by Jaye Wells
I walked on wooden legs toward my desk, picked up the file, and grabbed my purse. The entire time, my heart thudded in my chest. I was almost at the stairs when her voice reached me. “Prospero.” She said it quietly, but in the silent gym with its tall ceilings, it sounded as loud as a gunshot.
“Yeah?” I said, my foot hovering over the first step.
“Whatever you think you just saw—keep it to yourself.”
I swallowed hard but nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Her head tilted. “You want that to continue to be the case, keep your mouth shut.”
I didn’t respond. Just jogged down the steps and slammed out the front door. I grabbed my phone as I stiff-legged it toward Sybil. I didn’t dial until I was in the car and speeding away from the office. He answered on the third ring.
“What’s up?”
“I’m coming over.”
A significant pause followed, followed by a cleared throat. “I’m not alone.”
I paused, trying to sort through the mixture of emotions that comment caused. “Really?”
“Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Bring a sixer.”
I smiled. “Will do. Be sure you put on some pants before I get there.”
“You’re no fun, Cupcake.”
I hung up and turned the Jeep in the direction of Morales’s apartment. I may have agreed not to tell anyone about her late-night cook session, but I hadn’t promised not to find Hector before she could use that potion.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’d never been to Morales’s apartment before. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t a space filled with books. Two entire walls of his living room were taken up by mismatched bookcases filled to the gills with paperbacks.
I wandered over to one of the cases and started reading titles. There didn’t seem to be a method of organization. Mysteries were stacked with Westerns, and science fiction pressed against political thrillers and fantasy novels.
The hiss of a cap top twisting from a beer bottle announced Morales’s return. I turned to take it from him. “I’m impressed.”
“What? I’m not a total Neanderthal, Cupcake.”
I lifted a book from one of the shelves. “Vampire romance?”
He almost spit out his beer. “An ex-girlfriend left that one.”
I raised my brows in challenge, but he wouldn’t look at me. I smiled and put back the book instead of teasing him more. Not that I’d admit this out loud, but the idea of him reading a romance novel was kind of endearing.
He cleared his throat and took another sip of beer.
An awkward moment of silence passed between us. Odd. We’d worked together for months and spent countless hours in the car in silence without the merest hint of discomfort. So why now?
“Anyway,” Morales said, “shall I assume from the stack of files in your hands this isn’t a social call?” Disappointment shadowed his words.
“Hitting all those doors today didn’t turn up shit. Figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go back over the crime scene reports. Maybe we missed something.”
He nodded and took another sip of his beer. “Actually, I called a buddy in Miami this evening. Works lots of A Morte cases. He sent me a couple of reports on cases where Souza’s name has cropped up.”
My brows rose. “That’s great.”
“I was just printing them off to go over when you called. I’ll go grab them.” He disappeared down the hall. I peeked around the corner. At the end of the hall, an open door revealed a made bed with a simple beige comforter. Morales disappeared into a different room that he must have used as an office.
While I waited for him to return, I plopped onto the overstuffed sofa and set my beer on one of the coasters obviously left there by a man who expected them to be used. A few magazines were on the table. Couple of gun rags, as I expected, but also a high-minded news journal and a magazine about cigars and spirits. They were displayed in a perfectly square stack in one corner of the table. The three remotes on the table were likewise lined up. I couldn’t reconcile the man who preferred such order in his home with the rough-and-ready partner with the scuffed boots and carefree smirk.
He emerged from the hallway with a couple of file folders in his hands. “Found them.”
I scooted over to make room for him. When he sat the leather cushions inflated under me, pushing me toward him. I bumped into his side with my hand open on his biceps. “Sorry,” I said. He shot me a look but didn’t say anything.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I frowned at him as I moved out of bumping range. “I went by the gym before I came over,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual.
He was busy putting the printouts in order. “Yeah?”
“Gardner was there.”
He looked up. “And?”
I forced a casual shrug. “I’m worried about her. I think the case is taking its toll.”
A dismissive flick of his brow indicated he thought maybe the case was affecting me, as well. “It’ll be fine. She’s a pro.”
I bit my lip to hold in the words that rushed forward. It would have been so easy to tell him what I saw, but something told me he’d brush it off. Morales respected Gardner too much to believe she was on the edge. So instead of bringing it up, I sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”
There was that cocky smirk. “ ’Course I am, Cupcake.”
He held my gaze for a moment too long. As much as I complained about his cocksure attitude, it also kind of pushed my buttons. There really was nothing like a man who could handle anything. I’m sure deep down, Morales had doubts like the rest of us mortals, but you’d never know it by dealing with him.
I cleared my throat and looked down at the files in my lap. “I brought Val’s forensics report from the Charm scene, as well as Mez’s from Harry’s.”
“Okay, you read over those and I’ll handle the ones my colleague sent.”
I nodded and settled back to start reading Val’s exhaustive notes. About thirty seconds passed before Morales spoke.
“Kate?”
“Yeah?” My eyes were on the top picture from Val’s report—an image of Charm’s head cradled in the saint’s arms.
“Never mind.”
I frowned at his weird mood, but brushed it off. This case was making all of us edgy. I started reading again. “Listen to this,” I said. “Val’s report says there were traces of hematite found on Charm’s limbs.”
He frowned.
I continued reading. “She noted here that it’s possible it’s from wherever they killed and dismembered the body.”
“Where would one find hematite?”
“Lots of places around Babylon.” Off his questioning look, I waved a hand. “I forget you didn’t grow up in a steel town. Hematite is one of the main iron ores. All of the old steel refineries, the train yards, and the ports would have traces of it.”
Morales’s eyes narrowed. “Considering most of those places are now abandoned, any of them would make a great place to commit a murder.”
I nodded. “Oh, wait,” I said, reading. “Val made a handwritten note here. Apparently, she did some research and the world’s largest supplier of hematite ores is a mining company in Brazil.”
Morales’s eyes widened. “Interesting.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Could be a coincidence.”
“Or not.”
“What did you find?”
He sighed and closed the folder. “A list of seriously fucked-up crimes linked to Hector ‘Pantera’ Souza, but nothing that will tell us where he is now.”
“Grab your computer and let’s look up this company in Brazil and see if there’s any links to A Morte.”
He paused. “What’s working in that head of yours, Cupcake?”
“Even though none of the steel factories is still producing, tons of ore come through the city’s ports for manufacturing companies across the country. That’s where the largest concentrations of hematit
e would be at present.”
“How does that connect to Souza?”
“Okay,” I said, “stick with me here, but if the shaman was trying to enter the country, Miami would be the worst place because the MEA would be watching all the ports as well as the airports. But a Brazilian freighter wouldn’t be as closely monitored in Babylon.”
Morales frowned. “You’re right. The MEA in Miami would have people watching all the normal entry points down south for him.”
“There’s lots of warehouses and slips and boats down there that would make excellent spots to kill someone.”
Morales grabbed his laptop from the floor next to the table. “I’ll access the MEA database and see if I can find any references to the Brazilian cartel using ships to smuggle people or potion-making supplies into the country.”
Now that we had something concrete to research, excitement surged through me. I scooted closer, but in my enthusiasm overshot and ended up pressing my thigh against Morales’s. He looked up from his typing. “Sorry,” I said, and shifted back a bit.
“No worries.” He looked back at the screen and cleared his throat. “Okay, according to a report from a couple of years ago, a shipment of ayahuasca was confiscated in the Port of Miami from a ship out of the Port of Tubarão in Brazil. One of the MEA agents got a statement from a worker on the ship that it was from A Morte, but before they guy could testify his body was found hanging from a crane at the port.”
“Jesus. Way to send a message.”
Morales nodded. “So your theory isn’t as wild as you thought.”
He leaned back into the cushions and took a celebratory swig of beer. “Looks like we’ll be headed to the docks in the morning.”
“I’ll call one of my friends in the port authority and ask them to help out.”
“Good thinking, Cupcake.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “You know when you end a compliment with that nickname it becomes backhanded, right?”
“Only if you choose to believe I call you Cupcake as an insult.”
I tilted my head. “It’s not?”
He shrugged and shot me a slow smile. “Maybe it was in the beginning. When you showed up on your first day in that short skirt and those fucking pearls.”
I slapped his arm. “Shut up! I didn’t know.”
He laughed, and it totally transformed his face. With his stubble and overtly masculine angles, he usually looked like he was searching for an ass to kick. But when he laughed, he looked… approachable? No, that was too tame. Doable, a voice in the back of my head whispered.
Whatever he saw on my face made his laughter drift away. “Hey, Prospero?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever have that date?”
The question was so unexpected it slapped me out of my trance. “What—with Hart?”
“Yeah.”
I swallowed some beer. “Uh-huh.”
He nodded, but his face showed no sign of that smile anymore. “Oh.”
The silent question hung between us like smoke. Are you going to see him again?
I looked away. “It, uh—didn’t go so well.”
“No?” His tone was casual, but I thought I heard a note of hope buried in that one syllable as well.
I shook my head. “Turns out he only asked me out because he thought it would be fun to slum it.”
The air shifted in the room. The careful casualness of his posture and tone disappeared, and he practically crackled with anger. “What the fuck?”
I looked at him. “It’s no big deal.”
“He actually said that shit to you? That he was slumming?” He gripped his beer bottle so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Not in so many words, but he did say he usually dates polite, educated women. Thought dating a cop would be exciting.”
“Jesus, Kate, is he still walking?”
A shocked laugh escaped me. “What?”
“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t put it past you to show him a little excitement in the form of a couple broken bones.”
I chuckled again. “Believe it or not, I don’t always manhandle my dates.”
He cocked a brow. “That’s too bad.”
Heat rose up my neck at the innuendo. “Not the ones who can’t defend themselves anyway. I doubt Brad Hart’s ever gotten into a fistfight.”
He leaned closer a fraction. “Is that what you like—” His deep voice pitched lower. “—a man who can fight?”
The heat in my neck rushed further south. I licked my lips to buy some time to recover, but those two brown eyes that missed nothing watched the movement with keen interest. “Uh.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I think you do. Maybe you convinced yourself you wanted a brainy guy, but once you had one you realized you like someone a little more… physical.”
Lord Jesus. I squirmed on the cushion. “Morales—”
The kiss came out of nowhere. I’m not even sure who moved first. But one second we were arm’s length away, and the next my back was back up against the cushions and Morales was pressed to my front.
His scent surrounded me—the clean smell of soap, the hot tang of lust. My mouth tasted the flavor of beer and arousal his lips. Calluses on his hands scratched the delicate skin of my inner arms. The heat of his skin burned my fingers as they dug into the nape of his neck.
The first thrust of his tongue forced a blood flow into regions that had been starved of sensation for too long. His hands possessed every inch of skin they touched, like he was branding me.
After months of antagonistic flirting and denial and dancing around each other, this first kiss was wild, unrestrained. Not polite. Exactly what I’d hoped it would be. Morales was a force of nature. He wasn’t too rough, but he wasn’t gentle, either. He didn’t hesitate like he was worried I might change my mind. He was a man with his mind on conquest and I was the enthusiastic prize.
He pulled away, dragging his lips across my cheek to speak in my ear. “Come on.” His voice was filled with gravel and heat. He took my hand and pulled me, dazed, from the couch.
After being surrounded by his hot skin, the shock of cold air shook me from my aroused haze. “Wait.” I pulled on the hand tugging me toward his bed.
He raised a brow. The color was high on his cheeks, and his lips were wet and swollen from kissing me. He was sin incarnate and I suddenly felt like Eve being offered a very juicy apple.
My body wanted him. But my mind had reservations.
“Don’t think, Cupcake.” He pulled again, but I resisted.
My gut twisted with indecision. It had been close to two years since I’d slept with anyone. Add to that spending the last six months stuck in close quarters with the extremely hot man currently urging me toward his bed, and I felt ready to combust. But that twist in the gut? It was fear—the only emotion more powerful than lust.
“This is a bad idea,” I said. “A really, really bad idea.”
He stepped closer. “Being bad is really good. And I promise you, it will be good. Very good.”
And that was the problem. Men like Morales? They didn’t play to win, they played to conquer. If I allowed those hot hands on me again, he’d make me forget all my good intentions.
I stepped back and held up my hands to ward off his advance. “I’m not the slut.” The words rushed out before I knew they were coming.
He froze. Confusion passed over his flushed face. A beat passed and that confusion morphed into anger. “Jesus, Kate, I’ve been waiting for this for months. I know you’re not easy.”
“No,” I said in an exasperated tone. “Look, it’s something one of my sergeants said in the academy.”
He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, as if he was barely restraining himself from grabbing me again and shutting me up with his mouth. “The academy.”
I swallowed. “She said if you want to make it in law enforcement as a woman, you have to be a lesbian”—although she’d used more colorful terminology—“a slut, or a
bitch.”
He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Are you telling me you like girls?” he asked in an incredulous tone. “Because I gotta call bullshit on that after the way you just kissed me, Cupcake.”
I shook my head, knowing I was fucking this up. “No, it’s just—I never sleep around with other cops. It’s too easy to get labeled the precinct slut and then no one takes you seriously unless you’re willing to drop to your knees.”
“Christ,” he muttered, “I think I’m insulted that you’re lumping me in with the kind of assholes who see female colleagues that way. I’ve worked with you for months, Kate. Have I ever once acted like I thought you weren’t capable?”
I shook my head. “No, but—”
He held up a hand. “Have I ever acted like I felt handicapped by being partnered with a female cop?”
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“It is the fucking point.” His voice rose. “You know what your problem is?”
I pressed my lips together. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You got a chip on your shoulder that makes the Rock of Gibraltar look like a pebble. I asked you on a date months ago. You remember that?”
I nodded jerkily.
“I waited patiently for you to make your move, but you’re so tied up in that head of yours that you won’t let yourself have anything good.”
My back stiffened. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. Is it so hard to believe that I wouldn’t want to complicate our working relationship by fucking you?”
He sucked in a long, frustrated breath and released it before answering. When he did, he sounded tired. “Is it so hard for you to believe that I’m interested in more than just fucking you?”
“Yes!” I yelled before I realized what I was saying. His eyes instantly softened and he stepped forward. Shame washed through me and I backed away from his touch. He’d hit the nail on the head. I’d known for a long time that Morales was interested in more than being my fuck buddy. That’s what really scared me about him. Because a man like Morales didn’t screw around—he possessed. And what frightened me the most was that part of me wanted him to.
