“Oh, God,” she said, clinging to the edge.
She wanted more thrusting, just like that, but he set a slower pace. Framing her face with one hand, he rubbed his thumb over her parted lips. Tasting sugar, she sucked on the pad, watching his eyes go dark. It was almost too much to bear, having him in her mouth that way, his thumb mimicking the slide of his cock.
She was so close.
Dragging his thumb from her mouth, he placed it over her clitoris, stroking her in languid circles. She felt a rush of moisture and every inch of his thick length pulsing inside her. Sagging against him, she cried out, unraveling in delicious spools.
“You are so fucking hot,” he growled, lifting her off the counter. He spun around, propping her back against the refrigerator. The position allowed him to thrust harder, and he did, slamming into her again and again.
Refrigerator magnets and papers were dislodged. A cereal box fell to the floor.
Amazingly, she kept peaking. Her inner muscles clenched around him once more, and this time he came with her. With a strangled groan, he buried himself deep, his body shuddering as he found his own release.
When it was over, she glanced around guiltily. They were in her kitchen. Sugar littered the countertop. She was naked, her skirt shoved up to her waist. He was holding her up against the fridge, his pants around his ankles.
One of Jenny’s drawings had been trampled. “Put your feet on the floor,” he murmured, letting her down.
She stood on tiptoe, watching while he wrapped his hand around the base of the condom and withdrew from her. Her oversensitized flesh whimpered in protest. She felt like she’d been … rode hard.
While he went to dispose of the condom, April tugged her skirt down her thighs and searched for her top on the floor. Shaking the sugar from the fabric, she put it on, not bothering with panties or a bra.
He came out of the bathroom a moment later, shirtless. Beautiful.
Swallowing drily, she sat down at the table. As soon as the sex high wore off, she’d be embarrassed. For now she admired the view.
He put his shirt back on, ruining it. “I have to go.”
She drew in a sharp breath. His words were like a splash of cold water, reminding her of their argument. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
He shrugged, as if the slap hadn’t bothered him.
She stared at the surface of the table. “It won’t happen again.”
“No. It won’t.”
Because he wasn’t coming back.
April’s stomach dropped. Too late, she realized her mistake. She’d thought all she wanted was sex. She was wrong.
She needed to be held.
More ashamed of this feeling than she was of her brazen behavior or her violent reaction to their fight, she crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her shaking hands.
“I shouldn’t have come over,” he said finally, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I can’t be near you without wanting to touch you.”
Her heart clenched at his words. She bit down on her lower lip, fighting tears.
“God damn it, April! I won’t apologize for giving you what you asked for.”
“Just go,” she cried out, gesturing toward the door.
Appearing as unhappy as she was, as if the brief encounter hadn’t been enough for him, either, he nodded curtly and walked out on her.
18
Arranging a midweek visit with Raul was difficult but not impossible.
Donovan Prison, the maximum-security facility where his brother had spent the past three years, allowed visitors only on the weekends. If Eric had submitted a formal request for an emergency meeting, he probably would have been denied.
Luckily, he knew another route. Like most prisons, Donovan had an underground system of criminal activity, run by opportunistic guards. For a price, one of them had set up an after-hours visit in a room normally reserved for legal counsel.
His brother was happy to see him. After the guard removed Raul’s cuffs and left them alone together, Raul wrapped Eric up in a bear hug. The embrace made him uncomfortable, but Eric didn’t have the heart to pull away. He was Raul’s only contact with the outside, the only person he felt safe with.
“You didn’t come on Sunday,” Raul said.
“I got tied up.”
As soon as they sat down, Eric passed him some cash under the table. It was their typical routine. Eric supplied his brother with the tithe for Dos Emes and paid the guard to look the other way. Raul, in turn, skimmed a portion of the cash for his drug habit, which had only grown worse in prison. The same guards who could be bribed to ignore handoffs and set up meetings also made a tidy profit from drug sales.
As always, Eric felt conflicted about giving Raul money. Without it, his brother’s position in the prison gang was negligible. The tithe was Raul’s lifeline, but it was also a rope with which he seemed intent on hanging himself. Eric suspected that Raul was keeping a larger percentage every time, digging his own grave.
“What’s up?” Raul asked, his eyes darting around the room. He was probably thinking about his next hit rather than the reason for Eric’s visit. On rare occasions, he asked how Jenny was doing. Most days he didn’t seem to care about the outside world. He hadn’t even remembered to send a card on her last birthday.
Every year that he was locked up, he became less … human.
Eric studied Raul from across the table, wondering if he was looking at a future version of himself. They had the same dark coloring, the same basic height. Despite his drug use, his brother was in good shape physically. The short sleeves of his chambray work shirt showed muscles that bulged from lifting weights. He sported a thick mustache and goatee, though his head was shaved clean.
Eric used to think the sun rose and set with Raul. His brother had been his unofficial guardian, his vigilante knight. The only life Eric had known before Raul took him in was one of constant turmoil. His father had abused his mother—and she’d loved him anyway. When his dad died in a prison brawl, she’d gone back to Mexico, shattered.
At ten years old, Eric had decided he didn’t need parents. He stayed in Chula Vista with Raul. His brother never told him what to do. He treated Eric like an adult. A crew member. It wasn’t until Raul descended into drug addiction and became violent with April that Eric began to question his brother’s character.
Now, when he looked at Raul, he saw their father.
“Junior’s sister was murdered,” Eric said.
“I heard about that.”
“He wants to find the killer.”
“How?”
Eric moistened his lips. This was tricky. If Raul suspected him of working with the police, he would get very angry. “She was strangled, I guess. He thinks it might be … that guy. He asked me to talk to you about it.”
Raul gave him a blank look. “What guy?”
He switched to Spanish. “The one in the mask. He paid you for the girl. That night in the abandoned house.”
Raul’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Junior told you about that?”
“No. I was there.”
Raul leaned back in his chair, smoothing a hand over his bald head. “Fuck Junior,” he said, dismissing the threat. “Word around here is that he went loco, shooting wild at some chavala’s house. He should be worrying about how he’s going to avoid lockdown, not chasing shadows.”
Eric tried a different tactic. “Tony Castillo’s girl got killed, too. He was there that night. You don’t think it’s suspicious?”
Raul crossed his arms over his chest. “Suspicious,” he repeated, squinting at the ceiling. “Like you coming here on a weekday?”
Eric started to feel nauseous. He knew exactly what Raul was capable of when angered. And the guard he’d paid to wait outside wouldn’t give a damn if they scuffled in here. “Two neighborhood girls are dead. One of them was my friend’s sister. The other worked with April. Why shouldn’t we want to find the guy who did it?”
“And then what?”
“Take care of him.”
Raul smiled, but the expression was cold. “From Junior, I might buy it. He always had more balls than you.”
“Tell me his name.”
He reached out, grabbing Eric by the front of the shirt and dragging him across the table. “He doesn’t have a name,” Raul said, speaking directly in his ear. “He doesn’t even exist. That night never happened, hermanito. If you ever mention it again, you won’t exist.”
Eric wasn’t a little kid hanging on his father’s arm to slow his blows anymore. He wasn’t a skinny teen begging Raul not to hit April. He was a grown man who knew how to defend himself.
Proving it, he drew back his fist, punching his brother in the jaw.
Raul’s head snapped to the side. He seemed stunned, but only for a second. With a low growl he retaliated, slamming his fist into Eric’s mouth. Pain blossomed on impact, vibrating through Eric’s skull, rattling his teeth.
He fell off the end of the table, dazed. Raul didn’t pursue, but he didn’t have to. His point was made. He was stronger, more powerful.
Ruthless—even with his own brother.
Eric rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t believe I used to look up to you.”
“Fuck you, dedo. You think I don’t know why you’re really here?”
“To bring you drug money?”
“You’re talking to the cops.”
“Not yet. I might have to, if you don’t tell me who he is.”
Raul didn’t fall for it. “Get the fuck out of here,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’ll see you in the joint, puto. A pretty boy like you will attract a lot of attention, but I won’t have your back. Nobody protects snitches.”
He nodded slowly, smoothing his rumpled shirt. At that moment, any love he had for his brother died. There was nothing left inside him but resentment. On his way out, he said, “Find someone else to support your habit, you fucking junkie.”
Raul threw his chair at the door.
Eric felt the walls closing in on him as he was escorted from the facility. He had no avenue of escape. No information to use as a bargaining chip. No friends left on either side. Junior, Tony C, and Raul used to be in his circle of trust. Talking to the police would fuck them all over. But how could he stay quiet?
He was going to end up in prison, being somebody’s bitch. Sucking cocks, if he was cooperative; getting butt-raped if he wasn’t.
And he couldn’t imagine being cooperative.
“Shit,” he muttered, pacing the parking lot. Junior didn’t know the masked man’s name. Raul wouldn’t tell him. There was one other person who’d been there that night—Tony Castillo. Maybe Tony had some information about the masked man or his young victim.
If the recent killings were related, Eric had to find out everything he could and pass it on to Officer Young. For Cristina’s sake and his own. For the other girls in the neighborhood, none of whom deserved to be next.
But also for the one he hadn’t helped, so long ago.
Visiting Tony in county jail wouldn’t be a problem. The real trick would be walking back out again, a free man.
“This is crazy,” he said, shaking his head. He had to discuss an unsolved murder with his former trafficking partner, a current inmate.
Without getting caught.
Noah’s conscience was killing him.
He reported for duty on Wednesday afternoon, feeling like a criminal. Patrick’s empty desk mocked him. Although Noah was often at odds with his partner when he was around, he found himself missing his companionship now that he’d gone.
He could use a friend right now.
Sighing, he logged on to his computer, doing a detailed search of cold-case murders from the previous decade. There were several that appeared to be gang-related, and one case stood out from the rest. Eight years ago, an unidentified young woman had been found by a construction crew, her body buried in an empty lot. Decomposition made the cause of death difficult to determine, but a plastic bag covered her face.
She also had a brown bandanna tied around her neck.
Eric Hernandez might have information about this particular case, but Noah doubted it. He probably knew a few minor details about a shooting or beating death.
Or he was yanking Noah’s chain.
At this point, he wasn’t sure he should pursue any investigation that concerned Eric. Meghan was involved. April was involved. He was involved. Last night, his behavior had been so inappropriate, it was insane.
He bolted away from his desk, heading straight to Santiago’s office. When he knocked on the open door, the detective took off his glasses and massaged his eye sockets, motioning for Noah to come inside.
“Can I speak with you for a moment, sir?”
Santiago smothered a yawn. “Of course.”
Noah sat in the chair across from his desk. “After our conversation on Monday, it occurred to me that I have something to disclose.”
He tilted his head to one side, listening.
“The first night of the investigation, Patrick and I interviewed the staff at Club Suave. One of the waitresses, April Ortiz, gave me a tip. It led to Tony Castillo’s arrest.”
Santiago already knew this. “And?”
Feeling his neck grow warm, Noah tugged at his uniformed collar. “I ran into her again, off duty. We’ve been … seeing each other.”
“Romantically?”
“Yes.”
Santiago smiled. “Congratulations.”
Noah cleared his throat. “She has gang connections, sir. Some documented members are related to her. I thought it might be a problem.”
Santiago leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest. “I met my wife on patrol.”
That threw Noah for a loop. “Really?”
Santiago rifled through his top drawer, finding a framed photo. “I pulled her over on a speeding charge. She took the ticket and asked for my phone number. I was very flattered.” He handed the picture to Noah. “That sort of thing might happen to you all the time, Officer Young, but homely guys like me don’t get hit on.”
He accepted the photo, intrigued. A less weathered Santiago stood at the altar with his young bride. It was a serious moment. A committed moment. “She’s very pretty.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hang on to her.”
Noah murmured his condolences. He hadn’t known Santiago was divorced.
“She got tired of me working so many long hours and left. I promised to be more attentive, but I never followed through.” He put away the photo, his face drawn. “This job is hard on families.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“This girl from the club is someone special, isn’t she? Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me.”
Noah hesitated. If she was special, why had he treated her so casually? If she wasn’t, why hadn’t he been able to stay away? “I came to you because it’s a conflict of interest. I wanted to be up front.”
“Let’s keep it between us,” Santiago suggested. “Sergeant Briggs might be less understanding, considering that recent fuckup with Officer Shanley.”
“I’m sorry that happened, sir.”
“You’re applying to the homicide division, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. As soon as I qualify.”
“Shanley spoke to me about your interest. He asked me to pass you over, in fact.”
Noah went still with shock. “Did he say why?”
Santiago leaned forward, his dark eyes searching. “He said you had too much heart. There’s a certain amount of detachment a man needs for this job, Officer Young. Sometimes I feel more dead than alive.”
“I’ll deaden up, sir.”
Santiago laughed. “Are you sure you want to? Do you want to see images of corpses every time you close your eyes? Bring the stench of death home to your family? There comes a point when you feel as though you’re going to taint them with it. So you disengage.”
Noah knew Sa
ntiago was telling the truth. Homicide wasn’t a department for weak stomachs or half efforts. It required an intense commitment. Noah didn’t like the suggestion that he wasn’t tough enough, but he couldn’t dismiss it outright.
Maybe he was too trusting. He would work on that.
Noah wanted a challenging job, and he was ambitious. He’d never wondered how the choice would impact his personal life. Before he met April, having a wife and children had seemed like a vague possibility, years ahead of him. Two weeks ago he hadn’t needed to worry about how his long hours affected Meghan.
Did he want to be the kind of man who put his career ahead of his family?
“Next to Patrick, everyone seems kindhearted,” Noah said. “But I appreciate your honesty, and I’ll give your words some serious thought.”
“Good, good. Don’t think I’m trying to talk you out of applying. I can always use smart, well-educated officers on my team.”
“Thank you, sir. One more thing …”
“Yes?”
He gave Santiago a copy of the autopsy report he’d been viewing. “I found this in the cold-case files. The victim is an unidentified female, approximate age fourteen to seventeen, possibly strangled by a brown bandanna. She was also buried with a plastic bag over her head.”
Santiago glanced at the printout. “Lots of bodies get buried in plastic, Young. Fluid from the head is messy.”
“Right,” Noah said. “Even so, there’s no blunt-force trauma. No evidence of knife or gunshot wounds.”
“Eight years ago.” He shrugged, obviously considering it a long shot. “I hadn’t looked back that far. I’ve been slogging through local unsolved murders from the past five years. There are many.” To demonstrate, he pulled up a slide show of the gruesome crime-scene photos he’d been browsing on his computer.
Noah swallowed hard, trying not to grimace.
“Considering the likely gang ties and the victim demographic, this is well worth following up on.” Santiago handed back the printout. “Go ahead.”
“You want me to look into it?”
“Why not? You’ve got great instincts, and you need the experience. To be honest, we’re hurting for more hands. With a possible serial murderer on the loose, my team is working around the clock. Everyone is swamped.”
The Edge of Night Page 21