Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  The man was attractive, assertive, well educated, everything she wanted in a guy. Of course, she’d thought his occupation would be an issue, but if she were honest with herself, she respected him for what he did.

  So why was she dragging her feet?

  Poppy shook her head and turned to her work e-mail account, flipping through notices and announcements. She would not think about texting or calling Damien.

  After their play session and her refusal to leave the club with him, they’d hung out watching scenes. Kyle and Nikki had joined them after the dungeon closed, and they’d gone out for pancakes and coffee. She’d thought Damien wouldn’t get on well with her friends, but he’d bantered with Kyle about sports and talked politics with Nikki. Poppy was sure he’d won them over.

  The desk phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. Poppy frowned. She didn’t get many calls.

  “Library, Poppy speaking,” she said into the receiver.

  “Hello, sweetness.”

  The sinfully dark notes of his voice curled around her and she shivered. Even her pussy reacted, clenching, wanting. With two simple words her damn panties were damp, and she was catapulted back to her first vision of him, tall, dark, and handsome, and the way he touched her, how they fit together. Her heart yearned for that while her mind continued to put on the brakes.

  “How did you get this number?” Poppy almost expected him to appear for a quick punishment. Her ass stung in memory of just how strong his hands were.

  “It’s a public school. I called the office and asked to be transferred to the library,” he said. She couldn’t discern his mood from his tone, which was completely conversational, but she kept waiting for a verbal snap.

  Poppy licked her lips. So reasonable.

  “You didn’t call me yesterday.” His voice dipped, displeasure dripping from each word.

  No, she hadn’t.

  Poppy glanced around the library. She seemed to be alone, but didn’t want to run the chance of being overheard by young ears.

  “Sorry, I was busy,” she replied.

  “Washing your hair?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did wash my hair.”

  “Poppy, we agreed that you would call me yesterday to check in and tell me how you’re doing.” His stern tone silenced her inner turmoil. “You were angry with me in part because I didn’t follow through with what we negotiated. Is it fair for you to do that to me?”

  She cringed. There wasn’t even a good excuse. Her thoughts had circled around him for a full day, and she’d started and stopped dialing his number, composed twenty text messages, only to delete them.

  “No. No, it’s not,” she finally admitted. She wasn’t proud of herself.

  “Why didn’t you call me? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable? Upset you?”

  “No.” She swung back and forth in her desk chair, badly wanting to get up and pace.

  “Then why didn’t you check in?” The frustration coming across the line was almost palpable and she flinched.

  What could she say?

  The truth was all she had.

  “Because to be honest? I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t understand your intentions or goals, and I find it hard to trust myself around you.” She spoke in a rush, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

  There was a moment of silence. She bit her lip, unsure of what to pray for.

  “I thought I was clear. I want you.”

  Poppy shivered again and her pussy clenched. It had been a long time since a man had said those words to her. He scrambled her thoughts to the point that it was hard to think. She shook her head and tried to quiet the pounding of her heart with a deep breath.

  The door to the library banged open and a line of students entered, calling to each other as the teacher herded them toward the study desks.

  Great.

  “I can’t talk about this here,” she whispered.

  “Then you should have called me yesterday when we could have had this conversation in private.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. There’s a class here. I have to go.”

  “Poppy, I’m going to call back until we’ve talked this through. I know the library extension now.”

  “You can’t call here.”

  “It’s the only phone number I have for you.”

  Of course it was. She’d suggested he give her his number before he could ask for hers. It was a small way of controlling the situation that felt so out of her hands.

  “Fine.” Poppy rattled off her phone number.

  “Don’t hang up yet, sweetness.”

  She wanted to slam the phone down, get far away from it, except his order stilled her muscles.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “Okay,” she said, desperate to get off the phone.

  “Thursday?”

  “Fine.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll call you later, sweetness.”

  Neil scratched his arm, yet the sensation of something crawling under his skin didn’t go away. Someone had told him this might happen, but he’d ignored them. Who had that been?

  The sensation of being watched kicked his pulse up. He glanced over his shoulder, peering into the shadows cloaking the recesses of the morgue. He’d worked for the city for close to three years, and this place still gave him the creeps. All the stiffs lined up, body parts everywhere. Neil kept waiting for one to sit up and start gnawing on one of the pompous doctors.

  Assholes. Thought they were better than everyone else.

  He pushed his sleeve up and raked his nails over his arm.

  How long since his last fix?

  Cunt wife had taken his paycheck before he could cash it. She was getting wise to him. But if this gig turned out well, he’d be set for a while. A shiver rushed down his spine in anticipation of the euphoria.

  One of the swinging doors creaked.

  Neil jumped, snapping his head around, relief flooding his system.

  He was here.

  “You made it. Didn’t know if you’d get in,” Neil said in a rush as he approached his new dealer. At least he hoped this guy would stick around. The last few dealers had moved on, making it harder to find his stuff.

  “Wasn’t a problem.” The dealer hadn’t given Neil his name, and so he’d become Dealer in his head. For a drug dealer, he was surprisingly clean-cut, with a nice button-down shirt and slacks, and even a pair of loafers, like one of the fancy dealers on TV.

  Which pocket did he keep the stuff in? God, he needed a fix, and soon. He’d sell a kidney at this point if he thought it would get him the good stuff.

  “Where is she?” he asked, his tone sharp and cold, a lot like the morgue.

  “Sure. Yeah. Right this way, man. She’s been here for a while. You sure you want to see this one?”

  Dealer’s hard stare said more than words could.

  Neil turned and scurried toward the back lockers with Dealer following. Neil’s job included body retrieval and transportation for the city. A few weeks back, he’d had to get up at the ass crack of dawn to go collect a whole truckload of bodies. It was a fucked-up mess, complete with a crew of government and federal types that made his belly churn. One of the agents had stopped him, concerned that he wasn’t handling the situation properly.

  Ridiculous.

  He’d seen bodies in pieces, hacked up and beaten down. A few bullet holes didn’t bother him none.

  “She’s in pretty bad shape, man.” Neil opened the last locker and shivered at the cold gust of air.

  Lights flickered on, illuminating stainless-steel rolling tables. Each had a black body bag zipped up and lying on top. This entire unit was for the fed’s case that was still open. Every couple of days someone else was in and out of there poking and prodding at the bodies, like it was some sort of grotesque titty show.

  The body Dealer had requested to see was on the very last row of tables in the corner. She’d been a pretty thing in life, but death didn’t care who the fuck you were.
r />   Neil glanced over his shoulder at Dealer, curiosity gnawing at him.

  Why this body?

  “Open it,” Dealer barked, gaze narrowed.

  “Yeah, sure thing.”

  What did it matter to Neil what the fuck this guy wanted with it? He could jack off on her face, he didn’t care, so long as he got the goods.

  Neil dug a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and used them to grip the zipper, pulling it down slowly so he wouldn’t catch anything in the teeth. He’d zipped some chick’s tit once, and it had been disgusting, the way the decaying flesh oozed. Neil managed to get the bag unzipped without incident, then folded it back to display the woman inside.

  Dealer shoved Neil aside and leaned over the body, peering at her face. He didn’t say anything, just stared.

  The three shots to her chest would have hit some of the major organs, so she’d probably died quickly. But then again, maybe Dealer had wanted her to suffer?

  Neil couldn’t tell by watching him.

  The backs of his hands felt as if insects were crawling over his knuckles, but when he glanced at them, nothing was there.

  “Say, man, did you bring the stuff?” Neil asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.

  Dealer straightened, casting him a cool glance over his shoulder. “In the car.”

  Well, fuck.

  “Oh, okay. How much longer do you think we’ll be? Did you want—some alone time with her?” Neil glanced from the body to Dealer.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Show me out.” There was no change at all in Dealer’s manner of speaking. It was as if he’d asked to see where the john was. What had the—

  No, Neil didn’t care. He just wanted his meth so the damned bugs would go away.

  “Sure, sure.” Neil started for the door.

  “Are you forgetting something?” Dealer hadn’t moved from his place next to the body.

  “Huh?” Neil blinked over his shoulder. What the fuck now?

  Dealer tipped his head toward the open body bag.

  “Oh, right.” Neil scurried back and zipped the bag again. He stripped the gloves off, folding them one over the other and jerked his head toward the door. “Good now.”

  Dealer followed him soundlessly back through the locker and into the receiving room of the dead. The autopsy rooms were the few places he didn’t go.

  “Let’s go out the back through the dock.” Neil dropped the gloves into a trash can and continued through a large metal door that required security clearance.

  “What about cameras?” Dealer asked.

  Neil chuckled. “Don’t worry.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, Cliff wanted a break to go see this chick he’s screwing behind his wife’s back, so I told him I’d watch the tapes. I just paused the recording, so we’re good. No one will know you were here.”

  “Tape?”

  “Yeah, we’re on a strict budget. Who’d want to mess with the dead, anyways?”

  Neil entered the loading dock, swathed in predawn darkness. This was a good gig. If only he could get his wife off his back, maybe find a sweet little piece like Cliff had on the side. Dealer would take care of his supply issue, and all would be well.

  An arm wrapped around his neck, jerking him back and cutting off his air supply.

  “Her name was Valentina,” Dealer growled.

  “Okay, whatever you say,” Neil croaked out.

  A sharp pain sliced through his back and he yelled.

  “No yelling,” Dealer chided him.

  Something pressed against Neil’s neck.

  “Look, I won’t tell anyone—”

  Neil never had the opportunity to finish the sentence. His lifeless body dropped to the concrete, blood gushing from a jagged, six-inch slice across his neck.

  Emilio stepped back, away from the pooling blood, before it could get on his shoes. He lit a cigarette and puffed.

  “Her name was Valentina, and she was mine.”

  Morgues never sat well with Damien. Maybe it was the presence of so many empty husks, or the imagined voices of innocents calling out from beyond the grave. Whatever the reason, he did not want to be here.

  His personal phone beeped and he slid it out enough to see that it was a text from Poppy. He smiled despite the gruesome setting. He’d read it later, but it set his mind at ease that she was keeping those lines of communication with him open.

  “Remind me again why you called me?” he asked the detective.

  “You said to tell you if anything weird happened. This is weird.” The detective led him into a human meat locker, where bodies were lined up on metal beds.

  Damien could feel the unease in his spirit. His grandfather had been a Maori tribesman, and much of his grandfather’s spirituality had transferred to Damien. While he didn’t hold with the tribal belief system, there was something to be said for the weight of a spirit. And sometimes, Damien felt as though they were watching.

  Damien paused in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” Matías Govea, the undercover agent who had been with Valdez at the time of his arrest, stood staring at a body, hand stroking his chin.

  Matías glanced up and his brow furrowed, as if confused to see Damien. He shook his head and extended his hand. “We never got the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Matías.”

  “Damien Moana. Shouldn’t you be back in Texas?”

  “Thought I’d enjoy the scenery a little,” he replied.

  The undercover agent appeared to be a whole other person. If Damien hadn’t seen his federal identification papers before the bust, he might not recognize the man in front of him.

  Matías had allowed his hair to grow out, but it was now clipped short. His face was clean-shaven instead of covered with permanent stubble. The clothes were no longer thug-like or oversized. He wore jeans and a polo shirt, with a badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

  The detective glanced between them. “I called him,” he said, hitching a thumb at Damien. “I didn’t call you. You are?”

  “I’m Special Agent Matías Govea, and I believe Moana and I are after the same thing. I just got here after hearing about this at the station. Please, continue.” Matías crossed his arms, gaze dropping to the body not yet in a bag.

  “All right then. This here is Neil. He was one of the morgue’s pickup and delivery men.” The detective pulled a sheet back, revealing a middle-aged Caucasian male with telltale skin lesions. “He was found this morning with his throat slashed and almost fifty puncture wounds to the chest cavity and abdomen.”

  Both Matías and Damien stepped closer, leaning over the body.

  “See these?” Matías pointed to scabs along the man’s neck.

  “Meth addict. Picking the bugs under his skin,” Damien muttered.

  Finding just one dead drug addict wouldn’t be enough for the detective or Matías to think this homicide was worth notice. He glanced up at the detective.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “The surveillance system here is ancient. They run on VHS tape.”

  Matías whistled. “Not good, homie.” He winced. “Sorry.”

  “No problem, man,” Damien replied.

  For undercovers, sometimes the hardest part was leaving a case. Matías had been in deep cover, living and breathing the same lifestyle that his marks had. It was bound to leave an imprint on him. Slang could be unlearned, in time, but it was the man’s soul Damien was more concerned about.

  “The tapes were paused. The building’s security guy said he went around the corner for a drink and left old Neil watching over his desk. Came back and found Neil dead, no trace except for some bloody footprints leading out of the docks.”

  “Anything missing? Any of the bodies disturbed?” Damien asked.

  “It’s Emilio,” Matías said, gaze on the slashed throat of the victim. “That’s Emilio’s style. Why was he here?”

  “Because this is where the bodies of his crew and wife are,” the detective said.
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br />   “Valentina,” Matías said. “Where is she?”

  “Back, left-hand corner,” the detective replied.

  The DEA officers converged on the body.

  Matías mumbled, “We never told the media she died.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Poppy pushed open the glass doors and stepped into her haven. The three-story bookstore on the edge of Millennium Park in downtown Chicago was beautiful. New enough that it felt like a treat to come here, and familiar enough that she wanted to spend hours curled up in a corner. She inhaled the scent of books, and the spicy aroma of tea and coffee from the café, and her nerves settled a little. She glanced around, clutching her purse, as her heart continued to pound.

  Okay, not so settled after all.

  But then, how could she be?

  She was meeting Damien for a date. A real date.

  Poppy checked her phone, but he still hadn’t replied to her text that she was almost to the bookstore. Would it seem overeager to text him again?

  She meandered into the bookstore, glancing at a sign that pointed toward the different fiction genres. While she knew the shelves of the stores on the north end of town, she’d only been to the downtown store a handful of times. She ambled toward the Young Adult section, eager to see what new releases had come in. Although she had her own calendar of books she was looking forward to, there was always a new author she might want to try out.

  The Young Adult section was in the front of the store. She strolled down the shelves, running her fingers along the spines. She smiled as she happened upon the books she’d already read or owned.

  “Find anything you like?”

  Poppy whirled around, her skirt brushing the tops of her knees.

  Damien leaned against the shelf behind her, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. One side of his mouth curled up in a sexy half smile.

  “Nothing I don’t already own.” She turned to face him and mirrored his pose, propping an elbow on the opposite shelf, and gazing up at him.