Double-Edged Detective

by Mallory Kane

  “It was a few dates back in college. I hadn’t seen her in—”

  Mike held up a hand. “Spare me. I’ve heard it before. Now I’ve got a meeting. This discussion is over.”

  “Fine.” Ryker blew out a frustrated breath. “Within the week, he’ll strike again, and I’ll get you your evidence. It’s a shame that another woman has to die to convince you.”

  “Get out of here, before I fire your ass.”

  Ryker beat a hasty retreat. Mike couldn’t fire him. Not without cause. But he understood his deputy chief’s frustration.

  Even so, there was no way he was going to leave Nicole unprotected. It was October 21. Within the next few days, he fully expected the killer to strike again. There was no way he could stop him. But he’d be damned if the victim was Nicole.

  THAT NIGHT AS NICOLE EXITED the restaurant, Ryker fell into step beside her.

  She jumped and pressed her hand to her chest.

  “I see you paid no attention to me,” he remarked. “I told you to drive.”

  “I see you’re still following me.”

  “Somebody has to look out for you if you aren’t going to take care of yourself.”

  She sped up. He was surprised her heels didn’t strike sparks off the sidewalk. “I do not intend to act like a victim,” she threw back over her shoulder.

  Ryker easily caught up to her. “Taking reasonable precautions is not acting like a victim.”

  “I take reasonable precautions.”

  “Walking alone at midnight is not a reasonable precaution.”

  Nicole stopped at the stairwell that led up to the second-floor landing of her apartment building. “Look, Detective. After the break-in, I was so spooked that I gave up my job and my apartment. I will never feel that way again.”

  He saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I understand. Is that offer for a cup of coffee still open? I’d like to tell you about this killer.”

  Her eyes widened and shimmered. “Why? To terrify me?”

  He shook his head. “No. To prepare you, in case he comes back to finish what he started.”

  She shuddered. “In other words, to terrify me.”

  He knew his words were harsh, but at this point, with only a few days’ window for the next attack, he’d do anything to get her attention. “If you insist on looking at it that way. But the more you know, the better prepared you’ll be.”

  She swallowed and pressed her lips together as she studied his face. “Fine. Please,” she said wryly. “By all means, come in and have a cup of coffee and tell me about the killer who’s after me.”

  She turned and climbed the stairs. Ryker followed her, taking the opportunity to admire her backside in the jeans she wore. She was trim, but with curves in the right places. He liked that. He didn’t like stick-thin women who looked as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  He gave his head a shake. This wasn’t about admiring her figure or considering how her firm curves would feel under his hands.

  By the time she got to the top of the stairs she was digging in her purse. Ryker heard keys jangle. He grimaced. He’d have thought every woman everywhere knew to have keys out and ready. It could be dangerous to be fumbling for keys outside in the dark.

  Nicole felt Ryker’s disapproving gaze on her as she unlocked her apartment door.

  “I usually have my keys out before I get up here.” She winced at her tone. She sounded like a wimp. She had no need to make explanations to him. In any case, it was his fault she hadn’t pulled out her keys earlier. When he’d stepped up beside her out of the shadows he’d given her a scare.

  “Maybe you could look at my locks while you’re here,” she said as she walked through the door ahead of him.

  He paused for a second and glanced around the landing, then stepped inside and gave the locks a brief inspection before closing the door. “They look good,” he said. “Nice apartment.”

  “Not as nice as the one I gave up in Chef Voleur,” she said, an accusatory note in her voice as she stepped behind the butcher-block island into the kitchen area.

  She swallowed nervously. Ryker Delancey made her small apartment feel tiny. He wasn’t a real big man. He was six feet tall, but lean. He probably only weighed about one-ninety, but he filled up her living room—and her senses.

  He sat on one of the bar stools at the island. “You didn’t grow up in Chef Voleur.” He made it a statement, not a question.

  “No. I moved there when I got the job at the restaurant.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  Nicole winced internally. In an apartment half this size with a mother who wasn’t there even when she was there.

  “Baton Rouge,” she said noncommittally. “Do you really want coffee, or would you rather have something else?” She opened the refrigerator. “I have—water. There might be some bourbon—”

  Ryker laughed. “Coffee’s fine with me.”

  “Do you mind if I make it decaf?”

  He shook his head.

  She grabbed the decaffeinated beans from the cabinet and put them in the grinder. By the time they were ground, she realized he was standing beside her. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  His voice rumbled near her ear, disturbing and enticing. She took a fraction of a step away from his imposing presence.

  “Just appear, like you did on the sidewalk. You don’t make any noise.”

  “Nobody moves without making any noise. You’re not paying attention. Being unaware of your surroundings could get you killed.”

  “Do you think you could lay off the scare tactics for a minute or two?”

  “You have a real espresso machine. That’s impressive.”

  Nicole laughed. “Okay. Nice segue. Yes. I do have a real espresso machine. I like coffee, probably a little too much.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve always wanted one. Show me how to use it.”

  Together, they made two mugs of decaf cappuccino, and Nicole put sugar in hers. She leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her coffee. Ryker leaned next to her.

  Nicole felt the subtle brush of his sleeve against her bare arm, and realized that this was the first time a man had been in her apartment—other than the moving crew and the locksmith. Thinking of that, it occurred to her that she hadn’t been out on a single date in the year since the break-in.

  Why was she even thinking about dating? Her gaze lit on Ryker’s hands holding her jazz festival mug. They were large and square, with long fingers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his tanned forearms were dusted with golden hair, lighter than the light brown hair on his head.

  He was attractive. Very attractive.

  And strong, in the way that basketball players and soccer players were. Lean and wiry. She liked lean and wiry. Maybe that was why she was suddenly thinking about dating.

  Okay, stop. He was in her apartment because she’d been the victim of a home invasion, and he, the investigator on the case, thought her life was in danger. That was a far cry from dating. She shivered.

  He glanced at her sidelong. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Not really. Do you think that boy last night was following me?”

  Ryker put his mug down and turned toward her. “No. I think he was high as a kite and lost, like he said he was. But it ought to illustrate to you what could happen. Someone could easily follow you. In the few minutes it takes you to walk from the restaurant to here, you could be grabbed.”

  “There you go again with the scare tactics. You can’t manipulate me by scaring me. I will not quit this job. I already had to give up one job because of this person. I will not lose this one, too.”

  “I hope you won’t. He hasn’t come after you, and it’s been almost a year. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’m wrong, and your attack had nothing to do with the others.”

  “But you don’t believe that, do you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have eaten at L’Orage every night for almost a year.”

  N
icole looked up into his blue eyes, searching for a denial of what she’d just said. But as surely as he was standing there in front of her, she knew he was right.

  “You believe before this week is out, he’s coming to get me, don’t you?”

  Nicole’s green eyes filled with tears, then wavered and dropped to the cup she held.

  Ryker took the cup and set it aside, then took her hands in his. “Listen to me, okay? Just listen to me. I’m going to make sure that nothing—nothing—happens to you.”

  Her fingers squeezed his. “Okay,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “I believe you.” Then she blinked, and a fat tear spilled over onto her lower lashes and hung there, sparkling in the light.

  That tear almost undid Ryker. He was a sucker for tears. So much so that he’d had to teach himself to remain detached when he questioned victims or interrogated suspects. He couldn’t afford to get his emotions entangled in his job. He’d seen the devastating effects of emotion up close, and he wasn’t about to become a slave to his feelings like his father had.

  Before he’d even finished his internal lecture, he’d defied it by reaching out and catching the teardrop with his thumb. When he did, her eyes closed. He laid his palm against her cheek.

  He’d kept an eye on her for a year, ever since the break-in. She was his only living connection to his serial killer. He’d seen her leave her job and move. Watched over her as she searched for a new job in Mandeville and finally took the executive chef position at L’Orage.

  He was intimately familiar with her honey-colored hair and skin, her sharp, beautiful green eyes, her graceful yet determined walk and the sweet smile she shared with everyone around her. When had he become so fascinated with her?

  As soon as the question arose in his mind, he dismissed it. He wasn’t. Well, except as a victim of the killer he was trying to catch. She was his connection to his killer. That was all.

  At that moment, Nicole’s eyes opened. Tears had matted her lashes until they looked like dark starbursts around her green eyes. Before he could work up the willpower to stop himself, he bent his head, urged her chin up with his fingers and kissed her.

  She kissed him back. She tasted like coffee and cream. Hot, sweet, intense. A fire erupted inside him. The fire of lust—raging, consuming. He was instantly hard and burning for release.

  Then the fire enveloped her, and her response was as hungry and frenzied as his own.

  He backed her against the counter and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She gave as good as she got, doubling her fists in the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer, taking his openmouthed kisses and returning them fully. He pressed the full length of his body against her, revealing how turned on he was.

  She uttered a small cry and pushed at his chest. Somewhere in his brain, he felt relief. At least one of them had some self-control.

  “What is that?” she panted, squirming.

  He stared, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered.

  She shook her head. “Not that.” She touched the leather strap around his midsection. “This.”

  Oh. His gun. She was talking about his gun. He had on his shoulder holster and she’d felt hard metal pressing against her. He stepped backward. “Sorry.”

  “Just take it off.” Her green eyes were stormy, yet amazingly, still filled with passion.

  He took off his jacket and then unbuckled the holster and shrugged out of it. By the time he was done, his lust had waned slightly. He breathed deeply. “Maybe I should go.”

  Nicole didn’t say anything. He looked up at her, his holster dangling from one hand.

  Her tongue slid out to moisten her lips and she shook her head no.

  His hand tightened on the leather strap. He could stop right now. He could put the holster back on, and the jacket, and walk right out the door.

  But he didn’t. Against his better judgment, he let the holster drop to the floor. Then he reached for her. Before he could take her in his arms, though, she grasped his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. At the bedroom door, he stopped and turned her around to face him. “Are you sure?” he panted.

  She pulled his head down and kissed him intimately. “If I want to, or if it’s a good idea?” she asked. “Good idea.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” He pulled her close and kissed her again as she maneuvered them closer to the bed. When the backs of his calves hit the mattress, he tumbled, taking her with him. They ended up laughing in a tangle of clothes and sheets and throw pillows.

  Nicole tugged a bright orange pillow out from under his shoulders, and a turquoise one that was tangled in her legs. Ryker chuckled as he tossed the rest of them onto the floor.

  “What are those things for anyhow?” he asked, between kisses.

  “Throw pillows?” she answered. “To throw, I guess.” She leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for one. “I’ll show you.”

  Ryker caught her waist and pulled her back. He turned her around to face him and slid her green top up and over her head. She wore a pink bra—not sexy at all. Utilitarian. It did have a front clasp though, so he disposed of it quickly. He decided that her full, round breasts were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. They were lush, firm, creamy-smooth. His mouth watered to taste them, but he restrained himself.

  Once he got started, he didn’t want to be hindered by clothes, so he quickly undid the top button of his shirt and tugged it off over his head, then shed his khaki pants.

  By the time he was out of his clothes, Nicole had stripped down to her pink panties. Now they were sexy.

  He didn’t remove them. Not yet. Instead, he slid his hands along her firm, soft skin. He caressed her breasts, trailing his fingers across their tips and watching them tighten in response. He traced the curve of her waist and the swell of that enticing backside. Just as he’d thought, it was as firm and silky smooth as the rest of her. Then he hooked his fingers around the bikini panties and pulled them off and tossed them aside. He dipped into her, sliding, touching, coaxing her body into response.

  “There are condoms in that drawer,” Nicole whispered raggedly.

  The box of condoms was sealed, and he couldn’t help wondering how long she’d had it as he tore the cardboard top and retrieved one. He fumbled like a teenager, but finally got it on. In the midst of it, as his cheeks warmed in embarrassment and he thought about stopping while he still had one rational brain cell in his head, Nicole wrapped her hand around him, and that one last coherent thought scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind.

  He kissed her again, and retraced the path of his fingers with his tongue. He kissed the petal-smooth skin of her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Then he traced the little tunnel between her breasts. He cupped them again, lavishing more attention on their tips. Once they stood erect, he tasted each one in turn, then grazed them with his teeth. To his delight, she arched her back and moaned with pleasure.

  Her skin tasted fresh and sweet, like a crisp, cool melon. His mouth watered as he traced the indentation below her breastbone and slid his hand down to palm her flat belly.

  She sat up and pulled him back to kiss his mouth again, while her hand cupped him and caressed him until his erection pulsed against her palm. Then she guided him. He groaned with the effort of controlling himself as he slid into her.

  Nicole was riding a wave of hot delicious pleasure like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her few experiences had let her know she enjoyed sex, but this, with Ryker, was something far beyond mere enjoyment.

  Her entire body vibrated with almost unbearable desire, building from her sexual core like a volcano about to erupt. And when he sank deeply into her, filling her, the shock of her instantaneous climax caused her to cry out.

  He immediately stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, his forehead pressed against hers. His erection throbbed inside her, as her own body pulsed in tiny aftershocks.

  “Yes,” she breathed, and arched upward to take him in more fully. “D
on’t stop.”

  With a low growl, he began thrusting rhythmically, stirring her already satiated desire to new life. Each thrust took them higher and higher still, until he rose up on his arms and drove her to a new, dizzying pinnacle.

  Both of them cried out as they came together. Then Ryker kissed her gently on the lips, floated a fleeting kiss to each eyelid, then pressed his face into the sweet spot between her shoulder and neck. His harsh breaths slowly returned to normal.

  Nicole felt as if she had melted into the mattress. Her limbs might as well have been boneless, and her body still trembled in an occasional tiny contraction.

  But the most amazing thing was that she felt as if she could drift off to sleep. Ryker lay beside her and pulled her into the crook of his arm. He kissed her temple and murmured, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Better than okay.”

  “Good.” Then, within a few seconds, his breathing slowed and evened out.

  “Are you?” she whispered, but he didn’t answer. Did he feel as safe and comfortable as she did? Or was he one of those self-absorbed guys who fell asleep as soon as they were done?

  No, he wasn’t one of those guys. He’d been too attentive, too considerate. And he’d definitely thought of her pleasure. Her very, very nice pleasure. Her…pleasurable…pleasure…

  Drowsily, she realized her thoughts were drifting. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, filling her head with his clean, soapy scent, and her mind with his promise.

  I’m going to make sure that nothing—nothing—happens to you.

  Chapter Three

  Ryker emerged into consciousness, leaving behind a sexy dream involving Nicole Beckham. The subtle scent of melon and an afterthought of coffee tickled his nostrils. He shifted, and realized he was lying on his back, sprawled diagonally across a double bed. His eyes opened to a slit, and he saw that faint light was seeping in from behind a set of pale green curtains.

  Was he still dreaming? He took another breath and his mouth watered at the scent of melon and coffee. Memories of the night before stirred his desire. Nope. This was definitely not a memory. It was reality.

  He frowned and squinted. Surprisingly, he’d slept through the night, something he rarely did—never if there was a woman in bed with him. He tried to lift his arm to check his watch, and found that he couldn’t. His arm was weighted down by Nicole’s shoulder. Her honey-smooth, naked, rounded shoulder.