"You want me to go in and convince her I'm looking to party?"
"That's the ticket."
"Fine." He'd certainly done worse in his career than play the eager john in a seedy bar. But he shoved the envelope back into her lap. "I've got my own money."
Althea watched him cross the street, waiting until he'd disappeared inside. Then she leaned back and indulged herself for one moment by closing her eyes and letting out a long, long breath.
A dangerous man, Colt Nightshade, she thought. A deadly man. She hadn't felt simple anger when he lunged toward her and grabbed. She hadn't felt simple anything. What she'd experienced was complex, convoluted and confusing.
What she'd felt was arousal, gut-deep, red-hot, soul-searing arousal, mixed with a healthy dose of primal fear and teeth-baring fury.
It wasn't like her, she told herself as she took the time alone to gather her wits. Coming that close to losing control because a man pushed the wrong buttons—or the right ones—was uncharacteristic of her.
She pushed the buttons. That was Althea Grayson's number one hard-and-fast rule. And if Colt thought he could break that one, he was in for a big disappointment.
She'd worked too hard forming herself into what she was, laying out the stages of her life and following them. She'd come from chaos, and she'd beaten it back. Certainly it was necessary from time to time to change the pattern. She wasn't rigid. But nothing, absolutely nothing, jarred that pattern.
It was the case itself, she supposed. The child being held by strangers, almost certainly being abused.
Another pattern, she thought bitterly. All too familiar to her.
And the child that morning, she remembered. Helplessly trapped by the adults around her.
She shook that off, picked up the crumpled newspaper to fold it neatly and set it aside.
She was just tired, she told herself. The drug bust the week before had been vicious. And to tumble from that into this would have shaken anyone. What she needed was a vacation. She smiled to herself, imagining a warm white-sand beach, blue water, a tall spear of glistening hotel behind her. A big bed, room service, mud packs, and a private whirlpool.
And that was just what she was going to have when she capped this case and sent Colt Nightshade back to his cattle or his law practice or whatever the hell he called his profession.
Glancing toward the bar again, she was forced to nod in approval. Less than ten minutes had passed, and he was coming out, Meena in tow.
"Oh, a group thing?" Meena studied Althea through heavily kohled eyes. She pushed back her stiff black curls and smirked. "Well, now, honey, that's going to cost you extra."
"No problem." Gallantly Colt helped her into the back seat.
"I guess a guy like you can handle the two of us." She settled back, reeking of floral cologne.
"I don't think that'll be necessary." Althea took out her badge, flashed it.
Meena swore, shot Colt a look of intense dislike, then folded her arms. "Haven't you cops got anything better to do than roust us working girls?"
"We won't have to take you in, Meena, if you answer a few questions. Drive around a little, will you, Colt?" As he obliged, Althea turned in her seat. "Wild Bill was a friend of mine."
"Yeah, right."
"He did some favors for me. I did some for him."
"Yeah, I bet—" Meena broke off, narrowed her eyes. "You the cop he snitched for? The one he called classy." Meena relaxed a little. There was a pretty good chance she wouldn't be spending the night in lockup after all. "He said you were okay. Said you always slipped him a few without whining about it."
Althea noted Meena's greedy little smile and lifted a brow. "I'm touched. Maybe he should've said I paid when he had something worth buying. Do you know Jade?"
"Sure. She hasn't been around for a few weeks. Bill said she skipped town." Meena dug in her red vinyl purse and pulled out a cigarette. When Colt clicked on his lighter and offered the flame, she cupped her hand over his and slanted him a warm look under thickly blackened lashes. "Thanks, honey."
"How about this girl?'' Colt took the snapshot of Elizabeth out of his pocket. After turning on the dome light, he offered it to Meena.
"No." She started to pass it back, then frowned. "I don't know. Maybe." While she considered, she blew out a stream of smoke, clouding the car. "Not on the stroll. Seems like maybe I saw her somewhere."
"With Bill?" Althea asked.
"Hell, no. Bill didn't deal in jailbait."
"Who does?"
Meena shifted her eyes to Colt. "Georgie Cool's got a few young ones in his stable. Nobody as fresh as this, though."
"Did Bill get you a gig, Meena? A movie gig?'' Althea asked.
"Maybe he did."
"The answer's yes, or the answer's no." Althea took back the photo of Liz. "You waste my time, I don't waste my money."
"Well, hell, it don't bother me if some guy wants to take videos while I work. They paid extra for it."
"Have you got a name?''
Meena snorted in Althea's direction. "We didn't exchange business cards, sweetie."
"But you can give me a description. How many were involved.
Where it went down."
"Probably." The sly look was back as Meena blew out smoke.
"If I had some incentive.''
"Your incentive's not to spend time in a cell with a two-hundred-pound Swede named Big Jane," Althea said mildly. "You can't send me up. I'll scream entrapment."
"Scream all you want. With your record, the judge will just chuckle."
"Come on, Thea." Colt's drawl seemed to have thickened. "Give the lady a break. She's trying to cooperate. Aren't you, Meena?"
"Sure." Meena butted out her cigarette, licked her lips. "Sure I am."
"What she's trying to do is hose me." Althea realized she and Colt had picked up the good cop—bad cop routine without missing a beat, "And I want answers."
"She's giving them to us." He smiled at Meena in the rearview mirror. "Just take your time."
"There were three of them," Meena said, and set her cherry-red lips in a pout. "The guy running the camera, another guy sitting back in a corner. I couldn't see him. And the guy who was, like, performing with me, you know? The guy with the camera was bald. A black guy, really big—like a wrestler or something. I was there about an hour, and he never opened his mouth once."
Althea flipped open her notebook. "Did they call each other by name?"
"No." Meena thought it through, shook her head. "No. That's funny, isn't it? They didn't talk to each other at all, as I remember. The one I was working with was a little guy—except for certain vital parts." She chuckled and reached for another cigarette. "Now, he did some talking. Trash talk, get it? Like for the camera. Some guys like that. He was, I don't know… in his forties, maybe, skinny, had his hair pulled back in a ponytail that hit his shoulder blades. He wore this Lone Ranger mask."
"I'm going to want you to work with a police artist," Althea told her.
"No way. No more cops."
"We don't have to do it at the station." Althea played her trump card. "If you give us a good enough description, one that helps us nail these film buffs, there's an extra hundred for you."
"Okay." Meena brightened. "Okay."
Althea tapped her pencil against her pad. "Where did you shoot?"
"Shoot? Oh, you mean the movie? Over on Second. Real nice place. It had one of them whirlpool tubs in the bathroom, and mirrors for walls." Meena leaned forward to brush her fingertips over Colt's shoulder. "It was… stimulating."
"The address?" Althea said.
"I don't know. One of those big condo buildings on Second. Top floor, too. Like the penthouse."
"I bet you'd recognize the building if we drove by it, wouldn't you, Meena?" Colt's tone was all friendly encouragement, as was the smile he shot her over his shoulder.
"Yeah, sure I would."
And she did. Minutes later she was pointing out the window. "That place, there
. See the one up top, with the big windows and the balcony thing? It was in there. Real class joint. White carpet. This really sexy bedroom, with red curtains and a big round bed. There was gold faucets in the bathroom, shaped like swans. Jeez. I woulda loved to go back."
"You only went once?" Colt asked her.
"Yeah. They told Billy I wasn't the right type." With a sound of disgust, she reached for yet another cigarette. "Get this. I was too old. I just had my twenty-second birthday, and those creeps tell Billy I'm too old. It really ticked me—Oh, yeah…" Suddenly inspired, she rapped Colt on the shoulder. "The kid. The one in the picture? That's where I saw her. I was leaving, but I went back 'cause I left my smokes. She was sitting in the kitchen. I didn't recognize her in the picture right off, 'cause she was all made-up when I saw her."
"Did she say anything to you?" Colt asked, struggling to keep his voice quiet and even. "Do anything?"
"No, just sat there. She looked stoned to me."
Because she sensed he needed something, Althea slid her hand across the seat and covered Colt's. His was rigid. She was surprised, but didn't protest, when he turned his hand over and gripped hers, palm to palm.
"I'm going to want to talk to you again." With her free hand, Althea reached into her purse for enough money to ensure Meena's continued cooperation. "I need a number where I can reach you."
"No sweat." Meena rattled it off while she counted her money. "I guess Billy had it right. You're square. Hey, maybe you could drop me at the Tick Tock. I think I'll go in and drink one for Wild Bill."
"We can't do anything without a warrant." Althea was repeating the statement for the third time as they stepped out of the elevator on the top floor of the building Meena had pointed out.
"You don't need a warrant to knock on a door."
"Right." With a sigh, Althea slipped a hand inside her jacket in an automatic check of her weapon. "And they're going to invite us in for coffee. If you give me a couple of hours—"
When he whirled, her jaw dropped. After the cool, matter-of-fact manner in which he'd handled everything up to this point, the raw fury on his face was staggering. "Get this, Lieutenant—I'm not waiting another two minutes to see if Liz is in there. And if she is, if anybody is, I'm not going to need a damn warrant."
"Look, Colt, I understand—"
"You don't understand diddley."
She opened her mouth, then shut it again, shocked that she'd been about to shout that she did understand. Oh, yes, she understood very, very well. "We'll knock," she said tightly, and strode to the door of the penthouse and did so.
"Maybe they're hard of hearing." Colt used his fist to hammer.
When the summons went unanswered, he moved so fast Althea didn't have time to swear. He'd already kicked the door in.
"Good, real good, Nightshade. Subtle as a brick."
"Guess I slipped." He pulled his gun out of his boot. "And look at this, the door's open."
"Don't—" But he was already inside. Cursing Boyd and all his boyhood friends, Althea drew her weapon and went in the door behind him, instinctively covering his back. She didn't need the light Colt turned on to see that the room was empty. It had a deserted feel. There was nothing left but the carpet, and the drapes at the windows.
"Split," Colt muttered to himself as he moved quickly from room to room. "The bastards split."
Satisfied she wouldn't need it, Althea replaced her gun. "I guess we know who our friendly bartender called this afternoon. We'll see what we can get from the rental contract, the neighbors…" Yet she thought if their quarry had been this slick so far, what they got would be close to useless.
She stepped into the bathroom. It was as Meena had described, the big whirlpool tub, the swan-shaped faucets—brass, not gold—the all-around mirrors. "You've just jeopardized the integrity of a possible crime scene, Nightshade. I hope you're satisfied."
"She could have been here," he said from behind her.
She looked over, saw their reflections trapped in the mirrored tiles. It was the expression on his face, one she hadn't expected to see there, that softened her. "We're going to find her, Colt," she said quietly. "We're going to see that she gets back home."
"Sure." He wanted to break something, anything. It took every ounce of his will not to smash his fist through the mirrors. "Every day they've got her is a day she's going to have to live with, forever." Bending, he slipped his gun back in his boot. "God, Thea, she's just a child."
"Children are tougher than most people think. They close things off when they have to. And it's going to be easier because she has family who loves her."
"Easier than what?"
Than having no one but yourself, she thought. "Just easier." She couldn't help it. She reached out, laid a hand on his cheek. "Don't let it eat at you, Colt. You'll mess up if you do."
"Yeah." He drew it back, that dangerous emotion that led to dangerous mistakes. But when she started to drop her hand and move past him, Colt snagged her wrist. "You know something?" Maybe it was only because he needed contact, but he tugged her an inch closer. "For a minute there, you were almost human."
"Really?" Their bodies were almost brushing. A bad move, she thought. But it would be cowardly to pull back. "What am I usually?"
"Perfect." He lifted his free hand—because he'd wanted to almost from the first moment he'd seen her—and tangled his fingers in her hair. "It's scary," he said. "It's the whole package—that face, the hair, the body, the mind. A man doesn't know whether to bay at the moon or whimper at your feet."
She had to tilt her head back to keep her eyes level with his. If her heart was beating a bit faster, she could ignore it. It had happened before. If she felt the little pull of curiosity, even of lust, it wasn't the first time, and it could be controlled. But what was difficult, very difficult, to channel, was the unexpected clouding of her senses. That would have to be fought.
"You don't strike me as the type to do either," she said, and smiled, a cool, tight-lipped smirk that had most men backing off babbling.
Colt wasn't most men.
"I never have been. Why don't we try something else?" He said it slowly, then moved like lightning to close his mouth over hers.
If she had protested, if she had struggled—if there had been even a token pulling back—he would have released her and counted his losses. Maybe.
But she didn't. That surprised them both.
She could have, should have. She would think later. She could have stopped him cold with any number of defensive or offensive moves. She would think later. But there was such raw heat in his lips, such steely strength in his arms, such whirling pleasure in her own body.
Oh, yes, she would think later. Much later.
It was exactly as he'd imagined it. And he'd imagined it a lot. That tart, flamboyant flavor she carried on her lips was the twin of the one he'd sampled in his mind. It was as addicting as any opiate. When she opened for him, he dived deeper and took more.
She was as small, as slim, as supple, as any man could wish. And as strong. Her arms were locked hard around him, and her fingers were clutching at his hair. The low, deep sound of approval that vibrated in her throat had his blood racing like a fast-moving river.
Murmuring her name, he spun her around, ramming her against the mirrors, covering her body with his. His hands ran over her in a greedy sprint to take and touch and possess. Then his fingers were jerking at the buttons on her blouse in a desperate need to push aside the first barrier.
He wanted her now. No, no, he needed her now, he realized. The way a man needed sleep after a vicious day of hard labor, the way he needed to eat after a long, long fast.
He tore his mouth from hers to press it against her throat, reveling in the sumptuous taste of flesh.
Half-delirious, she arched back, moaning at the thrill of his hungry mouth on her heated skin. Without the wall for support, she knew, she would already have sunk to the floor. And it was there, just there, that he would take her, that they would
take each other. On the cool, hard tile, with dozens of mirrors tossing back reflections of their • desperate bodies.
Here and now.
And like a thief sneaking into a darkened house, an image of. Meena, and what had gone on in that apartment, crept into her mind.
What was she doing? Good Lord, what was she doing? she raged at herself as she levered herself away.
She was a cop, and she had been about to indulge in some wild bout of mindless sex in the middle of a crime scene.
"Stop!" Her voice was harsh with arousal and self-disgust. "I mean it, Colt. Stop. Now."
"What?" Like a diver surfacing from fathoms-deep, he shook his head, nearly swayed. Good Lord, his knees were weak. To compensate, he braced a hand on the, wall as he stared down at her. He'd loosened her hair, and it spilled rich and red over her shoulders. Her eyes were more gold than brown now, huge, and seductively misted. Her mouth was full, reddened by the pressure and demand of his, and her skin was flushed a pale, lovely rose.
"You're beautiful. Impossibly beautiful." Gently he skimmed a finger down her throat. "Like some exotic flower behind glass. A man just has to break that glass and take it."
"No." She grabbed his hand to keep from losing her mind again. "This is insane, completely insane."
"Yeah." He couldn't have agreed more. "And it felt great."
"This is an investigation, Nightshade. And we're standing in what is very possibly the scene of a major crime."
He smiled and lifted her hand to nip at her fingers. Just because this was a dead end for their investigation didn't mean all activity had to come to a halt. "So, let's go someplace else."
"We are going someplace else." She shoved him away, and quickly, competently redid her blouse. "Separately." She wasn't steady, she realized. Damn him, damn her, she wasn't steady.
He felt that the safest place for his hands at the moment was his pockets, so he shoved them in. She was right, one hundred percent right, and that was the worst of it.
"You want to pretend this didn't happen?"
"I don't pretend anything." Settling on dignity, she pushed her tumbled hair back, smoothed down her rumpled jacket. "It happened, now it's done."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 390