by Lou Harper
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He knows you and I have a personal relationship. So obviously he won’t share details of the investigation with me. I’m already walking a fine line. I’d take an administrative leave if we weren’t short-staffed already.”
“I don’t think Detective Lipkin likes me.”
“He doesn’t have to. He knows about the Clay Carson angle but has to move gingerly around Hollywood types, especially without any kind of hard evidence. There’s also the possibility of Riley having an accomplice in his scheme to blackmail Carson.”
I clutched my head. “There’s the redheaded twink, and Riley mentioned someone… I don’t remember the name.” I groaned. “How do you cops deal with this crap? I’m getting a headache already.”
“We look at evidence, follow the clues, talk to people. Most murders are committed by somebody close to the victim. Not always, of course.”
“And some cases never get solved,” I added morosely.
“True.” Sugarcoating wasn’t Nick’s style.
I had a hard time wrapping my head around the situation. “I can’t picture Clay Carson, TV star, future action hero, climbing up to my balcony. Although… Hm.” A recent event I’d forgotten in all the commotion came back into focus.
“What?” Nick suddenly got a sharp look about him.
“Well, after leaving Carson’s house that one time, I thought somebody might have followed me in a black SUV on Mulholland.”
“Might?”
“I dunno. The driver was tailgating me aggressively, and I freaked out. That big-ass car could’ve run my little Honda off the road, and the drops are pretty steep around there. I don’t know if it had anything to do with anything—it could’ve been a random asshole. I pulled over, and he sped away.”
“Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“Next time we met, you were yelling at me, and then stuff happened, and I forgot.”
He scratched his chin. “Fair enough, and it might be nothing. Did you write down the license plate?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Make, model?”
“Big.” I wasn’t any better with cars than faces. Worse, if possible.
Nick groaned. I could tell I was testing his calm again. I remembered something else. “My downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Gallagher, said someone was asking about me.”
Nick cleared his throat. “That was me.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
“Background check. Don’t worry, she only had nice things to say.”
“I think I should be pissed at you right now.” In truth, I didn’t know how to feel.
Nick sighed. “Look, I liked you from the beginning. A whole lot. I recently broke up with someone—dating a cop’s not easy; not everyone can take it. So I didn’t rush, but I couldn’t stay away either. Eventually, I figured, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? But that revelation made everything extremely complicated and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just let you go, though.”
“And here we are.”
“I haven’t told you this before, but you were on my mind for a while after the arrest, and that wasn’t normal. I’ve clicked the cuffs on hundreds of people, and very few stick with me. I thought of checking up on you, seeing how you were doing.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I didn’t trust my motives. However, after you popped up again like a bad penny, well, I had to know what you’d been up to.”
“And?” The short word resonated with all my warring emotions—annoyance, hope, uncertainty.
He looked back at me with an open face, like a man without a pang of guilt. “You’re clean as a whistle. Even pay your parking tickets on time.”
“I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t mess with the Department of Transportation,” I grumbled.
“I don’t know how you manage to get so many on your own street.”
“It’s the street-cleaning days. I can’t keep them straight. One time I was parked on the correct side but then went and moved my car to the other side because I thought the wrong side was the right one.”
Creases appeared around his eyes. “You need adult supervision.”
“Well, I got it now, don’t I? But I’m not a kid anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.” I felt that zing in the air again. It was now or never. I closed the short distance between us and straddled his thighs. He didn’t resist or say a word but kept his eyes locked on mine. Putting my hands behind his head, I dug my fingers into his hair. It was too short for a good grip, but I did what I could. “Do you still see me as that kid? Will Sasha stand between us forever?”
He slowly moved his head side to side. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve put on two and a half inches and fifteen pounds.”
“Not just that. You talk different, walk different. I see you as you are, right now, not a memory.” I felt firm hands on my hips.
“Good. Because I can’t be just friends with you.” I pulled his head back by the hair and kissed him hard. He slid his hands upward, under my shirt.
I love necking, and now that I had my paws on Nick again, I wanted to savor every last bit of him. And just maybe I enjoyed turning him on and letting him simmer.
When I pulled back, his eyes were dark as ink. “You know, I have a theory that everyone has at least one secret, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m wrong. You’re too square for them,” I said.
“Hah. You underestimate me.”
“Okay, tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”
He blinked, and I saw a trace of a blush. “You already know it.”
I was getting better at reading him, at least at close range. “What? That you got a brief physical reaction to my admittedly fine teenage ass? I’m not impressed. Tell me something else.”
Our eyes locked while Nick kept raking fingers across my ribs and down along my spine. “All right. You asked for it,” he said, then dumped me on my still-fine twenty-six-year-old ass and left the room.
On his return, I registered with curiosity and a sense of alarm the bundle of purple ropes in his hands. It’s a curious color, purple—halfway between red and blue, danger and safety.
“I won’t tie you up,” he said as if reading my mind.
“No?” Strange how I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.
“Well, I’ll tie these on you, but your movement won’t be at all restricted. How does that sound?”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
His gaze—equal parts of lustful and caring—sent my heart to pitter-pattering. I knew then for certain that Nick wasn’t like any man I’d in my life before. He told me to strip naked and kneel on the carpet. When I didn’t comply fast enough, he gave me a stare that probably had delinquents trembling. It sure made my pulse quicken. He pushed the furniture aside to make room. “Have you heard of Kinbaku? Shibari?”
“Sounds like sushi.”
“Not quite. Japanese rope bondage. As with everything Japanese, steeped in ritual.” He dropped a CD into the player, and the rhythmic thrum of drums filled the room. “Tell me if you go numb or want me to stop for any reason.”
He knelt next to me, picked a piece of rope and wound it around my bicep. I sat back on my heels, shut my eyes and sank into the sensations. The rope bit into my skin but not too hard. Nick kept looping it around, tied knots and sometimes untied them. When I stole a glimpse, I saw utter concentration on his face. It was so him—meticulous, in control, but with an unexpected touch of beauty. That was his true secret, I realized, his hidden passion. What really got to me was the fact that he shared it with me—not something he’d do with casual fuck buddy.
Having ropes wrapped around my arms was an unexpectedly erotic experience—the firm caress of my bindings and Nick’s fingers brushing my skin. My heartbeat sped along with the drums. Finishing both arms, he moved behind me. He took my wrists, moved them to the small of my back and held them there, but only with his hands.
“Good,” I rasped.
He let me go and moved away, but I stayed as I’d been. It must’ve pleased him. “You’re so beautiful. Keep your eyes closed.”
I held my pose and sharpened my ears. I heard shuffling around, the swish of clothes, and other sounds I couldn’t identify. However, I could both hear and feel when Nick’s knees hit the carpet behind me. I instinctively leaned back and was rewarded with the scratch of his chest hair against my skin. A moment later, his slippery hand closed around my cock. I moaned and arched into his grip.
He wound his other arm around my chest, teasing fingers landing on a nipple. I stretched my hands toward his cock—I could feel its heat. He let me curl my fingers around his shaft and work him blindly only for a few strokes.
“Stop. Put your hand on the floor.” He let go of me again. “Lean forward.” I did. It thrilled me to be in his power. “More,” he added, and I slid forward till my head and elbows touched the carpet and my ass was up in the air.
“Good,” he said, just as he slid his slippery fingers into the crevice between my buttocks.
I moaned encouragements as his fingers invaded my hole one by one and worked me with expert ease.
“I want to fuck you.” The rumble of his words gave me goose bumps.
“Yesss…please.”
I heard foil rip and widened my stance in anticipation. He slid into me with one smooth motion. And out. The stereo started a new number, drums beating slowly, gaining momentum and settling into a light gallop, picking up speed again. Nick pulled me up the moment the drum with the deepest timbre took charge. I felt the sound reverberate through me the same as I felt Nick’s cock in my ass and his hand around my cock. My orgasm erupted in a sticky mess just as the drums began to pick up a frantic tempo. As if he’d been waiting for this, Nick grasped me tightly and came inside me. We finished while the music staggered to a stop. For a few seconds we stayed still, except for breathing heavy.
“Fuck,” I said, easing myself off on trembling limbs. “That was…unusual. In a mind-blowing way.”
“Here.” He handed me a towel. Well, of course. Typical of him to be mindful of such details. There would definitely not be any oiling him up on the furniture.
He took the rope off without hurry, rubbing my stinging skin as he went. Later, cleanup and personal hygiene sorted out, we sprawled out on the couch in each other’s arms, and the television murmured in the background. Neither of us paid much attention to it.
I held my arm up to study the patterns in my skin. The looked a bit like tiny tire marks. “I take it this is a hobby of yours?”
“You could say so.”
“How does one even get into this stuff?”
“One gets involved with an older Japanese man of refined tastes. I was young and impressionable at the time.”
“Why did it end?”
“The same reason anything ends. We didn’t fit in the long run. Ken needed new students to teach, and I wasn’t keen on sharing.” While he talked, he traced his fingers over and over the same spot of my lower back. As if he could feel the ink embedded in my skin through his fingertips.
“I looked into tattoo removal once, but it seemed like cheating,” I said in answer to the unuttered question.
“And?”
“Erasing the past like it never happened—like revirginizing yourself. I don’t believe in that crap.”
“Oh-kay.”
“Plus, I really like it. Is it still bothering you?”
“No. Actually I was wondering what rope pattern would go well with it,” he said and pulled me closer.
Chapter Nine
I spent the next day much the same as the previous, with the difference that by noon I was sick of being trapped inside. I missed work, people—even the cranky customers—missed swimming, and I wanted to check in on Mrs. G. Several times I had my hand on the doorknob, ready to fly the coop. It took all my self-control not to. I knew I couldn’t take another day like this. To make things worse, what Nick had said about him walking a fine line kept pecking at my brain.
I had my bag already packed, sitting on the couch and waiting when Nick got home. He noticed it at once. He didn’t carry a badge around for nothing.
“What’s this?” he asked in his curt schoolmaster voice.
I stood. I needed my full height to stand up to Nick. “I’m moving out.”
“Like hell you are.”
“You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m pretty sure that would count as a federal offense.” Nick huffed and started pacing. In that small room, it was a lot like being in a cage with an irritable lion. I refrained from getting behind the chair for protection, but chose a soft approach. “Look, I’d love to cohabit with you, but not quite like this. I can’t live out of a bag. I need my own things around me.”
“We can bring over more of your stuff.”
“No offense, but this place is too small for two. Why do you even live here? I thought cops made decent money.”
He threw himself on the couch. I took it as a good sign, even if he rested one proprietary hand on my bag.
“It’s rent controlled. I pay seven-fifty a month.”
I would’ve guessed twice that much. “Yowza! What the hell do you do with all the money you’re not paying for rent?”
“I’ve been saving to buy a house. You know, with a yard, room for a dog, etcetera.” He swept the house-talk diversion to the side with a flick of his wrist. “You can’t go home. It’s not safe. Even if you change the locks it won’t be safe. Your bedroom window opens to the balcony.”
I sat back on the chair. At least we were talking. “I thought of that. I’ll move in with my sister for now, till I find a different apartment. I’ve already talked to her. Charly’s roommate is a traveling nurse, and she’s staying in Salinas for at least two more months. She’ll let me stay in her room if I pay her part of the rent.”
“I still don’t like it.” He drummed his fingers on the bag.
“Charly lives on the third floor, no balcony, and the building has a buzzer.”
“Not exactly Fort Knox.”
“I know, but I can’t stay here indefinitely. God knows when Detective Lipkin will solve this case. Maybe never. Meanwhile, I have a job and a life. For exactly how long do you expect me to hole up like a fugitive?”
“Possibly not long. Gary thinks he’s on to something.”
“And that’s another thing. It can’t be kosher for you to be shacked up with a person of interest in a murder investigation.”
“Listen to yourself. You sound like one of those cheesy cop shows on TV.”
“Fine. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Nick huffed again, crossed his arms, but gave no rebuttal.
“Well, that’s settled, then,” I said.
He pushed himself off the couch. “Do you want to go now?” If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was sulking.
I got up too, closed the distance between us and wound my arms around his waist. “Well, I could wait till morning, if you don’t mind getting up early and giving me a ride back to Burbank so I can get my car.”
“I can do that.”
Nick stayed true to his word. He not only drove me back but waited around as I changed out of the jeans I’d been wearing for the last three days into loose-fitting cargo pants. I quickly threw a bunch of clothes into a suitcase. He walked around the building and scrutinized my balcony from underneath while I checked in on Mrs. G. We met back again on the street.
“Don’t open the door to strangers, don’t go out at night, and call me if anything’s suspicious,” he said as I wrestled the bag into the car. “I’d rather you didn’t go back to work yet,” he added.
“I’ve talked to my boss. I got the rest of the week off, but I’ll have to go in on Sunday. It’s a busy day.”
He gave me a peck on the lips. “I’ll come by your sister’s later.”
Charly had second shift that week, so I found her still at home. I’d had to give her a summary of my recent troubles to explain why I had to move in with her for a while, so naturally, she now buzzed with anxiety.
She was on me like a dog on a bone from the moment I stepped inside. “I can’t believe you’ve kept me in the dark. You haven’t even bothered to mention that Riley was murdered.”
“It was on the news.” I fled to the kitchen and started unpacking the bags.
She kept hovering around me. “You know I don’t watch the news. Too depressing. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“Because I knew you’d flip out. I’m sick and tired of being treated like a natural disaster.”
“You’re the one who claims to be cursed!”
“Well, I am, but it’s not just that. I love you like a sister, but you overdo the doting sometimes. I’m the older one, for fuck’s sake.”
She took the bunch of fresh dill I was waving about. “Hey, you don’t have to swear. I care about you. We all do. When was the last time you saw Mom and Dad? She was asking about you.”
I groaned. “Every time I visit, she ends up crying.”
“She’s in menopause—it makes her emotional.”
“Oh really? Does she have a breakdown when you visit?”
“Sometimes. Yeah, okay, not that often. She’s worried, that’s all,” she said in a more conciliatory tone.
“Everyone always worries about me. It makes me feel like I’m still sixteen. Do you think you can stop worrying, fretting and fussing for a while? I’ll make us baked salmon with dill sauce, and we can talk about your boyfriend. Is he back in town yet?”
She huffed. “He’ll be back tomorrow. Fine, we can talk boyfriends.”
