Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Jaw clenched again, she bit back a response and headed for the bedroom, Max following. Good. He would protect her from Drago.

  Just in case the man got any ideas…

  “I have an idea,” Drago says when they finish their drink. “Why don’t we go someplace where we can get to know one another better?”

  Less than an hour together, and she already feels like she knows him. Intelligent. Amusing. Masculine yet gracious. Camille grows warm as she realizes she wants to be alone with him to get to know him in other, more personal ways. “Sure.” Totally unlike her, but she can’t help herself.

  There is something mesmerizing about Drago Nance that she can’t resist. A pull. A longing. A certainty that their being together would be somehow right. Gut instinct. She feels like she’s known him forever. One of those things you read about but don’t believe will ever happen to you.

  Tension washes through her as they leave the bar and he leads her to his car, starts to open the passenger door for her, then stops. She glances up at him as he rests an arm against the hood. He simply stands there, staring into her eyes, his expression one of amazement. Her heart thuds in her chest, slow but insistent. Her breath stills in her throat. He’s going to kiss her.

  Instead, he brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. “Do you feel it?” he asks.

  She gasps. “Feel what?” But she knows what he means before he says it.

  “The connection. It’s beyond anything I could imagine.” He trails his fingers down her cheek. Along her jawline. “If you don’t feel it like I do, then we should go our separate ways. What happens next is up to you.”

  What happened next was something she hadn’t been looking for, something she hadn’t been prepared for, something she shouldn’t have let happen.

  What happened next was that she fell for a man she didn’t even know.

  —

  Drago didn’t claim to be a good cook, but he did well enough on his own. He wasn’t starving. And he wouldn’t let Camille starve herself, either. He knew she’d take offense at the crap comment he’d made, but he’d felt it necessary to get her to take action. A shower and full stomach would reenergize her.

  They needed to get started on this case full steam, both physically and mentally. They couldn’t do that without eating. Or sleeping. Camille would have to do both, and eventually she would realize it. Thankfully, it seemed this Angel didn’t do anything fast, including getting rid of his victims. Drago hoped that bought them some extra time. Camille only saw the goal, not what it would take to get there. He’d make sure she was refueled and ready to go, and when she showed signs of toppling, he would give her the added push she needed to get horizontal.

  That made him think of the many things they could do together in that position.

  Dammit, do not go there.

  Pulling a few things from her vegetable bin, he heard the shower come on. His imagination lit with the memory of the one they’d taken together. They’d soaped every inch of each other’s skin…

  He had to stop this. Thinking about what happened between them would drive him crazy. The past was four years past. Practically forever. The only reason they were together was professional. Still, he couldn’t help but think about what she would look like naked and wet. His body was already betraying him.

  It took a trick he’d learned in jail to get her lush curves out of his mind and to focus on food, a form of meditation one of the old-timers had said worked for him. He cleared his mind of everything and concentrated on the sound of his knife chopping vegetables. The smell of the food. The anticipation of the texture and taste of the finished omelet. He visualized all of it.

  But the trick didn’t work for long. Suddenly he was seeing water raining down on Camille. Over her flesh. Along each and every crevice. He couldn’t keep his mind where it belonged.

  Damn! Get a grip!

  Unless he was mistaken, Camille was on her last nerve. She didn’t need him lusting after her any more than he needed to lust after a woman he shouldn’t want. A cop. One who was now under investigation. She was loaded with guilt, even he could see that, but if she didn’t find a way to deal with it, guilt would make her ineffective. More than anything, what she needed was sleep. She probably hadn’t gotten much if any the night before. But he knew better than to suggest she nap. No way would she take a couple of hours of downtime. Not yet. But eventually, her batteries would wear down and just stop, and then she would have no choice.

  While the onion and what was still good of a single green pepper were cooking on the stove, he put on a pot of coffee and then nuked some bacon. He’d just finished beating the eggs when he realized he had company.

  “Hey, Max, what’s up?”

  The dog whistled through his nose and moved closer, his dark-eyed gaze on the counter where the bacon sat. Drago took the opportunity to win the big guy over. He took a piece of bacon, broke off a section, and held it out. Max licked his chops but didn’t move.

  Crouching down, Drago held the bacon a little closer to the dog. “It’s okay, boy, c’mon and get it.”

  Making a weird sound, Max gave in and took the treat. Drago gave him more and then ran his hand over the dog’s head and scratched behind an ear. He and Max were bonding when he realized Camille was standing in the doorway, watching them.

  “You look much better. Now you just need some chow.”

  Dressed in clean jeans and a deep green shirt, she tucked her wet hair behind one ear and arched an eyebrow at her dog. “So women aren’t the only ones you seduce.”

  Drago snorted, wondering if she’d been thinking of their shower together, too. At least she was in a better mood. “I told you dogs like me.” He stood. “Grab a cup of coffee. Food is almost ready.” He poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan.

  A few minutes later they were eating at the kitchen table, Max sitting between them, ready to capture any scraps coming his way.

  Her plate almost empty, Camille asked, “What next? I assume you have some kind of plan.”

  Between the shower and the food, she had some color back in her cheeks. And a spark of determination in her eyes. Good.

  “When we’re done here, you dry your hair and finish getting ready. I’ll load the dishwasher before closing down my computer.” He grabbed plates off the table and turned away so she couldn’t read him. “We’re going to take it to a friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “His name is Gary Stone. He’s a busy guy, but he said he would make time for this.”

  “You already made arrangements this early?”

  “I made arrangements last night when Justus told me what happened.”

  She gaped at him in surprise, then asked, “Time to do what? What does this Stone guy do?”

  Setting the plates in the sink to rinse them off, Drago still tried to dodge her. “He might be able to get information to track down Angel from your laptop. He’s a computer expert.”

  “You mean he’s a hacker?”

  The way she said it scraped up his spine. “Does it really matter if he can get us the information we need?” He turned to face her disapproving expression.

  “I’m still a cop, Drago. Of course it matters.”

  She had little room to judge here, and he had to force himself not to say so. “If Stone can get us the information we need, do you really care how?”

  “I care.” She shook her head. “But if it’s the only way…” Her expression closed and she turned to leave. “I’ll go get ready.”

  Drago watched until she disappeared from view.

  She might have strayed from department procedure, but she wasn’t a wild card. Other than her working on a case that wasn’t hers anymore, she undoubtedly went by the CPD playbook. Which could get in his way during this investigation. His hands weren’t tied by the same rules and regulations as someone who was part of the system. Of course if he had to, he could leave her out of the loop. Not that she would like that any more than she would like his methods if
he needed to step out of the box.

  As he thought more about Camille, he realized that even though she had worked on the case without her superior’s knowledge, that was nothing compared to some of the things he’d done to keep people in his neighborhood safe. He was sure she’d put herself in equally dangerous situations when necessary, but the difference was that she believed in the system. He’d lost that naiveté the first time he’d been beaten for refusing to join a gang, and the police had done exactly nothing. No arrests. No investigation. He’d known then that he had to take care of himself.

  When his brother had joined the force, Drago had been disbelieving. Justus had been a good cop, but one with a black-and-white mentality. He’d mentored Camille, who’d followed in his footsteps. Neither of them would fully approve of the shades of gray he’d accepted to loosen the grip of the Humboldt Lords in his neighborhood.

  He had to accept that he and Camille were different in the most fundamental of ways.

  Exactly why, once this job was over, they never could be together again.

  Chapter Four

  Camille twitched with discomfort on the ride to the old Bucktown neighborhood where Stone lived and ran his illicit trade. Though she was on administrative leave and had been forced to turn in her star and her gun, she was still an officer of the law, and it went against her grain to ask for this kind of help from someone involved in criminal activity. The only way she could convince herself to go along with Drago was to justify the situation. Stone wasn’t a violent criminal, while Angel was. A probable murderer held a young girl’s life in his hands, and that fact trumped everything else.

  She checked her watch halfway through the morning. He’d had Sandy for enough time to do some physical and psychological damage.

  Her fault…all her fault…

  “Are you ever going to talk to me?” Drago asked.

  Realizing she’d sunk into her own thoughts, Camille said, “I’m not not talking to you. I’m just anxious.”

  “Chill.” He put his hand over hers and made her pulse jump. “Stone’s a pacifist. Not dangerous.”

  “Right.”

  Not like Drago.

  Camille felt the danger like a live wire where they touched. Her pulse was racing, her throat grew tight. He wasn’t for her. She shouldn’t want him anyway.

  Four years ago, after he’d been arrested, she’d looked into his background and learned he’d been involved in gang activity starting as a teenager. She’d known then that Drago Nance could be dangerous, even if he hadn’t sported the usual tattoos that marked a member of a street gang and recorded his acts of violence. The only tattoo on Drago’s body was a long black and red dragon inked down the left side of his back, the head on his shoulder breathing fire down his chest.

  The ink had fascinated her, and she’d explored every inch of it with her fingers and tongue and the tips of her breasts.

  Her body was responding to the memory. Shifting, she squeezed her thighs together. Lord, there was nothing she could do about her nipples tightening. She could only hope he didn’t notice them pressing up against her shirt. Just thinking about the past practically made her wet wanting what she couldn’t, shouldn’t want to have.

  “Settle down,” Drago said when he turned onto a side street. “We’re here already.”

  She was trying to settle down…and hoping he wasn’t aware of how her discomfort had shifted from what they were doing professionally to what she couldn’t let happen personally.

  As he slowed and angled the car into what appeared to be a too small spot, Camille looked around. She’d worked this neighborhood on the job and had learned something of its history. Over a dozen decades, what had started as the “downtown” of a large Polish neighborhood had become home to an artist community, and now, a few more decades later, had been gentrified. Not that the street lined with old brown brick two- and three-story buildings looked anything but old.

  “Ready?” Drago cut the ignition and pulled out his key.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “You’re not going to give Stone a hard time, are you?”

  That wouldn’t be prudent if she wanted the hacker’s help. “I’m going to let you handle him.”

  “Good.”

  When they got out of the car, he took her arm. She wanted to tell him not to handle her as he guided her a few houses down. But that would only start an argument, so she suffered in silence. They approached the building on the second floor, which was on street level. Houses in Bucktown, as in a few other Chicago neighborhoods, had been built in low areas. More than a century ago, the city had raised streets to sea level, creating this oddity. As they waited for Stone to answer the door, she looked down into the bowl-shaped yard below and back to the underside of the vaulted sidewalk that held the remains of an old privy room.

  Shortly the front door creaked open.

  “Drago.”

  She whipped around to see a skinny guy in the doorway. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots despite the warm summer weather. His light brown hair electrified around a too pale face; he looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in a very long time.

  “Stone, this is Camille Martell.”

  She noticed Drago hadn’t said Detective Camille Martell and wondered if the hacker had any clue that she was a cop.

  “Hey, c’mon in.”

  She let Drago take the lead. Inside, the long, narrow room was nearly devoid of furniture, but a giant LED television hung on the wall opposite the old couch. An upscale sound system covered a wall unit. And an open laptop sat on the coffee table. Stone didn’t invite them to sit, rather kept going to a set of stairs that took them down a level, to what once had been the main floor.

  “The heart of my operation.”

  Camille took it all in, every inch of muted dark space crowded with electronics. A purposeful cave. The windows were all covered so not a speck of natural light entered the room. And no one could look inside at the multiple screens, CPUs, keyboards, and other expensive equipment she couldn’t name. She recognized little of what Gary Stone used as the tools of his trade, but she was certain a potential thief would.

  She asked, “You rent the whole building?”

  “Nah. I own it.”

  Of course he did. He was a hacker.

  Drago gave her a warning look. She clamped her jaw shut. How Stone made his money wasn’t her business. She had to keep her focus on the case.

  “Here’s the laptop.”

  Drago handed it to Stone, who sat at his flagship desk and immediately hooked it up. Hoping against hope that at last she’d get a break on this case, that she could save an innocent girl, Camille’s stomach knotted, and she had trouble taking an easy breath. Finding a seat at the back of the room, she let Drago take over. He seemed pretty computer savvy himself.

  Breathe, she told herself. If only meditation techniques worked for her, she might be able to relax. Instead, she talked herself into believing that this would work. That between the two men, they would get the results she needed to find Angel and rescue Sandy Kawecki.

  —

  “Let me out of here!”

  The closet door jarred when the girl’s fist hit it over and over. He’d just come back to his place and within seconds he was ready to break her fucking neck. Apparently the drug he’d forced down her throat to calm her hysteria had worn off.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  “I want to go home!”

  Thankfully, having an apartment in what looked like an abandoned building with boarded-up windows—a similar building on one side and a hole where a building used to exist on the other—meant no one was around to hear her screams. He unlocked the closet door and slammed it into her so she went flying backward, landing in a heap on the floor amid boxes he’d thrown in there. What a little maggot. He swooped down and grabbed the front of her shirt, easily lifting her into the air. She’d been crying, and tears and snot streamed down on him, so he pushed her away and gave her a threatening s
hake.

  “P-please, don’t h-hurt me,” she sobbed.

  “Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

  “I-I told you. I was using my neighbor’s c-computer to look at my email when you IM’d her. I wasn’t trying to trick you. I thought talking to you w-would be fun, that’s all!”

  Well, now she knew differently. He dragged her into the living room and tossed her to the couch. Immediately, she crawled into a corner, pulling up her knees and circling her arms around her legs in a defensive position.

  He’d been too pissed off before to get the details from her. Now his anger had grown cold and deep.

  “What’s your neighbor’s name?” he demanded.

  “But you IM’d her. How could you do that if you don’t know her?”

  Fuck. He didn’t have a clue as to the redhead’s real identity. He was certain her name wasn’t Morrigan any more than his was Angel. He’d picked the name because it was appropriate, him being the Angel of Death and all. He wasn’t going to be cheated. He was going to find his mark and fuck her the way she deserved. The way he’d been imagining it for days now. If she did him good enough, he might even let her live. At least for a while, until he grew tired of her as he had of the others.

  “I’m testing you,” he told the girl. “Her name.”

  For a moment, she hesitated. Until he stepped closer, towering over her, fisting both hands so she could see his whitening knuckles.

  Her eyes opened wide and she choked it out. “C-Camille.”

  That was more like it. These pussies never had it in them to resist him for long. Not that he wanted this one for anything but information. Blond hair, not red. Not like his mother. And she didn’t even have tits worth sucking yet. His cock hadn’t stirred once since he’d first seen her in the mall.

  “Camille what?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember her last name.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No. I never paid attention. She told me, but I forgot. She told me to call her Camille.”