Dangerous Desires

by Dawn Altieri

  Jake stiffened, ready to crawl through the phone line to grab his brother by the shirt collar. “Go to hell, asshole.”

  Kevin’s hearty laughter resounded in his ear. “Did you at least get her number?”

  Jake pulled Emma’s business card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the embossed letters of her name. “Yeah. I did.”

  “Awesome. When are you seeing her again?”

  He froze for a moment. He hadn’t even considered that. “I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure? You asked her out, right?”

  “No,” he said sharply. That was not even a possibility. “She’s involved in an investigation.”

  “What? Again? How the hell does that happen?”

  Jake had been asking himself that very question.

  He continued down the sidewalk to the parking garage gate.

  “Screw it,” Kevin said. “You’ve been thinking about this girl for three years. Just do it, man.”

  Jake’s jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure, it is. Listen to you, bro. I can’t believe the invincible Detective Jake Quinn is afraid to go get himself a girl.”

  “I already told you to go to hell, didn’t I?”

  Damn it, maybe Kevin was right. Maybe it was that simple. She was even more gorgeous than Jake remembered, and hadn’t acted at all like the spoiled little rich girl he’d half expected.

  Even so, his reaction to her was completely inappropriate, and pursuing her would be out of the question, even if he weren’t bound by regulations regarding involvement with a potential witness, let alone a victim. He had nothing to offer a woman. Sure, he went out on dates, slept with way too many of them, but he never truly connected with anyone. Emma probably wasn’t in the market for a quick screw, which was about all he was good for. And a woman accustomed to the kind of life Justin Windsor led would have little use for an underpaid, overstressed cop like Jake.

  Still, he couldn’t let her slip out of his life as he’d done the last time. He could ask her to dinner, see if she’d also felt any of what had been going through his own head all night…

  Right. Who was he kidding? Even if he could ask her out, she’d never say yes. There wasn’t a chance in hell she felt anything other than bitterness toward him after his failure in the Windsor investigation. And what would he do if she did say yes? Add her to the list of stuck-up Hamptons socialites he’d already had?

  A surly-looking guard sat inside the security hut at the building’s parking garage entrance. “I gotta go, Kev,” Jake said into the phone. He would interview the guard, see if he’d seen anything unusual lately, find out how well-trained he and the rest of the staff were in the event of an incident. And in the morning, Jake would get in touch with building management to make sure the place was a fucking fortress…even if ensuring the safety of one gorgeous resident wasn’t exactly in his job description.

  Chapter Six

  After struggling most of the night to fall asleep, Emma woke—not to the usual crashing ocean waves of her nature sounds alarm clock, but to the jackhammer of road construction down below—a full forty-five minutes late. She showered and dressed as quickly as she could and hopped into a cab. As she hurried to her desk, her normally polished hair threatened to slip out of its ponytail, and the strap of her heel hung dangerously close to sliding off her ankle. At least her shoes matched, which was more than she could say for the lingerie she’d thrown on.

  Thankful she hadn’t run into her supervisor, she slumped into her chair and switched on her computer. She needed caffeine, but when she pulled her desk drawer open, she faced an empty English Breakfast tea tin. Terrific. She shoved the drawer closed.

  “Hey, Em,” Lauren called, her voice low and full of concern.

  Emma spun in her chair and found Lauren at the entrance to the cubicle with a bagel in her hand. Bagels? Emma’s stomach grumbled. There’d been no time for food on her mad dash to the office. Maybe there were bagels in the break room?

  “You’re never late,” Lauren said. She perched herself on the edge of the cluttered desk, nearly toppling Emma’s carefully orchestrated piles in the process. Lauren uttered a curse and an apology as she straightened them. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little.” Emma wasn’t sure what time it had been when they’d finally hung up, but Lauren had stayed on the phone with her well into the wee hours, consoling her about the attack and marveling at the odd coincidence of the familiar detective who’d driven her home. “Where’d you get the bagel?”

  “Coffee shop down the street.”

  Damn it. Emma sighed, resigning herself to a breakfast-free morning.

  “Here.” Lauren offered her half, and Emma took it eagerly. “I thought you’d take the day off.”

  “And sit home all day thinking about what happened? I’d go out of my mind.”

  “What you need is a quick hook-up to relieve all this stress,” Lauren said with a sly grin. “Come out with me Thursday night.”

  Emma scoffed. She wouldn’t even consider such a thing now. Not that she ever really had. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m meeting Matt for a drink.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “Even though you have no intention of sleeping with him, either?”

  “How many times have I told you? He’s like my brother.” Having grown up in the same cul-de-sac, she and Matt Sommers had known each other since they were kids, even before his days as the high school quarterback when she was little more than a shy wallflower who’d somehow managed to hang onto his attention, though strictly as his friend. He’d always been a playboy with the rest of the girls.

  Some things never changed. She’d stumbled across his dating profile on Lovematch, which explained how he landed his never-ending stream of girlfriends. She knew he was good-looking, had seen him shirtless countless times at his parents’ pool back in high school, and she’d lost track of how long she’d stared at his underwear model-worthy profile photo. Dirty blond hair just long enough to grab onto, seductive eyes, muscles that threatened to burst through his T-shirt like some romance novel cover model. She couldn’t deny that in the years since high school, he’d gone from a cute boy to—dare she even think it?—a wickedly sexy man. And yet…there’d never been a single spark between them.

  “Well, brother or not, you should totally do him,” Lauren said. “Seriously. Friends with benefits, no strings attached, just to get back in the game. Think about it. I know I would.”

  Emma didn’t doubt it one bit. Her supervisor’s voice echoed from somewhere across the office. “Go. I need to get to work.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk more at lunch.” Lauren scurried away, and Emma opened her email to have something productive on her screen just as their boss, Stuart Hartford, poked his head over the cubicle wall.

  “Good morning, Emma.” He folded his arms across the top of the partition. “Running a little late this morning? Everything okay?”

  Emma didn’t make a habit of being late, but the few times she had been, Stuart had given her the third degree. He wasn’t much older than she was—she guessed early thirties—but he could be a hard-ass with his employees when he wanted to be. Downplaying the issue seemed like the best plan. “Just an alarm clock issue. My power must have gone out. Do you know if there was a storm last night?”

  He pointed a finger in her direction. “You know, I think there was. I could’ve sworn I heard thunder.” He exhaled deeply and smiled, running his hand through his neatly trimmed blond hair. “I’m glad that’s all it was. You know, pretty girl like you, living all alone in the city… Well, sometimes I worry.”

  Stuart was more than a bit quirky, with his odd statements and prolonged stares. She always tried her best to keep her dealings with him strictly professional.

  She really needed a new job.

  He lifted the newspaper he’d been holding at his si
de. “Have you seen this?”

  She glanced at the front-page image of a young woman’s college graduation photo, and her stomach turned. Abigail Murray. It was the first image she’d seen of the young woman who’d been murdered downtown. She could see the resemblance the detectives had picked up on, and it sent a chill through her.

  “I heard about it. It’s very sad.”

  “It is.” Stuart turned the paper so he could study it again. “This guy pulls her into an alley in the middle of a row of brownstones in a quiet residential neighborhood and just, bam, attacks.” He accentuated the statement with a slap to the edge of the cubicle, causing Emma to jump in her seat. “No one sees or hears anything. How does he get away with that?”

  “I…I don’t know.” She fidgeted, crossing one leg over the other. Sometimes she had no idea how to respond to his awkward comments. Especially today, knowing that row of brownstones stood just minutes away from her own apartment.

  He waved his hand and dismissed the topic. “Anyway, you can never be too careful, which is why I worry.” He flashed that troublingly intense grin of his. “But you’re here now, safe and sound.” He patted the top of the partition again before he walked away.

  Safe and sound, even if she didn’t quite feel that way. The rumble of unease returned to her stomach, but she had to pull herself together.

  She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and scooped out the business card she’d taken from the flower vendor’s stand. The weekly staff meeting would begin in five minutes, but that wasn’t enough time to gather her thoughts and draft an email inquiring about possible employment. She would do it later. She had to, or she’d be stuck in this dead-end job forever.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey, beautiful,” Matt called as Emma entered the bar of the Dorchester Hotel in the Chelsea District that Thursday evening. His eyes trailed the length of her body. “You look fantastic.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight, like he always did. His familiar embrace was a welcome comfort. She hadn’t quite shaken her nervous jitters since the attack.

  “You, too.” She pushed off his rock-hard chest to look up at him. “How’ve you been?”

  “Awesome.” He held her at arm’s length and surveyed her crisp white blouse and navy pencil skirt once more. “Damn, look at you. This whole junior executive thing you’ve got going on is ridiculously hot. Get over here.” He draped his arm across her shoulder and led her to the bar.

  “I think you say that every time I see you.”

  “’Cause it’s the truth,” he said as he pulled out a stool.

  The intimate Prohibition-era cocktail lounge was unusually empty for a Thursday evening during happy hour, with only a handful of patrons occupying the bar and the few tables. At least the quiet crowd would give them a chance to catch up.

  “What are you drinking?”

  She thought for a moment. “Chardonnay.”

  He glanced at her with his eyebrows drawn as though she were nuts. “Chardonnay?” he teased as he waved the bartender over. “No Dirty Martini? No Sex on the Beach?”

  Anything that strong and she’d be passed out on the bar. “I can’t party the way you do.”

  “Oh yeah. You’re a responsible adult now. I forgot.” He flashed his familiar devilish grin before he ordered a scotch on the rocks along with her wine. “So, Miss Financial Analyst, how are things at MacMillan?”

  “Miss Assistant Financial Analyst,” she said with a self-deprecating grin. “Things are good.” As good as they could be, considering she’d never wanted to be a financial analyst in the first place. But she’d been so preoccupied the last few days that she still hadn’t had a chance to compose that email to the florist.

  She gratefully accepted the wineglass the bartender handed her. “What about you? Last time we talked, you were interviewing at Liberty Technologies.” He’d bounced from one job to another over the past few years before taking an interest in his latest field. She didn’t want to say it, but he’d been little more than a jock in high school, and she couldn’t help questioning his qualifications. “I still don’t see you in computer sales. I never thought of you as a tech guy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not,” he admitted. He threw back a huge swallow of his drink. “But I’m a hell of a salesman.”

  That she could believe.

  “I’m still waiting to hear back from them, but I got a good vibe in the interview. But I didn’t ask you to meet me for drinks to talk about work.” He scrutinized her with his usual grin. “I found something interesting online.” The creases around his eyes could barely contain his amusement. “Lovematch, huh?”

  Her jaw dropped, and her cheeks blazed. She hadn’t considered that if she could find his profile, he’d probably find hers.

  “Relax.” He gave her knee a playful squeeze. “I have to tell you, I was shocked when you came up as a match.”

  A match? With Matt?

  She pulled herself together enough to speak. “Lovematch was not my idea. Lauren talked me into it. She thinks I need to get out more.”

  “You do need to get out more. It’s been, what? Three years since…”

  Her gaze fell to her lap. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He knew all the details of her life following Justin’s death, having offered condolences and a shoulder to cry on back then, and unfaltering support ever since. She would never have gotten through it all without Matt.

  “Hey.” He laid his hand over hers where it curled loosely around the base of her wineglass, offering the comfort she so desperately needed right now. “You sure you’re ready to start dating again?”

  “No. I’m not,” she said before she gently pulled her hand from beneath his to lift her glass. “But I have to eventually, don’t I? I can’t be alone forever.”

  Truthfully, she’d never really dated, at all. She’d met Justin as a freshman at NYU, and they’d been inseparable. She might never believe she was ready, but sooner or later she’d have to do it, if for no other reason than to start living again. Her life had become so pathetic. Work and home, work and home. For almost three years she’d done nothing but go through the motions of existence. It really was time for a change.

  “Just be careful. Lotta crazies out there, ya know? Lord knows I’ve met my share.” He winked at her as he picked up his fresh drink and clinked the glass against hers.

  She nodded, certain he wasn’t joking.

  He finished off his scotch and waved the glass toward the bartender to order another one. He glanced at her drink. “You good?”

  Her wineglass was almost full, and he was ready for his second scotch. She’d never been able to able to keep up with him. “I’m good.”

  She glanced up at the television mounted behind the bar and her breath caught at the news footage of Monday’s crime scene—a medical examiner’s van with the red-and-blue lights from several police cars flashing in the background. The sound was muted, but the crawl across the bottom of the screen told of Abigail Murray, the woman in her early twenties who’d been strangled and dumped in an alley. Three days later, there had still been very little progress in the investigation.

  Matt followed her attention to the screen. “Don’t watch that shit. Damned news is so depressing.”

  She knew that all too well. She’d spent the afternoon at her desk reading every word she could find on the investigation, watching every news clip. It had been so easy to fall back into the trap of obsessing over news stories, just as she’d done after Justin’s death, but she’d heard nothing further from the detectives. Not that she’d expected to.

  As she stared up at the screen behind the bar, she couldn’t deny hoping to catch a glimpse of Detective Jake Quinn.

  She shook off the thought. She’d been overwhelmed with the need to feel safe and protected after she was attacked outside her own front door, and with his badge and the gun concealed
under his coat, Jake Quinn had somehow made her feel that way. It meant nothing.

  “Hey. Over here.” Matt waved a hand in front of her. He studied her intently. “You okay?”

  She turned to face him. “Have you been following this story?”

  He shook his head as he glanced at the television. He’d never been one to keep up with current events. “Why?”

  She wasn’t certain how much she should tell him. He’d always been protective of her, and this was sure to get him riled up. But if there was one thing she needed at the moment, it was the strength she’d always counted on from him. “I was attacked that same night.”

  “What?” He drew back. “And you’re just telling me now?”

  Her gaze dropped to her wineglass as she twirled it between her fingertips. “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”

  He twisted her barstool until she faced him. Concern filled his eyes. “Attacked, how?”

  “I’d just gotten home, and he grabbed me outside the building. One of my neighbors came up and scared him off. At first, the police thought it was a robbery attempt, someone trying to get into the building.”

  Matt’s features hardened into a grimace. “At first? What do they think now?”

  She gestured toward the television. “They think it may have been the same guy who murdered this woman.”

  Matt scoffed a disbelieving laugh before he caught on to her silence and the fear that enveloped her. He glanced toward the television as security camera footage from outside her building filled the screen, showing a man dressed in black running down the street, along with a phone number to call with information. He grasped her hand on the bar. “Shit, you’re not kidding. That’s your place.”

  A harsh shiver ran through her as she nodded. “She was murdered not far from my apartment about an hour later.” A photo of Abigail now filled the screen. The resemblance she shared with the woman was obvious, and more than mildly unsettling. “Look at her. She looks just like me. I was probably his first target.” She faced Matt again, hoping to find comfort and his usual this-is-not-a-problem attitude, but she got neither.