her to the bed, never ceasing his caress. He let go of her only long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, while she did the same with hers, then he was hovering over her.

  “I don’t deserve you, but I’m taking you, anyway,” he mumbled against her lips.

  As his mouth captured hers and their bodies became one, her heart hammered in her chest, her need spiraled. She hooked her legs around his hips when he surged inside.

  Tingles raced down her spine, and her joy only increased as she saw the pleasure stamped on his face. Delight built on delight, tightening her muscles, driving her higher. His strokes quickened. Her breath caught as she reached the peak, and pulses of satisfaction rippled through her.

  As he followed her over the edge, a fission of fear spoiled her bliss. He needed her so much now, but would he need her, and want her, when he had his life back?

  9

  PARKED AT THE CURB IN front of a convenience mart and a bakery on the Lower East Side, Devin stared at the dingy apartment building out his left window. “There’s something really wrong about sitting in a Mercedes and eating gourmet food while spying on a low-life thief.”

  “I’m not sure what,” Calla returned, holding a cracker in front of his face. “Shelby’s curried chicken salad never disappoints.”

  “It’s supposed to be bad coffee and street-corner hot dogs,” he muttered, though he took the cracker. “My life has changed in remarkable ways since meeting you.”

  She pressed her lips to his cheek. “All in a good way.”

  Good didn’t even begin to cover his life lately. Remarkable, miraculous...perilous—those were better descriptions.

  Calla was devoted to him. After the dinner party at the Banfields’, they’d spent all night and most of the next day in his bed. She was adventurous, interesting, curious and joyful. He’d never known anyone like her.

  “How does Jimmie afford this place?” he wondered aloud, hoping to get his mind back on his mission. “Even a dump is out of his income bracket.”r />
  “Maybe he’s a better thief than you think.”

  “Or maybe his partner is well financed.”

  “You’re sure your friend at the station is reliable? Reid could have told him to lie to you, trying to keep you off the case.”

  “Reid doesn’t know about your gang.”

  She handed him another cracker piled with chicken salad. “But I bet he knows everything about you, so he’d realize you won’t sit around stroking a rosary while waiting for your trial to start.”

  The image of a pious him made him choke on his snack.

  Calla whacked him on the back. “If you stop breathing, can I give you mouth-to-mouth?”

  Clearing his throat, he scooped her off her seat and into his lap. “Absolutely.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you usually make out during stakeouts?”

  “Never.” He gave her a long, slow kiss that got his blood pumping way more than any department operation ever had. “Especially on Sunday night. Nothing happens on Sunday night.”

  “Why not?”

  He trailed his lips across her jaw. Vanilla wafted from her hair. He threaded his fingers though the golden silk. “Bad guys take the night off, I guess. Maybe they’re spending quality time with their rosaries. How do you always smell so amazing?”

  “One of those girly gifts. Speaking of girls, this woman from your past, the stabbing smuggler who seduced you, what was she like?”

  He stilled. “That was an interesting segue.”

  “I was kind of hoping to catch you off guard and you’d blurt something out.”

  Saying nothing, he stared at her.

  “Right. You’re not much of a blurter.” She traced his lips with her finger. “Any chance of telling me, anyway?’

  “She was beautiful, quick-thinking and cold.”

  She tensed. “How beautiful?”

  “Very. She looked like you.”

  “You’re comparing me to a murderess?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Superficially.”

  “Why’d you want to know?” He cocked his head. “Jealous?”

  “Since she’s doing twenty-five to life, I don’t think I’ll have to arm-wrestle her for you.”

  “How about wrestling in bikinis?”

  “Men are such degenerates. So the fact that she and I look alike didn’t have anything to do with why you refused to trust me and kept me at a snarly distance for six months?”

  Years of experience kept his expression neutral.

  Which didn’t fool her for a second.

  Her expression froze. “You think I’m going to betray you?”

  “No.”

  She moved back to her seat. “Not anymore,” she corrected.

  “Not ever.” He leaned over, bracketing her. “You’re the exact opposite of her. But the fact that she fooled me is absolute proof that I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to personal relationships. You deserve more.”

  “So you said the other night. What’s changed?”

  “Everything. Our proximity, you saving me. I couldn’t stop myself anymore. Still can’t. And though I might not have given in to my attraction to you before last week, I dreamed about you constantly.”

  Her gaze held his. “Day and night?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did send the text.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said you didn’t.”

  “I was wary. I was afraid admitting the truth would lead to us getting together.”

  “Which you didn’t want.”

  “Which I thought I didn’t want. The last two nights proved pretty conclusively that I want you very much.”

  Looking wary herself, Calla licked her lips. “Do you think our attraction has anything to do with your career and freedom being in jeopardy?”

  “It was there before all this happened. I guess it’ll be there afterward.”

  “I’m not asking for commitments or promises.”

  “Especially since I could be in prison soon.”

  She laid her finger over his lips. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t want to be merely a distraction.”

  She’d asked for nothing in this deal with him, but she’d given everything. Though he didn’t express his feelings well, he had to find a way to show her how vital her support and understanding had been. “You’re all that gives me hope. I only know how to be a cop. If I don’t have that, I’m nothing.”

  “I don’t agree, but thanks. We’re going to get you through this.”

  He rested his forehead against hers, soaking up the comfort of her words and her touch. “Do I get a gang nickname?”

  “You can be the sheriff.”

  He frowned. “I thought he was the bad guy. The corrupt lawman, in fact.”

  Her lips turned up at the corners in a sly smile. “What do you know about Robin Hood?”

  “Enough. Wasn’t there a king?”

  “Richard. But he was off on a crusade or fighting a battle or something, which is why the whole mess with the crooked sheriff happened in the first place. You’re the star of this show, so you can’t be him.”

  “Okay, then I get to be Robin.”

  “I’m Robin.”

  “Who says?”

  “Everybody. Shelby and Victoria got to be Robin when it was their turn. I think there was a marksman. You can be him. Luigi Greeneyes.”

  “His name was Will Scarlet.”

  Calla got that adamant look in her eyes, the one he used to run from whenever he saw it aimed in his direction. “I’m the gang leader. I get to pick the names.”

  “Why Luigi?”

  “It’s Italian, of course. And it means warrior, or something like that. I’ll have to look it up.”

  As she reached into her purse for her phone, he heard a noise outside the car. “Quiet,” he ordered, reaching beneath his jacket for the pistol holstered against his side.

  Calla immediately slumped in her seat and tucked her phone, with its glowing screen, behind her back. She said nothing, but she clenched the door handle.

  A few seconds later, a man and a woman, their arms around each other walked under the streetlight in front of Jimmie’s building. They were laughing and stumbling a bit. They paused at the corner and indulged in an energetic kiss.

  At least somebody’s Sunday night was eventful.

  When they moved up the stairs, Devin holstered his weapon. “I doubt either one of them is our accomplice.”

  “Agreed.”

  After sighting the couple, several more possible residents or visitors entered the building. But the collection included a slow-moving elderly couple and two sets of parents with children. No single male entered, no one who looked furtive or out of place, and no one came back out.

  Just after midnight, when they were confident their mission had been a big waste of time, a cab stopped at the far end of the block, and a figure emerged. Heading toward them, and Jimmie’s building, the person was dressed in black or dark blue and moved with brisk purpose, looking left and right as they moved.

  Not suspiciously, really. Any wise-thinking New Yorker wore dark clothes and was aware of their surroundings at night on a deserted street.

  “It’s a woman,” Devin said as the person grew closer.

  “There’s definitely a hip sway when she walks,” Calla agreed. “Could Jimmie’s partner be a woman?”

  “I guess.” Though he’d assumed a man simply because of the violent nature of the crime. Detectives should gather facts, not assume. But if a woman had whacked both him and Jimmie, neither one of them would ever live it down. “It’s not like I can go charging in there and ask him.”

  The woman had a key to the outer door, and she managed to avoid the light on the stoop before disappearing inside.

  “I couldn’t see her face,” Calla said.

  “She kept it turned away.”

  “On purpose?”

  He shrugged. Something about her seemed off, but he wasn’t sure what. Could be wishful
thinking—he wanted something significant to happen, so he was putting too much emphasis on her.

  A few other people went in, but still no single male appeared, and no one else gave him a tingle at the the back of his neck.

  He and Calla ate, talked and drank coffee. She dozed after a while, arranging a pillow she’d brought, laying her head in his lap. He absently stroked her hair and chased away the image of her visiting him from behind bulletproof glass while he wore prison orange.

  But then that would never happen.

  He’d never let her see him that way.

  Leaning his head against the window, he stared blankly toward Jimmie’s building. Investigating was different when the case was personal. Impartiality was nonexistent, the stakes were higher, and concentration was tougher.

  Fear kept him off balance. He kept wondering if his time was limited, if he should have appreciated his badge more when he’d had it in his pocket. He continually second-guessed himself, considering which move would sink him, and which one might be his salvation. Since his gut instincts and decisiveness were some of his most valuable assets, the uncertainty was a major problem.

  As he yawned, he thought about the comfort of his bed, or Calla’s. They’d left the cat with food and his basket. She’d even convinced him to add a heating pad beneath his blankets, so he’d feel warm and secure. Still, Sharky had glared as they left, as if he’d known they were leaving for a long time, like they had after the dinner party at the Banfields’.

  Last night Calla had jolted upright in his bed, then dragged them both over to her place to pick him up so Sharky wouldn’t be alone all night. Devin expected she’d wake up any second and remind him their tiny bundle of joy was lonely. Maybe they should buy some catnip or a toy on the way home. At least he’d drawn the line at bringing a kitten on a stakeout....

  A loud rap on the car window woke Devin from a dead sleep.

  Blinking, he noted dawn was breaking and Lieutenant Meyer’s angry face greeted him from the other side of the glass. “Out of the car, Antonio.”

  He did as ordered, easing his way out of the car, so he hopefully wouldn’t wake up Calla. “I know I shouldn’t be here, sir,” he began, hoping his brain would kick in a reasonable excuse for being outside Jimmie’s apartment building. “But it’s my badge on the line, and I had to see what Jimmie was up to. I didn’t hit him, and I’m pretty certain he didn’t hit me, so somebody else is involved in—”