by J. Kenner
"First of all, we don't have a thing to hide at Destiny, so it's not really an inconvenience having you inside."
"At Destiny," I repeated.
"Second," Tyler said, as if I hadn't even spoken, "it occurred to me that I have a few social obligations coming up where it will be handy to have a woman on my arm. And even handier if that woman is a cop."
"Oh, really? Like what?"
"Like you'll find out tomorrow night. Did you bring an evening gown to Chicago?"
"Sure," I said. "I packed it with the diamonds and furs."
"We'll shop tomorrow." His mouth curved up in a slow, lazy smile. "That may be the highlight of my day. At any rate, those were my practical reasons."
"And the impractical ones?"
"Mostly, Detective, I just want to fuck you. When I want, how I want, and where I want."
"I see."
"Sore loser, Detective?"
I regarded him for a moment, then slid across the bench and put the car in park. Then, before he could react, I took his face in my hands and claimed his mouth with my own in a long, deep, sensual kiss.
When I pulled back, he stared at me, and I almost laughed at the pleased surprise I saw in those brilliant eyes.
"I'm not a sore loser at all," I said. "And if we're playing this game, I'm damn well going to enjoy it."
Chapter Seventeen
I was expecting to go straight back to The Drake, but Tyler surprised me by pulling up in front of a bright yellow building with a red and white awning.
"Hungry?"
"Ravenous," I said, then smiled. "You helped me work up quite an appetite."
"I'll remember to re-stock the fridge. In the meantime, Jim's will do just fine."
I peered out the window. It was right around midnight and the place was hopping. "Doesn't look like fine dining to me."
"That depends on your definition of fine," he said. "Amazing hotdogs twenty-four hours a day. You've never been before?"
I shook my head, my mouth already watering. "French fries?"
"Even cheese fries, if you want them."
"You do know how to seduce a lady."
He brushed a quick kiss over my lips before sliding out. When he returned, he handed me a bag with six hotdogs, along with French fries, cheese fries, and two Diet Cokes. "What?" he asked when he saw my amused expression.
"Hotdogs in The Drake hotel," I said. "Talk about a contrast."
"Ah, but we're not going to The Drake."
"Where are we going?" I asked warily. "Because, hello?" I gestured to the jacket of his I still wore. A jacket under which I wore no panties. Or anything else. "Not exactly up to most dress codes."
"An interesting point," he agreed. "Probably wouldn't matter, but better to be safe." He nodded toward the backseat. "Check my gym bag. Should be a T-shirt and sweatpants in there."
I gaped at him. "Unless they belong to your petite lover--in which case, we're going to have another problem--any clothes I find in that bag will swallow me."
"The T-shirt will cover you," he said. "And the pants have a drawstring. Don't worry. There won't be any fashion police around. We're going on a picnic."
"A picnic?"
"It seems like a good night for it," he said. "There's a full moon, after all. Go on. Change."
"What the hell?" I laughed and turned to rummage for his gym bag, then dragged it back into the front with me.
As he'd said, I found a black T-shirt with the Destiny logo and a pair of plain, gray athletic pants. I put the pants on first, then tied them as tight as possible. Even then, I had to roll the waist over a couple of times, and then do the same to the legs, so that I wouldn't trip when we walked.
"I don't have shoes," I pointed out.
"More's the adventure," he said, and I rolled my eyes.
I shrugged out of his jacket, then raised an eyebrow when I saw Tyler paying more attention to me than the road.
He focused on driving as I tugged his T-shirt on over my head, breathing deep of his familiar, woody scent.
"Just for the record," he said, casting a sideways glance in my direction as he broke the silence. "I haven't had a lover in a very long time. A lot of women I've fucked, but no lovers." He turned his head and held my eyes. "In case you were curious."
"Oh. Okay." I glanced down at the bags of food at my feet, and realized that I couldn't quite suppress the smile that was blooming.
I cleared my throat. "So, you do pick some interesting surprises. First the, um, place," I said, and had him chuckling. "Now hotdogs. I haven't had a picnic with hotdogs since I helped my dad move to Texas a few years ago."
"They're big on hotdogs in the Lone Star State?"
"Probably," I said. "But Daddy moved to Galveston--it's an island. And there was a festival with a bonfire. So hotdogs and marshmallows were the thing. It was fun. The kind of thing we used to do all the time, but now ..." I trailed off with a shrug.
"Texas is a long way from home," he said.
"Yeah." I flashed a quick smile. "Sorry. A brief moment of melancholy. I miss him."
"Your mom not big on hotdogs?"
"My mom died a few years ago." The words hung flat, and I turned to look out the window. I really didn't need her in my head. Not right now.
He reached over and gently took my hand. "No one else?"
I thought about it, but there really wasn't. I loved my partner, Hernandez, but picnicking with him and his wife wasn't exactly the same. And Candy would rather scrub toilets than sit outside if she wasn't in an amphitheater with a hot band playing on stage.
"I guess not," I said, turning to look at him. "Tough break, huh? No one to picnic with."
He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet mine. "There's someone now," he said, making my heart melt just a little.
We rode in silence, through the darkened city dotted with lights, until he finally pulled over near the intersection of Michigan Avenue and Roosevelt, then killed the engine.
"Can you park here?" I asked, but he only grinned.
"Let's walk," he said.
I recognized Michigan Avenue and I knew we were near the museum campus, so I assumed this was Grant Park. But it wasn't any place I'd been before, and I squinted at the odd shapes that rose up in the distance as we crossed over the grass.
"All right," I finally said as the forms became clearer in the moonlight. "Why are we walking toward a crowd of headless men?"
"I'm not entirely sure they are men," Tyler said. "They're the Agora. You haven't seen them before?"
"Indiana, remember? I've been to Chicago a few times, but mostly for work. Once for tea at the Palm Court with my dad for my sixteenth birthday. A few times to the museums. Other than that, no tourist stuff."
"One hundred and six headless and armless men," Tyler said. "The city brought them here just shy of a decade ago."
I cocked my head to look at them. They were interesting, I thought. Interesting, and maybe a little scary, what with the moonlight and their height and the shadows.
I shivered, and focused on Tyler rather than the creatures.
"So you would have been what? Twenty?"
"Not quite," he said, reminding me how close we were in age. And making me remember how young he was to have already acquired so much. "I used to come here at night with Cole and Evan."
"Okay." I frowned. "Why?"
"One, it's a little spooky in the dark, which we thought was fun."
"On the spooky, we're in total agreement. And?"
"And something about the statues drew us, I think. Kind of summed up our view of the world--most people aren't thinking. They're not using their heads. They're not doing, thus the lack of arms. And that means that those of us who do think, who do act, can make our way through the world while the rest stumble along."
I'd stopped walking to look at him. "I'm not sure if that's cynical, astute, or simply the mind-set of a man who'd easily slide into a shady kind of lifestyle."
"I'm a pillar of the commun
ity, Detective," he said with a broad, charming grin. "If you've heard otherwise, you've been talking to the wrong people."
"Maybe so," I agreed, because that was a subject best left alone. "So is that what the artist actually meant?"
"I don't know. Cole might--art's his thing. But I never wanted to find out. As far as I'm concerned, art is what you make of it. How it reflects back on you."
I considered his words. "Doesn't that make the artist irrelevant?"
"I don't think so. I think it makes him a mirror. It's one of the reasons art is often spoken of in the same tone and with the same vocabulary as music or poetry or love. Or even sex."
"What do you mean?"
"Passion, Sloane," he said, and there was a heat to his voice now that hadn't been there before. "There's no way to experience it without discovering something about yourself, too."
"Oh." It was the only word I could safely manage, because his words had impacted me more than I had anticipated. Had cut through me with their unexpected truth.
"Walk with me," he said. He took my hand, still swinging our picnic bag from his other.
"This isn't what I expected," I admitted, when I'd gathered myself back together. "Philosophy, genteel conversation, and a picnic in the park. Not what I thought you had in mind after our, well ..."
He chuckled. "Yes?"
"Our sex-a-thon," I said with a saucy grin, and turned his chuckle into a full-blown laugh.
"Disappointed?"
"In the hotdogs? Hell no." As if to prove the point, I reached into one of the bags and helped myself to some cheese fries. "In spending time with you? No." I aimed a glance at him. "These are great, by the way. But that doesn't mean I couldn't handle more of the sex-a-thon part."
"I do admire a woman who knows her own mind." The roughness in his voice sounded like a promise. And in the moonlight, his face was all shadows and angles, making him look even more sexy. Even more dangerous.
"I'm very glad you're enjoying our arrangement so far," he continued. "I'd hate to think you were disappointed."
"You know I'm not," I said. I paused as I gathered my thoughts. "I don't know what you've done to me, Tyler Sharp. Sometimes it feels like you've turned me inside out."
"All I've done is looked at you." His low voice sent shivers through me. "And gone after what I've seen."
"Don't get me wrong, I've never been a prude or a wallflower. But until you ..."
"What?"
"Sex was just scratching an itch. A very nice, satisfying scratch, but still just an itch."
"And with me?" He trailed his fingers up my arm. "What is it with me?"
"Exciting," I said, and saw the pleasure bloom on his face.
"And you do like an adventure."
"Yeah," I said, thinking about the night. "I guess I do." I liked him, too. And more than just for sex. He felt like he fit, and the feeling was somehow both scary and very, very sweet.
He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me close. "But that's not too much of a discovery for you, is it? No one becomes a cop for the paperwork."
"Excitement in the field isn't the same as excitement in bed."
"Point taken. I know how I got you in my bed. How did you get in the field?"
I cocked my head, not understanding.
"I mean, Detective. Why did you become a cop? And don't just tell me you wanted to serve truth, justice, and the American way. I want the deeper reason."
"It's in my blood," I said, giving him a true answer, though not the real one. "My dad's been in law enforcement since he got out of high school--me, too," I added.
"All right. I'll buy that. But what else?"
"What makes you think there's something else?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
"Oh?"
He held me close as he looked at me, his hand sliding beneath his T-shirt to stroke my back. "I know how to see into people, Sloane. It's a skill I learned a long time ago. How to know when they're telling the truth. When they're lying. When they truly care about something, or when they're just faking it. It's an art, reading people, and it's one I'm especially skilled at. One that's paid off for me over and over. And when I say that someone is holding back on me, I promise you can take it as gospel."
"Those sound like the kind of skills a grifter would develop. A con artist. A swindler."
"Or a businessman who wants to read his competitors. To judge their offers and have an edge in negotiations." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Or are you saying that all businessmen are swindlers?"
"I'm saying that you're very good at what you do. Whatever you do."
"I'm flattered. And I'm still curious." He pulled away from me, making me feel cold and suddenly alone, then took my hand as we continued walking through the park.
"What are you not telling me? Please," he added gently. "I would really like to know."
I drew in a breath. The truth was, I wanted to tell him. Yes, I knew that I would have to walk away from this man eventually. And yes, I knew that it would be all the harder if I shared my secrets, my fears, my emotions.
But it didn't matter. It wasn't a question of smart, but a question of heart. And I wanted Tyler to see into mine.
"Have you heard of Harvey Grier?"
It took him a moment, and then he nodded slowly. "I think so. Baseball player, right? Found shot right as his career was really taking off."
"He was my stepfather."
"I see." Two simple words, and yet they suggested so much. And I both feared and hoped that he really did see. "Did they ever find who killed him?"
"No," I said. "No, they didn't."
"He beat you," Tyler said softly, and I saw understanding bloom in his face. "Tied you up and beat you."
I looked away, not ready to see the pity in his eyes. "No, not me. My mother. Well, he tied us both up," I explained, my voice flat. "But he never beat me. He just made me watch. He said my time was coming."
"You must be very glad he's dead." Tyler's voice was low and hard. "If I'd known you then, I would have killed him myself."
I drew in a breath, thinking that was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to me. And also thinking that I couldn't say those words aloud. Not and continue to be the person I thought I was. The cop I thought I'd become.
"I am glad," I said instead. "But he's dead because the system messed up. I tried to get that bastard arrested, but the cops were too starry-eyed." I dropped down to the grass and stretched out my legs. "I would have kept trying, but someone blew him away first."
"So you became a cop to fix the system."
"I became a cop because I believe in the system. Harvey Grier should be spending a long life rotting in jail. Dead, and it's just over."
He joined me on the ground, his hand on my thigh. As always with Tyler's touch, I felt the heat of connection. But this time it was warm and calm and gentle. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you had to live through that."
"But I did live through it," I said. "So I guess that's a win."
"What about your mom? She must have been relieved to be free of that asshole."
"Yeah," I said. "I would have thought so. But she shut herself off. Closed herself up. And--" I shook my head. "She just sort of checked out of herself. Just drifted. Never really settled." I licked my lips. "And then she died. Two years ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too. I thought--I thought that once he was gone she would have been happy, you know? Alive again. But she never was."
I ran my fingers through my hair and turned away, not wanting to see his face through the red curtain of my memories. "Sometimes I think that if they'd arrested him instead, if there had been a trial, she would have been able to deal with it. They'd have gotten her counseling for the abuse, right? As it was, she was just a minor celebrity's widow. She never told anyone about the abuse, and no one helped her. I tried, but I was still just a kid. If the system had worked the way it was supposed to, then maybe she--"
I cut myself off, biting my lower lip. "She was a good woman. Fragile, but good. She didn't know how to get herself out of a bad situation, and she did everything she could to protect me from him. But after I--after he was killed, she rolled into herself. I lost her."
He tucked a finger under my chin and turned my head to face him. "I've never seen you in action, but I've asked enough questions to know that you're a good cop. So you have to know that the system isn't perfect. It isn't even close."
"It evens out," I said. "Justice finds a way."
"Does it?"
I smiled. "That's what my dad always says. And my dad is a very smart man." I drew in a breath and ran my thumb under my eye, catching an escaping tear. "Sorry." I managed a teasing smile. "I guess your motto is the opposite? 'Screw justice'?"
As I'd hoped, he laughed. "There you go, assuming things about me."
"Is that what I'm doing? Maybe I want to know how you started down the dark path. Come on, Mr. Sharp. I've revealed all. Why don't you tell me why you became a criminal."
"Such a loaded question, Detective. What makes you think I am?"
"Because I'm not an idiot," I said.
"Cute, but I'm serious." He leaned forward. "I admit I like to live dangerously. I love the thrill of acquiring something through my wits. Isn't that the defining core of every successful businessman? But what crimes have I committed? What evidence do you have?"
"Never mind. Just drop it."
"No," he said. "I want to know."
I sighed. I wanted to know, too. But I couldn't deny that I feared his answer. Even so, I pressed on. "Evidence, no. But there's a lot of talk about you and your friends. A lot of speculation."
"Sticks and stones," he said.
"Dammit, it's a conversation. I'm not wearing a wire. I'm not even a Chicago cop. And I'm sure as hell not playing a game. Christ, Tyler, I'm--"
I'm falling for you.
I blinked, shocked by the intensity of the thought. And I didn't look at him. Instead, I looked everywhere but.
"I'm--I like you," I finally said. "I like us. But I don't even know you."
"What if I told you I was squeaky clean?" His voice was so very gentle, and in that moment I feared that he'd heard past the words to the truth in my voice. "What if I said that everything you fear is in the past?"
I turned now to look at him, and those stormy blue eyes were clear and warm. "That would be nice," I admitted, realizing as I said it how much I wished it were true.
I tried for a smile. "Will you tell me about your past, then? How you met Evan and Cole? The misadventures of your youth? You told me once your childhood should have been idyllic. What went wrong?"