Book Read Free

Dark Vengeance

Page 10

by R. T. Wolfe


  There. Ha. He didn't answer. She did what she was told and she didn't have to talk to Duncan Reed. Double points.

  Looking in the mirror in her foyer big enough only for a single table—small single table—she let out one final heavy sigh, started ripping off her clothes and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  Duncan heard her oversized town car drive over his smooth asphalt up to his home. Rolling back on his adjustable stool he analyzed the hip-sized dent in the '72 Barracuda he'd been working on. Setting his gloves aside, he punched the garage opener. It opened before she'd come to a complete stop. Without a coat, the crisp wind cut through his thin cotton shirt. He welcomed the discomfort.

  She parked near the garage and although she surely saw him, the detective didn't look up. She wore skinny jeans with thin-heeled red pumps. Her short, black leather jacket made her look nearly as tough as she was. Tough and confusing and... here? The numbness faded and was replaced with something foreign. It resembled need, but he was far from lucid at this point.

  She walked with purpose on her spiky heels like someone in a hurry in flats. Still, no greeting. As she came within a few feet of him, she finally met his eyes with hers.

  "You're here." He actually felt the corners of his mouth lift comfortably.

  She blinked rapidly. "Well, yes, and I'm sorry about that, but—"

  He grabbed her shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers. The familiar taste of her cleared his mind. The smell of lavender eased his heart. She wavered on her ridiculously thin heels, so he wrapped his arms around her—one on her lower back and one behind her neck, holding her up as teeth grazed and tongues blended. He wanted to escape, to take her here on his freezing drive, to let the physical replace reality. What the hell was he doing?

  Pulling back, he looked into the gray.

  "Well, I'm confused. And, um, also running a bit behind," she said lightly.

  It was always interesting the way she focused as she spoke.

  "You see, I was told to come by and ask why you canceled tonight. And you can't say no to Gloria. Ever," she said as she started pacing in a small line. "So, here I, uh, why did you cancel?"

  "My aunt has cancer." Why does everything feel good to share with this woman?

  Her fingers covered her mouth. Much the way Brie's had when she'd seen him lose his composure.

  "She needed me to act as the eldest and I failed her. It was a glitch. I wasn't expecting her to... wasn't expecting that. I'm not good company tonight, but thank you for the invitation."

  "You're being formal. It's understandable, and you absolutely need to come with me tonight." She reached and lifted both of his hands. They felt like lead to him. Turning his palms upward, she smiled. It was filled with warmth. Not a debutante grin or a cop grin. Her eyes examined his hands before she looked back to him. "Now, I understand the calluses. Cars?" She shook her head as if she didn't believe it. "Two puzzles solved. Eight thousand to go. Where's your coat?"

  Working on autopilot, he stepped blindly inside and grabbed his jacket from its hook.

  * * *

  Duncan let her drive her piece of shit, oversized unmarked because he didn't have the energy to argue. They drove to the southwest side of downtown Northridge. The house was a square, completely light-tan brick home with a few bushes for décor. The single garage and drive were empty, but the street was lined with a dozen or so cars ranging from rusted minivans to freshly painted muscle cars. He spotted a vintage Chevy Camaro RSSS. It was a pleasant distraction.

  They walked through the meticulously shoveled walk and through the front door without knocking. The home sounded like The Pub near closing time, except the patrons here were of all ages. Mothers carried babies. Teenagers sat playing video games in a family room to the left filled with warm floral furniture. The room had soft rose-painted walls beneath mismatched framed photographs including several generations. Men watched television in the living room to the right. A single female, old as dirt, sat in the midst of them, waving her hand at the screen. He and the detective were the only white people he could see.

  Smells of tomato sauce and spices hung in the air much like the constant rumble of noise. Two young girls ran up to the detective, each hugging one of her legs. He noticed she had no trouble balancing on the heels with small children tugging at her.

  "Nickie, Nickie. You're here!"

  Funny, that was what he had said to her.

  "Grandmama says you're late. Is this the Duncan man?" They hid behind the detective's back.

  "Yes, it is, and I have a note for being late. Where's your dad?"

  They ran to the kitchen, dodging a gray-haired man on his way to the room with the video games.

  As they meandered toward the kitchen, one of the little girls came out pulling the hand of... the drummer. Following close behind was the second girl pulling the hand of a woman who looked bigger than Rose. He didn't think anyone could look bigger than Rose. Glossy brown hair that was straight as a board fell over her shoulders and nearly to her enormous stomach.

  The woman approached the detective first. "Thank you for covering for me. Again. I can hardly stand."

  "Gil will be glad to have you back," Nickie responded. "He spends the night worrying whether or not I'm going to flash my badge to the audience. Here, let's find you a place to sit."

  Good luck with that, Duncan thought.

  "Yes, but before we do, you must introduce us to Duncan." The woman quite literally yelled like a loudspeaker announcement. "Everyone, say hello to Duncan,"

  Greetings of, 'hi, hello, and welcome Duncan,' abounded. Awkward but endearing. And he worked out of LA and Vegas. He was used to awkward.

  They found a spot in the dining room off the kitchen. Gil pulled out a chair for what Duncan assumed was his wife.

  The detective led with introductions. "Now, you'll never learn all these names..." Quickly, she jerked her head to look at him obviously realizing the absurdity of what she'd said.

  Yep, freak.

  "You're probably right, but go ahead and try me," he aided her.

  "You've met Gilberto. This is his wife, Teresa and you saw their twin daughters, Lela and Neva. They're running around here somewhere."

  Teresa spoke up. "Yes, and Jorge and Rico are in here."

  "Two sets of twins. That could be entertaining."

  Teresa looked at him. "You obviously have no children of your own."

  A hefty woman with the most beautiful sable eyes came from the kitchen wearing a patterned apron. "Nickie, it looks like you found out why." The detective stood and embraced the woman. They hugged and whispered and at that moment, he realized these people weren't her friends. They were her family.

  Chapter 12

  The detective glowed as she and the big woman exchanged a few quiet words. Her mother. This woman with the beautiful sable eyes was to the detective as Duncan's aunt was to him. And Gil was a brother.

  Arm in arm, the detective addressed him, "Duncan, I want you to meet Gloria."

  He stood and offered his hand.

  "You look better in person." Gloria opened her arms and pulled him into a hug meant more for long lost relatives, rather than first time acquaintances. "We ate without you."

  He appreciated how Gloria's statement caused the detective's head to dip.

  "Come in the kitchen. I saved a place for the two of you."

  Duncan gestured for the detective to lead.

  "I said he wasn't coming," Nickie followed her.

  "My Nickie wouldn't be dating an idiot."

  "We're not dating."

  He added her teenage reaction to his growing list of the different hats she wore.

  A trio of boys cleared a table from a dining room behind the kitchen. The mess looked much like a table might after he and his platoon had finished eating. Just as she'd said, Gloria had two place settings waiting on a small wooden table in the middle of the kitchen bustle. Two older boys washed and dried. Girls do the cooking, boys do the cleaning.
Traditional.

  They ate absolutely the best baked chicken enchiladas, rice and beans he'd ever had. It was served with fresh fruit and vegetables and a choice of fruit juice or beer. As his dinner settled, he battled the armies of a number of the detective's nephews in HD. Many surfaced with their platoons cut in half and all appreciated that he didn't treat them like they were kids by letting them win.

  He was accustomed to large family gatherings, of course. His aunt had three older siblings and hoards of nieces and nephews. Dave and his family had slipped seamlessly into that group in both a neighbor and an extended family capacity.

  Before he thought of it, the detective was nowhere to be found and he was in the kitchen with Gloria nibbling on mini churros. He couldn't remember the last time he'd lost track of anything and the feeling was blissful.

  "You've been through a lot today." Her face was a smooth, light toffee with hardly any lines. If it weren't for the few gray strands twined in her shiny dark hair, one would have no idea she was old enough to have children in their thirties.

  "She told you."

  Her smile was slight, warm. "Of course she did. You'd cancelled."

  "Mmm. That I did."

  "I'm in remission myself."

  You need to come with me tonight. That's what the detective had said to him, and now he understood why. Nickie was exhausting. She could juggle a number of investigations, fill in for a two-man band and keep herself in shape. She worked in time for this family that he was now anxious to learn how she'd become attached to. And she took time to drag him here tonight. After he'd cancelled on her. Through a text. All because this pretty Gloria could offer empathy.

  "You must be of great value to the friends of Nickie who can use an ear."

  Gloria was serious now. "She's never brought anyone here before."

  He heard the protective tone. "My aunt is stage three," he said. "Her surgery is scheduled for a week from Wednesday. How much radiation and chemo will be determined from the results of the surgery." He worked at matter-of-fact. He would need to. It was his job. He'd already failed miserably at that very role that morning. He wouldn't let it happen again.

  "I think she'll want you to act normally around her. She's not breakable and she's not a child." Her head tilted as she seemed to be reading his reaction. "And there are the four stages of grief she'll experience. You, too, possibly."

  He nodded.

  Gloria leaned into him. A scent of fresh roses wafted in his direction. Much like the detective, her perfume didn't arrive three feet before she did. "Nickie tells me your aunt is one tough woman. Those were her words."

  "Yes, she's been through nearly a lifetime of... events."

  "And you've had an entire lifetime of events," she said as a statement. He felt this was something she derived on her own. He understood Nickie's glowing reaction to Gloria now.

  "It's late."

  Graciously, Gloria took the hint. "The odds are with her," she said and reached for a drying towel.

  * * *

  "You're walking me to my door again, detective. I'm starting to feel like a high school freshman dating an upper classman."

  Nickie felt Duncan's hand slip to the most sensitive spot on her lower back as they walked up his polished steps. The small gesture sent waves of currents through her body.

  "You never told me why you're banned from the casino."

  He answered simply as he took out his keys from a pocket inside his deep brown leather coat, "Card counting."

  "You counted cards at the Seneca Casino?" She leaned against the cold wood siding next to his front door.

  "It wasn't a false accusation. I can't help it."

  He faced her now in all of his Duncan Reed glory. She was having a hard time focusing on their conversation.

  "But I wasn't banned before I gathered several months of winnings." In one of his rare moments, he lifted a corner of his mouth ever so slightly. It was staggering. No wonder women dropped themselves at his feet.

  "Are there... other casinos you're banned from?"

  His eyes tightened, obviously considering how much he should share with her. Surprisingly he gave her more than she hoped for. "I'm older now, more careful. I make purposeful mistakes without looking obvious. But yes, I have a bit of reputation and have a few casino owners who've blackballed me."

  She decided he'd handled his day incredibly well, too well. She'd seen his deep love for his aunt. His mother. This must be killing him. She'd remembered the feeling all too well. The feeling turned to pity. He stood in silence reading her, she knew. Why didn't that bother her? She had no intention of becoming another one of the women who swooned over him. Still, he was Duncan Reed.

  As he leaned in, she smelled the faint scents of male soap and car leather. "I've never seen eyes the color of yours. Steel I like to think of it," his voice was deep, not baritone, but low and completely seductive. Maybe just this once. She wouldn't turn into a bumbling idiot if just this once...

  His long arms wound around her waist and waves of anticipation flowed through her like Chopin's Nocturne in B-flat minor. His lips touched hers once. He closed his eyes as he paused looking like he was memorizing the taste. She knew she was.

  He dove in, pressing her tightly to him. She could feel his need, feel that he was using her and she wanted it, wanted him. He tasted desperate as their lips molded and moved around each other's. Hands explored and tongues meshed. His hand traveled over her hip and down the side of her jeans to the back of her thigh. He tugged, leaving their legs scissored, pressing heat to heat.

  Pushing away from him, she sucked in air, "Ask me in, Duncan." Then, pressed her back to the cold wood, pulling him with her. The feel of the cold was a welcoming balance to the current running through her body. She could make him forget, let him escape if just for the night. They moved with each other, devouring the moment. Rotating just enough, she felt that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  A rush of cold blew over the front of her, and she opened her eyes to him standing much too far away from her. His chest rose and fell quickly as he stared.

  "I'm in new territory here," he said quietly.

  Brushing the back of her hand against her burning lips, she responded, "I'm doubting that."

  They stood in silence long enough to make her self-conscious and that was something she never allowed.

  "I want you," he said just as quietly.

  "Good!" she nearly yelled.

  "I won't do this with you because you feel pity for me."

  She expelled a long, exaggerated breath. Oh shit, he was right. Why did he have to be right? Looking up at him seductively, she squinted and smiled. "I could get you to change your mind."

  His eyes were serious. His beautiful, deep, dark eyes looked into her. "But you won't."

  Her head dropped in defeat. She ran her hands through her hair as she pulled herself together. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the wall. "True. Damn you."

  Strong hands took her by the sides of her face and turned her face up to him. Reaching down, he brushed lips with hers one more time. Neither of them closed their eyes or broke contact. "Good night, detective."

  "Mmm, good night, Duncan."

  * * *

  Duncan sat at the desk in his master bedroom. It was large enough that it could be Andy's building and contractor's desk. Or big enough to handle his investment data and the files, charts and the blueprints he used to juggle his real estate purchases. Naturally, his uncle had made it. Hickory wood with straight lines, a lightly stained top that was thick and masculine. He liked to think of his property and investment trades as virtual money exchanges, and right now they served as a healthy distraction to what he'd let slip through his hands that evening.

  The detective wasn't like any woman he'd been attracted to. Well, unless he counted Jenni Treyburn, but that was the seventh grade. Purposely, he turned his attention to women who were simple. Simple regarding relationships, that is. He gave up one-night stands in c
ollege, and yet still only entered into relationships that were superficial—ones he could easily detach from with little emotion on either side. He didn't count shattering glass vases as actual emotion.

  Looking through his skylights, he studied the moon. Full and bright with an occasional cloud dancing over its watchful face. What the hell had he been thinking? Shaking his head, he carried out a small argument with himself. It would have been wrong to take the detective under these circumstances. It was that simple. Her scent filled his memory as if she were sitting next to him. Faint lavender mixed with a slight citrus shampoo smell, not the kind of perfume that demanded attention. Instead of brooding in the dark, he should be patting himself on the back. He had scruples.

  Just as he and his brother had scruples when they hacked. What an oxymoron, he thought, as he allowed himself a full out smile. His aunt and uncle had taught them better. As wealthy as they were, they never paid or paved their way. They learned the respect of making their beds in the morning and helping with the dishes. They didn't buy him, his brother or his cousins cars when they turned sixteen. Didn't pay for their insurance or give them gas money. Odd how these things had never crossed his mind before. He circled back to the detective. This was her doing. She wasn't simple, not artificial and certainly not easy.

  He clicked on his Mica desk lamp and woke up his laptop. Checking on the price of several hundred woody acres he'd had his eyes on in central Illinois, he contemplated. River side, creeks, deer, turkeys. The value was practically guaranteed to grow, even in this economy. He liked to use charts, loved visuals for that reason, even though he didn't generally need them. It was very simply his preferred method of learning and organization. Buy some gold, sell some government bonds.

  An image of the detective riding Abigail interrupted his work. He needed to surf the quarterly reports of the businesses in his portfolio, not dwell on a woman. That was always Andy's style, never his. He closed all of his tabs and walked over to his bed, dropping on top fully clothed. Just for a few moments, he let himself... plan.

  Riding with Abigail. A night at Café Italiana. Dry wine and stuffed salmon.

 

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