by AJ Nuest
For shit’s sake, how was she supposed to walk away from that?
On impulse, she snagged his pillow off the bed and headed down the hallway.
He stood from a stool near the breakfast bar as she approached, stashing his cell in the breast pocket of his leather jacket. The deep red shirt peeking past either side of the open zipper framed his white A-shirt in sharp relief, and her toes curled inside the pointed tips of her white, ankle-high boots over the way that stretchy material hugged every hard ridge of his torso and chest.
The indigo dye following the seams of his jeans perfectly matched his eyes. Darker today than normal. Stormier. More…restless.
Heat spiked in her belly as he trailed those baby blues up her white stretchy jeggings, past the tied belt of her thick cable-knit sweater and lacy camisole to the pillow she clutched like it was her personal life preserver.
He locked onto her face and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with the pillow?”
Shit. She couldn’t exactly say why she wanted it, she just did. For future reference, maybe? So she could keep some part of him with her once everything was said and done?
God, that sounded so lame.
She boosted her chin. “I’m taking it with me.” So there. He could fight her as much as he wanted, she wasn’t about to change her mind.
Lips pursed, he nodded, crossing his arms, and the naughty twinkle in his eyes made her downright uncomfortable. “Should I be prepared to take inventory? Replace anything else you might’ve stolen on your way out the door?”
Double shit. She cinched his pillow tighter. But, come on. Would he really miss one measly undershirt and a pair of boxers? “You want to search me, Detective? Go right ahead.”
His pupils dilated. The moment stretched, and her lungs constricted as he took one long stride forward and shoved his hand into her hair. “Hell, yes, I wanna search you. In fact, nothing would make me happier than my hands on your body every Goddamned second of the day.”
Oh, man. Why did he have to say things like that? Her lashes fluttered as he tipped her head back and brushed a kiss along her jaw. Lips skimming. Barely there. In direct contrast to the way his fingers clenched and massaged the back of her head.
Tingles skipped across her shoulders, heating her arms and palms as arousal flooded her belly. Didn’t he have any idea what those words did to her? How the way he saw her had begun to define her?
She placed her hand on his chest, fisted his t-shirt as he switched directions and swept a kiss down her throat. Her body vibrated. Shivers coursed over her skin as he exhaled into her ear.
Good grief, much more and her legs would be useless. He’d have to scoop her off the floor and carry her to the car in a bucket.
“Maybe it would be a good idea to remember that while we’re at the precinct.” His arm slipped around her waist and he yanked her close, smashing the pillow between them like a giant marshmallow. “Take anything of mine you want, baby.” His whisper was gruff, lips perched at her ear. “Everything that matters is already yours anyway.”
He pulled back from her, ran his hand down his face and cleared his throat. Jerking his chin toward the back door, he turned away. “We should go.”
The sudden change in direction threw her off balance. Or maybe it was the way he’d turned her into a quivering pile of goo. One touch from those talented lips and every practical thought in her head jetsetted to parts unknown.
Right. She squared her shoulders. They had a meeting.
Wait, what was hers? She stumbled after him, past the dining table and into the utility room, her steps as agile as a tango choreographed by a drunk chicken. Everything that mattered was already hers? What in God’s name was that supposed to mean?
A series of beeps broke the silence as he deactivated the alarm and stepped aside, swinging the door open. She passed through into the garage, peeking at him from under her lashes, approached the car and waited outside the passenger side door.
Oh-h-h, no. No, no, no. She wagged an imaginary finger at him. He could just take his mushy “you already have everything that matters” and stick it in the pocket of his low-slung jeans. Painful as it was for her to think about leaving, she wasn’t about to let him fill her head with some ridiculous notion about the two of them galloping off into the sunset. Life didn’t work that way. And, for crying out loud, things between them were already complicated enough.
He shunted open the locks on the car and she popped the handle to climb inside. There was only one ideology in her book. She plopped her heavy bag on her lap. Mutual respect, trust…an equal sense of give and take were what counted. Knowing someone believed in her regardless of how the rest of the world viewed her actions.
He loaded himself into driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he narrowed his eyes at the windshield. “Do you have a social security number?”
She jerked her face forward, staring at the garage wall. Case in point. After three days with her, the man still assumed she was the Unabomber. “Of course, I do. Have you ever met a foster kid who wasn’t automatically tagged by the system?”
“What about taxes? You pay those every year?”
Was he kidding with this? She crossed her arms. What kinda lowlife scumbag did he think she was? “Rest assured, Detective, the government cheats me out of plenty of my hard-earned cash every April fifteenth.”
He tapped a button near his visor and the garage door rumbled toward the ceiling. “Then if it’s okay with you, I’d like to field any questions the captain might ask about your history. It’ll really piss me off if Dirty Deeds gets a bad rap because of that piece of shit, Adrian Pratt. He already wrecked your past. The last thing you need is him fucking up your future. If I run a little interference, I should be able to redirect the discussion back to where it needs to be.”
Oh. Well, color her spanked.
She stiffened in the seat. Sputtered then choked. Holy crap, she was totally screwed. The man made her fantasize about things that could never be a part of her reality.
Kelly frowned in her direction. “You okay? It’s no big deal if you prefer to do it.”
“No, no. It’s just…” Well, hell. She tossed her hand in the air. “You keep surprising me and I hate that. Can’t you just act the way I expect? Do something to disappoint me?”
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
Revving the engine, he shifted the car into reverse and squealed from the drive.
Tanner jumped as the door swung open, and Eden sent a reassuring smile across the long wooden table as Captain D’Avella and her entourage filed inside the precinct’s logistics room, Kelly second in line.
Ignoring the impulse to read whatever private message might be stamped on his face, Eden kept her focus glued to their fearless leader, returned D’Avella’s polite nod and pushed to her feet.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Smith. On behalf of the Chicago Police Department, I wish to extend our deepest condolences for your loss.”
Exactly like Kelly had said, Meredith D’Avella was petite, slender. The lines of her black suit were sharp enough to slice bread and the reflection off her black pumps came down just shy of a mirror. She wore her hair short, above the collar, her salt and peppers curls cut into layers she’d gelled to frame her high cheekbones. A pair of wire-rimmed half-glasses occupied the tip of her nose, the beaded cord attached to each temple an identical match to the gold chains dangling down the front of her starched white blouse.
“Thank you.” Gripping the captain’s hand in a firm handshake, Eden skated a quick glance over the rest of the group. Kelly had done a good job—Archer, Molly, DeFranco. She recognized each of them from his descriptions.
Captain D’Avella swung the door closed as the group took their seats around the conference table, Kelly across from Eden on Tanner’s right, Detective Archer on her left, and Tanner’s cheeks pinked as the two men caged her in like some high-octa
ne demi-god tag team. Molly hurried over to set up her laptop on Eden’s left and Nick DeFranco slapped two clipboards down on Eden’s right. Once everyone was seated, Captain D’Avella edged around the perimeter of the room, spread the manila folders stacked on her arm across the conference table and claimed the chair at its helm.
“You already know Detective Riordan.” She opened a flat hand toward Kelly and Eden acknowledged his presence with a set of flared nostrils, crossing her arms.
But she didn’t look at him, and based on how the mercury in the room plummeted ten degrees, she was pretty sure everyone got the hint she wasn’t interested in the two of them exchanging pleasantries. “I do.”
“I’ve been told you also may know Ben Archer, lead narcotics detective who was working with your friend, Vivian.”
Gratitude the size of a tsunami washed over her, and Eden didn’t need to fake one iota of thanks as she leaned forward and propped her forearms on the table. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you in person, Detective Archer.”
He was a weekend warrior, based on the silver dog tags around his neck—as if the buzz-cut of his sandy blond hair and spine-grinding stiffness wouldn’t have been enough—and given the way his gray t-shirt screamed at the seams, his body fat content maxed out somewhere around two percent. “If there’s ever anything I can do to—”
“Just doing my job.” He bobbed his chin in a sharp nod. “No thanks necessary.”
Tanner sputtered, snapping her head over with a frown. Archer slowly pivoted to face her, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
The temperature in the room dropped another five degrees.
Wow. Eden resisted the urge to check Kelly’s reaction. One of two things had just happened. Either Archer had bought into her act hook, line and sinker, and was ticked she’d been rude to Kelly after everything he’d done for her. Or, the more distressing option, Archer hadn’t bought her lie for a second, and was ticked she’d been so rude to Kelly after everything he’d done for her.
Either way, the guy considered her disposable. Awesome.
“Molly Simmons is our lead AV Tech on the case.” D’Avella nodded toward the young woman on Eden’s left.
Disheveled was the first word that came to mind. In fact, Eden wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told her Molly had just crawled out of bed to attend the meeting. Not that her eclectic wardrobe counted for anything. Or those bedazzled flip-flops on her feet.
The excitement in her hazel eyes is what made Eden hesitate, until she remembered how Kelly had told her Molly had once paid the bills as a hacker.
That was impressive. It took a boatload of brains and nerves of steel to hoe that row. Eden would be smart to keep one ear tuned in Molly’s direction during this bizarre mishmash of individuals à la Fellowship of the Ring.
“You’re good.” She placed her hand on Eden’s arm, voice subdued as she leaned in. “But I’m better.”
Eden hesitated. Better at what?
Kelly coughed—an oh-so-phony attempt at warning Molly to zip it—reached for the thermal coffee pot in the center of the table and poured a cup.
“I figured out the algorithm,” she whispered.
Ah. Eden winked. The program X-Ray had designed which bounced all incoming calls to Dirty Deeds off multiple servers. Nice. Molly had just earned herself a Get Out of Jail Free card. At some point soon, Eden would have to slip her the password.
“And lastly, I’ve asked Nick DeFranco to sit in on today’s proceedings.” D’Avella inclined her head toward the man on Eden’s right. “Chief Medical Examiner working under Detective Riordan.”
Cripes, those glasses had to weigh a ton. Poor guy. Still, his brown eyes were kind behind those thick lenses, and if Kelly trusted him, well, then, that was good enough for her.
Eden shook his hand before nodding across the table at Tanner. “I’d like to thank everyone for welcoming Tanner Jones as well. As one of my closest associates, I value her input.” She glanced at the door. “Unfortunately, before we get started, there’s one other important person I’d like us to wait f—”
“Oh, yeah?” A loud ruckus echoed from the hallway. “Well, I don’t remember asking your permission!”
The door flew open and Mocha entered, plunked his floppy purse on the end of the table and propped his hands on the rhinestone-studded hips of his designer jeans. “Geez!” He tossed a section of his dark weave over one shoulder. “You’d think this place was Fort Knox.”
Eden smiled down at her lap. God love him, Mocha always did enjoy making an entrance. Only one of the many kickbacks from his time dragging it up onstage.
“Everyone, this is Mocha.” She scanned the stunned faces of the group, introducing D’Avella’s team in reverse order, but nothing on God’s green Earth could’ve stopped the humor from coloring her voice. Especially once she got to Kelly’s jaw-flapping frown. “And, finally, I’d like you to meet Detectives Kelly Riordan and Ben Archer.”
But whether or not Mocha paid any attention or even cared about their names remained up for grabs.
“Starsky.” He bobbed his chin at Kelly before shifting his attention to Archer’s glacial stare. “Hutch.”
Eden rolled her lips to stifle a laugh.
“Just Mocha?” Archer crossed his arms. “No last name like, I don’t know, Smith or Jones or Doe?”
Tanner scoffed, her angular bob swinging around her chin as she shot Archer another ass-singeing glare. He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye, but his jaw stayed locked, his face a concreted mask of indifference.
One of Mocha’s tweezed eyebrows inched toward his hairline, and he flipped his hands open on either side of his lavender suede blazer. “Does this look like it needs a last name to you?”
He wheeled his chair away from the table, sat and smacked his palms to the top, peering down the length toward Captain D’Avella. “Now, I wanna know exactly what your plan is to keep my baby girl safe.”
Fabulous. Let the games begin. Eden straightened her shoulders, crossing her legs as she pivoted toward the captain.
Kelly cleared his throat and stood. “I’d like to take the lead, if that meets with everyone’s approval.”
Most of the group swiveled to face him. Others nodded. Eden bounced one shoulder in a non-committal shrug.
She’d known this was coming. Heck, they’d rehashed this strategy during the car ride here. Kelly would fill in the missing blanks in the case, handle any questions. All she had to do was sit here and listen while trying not to lose her shit.
Molly sat forward and her fingers skipped over her keyboard at the same rate popcorn exploded in the microwave. An authoritative rap, and the lights dimmed as a white board hummed down from the ceiling, covering the wall at Tanner’s back.
P-rat’s mug shot flashed onto the screen, and Eden started in her chair. Jesus. She turned her face to the side in an attempt to lessen the sting. Not that it worked. That calculating sneer had been stamped on her brain for all eternity.
Her shoulders dropped, along with her stomach, heart and every other internal organ taking up space in her body.
God. Viv.
Lowering her focus to the table, Eden swallowed at the thickness in her throat. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the terror her long-lost friend had suffered at seeing Adrian in person. The mind-numbing shock. Viv had probably been so freaked out, nabbing her off the street had been like jerking the strings on a puppet. Hell, given their history, she’d most likely followed wherever Adrian had led without so much as a peep.
And then the asshole had tortured her. Again. He’d tied her up and stabbed her over and over in hopes of learning information she didn’t even have in her possession.
A choking rage boiled up from the pit of her stomach, and Eden ground her molars, hands fisted under the table. God, what she wouldn’t give for just ten seconds alone with the egotistical prick. For the first time in her entire life, the hard, fast l
ine she’d drawn against physical revenge wouldn’t matter. If the jerk got so much as within fifty feet of her, she’d nail his feet to the floor before hacking off his balls with a machete.
“Ms. Smith?” Kelly’s voice broke through her anger and she snapped her head up. Apprehension shone in each set of eyes around the table, everyone staring at her like she was some sideshow circus freak, but the only opinion about her state of mind that mattered was Kelly’s. More than anyone else, he’d pinpointed exactly what she’d been thinking. The understanding in his eyes said it all. “Would you like a moment before we continue?”
He was just being sweet. Trying to watch out for her like he always did, but the only thing she wanted was P-rat’s car careening off the edge of a steep cliff. Preferably above a gaping chasm filled with sharp, metal spikes.
“What I’d like, Detective, is irrelevant.” None of this would be better until the sadistic jackass got exactly what he deserved, but she couldn’t do a damn thing about making him pay while stuck in this room. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. Please continue. I’m fine.”
Kelly nodded and turned toward the screen, but based on the stiffness that had crawled into his shoulders, the tension cranking through his jaw, he was worried about her. She glanced around the table, everyone concentrating on P-rat’s mug shot or consulting their notes. At least, it seemed so to her.
Her spine wrenched, and she blinked. Hold on, that was it. The solution she’d been searching for ever since Kelly had suggested she leave the city.
From the very beginning, his strategy had seemed off to her. Misguided. But now? The answer was so obvious she couldn’t believe she’d missed it.
The screen changed and a picture of the Pratt residence appeared center stage. Another tap of Molly’s finger, and three of Adrian’s last known associates filled the screen.
Eden shifted uncomfortably, re-crossing her legs. So now what? Countering Kelly’s points in front of the entire team was going to crash and burn like the Hindenburg. Not to mention how pissed he was bound to be once he heard she’d changed the plan.