"There's more."
"Always is," he muttered, which made me smile, despite the chill still emanating from the man.
"A .38 calibre pistol inside his trouser pocket."
His head shot up so he could look me in the face.
"The one that shot at us?"
"I'm guessing, won't have it confirmed until forensics runs a check."
"Bloody hell, Keen. You always did attract too much attention."
"What the hell does that mean?" I demanded, hands on hips, jacket spread displaying my badge and holstered gun.
I'd always liked this stance. At once it relays my pissed off attitude, and somehow manages to say don't fuck with me as well.
Damon flicked his dark gaze over my body, then settled his eyes on my chest. Most people got distracted by the gun, or at the very least the badge, not many waved the rag in front of the bull by staring at my tits.
"It means," Michaels murmured, still staring at my breasts, "that life is very exciting indeed whenever you're around."
"Cut it out," I growled. And received a blinding smile in return.
His eyes rose to hold my gaze and he let a long breath of air out on a sigh.
"I just wanted half an hour to check something out, Keen," he said quietly, making my stomach tighten at the return to the previous topic. "Was it too much to back me on it?"
"What do want from me, Damon?" I took a step towards him, realising we were pretty much on our own, the HEAT guys all shadowing forensics or Pierce now, clearly giving us space to work things out. "My badge? Because that's what it would mean, going against protocol. Or my professional standing with another detective in my division? One I have had to rely on a lot in the past few months. You're a temporary fixture in my life, Michaels. Once this case is over, you'll be gone. And I'll have to face not only Inspector Hart, but Ryan Pierce as well. Do you really want to fuck with me that much over thirty minutes unobserved at an arson scene?"
We were practically nose to nose now, he hadn't backed down as I'd advanced. His intense, almost black in this low light, eyes holding mine fiercely.
"I want your trust," he finally murmured.
"You don't have it," I said sadly with a shake of my head.
"It wasn't my fault, Lara," he added, with an obvious dose of been here done that in his tone.
"Well, it sure as hell wasn't mine. So, whose was it?"
His hands fisted, his jaw flexed, and then he purposely relaxed his muscles and rubbed the back of his fucking neck. His tell.
I turned and took a few steps away, then said without looking back, "Are you staying here, or coming with me to find out who's killing informants in this city?"
"Do you still want my help?"
It would have been easy to say I'd been ordered to work with him on this and only wanted him there because of that. But I swallowed my pride and sucked in a deep breath.
Then said, "Yeah, I still want your help."
"Then I'll come with you. Give me five minutes to hand over to Flack and I'll join you in your car."
I nodded, still not looking back, and headed over to where Pierce was standing looking at some evidence the forensics guys had unearthed.
"Got a lead?"
"Nah, not yet," he said. "But those HEAT guys are a bloody jumpy lot. Any idea why?"
"I'll work on it, but don't count on me breaking through that thick skull any time soon."
"Aw, come on, Keen. You could have him wrapped around your finger if you only tried."
"And you think that would be a good thing?"
"Well, it would certainly make it easier to figure out why they're being so secretive about this," he added, with a wave of his hand over the burned out scene.
"It's personal," I guessed.
"Yeah, I was thinking the same. But why?"
"Isn't that our number one favourite question? Why? Why? Why?"
"Cynical, that's what you are," Pierce shot back.
"You know, you're the second person to call me that this week. I might get a complex if this keeps up."
"Nah, you're tougher than you look. Carl always said to never underestimate you. 'Looks like a Lily, bites like a Venus Fly Trap.'"
"He did fucking not!" I exclaimed, aware that Damon had finished his handover and was approaching my car to wait.
Pierce offered a wide grin. "He did."
"Whatever," I muttered, flicking my hair as I turned and walked towards the car.
It was only as I unlocked it and slid inside to sit beside Michaels, that I realised I hadn't reacted to Pierce saying Carl's name. My shrink would be proud.
"So, what's next?" Damon asked, bringing me back from the moment and probably a good a thing too. I may have been able to stand Pierce talking about Carl, but left any longer my mind would always fuck it up with dark memories I should have filed a long time ago now.
"Next," I said, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, "is you telling me what the hell is going on at HEAT."
"We've been over this," he said with strained care.
"And I let you have your little moment to work out on your own that it would be better to share this with your partner than try to handle it alone, and then you went all territorial at an arson scene and blew your chance."
"Why do you insist on there being a problem at HEAT anyway?"
"Gee, let me see," I said sarcastically. "Could be that I'm a police detective with a pretty good bullshit meter." He snorted. "And you have a tell when you're trying to hide something."
"A tell?" He sounded distraught over that fact. "What tell?"
"That would be ill advised to disclose. It's still useful for me to keep that information close to my chest."
I could feel his eyes slide down my body to rest on said chest. I refused to squirm in my seat.
"Also," I added. "You were a little too eager to team up with me, and as I have already pointed out, I am sure that's because you want something."
"That makes no sense at all," he argued. "If I wanted something, then why would I be keeping a secret about HEAT?"
"Because you're a slippery bugger and like fucking with me."
He burst out laughing, big, full body shudders through his entire frame. I waited for the shaking to subside a little, then went on.
"We've established that it's not me you want."
"Yes, it is."
"So," I said, ignoring that last statement, "it's what I can do for you."
"You could do a hell of a lot for me, I'm sure." He was doing this on purpose, trying to deflect with sexual innuendo. "But all that would take is you spending a night in my bed."
"Wow, one night. How can I resist?"
"Oh, one night to start. Then we'd see about what comes next."
"So, I'd have to pass a test to get more than one night in your bed, is that right?"
Hold on, what were we talking about?
"Or one night at Zero Gravity, playing the part of my sub."
And the world stopped on its axis while Damon managed again to turn the topic to something else. Something he knew damn well I couldn't ignore. The sexual innuendos alone weren't doing it, at least not well enough, so he had to bring in the big guns. My case, and his assistance in getting into the back rooms at the clubs.
"You've got the invite," I said, stunned he'd managed to organise something so quickly.
"I thought time was of the essence and the chance to attend one of their masquerades came up."
"Masquerades?"
"Your young lad up on Karangahape Road said they were expecting you. If he just meant the Police, then it's not much of a problem. But if the club's expecting you, Lara Keen, Detective at Auckland CIB, then we do have a problem. The only way to circumnavigate that hurdle in a timely fashion is to attend one of their mystique nights."
"Mystique nights?" I asked, stunned at his familiarity with this scene. A scene I was investigating. A scene he had never hinted at when we'd dated all those months ago.
Did
I even know this man?
"Yes, mystique. Everyone wears a facial mask to hide their identity. It heightens the illicit, makes for an intriguing and irresistible opportunity for some; fucking someone you can't really see."
Well, that was putting it bluntly.
"Who said anything about fucking?" I blurted, brain and mouth filter malfunctioning.
Damon chuckled. "Lara, you really can't be that naive."
My hands gripped the steering wheel, but I had to say it.
"Not every proposition has to be accepted, you said so yourself. We can just watch."
"Sweetheart," - another tell, this time when Damon was being facetious - "do you really think that I'd finally get you into a sex club and not plan to have my wicked way with you?"
I smiled, I was sure it wasn't pretty.
"You come within one foot of me with any part of your body not appropriate for public viewing, and I'll chop the fucking thing off."
Another chest rumbling laugh.
"And don't for a second believe I haven't got your number, Damon Michaels."
Through chuckles, clearly amused at this whole conversation, Damon managed, "And what's that?"
"You will tell me what's happening at HEAT." Did he really think I was a novice at this game? Distraction is a poor man's ruse. Carl had taught me better than that.
The laughter stopped, he let a sigh out on a beleaguered breath of air.
"Lara," he said softly.
"No, Damon. You want my trust back? Then start opening up about this now."
Silence as I manoeuvred the vehicle into a carpark down the road from Tommy's girlfriend's house.
Then as the car engine cut off he reached over and clasped my hand, from where it rested on my thigh, taking it in his much larger and seemingly warmer one.
"I want your trust back," he whispered.
Good. "Then start talking." Tommy could wait. He sure as hell wasn't going anywhere, and something was telling me this was important.
Damon or HEAT, I didn't know. But my gut was pushing me down this path, a road I really wasn't sure I wanted to go. And Carl's quiet and gruff voice in my head was saying, "That's it, Sport; softly, softly catchee criminal."
Now why the hell would I associate that Carlism with Damon?
Chapter 9
"That's it, Sport; softly, softly catchee criminal."
"Well?" I asked, as Damon pulled his hand back and looked around the neighbourhood where I'd parked.
"Panmure. This is Thomas Wither's girlfriend's suburb? Which house?"
I frowned, but pointed to a blue weatherboard house in the middle of a large quarter acre section. One of the few not subdivided and refurbished in the urban sprawl of young executives desperate to own property in expensive Auckland.
"Talk to me, Damon," I pushed, tired of him deflecting.
"Shouldn't we go in before she spots us?"
"Bloody hell, you're determined to avoid this conversation." Regardless of the fact that he was probably right. I wasn't sure how happy Sharon Hunt was going to be to see us.
"No. No, I'm not." He turned his head to look at me. "I just think this isn't the time." I opened my mouth to argue and he held up a hand for me to stop. "Lara, it would better if I show you."
"Show me?"
"Rather than try to explain it here."
"You're not making any sense," I pointed out.
"Can you just trust me?" he asked, and immediately realised his mistake. His face fell, his back became rigid and that muscle in his jaw twitched.
"You're a real piece of work, Michaels," I muttered, opening my car door and stepping out.
I heard him exit his side of the car, but no further wild explanations or clever little distractions fell from his mouth. Determinedly, I pushed the conversation to the back of mind; to readdress at a later time. Damon may think he can deflect well, but once I latch onto the scent of something, I very rarely ever let it go.
The Inspector, and his dog with a bone attitude, had taught me that.
I started up the cracked, weed strewn concrete path to Sharon's house, deciding we'd try the direct approach, and not bother to cover back exits. She wasn't wanted for anything criminal, just information about the last few hours of her boyfriend's life. If she ran, I'd decide then to give chase or not.
I banged on the door, straining to listen to any internal sounds inside the house, but all was quiet. She could have been out, but the rust bucket she called a car was sitting neglected down the side of the property, so I waited a little longer, offering the odd further door bang and then finally announcing who I was.
"Sharon Hunt!" I yelled. "Open up, Auckland Police, CIB!"
Sometimes it was enough to make a noise, disturb the neighbourhood a little, and force them out that way. As expected, the rattle of chains on the door sounded out several loud minutes later and then a overly made up face peered through a small gap in the doorway, cigarette hanging out of cracked lips.
"Shut up, would ya. No need to let the whole fucking neighbourhood know you're here."
"Sharon Hunt?" A nod of a highly teased head of platinum blonde hair. "Detective Keen, Auckland CIB." I turned slightly, not taking my eyes of Hunt, to indicated Damon at my back. "This is Investigator Michaels of HEAT. Can we come in?"
"Got a search warrant?" TV police drama shows had ruined it for the rest of us in the real world.
"We're not here to arrest you, we just want to ask a few questions about Thomas Withers."
"Don't know no Thomas Withers." A puff of smoke was blown directly into my face.
I blinked, holding my breath until it dissipated.
"Ms Hunt, we know you dated him. We also know he used to stay here sometimes."
I held her gaze, noted the slightly dilated pupils and the smeared mascara under her eyes. She was a contradiction, this woman. Heavy on the make up, but no care that it was slightly worn. Teased, dyed hair, but dark roots showing. Skin tight leopard print pants, but food stains on the see-through black lace top. Her feet were bare, if she ran, I'd be able to catch her.
"We can do this here or down at the station, Ms Hunt. Your choice," I offered.
"Fucking, bloody pigs," she muttered, swinging the door open and stomping back down the hallway. I guessed that was an invitation to come in, so flicked a glance at Damon, to indicate he should keep his wits about him, and followed the woman to her kitchen.
Flies buzzed around days old dirty dishes in the sink. About thirty empty beer bottles sat in the corner on the chipped linoleum floor. The tap dripped slowly, splashing into a bowl of half eaten tinned spaghetti. She'd brought us here on purpose, to distract.
I wasn't particularly interested in what she was trying to hide in the rest of the house. Unless, of course, it pertained to Tommy's death.
I leaned back against a cupboard, while Damon stood sentinel at the door, half facing us, half facing the hallway itself. Alert and waiting for any surprises. Just because I had an understanding with Tommy, didn't mean his woman wouldn't stick a knife in my back while we were here.
"When did you last see Tommy, Sharon?" I asked, switching to her first name, now we'd made it inside the door. It's harder to stay guarded when the questions come in a friendly tone.
"Am I under investigation? Do I need a lawyer?" she asked, lighting a second cigarette, having stubbed out the first in a large ashtray overflowing with butts. It stunk, but only added to the miasma of scents invading my nose right then.
Maybe she had cannabis growing in a room down the back and needed to mask its distinctive smell.
"Like I said, we're not here to arrest you, but I'd be happy to move this to the station if you're unwilling to assist us in our efforts to solve Tommy's death," I said pleasantly.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," she muttered, puffing away like a steam engine. "I saw him a week ago on Friday. Stayed the night here. Haven't seen or heard from him since."
"How was he when you saw him? His usual self?"
> She laughed, it was a smoker's laugh, deep and throaty and borderline hacking up a lung.
"Horny, if you must know. We went at it like rabbits. All night long," she sneered and then purposely leered at Michaels. He ignored her, in favour of looking down the hallway out of sight.
For a widowed girlfriend though, she wasn't too cut up.
"Did he mention having any arguments or fights recently?"
"No."
"Did he say what he'd been up to?"
"I kept outta his business, he kept outta mine."
"Did he have any enemies?"
She laughed, this time so abruptly that I was afraid she was coughing up half her innards. I would have poured her a glass of water, but I wasn't keen to approach that sink.
Finally she got up and drank directly from the tap, clearly out of clean glasses. Once she'd soothed her throat, she sat back down and extinguished the cigarette, thankfully not lighting another.
"He had enemies," she began. "I didn't ask, he didn't say. But no one could be as cocky as Tommy and not have enemies."
"Were you aware of what his plans were on Friday night just past?" I asked.
She shook her head, staring at the table's Formica surface.
"Did he say anything about being worried for his safety?"
Another head shake to say no.
"Did he confide in you regarding any concerns at all that he had?"
Head shake. I was beginning to think this was a waste of everyone's time. Whether or not Sharon was being honest with me, I couldn't tell. But nothing useful was being shared. I had to cover all bases though, and that included drilling her until she cracked.
"Were you aware he was an informant for the Police?" Sometimes shock was enough to create a hairline fracture in an unwilling interviewee's façade.
"He said you paid better than most." Bingo. She knew more than she was letting on. I made myself more comfortable leaning against the cupboards.
"Tell me what else he said, Sharon."
"He said," she sucked in a deep, shattering breath. The façade cracking wide open now, emotions she wouldn't have wanted us to see floating to the surface through the gaps. "He said you were OK."
"And why do you sound upset about that, Sharon? It's not because you don't like cops, is it?" Her lips flattened into a chipped dark mauve painted line. "Was it because you were jealous of him meeting with another woman?" She snorted incredulously, striking that reason off my list. "Why then, Sharon?" I kept my voice soft and level, almost a monotone. "Help me out. Help me find out what was happening in Tommy's life right at the end. What led him to that location. What led him to his death."
A Flare Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 1) Page 8
