"See you around, huh?" she said, as she walked him to the door. But it wasn't a question.
"Michelle" he began.
"Hmm?" she said, with a perky grin pasted on her face.
"If I weren't on this case," he tried to explain.
"That's very nice of you to say, but you don't have to make excuses. I'm not a child."
"It's not an excuse."
"What? Undercover cops can't have a life?"
The short answer to that was no. "It won't work. Vinny and those guys, they know you. Families are kept separate from the case. Majorly separate."
"All right. Goodbye, Dominic," she said, holding open the door.
Now that the exit was staring him in the face, he wasn't ready to leave. He didn't like the way she was staring at him, as if he were something vile. "You don't understand."
"Goodbye, Dominic."
He turned to go. Got one foot out. But he wasn't going anywhere, and damn her for being willing to throw everything away so easily.
"Now let's think about this. It won't work. I would disappear for days at a time. You couldn't call me. What if you needed me for something? You'd be stuck. Hell, I haven't even told you my real name."
She stared at him blandly, all trust gone. He needed it back.
"You'd be miserable," he said, staring her down.
She rose, putting them nose to nose. "I have spent my life working my butt off to get what I want. I've always done things my own way; sometimes I wanted to, and sometimes I didn't have a choice because everyone else around me was screwing up. If you want something, if you really, really want something, you sacrifice. That's the way it works, Mr. Whatever Your Name Is. You, obviously, do not want things badly enough. Goodbye."
He caught the door before she could slam it. "So that's what this is about? You think I'm just dumping you here, because I'm some superficial dirt-wad? You think I don't want this?"
He had her up against the door. "I've never wanted anything more in my entire life, but I'm not going to do it."
"Because it's too dangerous?" she asked in a sissified voice.
"Yes," he said, his hands already settling in. She was familiar and addictive, and he wasn't that strong.
She brushed him off. "Things that are too good to be true always are. Get away from me."
Dominic knew he was missing something big here. She was royally ticked and he didn't understand. "I'm just trying to do the right thing," he said in his own defense.
She shot him a serious "go to hell" look. No blinking at all. "Do I look like I want you to do the right thing?" . "No," he said quietly, the light beginning to dawn.
"Thank you. I am quite capable of making my own decisions. Why don't you ask me if I would like to be in a relationship where you disappear for weeks at a time?"
"Days, not weeks," he muttered.
"Or maybe you should discuss whether the lack of communication is going to bother me?"
Dom ran a hand through his hair. "There are actually ways around that. We just set up a code, that's all. And these guys know you as my girlfriend anyway."
"And now for the big one. Just how mad will I be if I don't know your real name? A lot? Or maybe not at all?" She shrugged.
"It's Cordano. Dominic Salvatore Cordano," he announced, and she looked so pleased that he had a suspicion he'd been played by a master.
"So, does that mean we're going to try this?" she said, her voice soft and vulnerable. The tough talk was over and all his resolve was being eaten away, not to mention his good intentions flying out the door, because he couldn't think around her. She wore the most beautiful smile, he really did love her legs, and the trust was settling back in her eyes.
Dating an undercover cop, loving an undercover cop was hard work, but for the first time, he thought maybe he was worth it.
"If you're up for it," he answered slowly.
"If I'm up for it?" she shot back with a sly grin. "Why do you even ask?"
"You can't tell your friends anything," he said, even as he pulled her closer. His hands ran up and down over her, his own private paradise.
"I told you, I'm a great rule-follower."
He kissed her because he had to. She didn't know it, but she'd just given him some piece of himself back. Something he'd tried to find on his own by enforcing the law, by wearing out his knees on a pew, but nothing had worked.
Tonight he was starting over. And all because of her.
"And you can't tell your family. When the case is over, I can do narcotics or vice. It's not so bad. Dime bags and prostitution. It's a walk in the park."
Slowly, she backed him up until he was pinned against the couch. "No prostitution."
"Have I told you that I really love pushy women?"
She didn't let him reply.
Mickey slept in the next morning, a new and unfamiliar lump of warmth in her bed.
"Want breakfast?" she asked, finding a hard shoulder. Exploring a hard shoulder.
"I'm not much of a breakfast eater. Maybe coffee?"
Then the phone rang, and Mickey reached over Dominic to pick it up.
"Hello?" she said, collapsing on top of him.
"Mickey, are you alive?" It was Beth.
"Of course. Why shouldn't I be?"
"I left four messages for you last night. I just thought you were comatose or something."
"Oh, yeah. I'm feeling a lot better. Good drugs," she answered, just as a wicked hand crept between her legs. And not her own. She sucked in to breathe.
"Would you be up for some marathon shopping? There's a huge sale at Abercrombie and Fitch. Cassandra's going to meet me there at noon."
"Oh, shopping?" she said, her hips following the magical hand. "You know, ummmmm, maybe tomorrow. I could take off work. Drive into the ah, city."
"You're acting weird, even for you."
"It's all the stress," she answered, even as Dominic slipped inside her.
"You don't want company."
"Not today. Tomorrow. After work."
"Deal. They've got a mango martini. Saw the recipe in Chicago Woman . Sounds primo."
"Bye," said Mickey. Then she tried to hang up the phone, but, well, maybe she got a little distracted. Maybe a lot.
It was some time later when Mickey stirred. There was a naked man in her bed. Oh, what a glorious day. "So, how's this going to work?"
Dominic sat up, his chest smooth and rock hard. "We could eat, drink, go see a movie. But I have to say that I'm not a morning person," he said with a serious look.
Like she was going to toss him over because of that. "What amazing karma."
"I like to stay in bed late when I can."
"Yes, your aura seems to say that about you."
"In fact" he caught her beneath the covers, "I think my aura is growing."
"Again?" she asked, rather pleased. Who knew she was insatiable? It was an aspect of her physical nature that she hadn't known before.
Dominic smiled, the most wonderfully wicked smile. "Honey, we've only just started. I've got a lot of time to make up for."
And he did.
It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. Mickey raised her head from the floor.
"That was the doorbell," she stated stupidly. Somewhere between noon and one, she had lost all concept of reality.
Dominic sounded much more lucid. "You should answer that."
Mickey stood and shrugged on her robe. "I'll be back."
When she opened the door, Jessica was there, beaming brightly. "Hey," she said, walking in. Then she gave Mickey a long once-over. "You look like hell."
"Thank you for my daily affirmation."
"How are you feeling?"
"I've been better," answered Mickey, thinking that she'd been better just ten minutes ago when Dominic had been quite happily exploring her breasts with his mouth. Her nipples perked in memory.
Jessica sat down, making herself at home. "Do you need medicine? You're usually very healthy."
"I just n
eed some rest. I think I've been working too hard. It's all catching up to me." She should feel guilty, wanting her very best friend in the world to leave, but her breasts were still perking, saying, "Please, leave." Silently, Mickey told her breasts to behave.
"Oh, my. It's getting deep in here. You, working too hard? Ha!"
Now that stung. "Working too hard is not just a behavioral trait of driven, ambitious people who can't stand not to win," she said, because two could play dirty.
Jessica waved her hand. "It doesn't matter. I need to talk."
"Now?" asked Mickey, as she pulled her robe tighter. Just in case her body was giving off carnal radiation.
"Well, yes. Is there a better time?"
Mickey sat down. "Obviously not. What is it?"
"Oh, I can't tell," said Jessica with a sneeze.
Mickey merely raised an eyebrow. Jessica did not have Mickey's willpower. When she did something stupid, it was just going to come out.
And so, Jessica kept talking. "No. I have to talk to someone about this. Yesterday, I was walking by the Pier, and they're doing some construction. Anyway, there's this great-looking construction-worker type and he whistled."
Mickey waited, but Jessica was just staring at her, like that was the end of the story.
Because it was the end of the story . Mickey sighed. "Jessica, men do whistle at attractive females. I've heard that, although only actually experienced it once."
Jessica pulled out a tissue. "But I felt a flash. It felt good. It shouldn't feel good anymore."
Now this was rich. Mickey was going to have to listen to newlywed angst. Yes, because she couldn't talk about the cool stuff in her life.
I've just had the most astounding, blood-pumping sex in my life. The man is a god, and a cop. And he's nice. And he thinks I'm sexy. Yes, me, Michelle Cushing Coleman. Sexy. Top that.
But Jessica was her friendsometimes her only real friend, and she wasn't stupid enough to blow it. "Why shouldn't you feel good? Aren't you human?"
"But it means I'm a failure as a wife."
He kissed me! He kissed me like it's just me and him . But she couldn't say that.
She rubbed her eyes, playing the part of Mickey Coleman, resident wiseass. "Oh, puh-lease. Jessica, do you love your husband?"
"Well, of course, he's likeAdam. What's not to love?"
"Are you going to have a fling with construction-worker dude?"
"In his dreams," said Jess, with a cocky head toss. Women who looked like J. could do that.
"Have I made my point here? Do you really need me to tell you how to be married?" If Jessica answered yes, then she was going to pull out her death ray and lobotomize her right there in the chair.
"You're the only person I can tell this to. Cassandra doesn't understand the sacraments of marriage, and Bethwell, I just can't tell Beth."
It was the need to confide that Mickey objected to. She didn't have the luxury to reciprocate, and it was already causing stress levels to rise. "Jessica, now that you're married, you're going to have secrets and you don't have to tell them to me."
"I've always told you everything. We're best friends. It's what we do."
"Do you really want to tell me everything now?" asked Mickey, prepared for the worst, but she knew the drill. Major relationships changed things and secrets were a part of evolution.
Jessica's eyes got big. "No, I can't tell you everything."
"That's because you have new loyalties. Respect your instincts," said Mickey, now playing the part of the wisewoman who knew nanocosms about men.
"You think I'm okay here? I'm not destined for divorce? I don't want a divorce."
"Whistling reception is not grounds for divorce. You're safe. Go home to your husband and treat him to all sorts of fun sexual favors."
Because as soon as you leave, I'm having fun sexual favors, as well.
"See, this is why you're my best friend. Cassandra would have me talked into an affair."
"I'm not Cassandra. Not even close," said Mickey, as if the point needed clarifying, which, of course, it didn't.
"So how are you doing? You're not sleeping well."
Mickey swallowed her bubble of hysterical laughter. She was lucky if she'd gotten three hours of sleep last night and, if there was a God, she'd get even less tonight. The man had a perfect mouth. It was a gift to womankind that no other woman would ever be party to. If they were, she was going to shoot them.
"What?" asked Jessica.
"Someday I'll tell you," said Mickey, savoring the feeling of advantage. It was a rare moment and savor-worthy.
"Now you're keeping secrets from me? It's because I'm married, isn't it? You can't relate anymore. Are we going to drift apart and see each other once a year, and then start avoiding saying hello at parties because it's just too embarrassing? And if that happens, who can I dump on? I gotta learn this wife stuff."
"You can read a book," replied Mickey.
"Yeah, I got fourteen the other day at the bookstore. But they are so not me . All that woo-woo stuff, and then they're talking about giving each other space. What sort of marriage is that? And then, there was this one, The Domestic Diva ." Jessica laughed mockingly. "Can you imagine? Me?"
Mickey listened with half a brain, lost in her own fantasy world. Dominic did that to her. She crossed her legs tightly, pretending he was there.
"How was the honeymoon?" she asked, when Jessica took a breath. She really did want to know. Really.
"Fabulous. We were the first team to the top. Left everybody else in the dust."
"Well, that is what you do best."
And Jessica didn't even laugh. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Tell you what?" asked Mickey, bunking from behind her glasses. It was her best "I know nothing" look.
"Want to go get a drink? I don't have to be home until seven. Adam is working late tonight."
Mickey got up and stretched, inching her way closer to Dominic. "Nah. You go on without me."
Jessica got up and made for the door. "Okay, keep your secrets." After she opened the door, she turned back and wiggled her eyebrows. "But someday you're going to have to explain that hickey on your neck."
Oh, jeez! Mickey clapped her hand over her throat.
Jessica smiled. "Made you look." And then she shut the door.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
There was something narcotic about great sex. It could make you forget ordinary aspects of life. Very important ordinary aspects of life. Mickey never overslept on Monday, but Dominic saved her when he woke up at nine. Then after she got into the office, she had trouble with the data analysis from Dr. Romanowski. Somehow the numbers seemedwell, boring today. And she really needed to finalize the data on her presentation.
Not that she was hugely worried. She'd always been an overachiever, with a capital OA . She'd lived and died by the challenge. The presentation would be fabulous. Her father would see her in her native environment. Finally, he would realize that astrophysics was every bit as prestigious as heart surgery. She hadn't exactly saved anybody's life yet, and to be frank, the potential wasn't great, but it certainly wasn't chopped liver, either.
She called him on the phone to tell him, well, actually to brag. She wasn't ready to tell him about Dominic. Not yet, but soon. That is, all she had to say was that he was a truck driver. That couldn't be hard. But she wasn't ready to do it just yet. His personal assistant answered and Mickey left a message.
Messages were the best way to deal with Dad.
Then she went back to work. She ended up staying late because Dr. Fleer wanted a report on a new T-dwarf they had found, and when she finally made it home, it was well after dark. Not so dark that she missed the red rose on her doorstep. He'd left a torn-off cocktail napkin with "From Your Secret Admirer" scrawled on it. Her insides melted into a pile of florally induced goo.
It felt so marvelously free to know she wasn't stupid. She had been right all along. She could trust him. Okay, his
job was dangerous. Right up there with lion tamers and cab drivers, but she could live with that. Obviously he was cut from cop-cloth, just like she was cut from star-cloth. She couldn't fault him for following his calling.
She picked up the rose, and took one long sniff of its heady scent. If she worked really hard, she could imagine his scent, as well. Immediately she wanted to go inside and call him. Just to talk. To share the "how was your day?" moments.
In every relationship she'd had before, all three of them, the discussions were based on theories and data. Never once had she had a "Nail any bad guys today?" conversation. There was a great big world out there, and now she was part of it. Dominic's world. She was part of Dominic's world.
Unfortunately, a conversation wasn't possible.
Instead she went inside and called Beth. Not resembling spillage, just chatting. Life was good.
She was part of Dominic's world.
On Tuesday, Dominic got a break. A couple of union guys had met with Vinny at Dilly's. Dominic stayed at the pool tables in the back, shooting the breeze, but he took one quick picture with his cell phone. Gotta love the new technology.
That afternoon, he sent the pictures to the precinct.
Things were moving along. After the cigarette buy, Dominic was accepted. Whoever thought the Outfit was dead didn't know what they were talking about. It was slick and sometimes even legal; these guys had connections.
The wards on the West Side, the laborers' union.
Dominic had time, so he sat back and did what he did best. He listened.
By Wednesday, Mickey's calm was starting to evaporate. Preparation wasn't her strong suit, and this time "seat of the pants" wasn't going to cut it.
"So, why do you think Monihan disappeared?" Sylvia asked, glancing up from her monitor. "Dr. Romanowski thinks he died, and they're going to break into his apartment, only to find his decomposing body"
"Can we not talk about that? I really need to find my data file on the star distribution from Rensselar. I swear that I had filed it in this directory. But it's not here."
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