by Heidi Lowe
“I've got this one,” Willa said, just as Layke stepped forward to have a pat down by the bouncer. “Evening, detective.”
Layke raised an eyebrow in response to Willa's lopsided smile and eyes sparkling with mischief. “It's just Layke. I'm off duty,” she said with feigned impatience.
“If you could just spread your legs a bit more,” Willa instructed, her smile never leaving her face.
Layke did as she was told, sighing and rolling her eyes.
To call what Willa did frisking was a fabrication of the highest order. She started from the bottom and worked her way up, her movements painfully slow, her hands running along every inch of Layke's body, every crevice. She kept eye contact throughout, so that she could gauge the detective's real opinion of the total violation of her person. And what she saw in those forest-green eyes was the same desire she'd seen in the diner several days prior.
“Is that really necessary?” Layke said with a loud sigh, her breasts being practically fondled in front of a line of people.
“I've seen people hide weapons in the strangest places.” Willa grinned. “You can never be too careful.”
“Just what sort of weapon are you expecting to find in my bra?”
“That's enough now.” Velazquez stepped in, seizing Willa's arm. Willa backed off, still staring at Layke, still smiling.
“It's all right, I'm finished. She's clean.” She winked at Layke, who, she wasn't at all surprised to see, had the faintest smile on her face.
“Adriana, do you mind getting us a table and getting the drinks in?” Layke said, barely taking her eyes off Willa. “Miss di Blasio and I are going to have a little chat.” When Adriana stepped away, and she was alone with Willa, she said, “I bet you enjoyed that.”
“Not as much as you did, clearly,” Willa quipped.
“You're so conceited I don't even know how you sleep at night.”
“Yet you can't stay away. Well, except for this past week. It feels strange not having you following my every move, I have to say. Kind of got used to having you around.”
Layke cast her eyes over to the table where Guy and the Cubans were deep in conversation. “Who are your friends?”
“Family from out of town.”
“Family, huh? Funny, because I was under the impression that they were Cuban drug-runners from Havana.”
“I wouldn't know anything about that,” Willa said, like butter wouldn't melt.
“Of course not.”
“I have to say, I didn't think I would see you in a place like this. You still being in denial and all. But we do have the best girls in town.”
Layke narrowed her eyes at her. “I'm not in denial about anything. I'm here on unofficial business.” She'd gone from being blasé to defensive in a flash, which only served to make her look guilty.
“Sure. So you didn't come for the hot women. Got it.” Willa chuckled, even more so at Layke's increasing anger. Just the mere hint at her sexuality being anything other than straight was enough to put her on edge. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
“You're trying to get under my skin.”
“No, I'm trying to get into your pants.”
“You won't succeed in either of those endeavors.”
“We'll see.”
They stared each other down, each confident in their determination, each wearing identical little smiles.
“You wouldn't mind if I went over and introduced myself to your “family members”, would you?”
Willa could barely keep up as Layke made a beeline for the table. The last thing she needed was for her possible buyers to be spooked by a nosy cop who couldn't take a hint.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Layke said to the table. Behind her, Willa signaled to Guy with her thumb to scram, silently mouthing to take them to the back office. “This looks like a cozy little shindig. Room for one more?”
“For you, guapa, there's always room.” The oldest of the men, the ringleader, shoved his comrade over to make room between him and his friend, tapping the cushion-soft seat, with a large, golden grin.
That was Guy's cue. He cleared his throat and stood up. “I think we should take this conversation somewhere more private, don't you think, fellas?”
“Can this little chica come too?”
“No, this little chica's staying out here with me,” Willa jumped in, cutting Layke off before she could speak. “We have some unfinished business.”
Grudgingly, the men followed Guy into the back, one even blowing a kiss Layke's way, which she caught flirtatiously.
“What the hell was that?” Willa demanded, ire corrupting her features. “I don't care what your fucking badge says, lady. You don't come into my club and start getting into my business.” She hadn't meant to sound so threatening, but given the circumstances, it was the tamest reaction. If Layke cost her this sale, there was no telling what she would do in retaliation. So what if the woman had started to grow on her? The business always came first.
“Your business? But I thought you said those were relatives of yours.” Now Layke was the one wearing the self-satisfied grin.
“You're playing a dangerous game, detective. I've put up with it up till now, but you're coming dangerously close to getting on my nerves.” She leaned in, her eyes venomous and callous. When she spoke again, the coldness in her voice made even her shiver. “And you don't want to get on my nerves.”
There it was, the gulp and the fear she was hoping for, clear as day. The fun and games were over. A reminder, that was what the detective needed. A reminder that the badge didn't mean diddlysquat in this world, where nosy detectives had been put down for far less.
“The badge doesn't make you bulletproof, Layke,” she added, though the comment was redundant. She'd already succeeded in putting the fear of God into her. Her thinly-veiled threats, if she wasn't careful, would land her in jail. “Now, you should leave. And take your friend with you.”
Willa walked past her, heard the tiny gasp that escaped Layke's lips as she left her. A part of her felt repentant for acting the monster, putting on the face that came with her surname. In spite of everything, she liked the detective; she admired her spunk, her tenacity. Couldn't help but love the faint little freckles that patterned her face. It wasn't a lie that she had missed seeing her parked outside the club, or outside her apartment when she left. She even liked their tailing sessions, where she would play with her for ten minutes, before losing her, leaving her in the middle of nowhere.
When she disappeared, heading in the direction of the office, she thought that was the end of it. It should have been the end of it. She thought Layke had gotten the message.
“I'm not afraid of you,” she heard behind her. There was real fear in Layke's voice, despite her words. “If anything happens to me, they'll know it was you.”
Before Willa knew what she was doing, she seized Layke's arm, pulled her into the nearest private room and slammed the door shut behind them.
“You're right,” Willa said, stepping toward her. “They will know it was me. I hope you tell them exactly what I'm about to do to you.” With that she pulled Layke close, forcing a gasp from her lips, and smashed her mouth to hers. After a couple of seconds of resistance, she felt the detective's body loosen up, lose its rigidity. Another couple of seconds later there was complete surrender, and Layke was hers. She felt it, she knew it as soon as Layke's tongue danced along with hers, as though they were kindred spirits.
EIGHT
“No,” Layke moaned, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, the press of Willa's lips firm and wet on her neck. Her mouth was saying no, but her body didn't want to listen. They were at odds. Why the hell wasn't her body listening? It wasn't supposed to be enjoying this.
“Yes,” Willa hummed against her flesh, each kiss like a statement of her intent for the rest of Layke's body.
“No, I can't.” Now even more breathless and even less determined to stop her. She didn't put up a fight, instead held the bac
k of Willa's head in her hands while Willa's tongue and lips roamed unrestrained over her neck, making her way along her chin, across her jaw, until she came to her lips again.
“Yes, you can.”
She could, and she did. This time it was Layke who instigated the kiss. Her tongue was relentless in its dominance over Willa's, desperate as though starved. She'd never wanted a kiss so badly, never wanted anyone so badly before. She was too lost in it to worry about the fact that, should it have progressed, she would have been entirely out of her depth.
But she never got the chance to worry. The door swung open suddenly. She broke away from Willa just as Honey walked in with a private client in tow.
“Oh, I didn't know anyone was in here...” She noticed Layke first, her cherry red lipstick smudged, faint red blotches on her neck, a guilty look in her eyes. Then looked at Willa, who wore a similar expression of someone who had just been caught doing something they shouldn't have.
“Excuse me,” Layke mumbled, head down as she charged past everyone in her haste to get out of the room, out of the club, out of Miami if she had to.
Self-destruction. Was that what it was called when you did a thing you knew would destroy you, but you kept doing it anyway? Layke had never considered herself self-destructive; everything she did was for her advancement – career-wise, romance-wise, for her own continued happiness. Every choice she made was calculated, smart. At least, she'd always considered it so. Now, she wasn't sure.
She sat in her car in the underground parking lot of the station, the radio volume low, some classical music providing the much needed background noise that calmed her. Classical music, in particular Bach, kept her from bouncing off the walls. It had something to do with her mother playing it while she was pregnant with her. It also used to be the only thing that would get her to stop crying when she was a baby. Well, Bach couldn't help her now.
“What is wrong with you?” she scolded herself out loud. “You're not gay, and you're not insane. So why her?” Or maybe she was both of those things. Because why else would she not only allow Willa di Blasio to kiss her, but to then kiss Willa back? All this coming moments after Willa had just finished threatening her life! She might as well have strolled into ADX Florence, the supermax prison in Colorado, and picked out an inmate to smooch! She didn't see the difference.
Except, kissing Willa hadn't felt as wrong as she wanted to believe it was. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when kissing had felt so natural, so earth-shattering. Kissing Willa last night was everything it shouldn't have been: beautiful.
A shiver ran down her spine, a chilling thought entering her mind. What would have happened had Honey not walked in at that precise moment? How much more codes of practice would she have broken? Because this was career-destroying. Detectives didn't get to go around sticking their tongues down the throats of suspected criminals, especially those they had been charged with investigating. It wasn't exactly professional...
So this was what it felt like to do stupid things for a pretty face. She finally understood it. Men had been falling into that trap since time immemorial; she'd never dreamed she would follow in their tracks.
“Stupid!” She hit the wheel. She'd only managed an hour's sleep that night, her thoughts laden with images of Willa, replaying their brief but oh so unforgettable tryst. There were a dozen ways it could have gone, yet only one way it should have gone. And even with a do-over, she feared she wouldn't have done anything differently.
“You feeling better today, Layke?” Velazquez was already at her desk when Layke walked into the department that morning. “I thought you were gonna call in sick today the way you looked last night when you left the club.”
“I'm good. I got a bit lightheaded. Did anything else happen after I left? Did you see the Cubans again?” Layke fell into her chair, her body feeling heavy and sluggish. Velazquez had offered to leave with her that night, but she'd told her it wasn't necessary. No point messing up the case because of her stupidity. Someone had to get intel on the Cubans.
“They must have left another way. I stayed about an hour before the podium started looking tempting. That was my cue to leave.”
Layke giggled. “You've got the body for it. I hear they make a lot of money up there.”
“A lot more than we make here. I'm definitely in the wrong profession.”
“Do we know if the Cubans are going to make the purchase?”
“If they are, they haven't done it yet. We've got a few guys on the hotel they're staying at. We'll know when they make a move. Hey, lemme ask you something? What's the deal with the di Blasio girl?”
Layke felt her throat go a little dry at the mere mention of Willa. She prayed her face didn't reflect any of her guilt. “What deal?”
“Well, I did a bit of snooping after you left, saw her getting into it with some blonde dancer. Looked like a couple's quarrel. You think she might be gay?”
“So what if she is?” Layke had started to busy herself repositioning things on her desk that didn't need moving, and tried to keep her voice even.
“Nothing, it's just... she's gorgeous. You wouldn't guess it, you know, that she's in to that sort of thing.”
Something, the tiniest spark of the tiniest flame flared up inside Layke, and she didn't know why. It almost felt as though her friend's words offended her, as though they applied to her. Layke put it down to her dislike for ignorance and stereotyping; she ignored the part of her that had taken the remark personally.
“Then again, everyone's doing it these days. I blame pop culture.”
Now she really was offended.
“You blame pop culture for people being gay?” Layke asked incredulously, hardly able to believe her ears. For someone in her early-thirties, Velazquez sure had an old-fashioned, outdated way of thinking. “I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that.” Her yearning to kiss Willa hadn't stemmed from anything but pure, unadulterated desire, uninfluenced by pop culture.
Velazquez shrugged apathetically. “Whatever. I don't understand any of it myself. I know where everything slots and fits, and I'm not creative enough to imagine how anything else would work.”
Well, that was a common ignorance they did share, except Layke suspected she was the only one whose curiosity had propelled her to do an internet search. She'd shut down her laptop before she'd clicked on any search engine link, and had vowed never again to type the words How to please a woman sexually into Google. That was before the kiss. Now, her keenness had reached new heights. She took no pride in admitting it to herself, but all of a sudden knowing how to please a woman was high on her list of goals.
Corman joined them in the room, his cell phone pressed to his ear, a grim look on his face. Layke and Velazquez exchanged amused looks. There was only one person who could cause Corman's usual, devilish grin to fade from his plump face: his wife.
“Owen,” he said, pressing his hand over the mouthpiece, “the she-devil wants to know if there's anything you or Dustin are allergic to for Saturday?” That was how he referred to her, she-devil. Naturally, the nickname didn't instil much confidence in Layke. And thus, when Corman's wife insisted that her husband invite his new partner over for dinner, Layke had been apprehensive in accepting the invitation. She couldn't have said no. Her only hope was that Mrs. Corman wasn't half as bad as the picture her husband had painted of her.
“We can eat anything, though Dustin's not a fan of veal.”
“Veal? In our house?” Corman said, still gripping the mouthpiece so his wife couldn't hear. “You'll be lucky if you get Spam!” His wife's squeaky voice bellowed his name down the phone, and he quickly returned it to his ear, rolling his eyes skyward. “No, honey, I was talking about someone else. She says they can eat anything except veal.” He walked off again, his shoulders sagging.
“Bet you wish you could back out of that, right?” Velazquez said.
“She can't be as bad as he makes out, can she?” Layke gave her an uncertain look, dread mounting. She
hated doing couple-y things; it just didn't come naturally to her, normally because the other couple often made her silently compare her own relationship with theirs, and hers always fell short. It was as though she was forced to be passionate about Dustin in front of them, and she had a hard time pulling that off.
“I think that's what it's like after you've been married more than twenty years. You can't stand to be with each other, yet you can't stand to be apart.”
“That sounds awful.” Layke shuddered. Not the type of thing she wanted to hear, being engaged and all. “If Dustin ever refers to me as a she-devil, I'll divorce him in a heartbeat!”
“You do know you actually have to be married to get a divorce, right?” Velazquez said, a cheeky grin on her face.
“Be quiet.”
At thirty-two, living alone, fully independent, not a roommate or her fiance around to catch her, Layke climbed into bed, set the laptop on her lap, took a deep breath and typed in the words she hoped no one else would ever see. It felt like sneaking around, like she was breaking the law, like someone would suddenly trot into her bedroom, snatch the computer from her and expose her.
How to please a woman sexually, if you're a woman. In the search bar, the sentence auto-filled. The universe was making it easy for her. She gawked at the number of hits displayed, the number in the millions, and felt overwhelmed already. Which site would be the best? The most accurate? Would there be diagrams and pictures? Her heart slammed hard against her chest as she clicked on the first link, afraid; afraid of how much she didn't know, and of how steep the learning curve would be. Shutting down the computer and remaining blissfully ignorant did cross her mind, many times, but her curiosity won over.