Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Stifling a yawn, she said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Conversation ended, she tried to get to her feet so she could go tell Drago what she’d learned. He could pass the information on to Titus. Her limbs were too heavy and the mattress beneath her felt so comfortable. She could hear the dryer going. It would probably take a half hour for her blouse to be ready to wear. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little shut-eye while waiting.

  Sinking back against the bed, she thought she should set the snooze alarm on her phone, but she barely got to the app before she finally surrendered to the inevitable. She couldn’t put a coherent thought together, but she swept in and out of a dreamworld, memories haunting her sleep.

  Lying on her back, her legs spilling over the side of the bed to the floor, Drago standing at the edge, she guides him inside her, watching as his thick shaft disappears through the circle of her fingers. He moves out and back in, and she comes just watching him.

  Hard. Fast. Wanting more.

  She grabs for him, tries to make him climb over her so she can hold him, but he shakes his head.

  “I want to watch.”

  Indeed, his gaze is glued to the spot where they’re joined. And then to her face when she arches and cries out. “Come with me!”

  “Next time,” he promises…

  —

  Drago stood over Camille, her clean shirt in his hand. Not only was she asleep, he was certain she was dreaming. He could see it in the tension in her face, hear it in the soft mewls whispering through her lips.

  An erotic dream…about him?

  Tempted to find out, he resisted. He couldn’t get Camille out of his head. She alternately made him want to walk away from her and to have her in his bed. It took every ounce of willpower to not give in to the physical. And a reminder to himself that it would be a mistake to take things to the bedroom with her. They were too different. Always had been, despite their lust-filled weekend.

  He was what he was, and she was what she was. Opposite ends of the spectrum. Beliefs. Actions. Lives.

  Refusing to be recruited as a gang member when he was a kid, he’d realized that if he didn’t do something to fight back, he would eventually become a victim. Maybe dead. So at fifteen, he’d started his own antigang gang, became a vigilante leader against other gangs to protect the innocent in his own neighborhood. Street justice was more than a concept to him, and he knew that even though Camille was doing things against department orders, at heart she was a cop. She wouldn’t approve of things he’d done to survive. Besides which, he’d never fully trusted any cop, not even his own brother, who’d let him rot in Cook County.

  A relationship between them would never work, and he didn’t just want physical satisfaction from her. God help him, he wanted more. He’d met a Camille different from the cop she really was. A moment in time in which all reality had been stripped away. For one weekend, at least, she hadn’t been the job. He’d been drawn to so many things he’d discovered being with her for those few days. While spending that time in jail locked away from her he’d dreamed of more.

  Now Camille was dreaming again. Or still. She made a sound like a woman being pleasured. He couldn’t help his body’s reaction.

  He wanted her…but he wouldn’t make a move.

  He’d told her the next time she would have to ask him to touch her. And he knew she would never do so.

  A sexual stand-off.

  But that was good.

  Because more would never work between them.

  He realized how much she needed sleep, no matter that she was dreaming and restless. She couldn’t keep going without recharging. He would let her wake up naturally in an hour or two. He hung the shirt on a dresser knob, then pulled the bedspread over her and lightly tucked it under her chin.

  With regret, he left the bedroom and sprawled across the couch. He could use some shut-eye himself. Assuming he could sleep. Assuming he could put Camille Martell out of mind. He hadn’t been able to forget her for one day since they’d met, so how was he supposed to do that now?

  —

  It was the middle of the night before Angel got to the bungalow. He sat in his car parked on the opposite side of the street and stared at the darkened windows. The kid might not know her neighbor’s last name, but she’d told him how to find the house before he’d drugged her again and had locked her back up in the closet.

  He hadn’t decided what to do with the little blonde yet. She’d seen him clearly in daylight—not the real him, maybe, but the disguise he used to fade into crowds. Still, she’d had reason to memorize his features. She would be no thrill kill, but he needed to get rid of her as a matter of expediency. Not to mention she was damn annoying. But not yet. Not until after he had “Morrigan” under his power. He hadn’t figured out how yet, but he might have to use the kid as leverage to get to the woman.

  He’d sat here long enough. No middle-of-the-night revelers coming home from bars. No one walking their dogs.

  Getting out of the car, he quickly crossed to the other side of the street and strode directly up to the house. Halfway up the steps, he spotted the mailbox next to the front door. And he could vaguely see a name on it.

  A sudden frenzy of barking from deep inside the house made him lose his footing. He tripped up the last step to the porch.

  Fuck! Bitch has a dog!

  The bastard was on the other side of the door now, barking loud enough to wake up the block, but he wasn’t leaving until he got something for his trouble. Slipping a Maglite from his pocket, he quickly flashed it on the mailbox: C Martell. C for Camille. Had to be her.

  The door jarred as if tremendous weight was thrown against it. Damn dog was trying to get at him. He dropped the flashlight into his pocket and felt for his knife. If he wasn’t at the front door where someone might see him…

  Turning, he took the steps down two at a time. Probably the bitch was awake, maybe calling the cops now. Head down, he flew to his car, got in, and roared down the street in less than sixty seconds.

  Camille Martell.

  Morrigan.

  The woman he’d been obsessing over for weeks. Bright red hair. Creamy skin. Big tits. All like his mother.

  Somehow, this time, the game had been upped on him. But he was good at games. He always won.

  He would be back.

  Next time, he would be ready to take care of the dog first.

  Chapter Eight

  The dog was the second thing Camille thought about when she awoke to daylight and realized she wasn’t in her own bed.

  “Poor Max.”

  Or poor house. Not having left him alone this long before, she didn’t know what she would have to deal with when she got home.

  The first thing she thought about was that she was in Drago’s bed. And the bedspread was thrown over her. Had she done that in her sleep or had he? Seeing her shirt hanging from the dresser knob, she knew he’d been in here. For how long? Had he slept in the same bed with her? A disturbing thought, one that shot a tingling discomfort through her.

  Throwing off the cover, she swung her legs out of bed. She felt good. Better than she had since seeing that IM from Angel on her computer and realizing Sandy had gone off to meet him. Better than she had since they’d found Leanne Grant’s body. Thankfully, her exhaustion was gone, and she’d have enough energy to get back on the killer’s trail. Grabbing her shirt, she brought it into the bathroom, where she quickly freshened up.

  The smell of coffee and food made her mouth water. She’d never had anything to eat last night, and it seemed getting some solid sleep renewed her appetite.

  When she entered the living area, Drago was at the stove. “How domestic.”

  He glanced back at her. “A man’s gotta eat. Don’t worry, I’m making enough for both of us.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You were out of it, no good to anyone. You needed your batteries recharged.”

  True, but… “I should have been home h
ours ago for Max,” she reminded him.

  “What’s done is done. We can take the food with us and eat in the car. And when we get you home, we’re taking the dog to your vet where they can take care of him for the next few days.”

  No argument from her, Max would be well taken care of there. Who knew where this investigation would take them. She found a couple of travel mugs and filled them with coffee while he wrapped steak and eggs in big tortillas.

  “Two days in a row,” she said. “I hope you don’t expect me to return the favor. I’m a lousy cook.”

  “You have your own talents.”

  Certain he wasn’t talking about her investigative skills, Camille felt her stomach tighten. Would he ever let her put that weekend out of mind? When she was with him, he tended to make her forget about his teenage gang involvement and the time he’d served in jail after punching Anderson.

  But when she had time to think it through, the cop in her knew getting involved personally with someone with his background was a mistake.

  “So Jackson never texted you?” he asked, sliding the burritos into plastic bags.

  “He called. Paul Fox or whatever his name really is paid for the apartment for several months ahead of time. In cash. Then he just disappeared.”

  “So he got nothing.”

  Camille told him about the wig and makeup and how Jackson had someone running through mug shots. “All thanks to your taking me to Stone,” she admitted.

  “Words of praise I never expected to hear.”

  Undoubtedly Justus had known exactly what he was doing, having Drago take her case. He had the connections that his brother did not. She wondered if that would have happened if Justus had known about that weekend she’d spent with his brother.

  They took the burritos and coffee and headed for the door.

  “Are you riding with me?” she asked.

  He took the dishes to the sink. “Give me one more minute and I’ll follow you.”

  “Control freak.”

  “Back at you.”

  She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in something akin to a smile. A good night’s sleep had shifted her mood, leaving her more positive. They didn’t have a plan for the day, not yet, but they would develop one together, which made her think it was kind of nice to have a real partner, something CPD detectives didn’t officially have. Detectives sometimes paired up and often worked on task forces, but they had more rules and regulations to adhere to. Drago had his own way of getting things done. With any luck, though, Jackson would have a lead they could all work on. Or Titus.

  Once on the street, she asked, “Taking your motorcycle?”

  “I prefer doing the driving.” He headed for the Trans Am.

  Yep. Control freak. They would take both cars.

  It was still early enough to be pre–rush hour, so it took less than twenty minutes to get to her place. She’d scarfed down the food and coffee by the time she pulled into the garage. Drago had been on her tail all the way. When Camille opened the back door, Max barely lunged at her to greet her before running outside, straight to the dogwood tree in the middle of the yard.

  Drago caught up to her on the deck. “Looks like you got here just in time.”

  “I’m not so sure. Let’s go in and assess the damage.”

  She headed for the back door but stopped when she heard a woman shout, “Detective Martell!”

  Clenching her jaw, Camille turned to face Gloria Kawecki, who ran across her lawn looking like a wild woman. Her hair didn’t appear to have been combed, her fists were clenched, her features frozen in an expression that Camille could only describe as hatred.

  “Mrs. Kawecki.”

  “What are you doing to find my daughter?”

  “Everything I can. Unofficially. I’m temporarily on leave.” Camille tried to keep her voice even, to sound reassuring anyway. “Detective Eli Jackson is now in charge of the case.”

  “But it’s your fault my daughter is gone!” The woman’s expression crumpled into something pitiful, and tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t even know if Sandy is alive.”

  Camille’s stomach clenched as the image of Emily’s body sprawled over the earth and lifeless came to her, even with her eyes open.

  Her fault…all her fault…

  Swallowing hard, Camille tried to think of something to say to the poor woman.

  But it was Drago who assured the grief-stricken mother, “Sandy is alive.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “We can make that assumption based on the man’s prior behavior,” Drago said, his voice warm and encouraging.

  “Who are you anyway?”

  “I’m the private investigator Camille hired to help her find your daughter. We will find Sandy, Mrs. Kawecki. Please believe that.”

  The woman tried swallowing a sob. Then she nodded and Camille saw something like hope in her expression. Drago had given her a tiny bit of hope that she could cling to.

  “You bring my baby back to me,” she said, backing away, then turned and ran to her home.

  Camille stared after her until she disappeared into the house, then looking to Drago, she said, “Thanks. That was kind of you.” She was continually surprised by this softer side of him.

  “I was just trying to ease her pain a little.”

  Very unexpected.

  Max barked, reminding her that she hadn’t yet checked the house for doggy damage. Happily, there was none. Max was bumping into her legs, demanding attention.

  “Good boy! You want to eat?”

  Drago had already found the canned dog food and picked up the bowl from the floor, then took the can opener from the sink. Max whistled through his nose as the can crunched open. Heaping the bowl with food, Drago patted the dog, then set his food on the floor. Max practically inhaled it, then turned his attention to Drago.

  Camille watched in amazement. Max didn’t usually like men—he must have had some bad experiences on the street. If she wasn’t mistaken, Max thought Drago rocked, and she didn’t think it was just because of the food. Animals had a sixth sense about people. Maybe his was better than hers, because she still had mixed feelings where Drago was concerned.

  He was easy enough to get along with…well, most of the time, when they weren’t at odds about something. And during the night, when he’d brought her the clean shirt, he could have taken advantage of her. It wouldn’t have been that hard considering she’d been dreaming of him. But she was certain he hadn’t touched her. She would have known the moment she saw his face if he had. Which was good. No matter that she tried to deny or hide it, he knew he had power over her and she was feeling more and more conflicted.

  Max’s sense about Drago seemed more defined than hers was. There was an animal attraction between them like no other she’d experienced, and yet she had huge reservations that kept her from wanting to act on the fact. She’d been edgy about seeking the help of a hacker, but he’d been right to take her to Stone. Maybe he’d been right to ask Titus for help, as well. Where Drago was concerned, trust was an issue that kept creeping up on her. She couldn’t help who she was. She couldn’t forget that Drago had easily pinned that biker to the bar the night before, had been in the process of strangling him, when Titus had put a stop to it. No more than being unable to forget he’d spent six months cooling his heels in jail after striking an assistant state’s attorney. She’d never found out what exactly had gone down there between him and Lucas Anderson, but she saw Drago punching Anderson as his having no respect for someone in authority. No doubt he had an anger management issue.

  “Are you ready to get going?”

  Jerked out of her thoughts, Camille realized Drago was staring at her. She checked the clock. A little after nine. “Vet’s open.”

  She didn’t want Max to feel abandoned again, so she made the call to her vet. The receptionist agreed that she could bring the dog in to be boarded for a few days.

  Camille insisted on changing into fresh clo
thes first, but soon they had the dog piled into the Trans Am and were on their way to the vet. A half hour later, they’d bid good-bye to Max, who looked like he’d just lost his best friend. Though she’d only found the dog a matter of weeks ago, Camille couldn’t help feeling bad about leaving him.

  Back in Drago’s car, hoping that Sandy was really still okay, she asked, “So, any ideas of where to start today? I’m thinking we should touch base with Jackson and see if he has any more leads. I can’t believe he hasn’t texted me with any updates.”

  “Jackson would have contacted you if he had something, so we’ll start at Justus Investigations.”

  “Why the office?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to bring my brother up to speed. He occasionally comes up with a useful idea of how to pursue a suspect.”

  She didn’t miss the sarcasm. “That might have something to do with all his years on the force.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Nor did she miss the resentment.

  So why was he working for his brother?

  Why had Justus pushed Drago to get the PI license and work for him? Obviously Justus put his trust in Drago.

  And yet…

  What could be going on between the brothers? There was definitely something, but she was equally certain Drago wasn’t about to give any explanations, at least none that would actually satisfy her.

  Truth be told, a part of her wanted to understand him. Wanted more. The cop part knew that there were things she never wanted to know, that beyond this case, it would be best not to have anything to do with a man who undoubtedly had secrets. She hadn’t forgotten how fiercely he’d attacked Buzzard the night before, how easily he could have killed the other man. She didn’t want to know how he’d learned to do that. Or whether or not he’d done worse.

  —

  Trying to leave that chip on his shoulder on the other side of the door, Drago strode into his brother’s office with Camille directly behind him. The captive girl was the important thing, the only thing that should have his attention.

  The hot-looking woman perched on Justus’s desk made him forget that for a moment. Thick dark hair. Incredible body. Legs that didn’t quit, wearing a very short skirt.