by C. C. Snow
My hands still remember the feel of her firm ass cheeks as she rolled her hips against my erection. She made me so goddamn hard, I was afraid I would come in my tuxedo pants. Had we not been interrupted, I would not have been able to stop. I would have dragged her to my apartment and taken everything she had to offer. And demanded more.
Hell, maybe I would have risked public indecency and taken her in the backseat of my car like a horny teenager.
The text from Cael had been a splash of arctic water on my libido. Guilt and regret had crashed over me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I was such a fucking asshole for putting the moves on her. Little did Cael know the biggest danger to his sister in big, bad New York, was big, bad me.
It has been one month and five days since I last saw her.
I know I’m fucked in the head when I have been counting the days, but there’s an internal clock that I can’t turn off. Time and distance were supposed to cure me of my addiction to her, but I don’t know how much longer I can last. I’m ready to say screw it and—
Whack!
“Ow!” I raise my hand and rub the back of my head, glaring at my partner. At least he’s diverting me from my circular thoughts. “Fucker! You know that shit can cause brain damage.”
Letting out a loud snort, Marc leans against my desk and crosses his arms over his chest. “Too late. Irreparable damage at birth.”
I give him the finger as I swivel around to face him. “What’s up?” I ask, knowing he has a reason to interrupt me.
He grins widely. “I think Sheena Lewis is ready to talk to us.”
“Yeah?” I stand up, excitement drumming through my body at the possible breakthrough. For months, we have been frustrated in our efforts to find a credible witness to the murder of sixteen-year-old Leanne Martin. God, she was too damn young.
The slim blonde had only been on the streets for a month before she caught the eye of Diego Carmona. The bloodthirsty, sociopathic gang leader is known to enjoy inflicting pain on his sexual partners, but Leanne had decided it was easier to cater to his deviant needs than to sell her body to different men every night.
A week later, she was found in a dark alley. Naked. Brutalized. Dead.
Even the most hardened among us had almost thrown up at the sight of the victim’s mutilated body.
Carmona is one of the most cruelly violent men I’ve ever encountered in my years of law enforcement. In the past, other murder victims have been linked to him, but the bastard is a master at evading justice. This is the closest we have come to pinning something on him, but the evidence is circumstantial. The only reason he’s in jail is because his knife was found next to the body. The bastard claims he gave it to Leanne to defend herself, but we suspect someone interrupted him that night. Our best bet for putting the sick fuck away is to find the person who came on the scene.
We believe Sheena Lewis is the only witness to the crime and we need her testimony badly.
“Yeah,” Marc nods, the same avid gleam in his eyes. “Said over the phone that she didn’t see anything, but I could hear something in her voice.”
“Hot damn,” I say softly. “When is she willing to meet?”
Nodding toward the old-fashioned clock on the wall, Marc replies, “In an hour. She wants us to meet at a friend’s place. Said she didn’t feel comfortable having cops at her apartment.”
Calculating the travel time to the address, I stand up and grab my jacket. “Then let’s get going.”
“I’ll drive.”
Two hours later we walk out of a nondescript house in Queens, feeling optimistic about the case for the first time. Sheena had been rattled and gave away very little during the hour-long interview, but I could sense her weakening when I showed her the photos of Leanne’s body.
“I don’t know how the fuck you do it. The Witness Whisperer strikes again,” Marc says with a hint of admiration in his voice.
“That’s asinine,” I say, amused and annoyed by the moniker. Amused because the skills I use to cajole criminals and witnesses to talk are the same ones I use when I socialize with my father’s cronies. That little tidbit would irritate my father no end. Annoyed because Marc has no idea how much I hate this side of myself—the manipulative, calculating bastard who would do anything to get what he wants.
“Well, I don’t know how you do it, but you get them to talk.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Especially the ladies.”
“It’s called training.”
“Who knew talking skanks out of their pants would help with your job,” he says in a mock wondering tone and I swipe my leg out, nearly knocking his feet from under him.
“What the fuck!” Marc sputters as he stumbles to prevent his ass from hitting the ground.
“Don’t disparage women. Didn’t your Nona teach you any better?”
Shame darkens his face at my reprimand and I hide my smirk at his mumbled apology. So damn predictable. Mention any of the women in his life and all his bravado deflates.
“Do you think she’ll be willing to testify?”
Remembering the pain in Sheena’s eyes as she talked about Leanne, I nod slowly. I think Sheena sees a younger version of herself in Leanne. “Not yet, but I think she’ll do the right thing in the end.”
“Thank fuck because this case has been dragging forever. I want the motherfucker to go away for three lifetimes.”
“Me too.” I want Carmona to rot in jail for the rest of his life. Then he can go to the depths of hell.
“It’s pretty late. Let’s not go back to the office.” Marc’s shoulders droop wearily as we climb into the car and I’m surprised to see that it’s already seven p.m.
“Okay, just drop me off so I can pick up my car.”
“Oh, hell no! You’re going to end up going into the office to file this report and never leave. I’ll find your husk of a body on Monday morning and then they’ll saddle me with some asshole who doesn’t know the barrel of his gun from his own sphincter.”
“When did you become a fucking drama queen?” I can’t help but chuckle at his graphic description.
“Nuh-uh. You’ve been working insane hours. No, you’re coming over to have dinner at my place. Then I’ll drop your ass off at home or you can take the car.”
“I can’t just show up and ask Laurel to feed me.”
“While we were on the way to the interview, I already let her know we were working late. She was the one who invited you. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t come within five feet of my wife, but if she wants you there, I’m willing to stomach you.” The look of concern he shoots me belies his complaint.
Loath to intrude on his time with his wife, I start to decline, but then I imagine walking into my big, empty apartment and I say, “Okay. Thanks. I’ll take any opportunity to see Laurel’s beautiful face.”
Whack!
“Ow!” Laughing, I rub at the back of my head. “Stop hitting me or I’ll tell Laurel to kiss it and make it better.”
“Fucking horn dog,” he mutters and starts the car.
“How did you convince someone as gentle as Laurel to go out with you in the first place?” The question starts out as teasing, but a serious note creeps in toward the end. The couple’s devotion has always fascinated me, especially considering the difference in their personalities and backgrounds. As the only daughter of a wealthy hedge-fund manager, Laurel attended the finest schools, socialized with the upper echelons of New York society, and exuded elegance from every pore. Marc is a rough-faced, rough-mannered ex-hooligan with zero finesse and few social graces. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of Cael.
“My charm, of course. Swept her off her feet with my first words.”
I snort and say, “Let me guess.” Lowering my voice, I grunt like a caveman and point at my chest. “Me dumbass. You pretty.”
His lips twitch and he says mildly, “You’re a dick.”
“No, seriously, tell me how you and Laurel got together.”
He slants me a look. “You really w
ant to know?”
“Yeah.” I pause and look out the window. “Laurel and you are…solid. An unbreakable unit. Did you know from the very start?”
“Fuck no! Are you fucking kidding me? I took one look at her and I said to myself: ‘This woman is too good for me.’”
I jerk around to stare at him, his words striking a chord. “You didn’t turn tail and run the other way?”
“Hell yeah, I did. I mean not literally because it was my friend’s bachelor party after all, but I saw her perfect hair, perfect manners, perfect everything, and knew she was way out of my league.” Waving his hand up and down his body, he says drily, “I know. Hard to imagine when I’ve been so blessed.”
“Arrogant fuck,” I mutter with smirk.
“But it was no use. I kept staring at her all night. I finally grew a pair, walked up to her and offered to buy her a drink. What was the worst that could happen? I think my jaw dropped to the floor when she agreed. At the end of the night, she gave me her number. I thought she gave me fake digits to be polite, but when I called, she answered. She said yes to a date. And she kept saying yes,” he says wonderingly, as if he still finds it hard to believe. “Each time we went out, I was sure she would realize I couldn’t tell a salad fork from a soup ladle and dump my ass. I avoided talking about my past and tried to be on my best behavior. And after each date, I patted myself on the back for fooling her one more time.” He laughs self-deprecatingly.
I have never heard Marc sound so vulnerable. “How did you make it work if you felt like you had to hide a part of yourself?”
He scoffs and glances at me. “Have you ever tried to hide something from a woman?”
“No,” I say honestly, not divulging that I’ve never had a relationship where the woman and I wanted to share anything besides our bodies.
Except with one redheaded sprite. Just thinking about Maggie has every muscle in my body tightening. God, I miss her.
“Well, let me tell you that shit is impossible. I don’t know how she did it, but we met in July and by Thanksgiving, she and my mom and sisters were like this.” He holds up his entwined forefinger and middle finger. “And you know my sisters…can’t keep their big mouths shut worth shit so I thought the jig was up for sure, but Laurel just laughed at their stories.” He shakes his head slowly. “To this day, it still feels like a fucking dream, you know what I mean? I wake up each day, expecting that today is the day she’ll come to her senses and realize what an asshole I am.”
“Don’t the doubts drive you crazy?”
“Sure, but what’s the alternative? Not being with her? Fuck that!” The look he gives me is too shrewd and knowing by far. “I think I finally figured out why you’ve been working like a fiend. It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
I remain silent, not sure how to answer.
“You don’t need to say anything, Rowan. I can tell from that lost-puppy look on your face.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t look like a puppy.” I fight the urge to pull down the visor to check my reflection.
“Deny it all you want. I know the look.”
“You don’t know jack shit.”
“Who’s the girl?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Aha! I knew it was someone.” He sends me a gotcha look. “What’s holding you back?”
I pause. The words shaping slowly on my lips, I ask, “Have you ever thought that maybe Laurel would have been better off…”
“With someone else? Maybe some asshat with an MBA and a seven-figure salary?”
Exhaling, I nod. “Yeah. Not that I don’t think you guys are great together, but…” I shrug, unable to finish the thought.
His lips flatten and his eyes narrow. “Sure, I’ve thought about it and then I fantasize about how I’d bury him so deep, they’d have to dig to Australia to find him. I know there are a million guys who would line up to be with Laurel if I weren’t in the picture and ninety-nine percent of them would fit into her world. They’d be able to talk to her mom about the opera and to her dad about the latest merger, but it’s too damn bad because I’m not going anywhere,” he says, looking like a bulldog.
Pulling into a parking space in his garage, he turns off the engine and looks at me. “You have two choices. One: go after this girl. Or two: don’t. If you don’t, ask yourself how you would feel if you bumped into her with her new boyfriend or her husband?”
At the thought of seeing Maggie with Cory Michaels—kissing him, touching him—rage sweeps through me, hot and violent.
Eyes locked on my face, Marc smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He cocks his head consideringly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you so unsure about a chick.”
“She’s a good person.” I make an impatient sound, annoyed at how stupid my comment sounds. Marc and I are good partners, but we’ve never delved into our personal lives and it feels as uncomfortable as fuck.
“And you think she’s going to see through your shit and realize what an asshole you are.”
Wordlessly, I nod.
“I get it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you what a good person—what a good cop—you are because I get it. I hate to say it, but that feeling never goes away. Some days I sit there wondering how such a smart woman like Laurel could be so blind, but the only thing I can do is to try to be good enough for her.”
“And if I can never be?”
“Then you try again the next day,” he says matter-of-factly. “Or you stop trying and you lose her.”
***
After dinner with Marc and his wife, I take a cab back to my apartment, not wanting him to make another trip. As soon as I walk through the door, I grimace at how cold and silent it feels compared to the hominess of my partner’s place. Normally I would turn on the TV and let the talking heads provide background noise, but I can’t get the conversation with Marc out of my mind.
“Fuck it,” I mutter and take out my phone.
Don’t do it, Rowan. Cael’s going to disembowel you.
The thought doesn’t even give me pause because my primal instinct is now in the driver’s seat and it has a lead foot on the accelerator, speeding at two hundred miles-per-hour around deadly curves. I pace, waiting for the line to connect.
“Hello?”
At the sound of her lilting voice, my chest tightens and I have to take a few hard breaths.
“Sean? Are you there?”
Realizing I haven’t said anything, I blurt, “Hi, Freckles. How are you?” I cringe at the inane question.
There’s a slight hesitation before she answers stiltedly, “I’m well. How are you?”
“Good.” Shit, it’s like my tongue is disconnected from my brain. I pinch the spot between my brows and blow out a sigh. “So everything’s going well with you?” Another cringe.
“Sure.”
Awkward silence.
Man up, Rowan.
“There’s a book signing by David Baldacci next Wednesday night. Do you want to go?” I rush to ask.
A sharp intake of breath and then a slow exhale. “No, it’s not a good week. Besides I think Cory has tickets to a play that day.”
“Cory Michaels?” I spit out. “Are you dating him?” My gut twists into a pretzel.
She doesn’t answer my question. “Sean, I’ve got to go.”
I grip my phone harder. “Are you dating him?” I thought I was doing the noble thing by staying away from her, but now that she’s moved on, I can’t stand the thought of her in frat boy’s arms.
“Sean, can you give me a reason why it’s any of your business?” she asks gently.
Words refuse to form on my tongue and Maggie makes a small sound in the back of her throat. “I didn’t think so.”
“I miss hanging out with you, Mags.”
There’s a long stretch of silence and then, “Bye, Sean.”
At the sound of the dial tone, I let out a growl of frustration.
Chapter Twelve
Maggie
I miss hanging out with you, Mags.
Sean’s soft words wreak havoc, churning up emotions I thought I had locked away after last month’s debacle. I press two fingers against my temple to try to massage my headache away.
Restlessness prickling under my skin, I stand up to stretch, trying to work out some of the tension, but after a few minutes, I realize I need to get out of my tiny room. The walls are closing in on me and I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. Glancing at the clock, I decide to take a brisk walk to clear my head.
Quickly, I pull on black leggings, a long tee and a fleece zip-up. The temperature has taken a sharp dive in the last week.
As I exit the elevator, I draw to a stop. Josh is standing several feet away from the doorway and a chill runs down my spine as his black eyes follow me. As always, I feel a combination of pity and fear whenever I encounter him. In the whole semester, he hasn’t made a single friend and I feel bad for him, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t overcome my uneasiness and hang out with him.
“Hi, Maggie.”
“Hi, Josh.” My pulse grows more erratic as I get closer to him. My acute sense of smell picks up the fruity scent of the gum he’s always chewing.
“Have you seen Hannah?”
I frown, worried about his obsession with my floormate. “No, not tonight.” And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.
“I like her.” His words are childlike, but the undertone is not.
“Um…” I can’t even come up with a response to the inappropriate statement. Heart pounding, I grasp the door and open it. “Have a good night.”
As soon as the door opens, I inhale wintry air into my lungs and my system jolts awake. The area around the front entrance is well lit, but beyond that, night has fallen. The city lights shine defiantly, turning what would be inky blackness into misty grey. I step into the shadows, loving how they embrace me.
I stride quickly out of the front gates and as soon as I am out of Josh’s sight, I send Hannah a text to warn her about him. She replies that she’ll have someone walk her back to the dorm from the library and I sigh in relief. As a self-proclaimed tough girl, Hannah doesn’t always take the most prudent path.