Meanwhile, Back in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 6)

by Ann Charles

  Still a hard mask—no grimace, no wince, no rejection. Hell, couldn’t he give me something? I was teetering out here at the end of the plank, a dark abyss swirling below.

  “Listen, Doc, if you want to walk out of here and never look back, I’ll understand.”

  His gaze narrowed. “That was my line.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  “Because it was honest. Come here, killer.”

  I crossed the floor, the dress making me feel like a waddling idiot.

  His dark gaze held mine, but that was it, no other touching. “You and your kids are in danger.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.

  “It’s about time we found out what you are and what you’re capable of.”

  I grunted. “I’d rather just be a single mom with two kids.”

  “Single, huh?”

  “Well, I mean not necessarily single, but … of course I don’t expect you to want to … you see, I’ve been single a long time so I just … Damn it, Doc, I’m making a big fucking mess of this.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “You sure are.”

  I raised my hands in exasperation. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to be honest.”

  What did he think I was doing when I started down this I’m-a-killer path? “Honest about what?”

  “What’s really going on here.”

  “I thought I was.”

  “We’re dancing again, Violet.”

  I might have been a little tipsy, but I knew for a fact we were currently standing still. “My feet are planted firmly on the floor.”

  He took my hand, lifting it to his lips. “Mine aren’t, cara mia.”

  Gomez was back, minus the moustache. That was an abrupt shift from reality. “Don’t you understand, Doc?” My heart began to gallop at the sight of his lips flitting across my knuckles. “This is your opportunity to walk away without getting dragged into something that could go south fast.”

  “I understand perfectly.” He led me over to the shadow-dappled wall next to the door. “What are you wearing under that dress?”

  “Doc, you could suffer the same fate as Prudence’s husband.”

  “I know.” He leaned down and captured my mouth in a slow, heartbreaking kiss. When he came up for air, he ordered, “Turn around. I want to show you something.”

  “How can I see it if I have my back to you?”

  “Trust me. Turn.”

  Frowning, I did, facing the other way.

  “Now put your hands on the wall.”

  What in the hell? “Did Cooper deputize you?”

  “Do it.”

  I did it, wondering what was next. A pat down for weapons? The snap of a rubber glove?

  I felt a tug near my ankles. Then I heard a tearing sound. “What are you doing?” I looked over my shoulder.

  Doc was kneeling on the floor at my heels. “I told you I was going to rip this dress off of you.”

  He tore the dress seam that ran up the center in the back, ripping it clear up to my thighs.

  My legs were finally free. “Thanks.” I started to turn. “That was driving me—”

  “Put your hands back on the wall,” he said, still kneeling at my feet.

  “What?”

  “I’m not done. Turn around. Spread your feet apart.”

  My body began to tingle in anticipation. “What are you doing, Doc?

  “Finding out if what you said was true.”

  Oh jeez, was he really going to do what I thought he was going to do? The shadows weren’t deep enough to hide my flaws, leaving me too exposed for comfort. “Doc, that’s not my best side.”

  “I beg to differ, cara mia.” His fingers started at my ankles, his touch tender, tickling, and then they slid up to my calves, leaving a searing trail in their wake. “Close your eyes.” His tone left no room for argument. “Let me show you why I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

  I obeyed again and leaned my forehead against the cool plaster, pushing all fears and inhibitions from my thoughts. This was Doc touching me, making me writhe and ache. I was safe with him.

  His fingers traveled higher, caressing as they climbed. He lifted my dress, inch by inch. His lips singed up the inside of my leg, his tongue licking circles on the tender skin of the back of my knees. My thighs quivered in anticipation.

  He bit my inner thigh just above my knee.

  I moaned as a shot of lust rocketed through me. “Doc,” I whimpered, needing more of him touching me. More of his mouth, his hands, his tongue, his …

  “I said I was going to taste you tonight, Boots.”

  My dress lifted higher, cool air tickling where his tongue had left a wet trail behind. I gulped, sweat coating my skin.

  He nibbled his way up the back of my thigh, and then grazed his teeth along the trembling inner flesh.

  I ached deep, clear to my core, turned inside out by his fingers teasing closer and closer to where I really wanted him to touch, needed him to touch.

  My dress shifted up onto my hip bones, the satin whispering around my waist.

  Doc sucked a breath through his teeth. “Sweet Jesus.” He slid his free hand up the back of one thigh, his fingers spread wide across my skin. “You were telling the truth.” Then his touch feathered across my bare bottom, caressing and tickling each cheek before trailing down my other thigh. He came so close to where I needed him, yet so far as he teased first with his lips, then his teeth, then his tongue.

  “I don’t like to lie to you.”

  “Really?” his knuckles grazed across me, making everything inside of me tighten almost painfully.

  I gasped. “Really.”

  “Then tell me what you really want me to do to you.”

  “Touch me.”

  He slid up behind me, his suit fabric rasping over my bare skin. He took one of my hands and placed it where my dress was bunched up at my waist, making me hold up the fabric. “Where?”

  I rocked my hips back into him. “Everywhere.”

  “That will take all night,” he pushed my hair aside and kissed the nape of my neck. “There’s no way I can last that long, not with you moving against me like that.”

  “Then start here.” I caught his hand and planted it south of my belly button.

  His palm slid downward but paused, his fingers almost touching but holding back. “Show me, Boots.”

  I covered his hand with mine, guiding him to the exact spot, helping him touch me how I needed it. His woodsy scent surrounded me, making me feel tipsy with lust. Pleasure spiraled higher and higher, taking me up with it. I heard a zipper somewhere in the midst of the passion fogging my brain and moaned a “yes” as Doc’s touch moved faster, circling me ever closer.

  “Violet,” Doc kissed the shell of my ear, and then traced it with his tongue.

  I arched back into him, my breath a gasping pant.

  He pulled his hand free.

  I cried out. “Don’t you dare stop, Doc.”

  He grasped my hips. “I told you I was going to take you hard and fast tonight.”

  “Yes!” I shifted, opening up to him, wanting that to happen as much as he did.

  Without another word, he slammed into me, all of the way, driving me against the plaster.

  I cried out, my fingers curling around his, everything exploding behind my eyes as waves of pleasure rocked me. He held still a moment, letting me ride out of the wake.

  “That was incredible,” I said when I could speak again.

  “We’re not done. Hands back on the wall, Boots.”

  Tonight, I was his to command. I moaned as he sparked another fire to life inside of me, fanning the flames with each thrust, with each heated whisper of how good I felt, how much he craved me, how much he fantasized about me. Then he reached up, cupping my breast through the satin, his fingers pinching and rubbing, and he told me exactly what he wanted from me.

  My body obeyed in a flash, my self-control shattering.
I cried out with release, my voice lost in a sudden cacophony of shouts and yells coming up through the floor from the bar below.

  Never before had a man marked me like this, all aggression, power, and lust. Never before had I been so willing to let one. But it was Doc, and I’d been putty in his hands from the first time he’d touched me. Tonight was no different … except something was.

  Something in him.

  I pushed back into him, capturing his hand that was exploring my chest. I lifted his fingers to my lips, biting the tips of several and then licking them better.

  “Violet,” he growled in my ear, straining against me, moving faster. “Do that again.”

  I did. This time I bit harder, licked longer, sucked on the last one.

  He swore at the ceiling, then slammed me into the wall with his final push, holding me there as his muscles quaked all around me.

  “Holy shit, Boots.” His forehead rested on my shoulder, his hot breath fanning my skin where the dress dipped low.

  I reached my arms up and back around his neck, kissing the underside of his jaw when he raised his head. “So what was it you wanted to show me?”

  He chuckled, sliding a kiss across my lips. Then he pulled away. When my dress was back down and his fly was zipped, he turned me around to face him, his eyes dark, mesmerizing as he stared down into mine.

  “I don’t care that you come from a long line of killers.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. You know why that is, cara mia?”

  I shook my head, wondering what Gomez line would follow next. “Why, mon cher?”

  He slid his hands up my arms, over my shoulders, cupping my face, making my heart roll onto its back and purr. “Because I love you, querida.”

  Then he leaned in and kissed me, slow and tender, hypnotizing my lips and tongue.

  But not my brain, which stumbled to a dazed stop.

  Had he really just said what I’d thought he said? The actual four letter “L” word set between “I” and “you”? Or after all of these months of being head over heels for him, was I now having post-sex hallucinations?

  When his mouth gave me a second to come up for air, I stared up at him. “Did you just say …” I trailed off, afraid to repeat it aloud and then have to remove my foot from my mouth if I’d misheard him. Then another possibility made my blood cool. “Are we still playing Gomez and Morticia here?”

  A police siren chirped outside the window before Doc could reply. Red and blue lights flashed over the plaster walls. I suddenly realized that all was silent downstairs—no bass beat, no din of conversation, nothing. Only a periodic blast of monotone voices from a police scanner coming up through the old plate glass windows.

  Doc towed me over to the front of the building, keeping us off to the side, out of view.

  “Is that—” he started.

  “The three musketeers,” I finished. “Hey, that cop is holding Thing, isn’t he?”

  “I think so.”

  We watched as another cop opened the back door of the cruiser and waited for Claire, Katie, and Natalie to crawl inside. He shut the door behind them, knocking on the roof once they were caged.

  Doc put his arm around my shoulder, kissing my temple. “Well, Tiger, looks like you’re going to have to step foot inside the Deadwood Police Station again.”

  “Damn it.” I watched the cruiser cart them up the street toward the cop shop. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well.”

  * * *

  Doc and I managed to slip downstairs and into the bar without anyone seeing us come in through the back stairwell door. I waited out front, my Morticia wig in hand, while he got the low down on why the three musketeers had been hauled away.

  He joined me outside a few minutes later, holding my hand as we walked to his car. “According to the Blues Brothers, it all started with Cindy Brady.”

  “Katie started it?” That wasn’t her style. I would have put my money on Claire. Although, those pregnancy hormones could really do a number on a woman’s tolerance level, especially around drunks. I knew from experience.

  “In their words, Cindy got into a yelling match with Cyclops the bartender after he made some derogatory remark about her being a ditzy blonde. When he threatened to call the police on her, she threw a mug of beer in his face.”

  “She’d been annoyed at the bartender since Nat and I arrived. Something about her ex-boyfriend who owns a bar down in Arizona.”

  “While Cyclops was calling the cops, Cindy climbed up onto the bar and leapt onto the bartender’s back, beating him over the head with poor innocent Thing.”

  “She beat him with a rubber hand?” My laughter echoed off the brick buildings.

  When we reached Doc’s Camaro, he held the door for me, continuing the tale. “So the bartender grabbed the beer tap nozzle and sprayed Cindy in the face with beer as he swung around trying to shake her off. Meanwhile, Marsha Brady tried to race to the rescue and slipped on the wet floor, knocking all three of them down where they wrestled around in a heap.”

  “You’re kidding.” That must have been the commotion I had noticed below when I was in the midst of having a back arching orgasm that would have knocked my socks off if I’d been wearing any. I waited for Doc to slide behind the steering wheel. “Why was Nat dragged off with them?”

  He started up and backed out of the parking spot. “The Blues Brothers claim that when Marsha, Cindy, and the Cyclops were on the floor brawling in a puddle of beer, some drunk in a Where’s Waldo costume yelled for Marsha and Cindy to show him their chests. At that point, the skeleton babe strode over and clocked Waldo in the chin, knocking him out cold.”

  Doc pulled out onto Main Street and headed toward the police station. I pictured the whole Three Stooges routine, giggling.

  “Nat does have a wicked uppercut,” I said as Doc took a left at the light.

  “So does Thing according to Cyclops.”

  I burst out laughing. By the time Doc pulled into the cop shop, I’d sobered enough to head inside and rescue my friends.

  Doc’s grip on my arm held me in my seat. He looked me over, the parking lot lights making his face more rugged. “You might want to put the wig back on for now.”

  “Why? Is my hair a mess?”

  “You look like a wild woman who had sex against the wall in the alley behind a bar.”

  “We were upstairs in a haunted brothel.”

  He shook his head, letting out a low whistle. “God, you were so damned hot, all soft and wet, ready and moaning.” He groaned, adjusting his pants. “I have to stop thinking about you up against that wall, or we’ll have to make a quick trip to my place before getting the girls out of jail.”

  Had he really said he loved me in Gomez speak? Did that actually happen? Or had I just been high and still stuck in fantasyland from the killer sex we’d had?

  “We need to do that again,” I told him. Especially the end part where he told me, Violet Parker—not Morticia Addams—that he was in love with me. In the meantime, I’d have to wait and see if he said it again before getting ahead of myself and removing the muzzle from my heart.

  He twirled one of my blonde curls around his finger. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  I leaned over and grabbed him through his suit pants, making him suck in a breath. He was rock solid in my palm. “You were brutal and fierce, raging against me. Just thinking about it makes me want to hike up my dress and climb on your lap for more.”

  “Christ, Boots. You paint a hell of a scene.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, picture this. The next time we try that position, I want you to bend me over your desk. I have a fantasy about making a mess all over your spreadsheets.”

  He growled, grabbing me by the back of the neck and hauling me against him. He kissed me like he wanted to eat me alive. If we had been in his bed, I would have let him.

  When he let me go, I squeezed him once more and smiled slow and sultry. “Hold that thought, big boy. I’m gonna go f
ind out how to spring those jailbirds. Come inside when you get your kinks worked out.”

  I slipped on the Morticia wig and climbed out. Before I made it to the station’s front steps, I twisted my dress sideways at the waist so that the ripped seam looked like a side slit. Making sure the girls were still tucked in my dress, I straightened my shoulders and went in to face off with Deadwood’s finest.

  Cooper came through the door that led to the back offices and jail cells a minute after the front desk clerk had called and announced that Morticia Addams had arrived to see the three troublemakers.

  The detective looked me over, one eyebrow lifting at what he saw. “Where’s Gomez?”

  “He’s parking the car.”

  “Good. I need to talk to both of you.”

  “If this is about what happened at the bar …”

  “It’s not.” He tugged on his tie, loosening it. “I got called away by Hawke while Nyce and you were dancing. I must have been gone not much more than a half hour when all hell broke loose there.”

  “Katie’s pregnant,” I explained. “Her hormones are like hundreds of little Yosemite Sams with six-shooters a-blazin’. That bartender is lucky she beat him with a rubber hand instead of a whiskey bottle.”

  His lips twitched. “Well, to give Kate some credit, the bartender was being an asshole to her. I was up there one time when she was ordering. He called her a blonde bimbo for no reason. I think he was getting off on riling her up.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, speaking on behalf of the blonde nation, that crap doesn’t go over well with most of us. Nor do the stupid ass blonde jokes.”

  “I noticed that.” He glanced behind me as the front door opened and Doc walked in. “Hey, Gomez.”

  “Bond, old boy. Good to see you here.”

  “Come on back.” Cooper waved for us to follow him. “I think Natalie really did a number on her hand,” he said over his shoulder. “I gave her an ice pack until they’re done with the paperwork. She may need a trip to the hospital when she’s done here.”

  “What do we need to do to get the three of them out of here?” I asked as we walked down the long linoleum hallway toward his office. I caught a glimpse of Claire minus her Marsha Brady wig sitting at one of the desks, a piece of paper in front of her, a cellphone up to her ear. Where were Katie and Natalie?