A Lick Of Heat: H.E.A.T. Book Four

by Claire, Nicola

  “You’ll come around, Keen,” Cawfield shouted after me. “Not many can resist what I’ve got to offer.”

  Split personality; that’s what Joe Cawfield had. One minute he was hurling insults at me, the next he was trying to get in my pants.

  I shuddered as I waited for the lift to arrive. At least he hadn’t mentioned Damon, which meant either Damon beat him to the hospital and got to Angelo’s sous-chef first. Or my partner made a stealthy escape before he was spotted.

  The lift doors opened, and I rushed inside before I checked it was empty.

  Trevor Jones threw his hands up in a surrender position and barely managed to hold onto his toothpick.

  “In a hurry, Keen?”

  “Just trying to avoid Cawfield,” I muttered. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologise. We all try to avoid Cawfield every now and then. Even Simpson.”

  I tried to smile, but Cawfield had a way of getting under my skin.

  “Hey now,” Trevor said. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  I met his kind eyes and nodded my head. He tipped his hat to me and stepped off the lift. When the doors closed, I let out a long breath.

  Cawfield might have been a dick, but there were still members of CIB who were nice.

  I thumbed my cellphone screen on and dialled Damon.

  “Where are you?” I said when he answered.

  “HEAT,” he replied without missing a beat.

  “See you in ten.”

  “I’ll have the coffee waiting.”

  Neither of us said another thing as I rang off. What was there left to say? Coffee meant everything.

  Chapter Five

  “Life Doesn’t Stop Just Because You Want It To, Lara. It Speeds Up. Because Life Is A Cunning Bastard.”

  The Hauraki Emergency Assistance Team was located at Central Fire Station on Pitt Street. Upstairs, above the Watch. Lined up in a tidy and perfect row inside the garage itself were multiple pumping appliances. Or fire engines to the layperson. In addition to that and strategically parked for easy access were several specialist vehicles: ladders; rescue tenders; water tankers; hazardous materials response units; operational support and the like — all on a section of land no greater than half a city block.

  I bypassed all the red and headed directly up the back stairs to HEAT itself.

  I could hear the low rumble of male voices as I neared the top of the stairs. I didn’t bother announcing myself, just barged on into their inner sanctum and quickly took stock of who was on station at this late hour.

  Damon stood beside the coffee making equipment and began to pour as soon as he saw me. Flack offered a greeting with the tip of his own near-empty mug, and Marc gave me a chin-lift. Which was enough to let me know just how much they considered me part of the furniture around here.

  Two months back in Damon’s life and it was as if I’d never been away. CIB was my home, but HEAT was a kind of family.

  “Gentlemen,” I said and took a seat. Damon placed a steaming cup of coffee down on the table before me and stepped back. I could feel his eyes on the side of my face. I could feel his need to reach out and touch me.

  He wasn’t afraid to show tenderness in front of his two closest friends. But he was afraid I’d bite back. Damon gave me space even when I didn’t realise I needed it.

  I took a sip of the coffee before anyone spoke. For rugged, testosterone-fuelled adrenaline junkies, they certainly were perceptive. All eyes watched me with varying degrees of intensity. Once I’d taken a fortifying sip and placed the cup down on the table, postures relaxed slightly, and Marc started the conversation rolling.

  “Bit late for a house call, Keen,” he said.

  “You just missed the watch dinner. Roast lamb and trifle with custard,” Flack added.

  “Hopefully not all at once,” I said.

  They both smiled at me. Damon sat down in the chair closest to mine, coffee cup in hand.

  “How're things?” he asked.

  The question covered more than just my wellbeing, although it covered that too. But it also encompassed the case - or cases - and where I was at with them as well as the mood in CIB. Damon could say a lot without saying anything really.

  I let out a breath of air.

  “That bad, huh?” Marc commented quietly.

  I turned to look at Damon.

  “Did you get in to see Angelo’s sous-chef?”

  He shook his head. I must have scowled because he reached out and touched my hand beneath the table, squeezing slightly.

  “But neither did Cawfield,” he said. “The chef was in surgery when I arrived. His condition is now stable, and he is expected to recover, but he won’t be conscious for quite some time.”

  “ICU?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any of the wait staff available?”

  “Cawfield already had them,” Damon admitted with a grimace. “Clearly he’d phoned ahead and new to go to ED rather than Resus like I did.”

  That would have chafed. It certainly would have chafed me. Being reminded that Cawfield actually did have an ounce of intelligence underneath all that gelled-up exterior was never a pleasant experience.

  “So, dead end,” I said, sipping my coffee.

  “Dead end,” Damon agreed.

  My eyes wandered across the table to Flack and Marc. Weston had already targeted these men. Marc had a burned out hotrod car to prove just that. So far, Flack had avoided an attack, but that didn’t mean he would remain untouched for long.

  “What precautions are you taking?” I asked him.

  His eyes flicked to Damon. And then back to me.

  It was Damon who answered. “Flack’s sent his family on holiday to Australia. I doubt even Weston could reach them there.”

  I slowly nodded my head, fingers tapping lightly on the table’s surface as I considered our next move.

  My eyes flicked to my watch. Eight hours down and I was sitting around a fire station drinking coffee. Carl would be so disappointed in me.

  Life doesn’t stop just because you want it to, Lara. It speeds up. Because life is a cunning bastard.

  I’d started this day on little to no sleep, and it was highly likely I’d finish it on little to no sleep as well. The clock was ticking, and I could almost hear the second hand getting faster.

  “Well,” I said standing up and taking my empty mug to the sink to be washed. “I’ve got people to bug and places to bust.”

  It wasn’t so much that I could see their concerned glances out of the corner of my eye as I could feel the tension thicken the air. I felt like I was sailing blindly; unsure of what to do next. Hart had given me clear instructions, but my mind and body seemed to be stalling - for want of a better word.

  He’d got to Hennessey. I hadn’t thought until that moment exactly how much that had affected me. Hennessey was my… shameful secret. But he was also largely responsible for keeping me on an even keel. Weston had struck a severe blow. More than he probably realised.

  I turned around, and neither Flack nor Marc were looking at me. Purposefully averting their gazes?

  Damon was, though.

  “Where to next, love?” he asked. His coffee mug was already on the bench, and he stood with his jacket in hand, ready to go.

  It kicked something in the arse inside me.

  “K Road then south,” I said with sudden clarity. “We’ve got two potential targets to secure before time runs out.”

  “Eagle,” Damon said and then looked directly at me. “And your father.”

  The fact I’d included my dad in my circle of love was telling. Not one man present would rat me out on it though.

  I offered a grim smile, said my farewells to Marc and Flack, then led the way out of the station.

  Eagle had been targeted by Weston once already, of course. But even though I didn’t think the psychopath would make the same mistake twice, I wasn’t prepared to let Eagle slip through the cracks again. Weston had been somewhat successfu
l in his manipulation of my informant and friend. Hell, he’d been 100% successful, we’d just managed to rescue Eagle before he’d been able to succumb completely. I was sure Weston’s goal had been death; either death by drugs or death by dependency on another. When Eagle’s boyfriend Dave had been found dead, Eagle had almost followed him.

  But we’d caught it in time, which meant Weston had ultimately not succeeded. Like his attempts at revenge on Damon, though, I was sure Weston was capable of attempting to take Eagle from my life again.

  I beeped the locks on my car and reached for the door handle on the driver’s side.

  Hot breath washed over my neck, and I spun, one hand on my service weapon, one up ready to thrust fingers into eyes, a knee on a collision course with my supposed attacker’s gonads. Damon snatched the fingers from the air, gripped my wrist above my service weapon tightly, and blocked my knee with his thigh.

  “Easy,” he murmured. “I was just moving in for a kiss. I can see the error of my ways, so please refrain from castrating me in my place of work.”

  He was attempting to lighten the moment. It fell woefully short of the mark.

  I closed my eyes and counted to three inside my head.

  It’s called cognitive therapy, Lara, I could hear Hennessey say inside my mind. It will help.

  The fact that I’d needed any kind of therapy at all had made me reluctant to try.

  Now that Carl’s voice inside my head had been exposed for the imposter it was, counting my breaths to slow them was the only internal guidance I could rely on.

  “It’s getting to me,” I whispered. “Hennessey,” I explained further.

  “I know,” Damon said, releasing the hand that had been going for his eyes and wrapping his palm reassuringly around the nape of my neck. “Come here,” he said, still in that low tone of voice so as not to carry.

  I didn’t bother to look around the carpark to see if we were being watched, which said more about my state of mind right then than my instant and visceral reaction to Damon’s breath on my neck. I simply followed the instruction as if it had been an order and stepped into the warmth of Damon’s body.

  He wrapped me up in his arms and pressed my face into the crook of his neck, neither trying to kiss me nor push me, just simply hold me and stop me from falling apart.

  We stood like that for a good five minutes.

  Eight plus hours down and I was hugging my boyfriend in the dark.

  I pulled back.

  “Better?” Damon asked.

  I nodded my head.

  “Can I have that kiss now?”

  I glared at him. He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Get in the car, love,” he ordered, and that was an order that time.

  I arched my brow at him, but as getting in the car was what I actually wanted to do, I did as he said.

  His smug smile as he rounded the bonnet made my teeth clench.

  The scent of him wrapping around me once he was seated at my side made all my muscles relax and my head spin.

  Damon was a lethal weapon without even trying.

  “I’m not sure if Eagle will be there,” I said. “But it’s all I’ve got to go on.”

  I still didn’t know where Eagle laid down his head. You could hardly call what he did in his waking hours ‘sleeping’. Even if he slept with his johns for a living.

  Damon said nothing, just buckled up. He knew, despite being unsure if Eagle was there, that I was still going to try to find him.

  I parked the car on Mercury Lane, and we walked up to Karangahape Road past a darkened Starbucks on the corner. It was after eight and the red light district of Auckland City was gearing up for another hectic and debauched evening. Neon signs flashed ‘Pleasure Chest’ and ‘Erox’ and ‘XXX.’ Guys in tight shirts and fitted jeans accompanied girls in high heels and arse skimming minis. Transvestites prowled the foot traffic in platform heels and boy-short pants with bigger boobs and more hair than I had.

  Damon had slipped his jacket on and looked the part of rich playboy out on the town. I didn’t bother to catalogue the ways I didn’t look like I fit in, adjusting my jacket to hide the bulge of my sidearm instead.

  A cool breeze washed down K Road, but it failed to clean it. Litter gathered in the corners, complete with cigarette butts and lollipop sticks and packets of GHB labelled Cherry. A guy stumbled out of a strip joint, laughing raucously with his equally stoned friends. A couple were damn near having sex against the closed door to an adult shop; maybe taking inspiration from what could be found behind the painted over windows.

  I walked through the throng of early adopters to K Road’s nightlife knowing that this was only the start of what would happen on Karangahape Road tonight. By ten o’clock, Team Policing would be patrolling this beat using their CPI training to prevent and manage potential crises. The party-goers would either accept their presence or push back against it. Tempers would rise, and bottles would be thrown. And despite their mandate to calm and safely manage only, there’d be several arrests made before midnight.

  Central cells would fill with intoxicated misdemeanours. Paperwork would be filled out in triplicate and filed. Coffee would get consumed by the bucket load. Stress release cigarettes would be snuck in when the boss’s back was turned. And then it would all get rinsed and repeated tomorrow night.

  It was a hive of activity — a throbbing heartbeat to a living and breathing city. And despite the tears and tantrums that would undoubtedly ensue, I loved it. I loved this pulsing, screaming, raging world I lived in. And the men and women who took it upon themselves to help the general public get through the heartache and rapture and make it to another day alive and well.

  We weren’t always successful, but we gave it our all.

  And men like Weston wanted nothing more than to tear it all down.

  He was fucking with HEAT. He was fucking with CIB. The man had a death wish. Or he had absolutely no idea who and what he was up against. If Karangahape Road was the heart of Auckland City on a late night, HEAT and CIB were the white cells in its bloodstream; fighting the good fight.

  Weston would not win this war; I was sure of it.

  Even as I held my breath as I stepped into Eagle’s little alley unsure of what exactly I would find.

  Damon followed behind; a silent wraith at my back. He didn’t like coming here and catching glimpses of what it is that Eagle provided. A service as old as time, but one that made any hot-blooded heterosexual avert his eyes. Damon understood Eagle’s need to do this; he’d even had front row seats to Eagle’s state of mind. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Had Eagle been servicing a female, perhaps Damon would have felt differently. Perhaps not. I didn’t have unfettered access to Damon’s thoughts, even if sometimes I felt like I was completely in tune with the man inside.

  But I didn’t need to know he felt uncomfortable as we rounded the end of the alley and heard Eagle moan out loud.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged his mark. “Harder, baby. Yous know how I like it.”

  The crack of a palm meeting flesh rang out on the night. I arched my brow. Damon stiffened beside me. I peeked around the edge of the rough brick siding I was using as cover and copped an eyeful of Eagle’s bare arse on display as he hung off the window ledge of a long ago closed up premises and presented his butt cheek for another round.

  The john he was servicing - or was servicing him, I couldn’t tell - wore a trench coat and fedora hat. He had hunched shoulders and a somewhat skinny neck; any more, though, I couldn’t determine under the shapeless jacket. His back was to me; I couldn’t see his face. Even the colour of his hair was hard to make out. But I didn’t need to see anything else; he wore cologne which made my heart lurch.

  Carl had always worn too much Old Spice.

  I crouched down, not making a sound, and placed my back against the brickwork.

  Damon crouched down beside me and placed his lips to my ear.

  “You recognise his trick?” he ask
ed in a barely-there whisper.

  I nodded my head. Stunned.

  Eagle moaned again after a particularly hard hand to skin hit.

  “Fuck that’s good, son,” he said.

  My fingers came up and pressed into my lips before I could laugh hysterically. Or start to cry out loud.

  Carl was at least thirty years Eagle’s senior.

  And as far as I knew, heterosexual through and through. My old CIB partner had had a few women on the go while I’d been working with him. One of which, I was pretty damn sure, was harbouring his risen from the dead arse right now.

  Eagle made a sound, disturbing my desperate thoughts, that could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. His cry of release echoed in the little courtyard he used to make his money. I forced myself to peer around the corner of the building again. But Carl had retreated to the shadows. If he got anything sexual out of his encounter with Eagle, I couldn’t tell.

  My hand shifted of its own will to my weapon. I released the safety catch on the holster. Damon stiffened further at my tell.

  Silence rang out and made my ears buzz.

  Eagle’s panted breaths, and the sound of him pulling his baggy pants back up broke through the thumping beat of my heart.

  “Yous gots what ya came for,” Eagle said.

  “So did you,” Carl’s raspy voice replied.

  “I’ll make sure she gets the message, right?”

  “She already has.”

  The shadows shifted, and in an instant, I knew Carl had gone.

  I swung around the edge of the building; gun raised, heart in my mouth.

  Eagle let out a surprised squawk. I crossed the courtyard, ignoring my informant, and checked the rear of the darkened space. A door hung open on a premises that I was sure should be locked up tight at this time of night.

  I took a step towards it, intent on chasing Carl down when Eagle spoke.

  “He knows how I likes it.”

  The words were spoken softly, not in defiance or defence of what I had witnessed.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at the boy.

  He lit a cigarette and puffed out a smoke ring.