He reached one hand out and slid it around my middle, the scents of aftershave and leather warring together as he nibbled at my lower lip. He smelled good. Really good. Almost good enough to overpower the lingering smell of icing on my dress.
And then he really kissed me. Covering my mouth with his in a slow, sensual movement. Trailing his hand up my waist and inside my sundress.
I think I had an on-the-spot orgasm.
“But I’m covered in cake, ” I protested (feebly, I might add).
He got that Big Bad Wolf look in his eyes.
“I like cake.”
He leaned in and nipped at my ear. I shivered as his lips glided over my skin, licking a stray smudge of frosting from my cheek.
I sighed. Yes, actually out loud. He was that good.
He slipped one strap off my shoulder…then the other. And suddenly he was nibbling a whole lot lower. I groaned and refrained from pointing out that there wasn’t any cake there.
“So, does this mean all is forgiven?” I asked, going slightly light-headed as his hands slid up my thigh, taking my hemline with them.
He chuckled, his hot breath tickling the hollow of my throat. “Maybe.”
His mouth dipped lower, leaving a shuddering trail down the vee of my top. “Maybe? Anything I can do to convince you?”
He paused, then gave a big, wicked grin that was all teeth.
“Oh, yeah.”
In one fluid movement he wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me off the ground, carrying me down the little hallway, where I got the close, personal tour of his bedroom.
All night long.
I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping outside the window and small children laughing.
Okay, so in reality, the children were more swearing at one another than laughing. And the chirping-bird thing was actually the sound of a garbage truck backing up down the block. But they all sounded pretty perfect to me. In fact, life was pretty perfect. I couldn’t honestly imagine it getting any perfecter. I was in Ramirez’s bed, sleeping on Ramirez’s sheets, basking in the afterglow of Ramirez’s seriously talented body. Life did not get any better than this.
And then, amazingly, it did.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I opened my eyes and looked up to find Ramirez hovering over me, a cup of coffee in one hand. His hair was wet and curling around his temples a little, like he’d just showered. He smelled of Ivory and aftershave, and was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his chest tighter than Saran Wrap. I licked my lips, going warm beneath his sheets again.
“Coffee?” he asked, handing me the steaming cup.
Was this guy good or what?
I took a sip. French roast. Just a little milk. Heaven.
“Get much sleep?” he asked, a glint of humor in his voice.
I couldn’t help the middle-schooler giggle that escaped me. “Enough.”
He reached one hand out and tucked a strand of what I feared was serious bed-head behind my ear. “You know, you snore a little.”
I gasped. “I do not!”
Ramirez’s mouth quirked up, hinting at that deceptively boyish dimple in his left cheek. “Relax. I thought it was kind of cute.”
I took another sip of coffee to cover my blush.
“Listen, the crime-scene guys called this morning. They analyzed the stuff from your apartment and kicked out a name.”
I sat up, propping myself on my elbows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Isabel.”
I paused, trying for a moment to place that name. Isabel…Isabel…I knew it sounded familiar…
“The Cabana Club?” Ramirez prompted.
Oh!
“You mean that crazy chick with the gun?”
Ramirez nodded. “That’s the one.”
I shook my head. “But why? What does she want with me?”
Ramirez sighed. “What I’ve gathered from the guys in vice is that apparently after her boyfriend, Snake, saw the club shooting on the news and found out she was talking to the authorities, he dumped her. She blames you.”
“Me? But I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
Ramirez gave me a look.
“Okay, maybe I had a teeny-tiny bit to do with it. But I’m sure she’s better off without him anyway. I mean, what kind of guy has a name like Snake?”
He cocked one corner of his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good point.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyway, Isabel isn’t the most stable, rational person I’ve ever met—”
“Understatement alert.”
His eyes crinkled again. “So, I think it might be safer if you stayed here for a while.”
I froze, coffee cup halfway to my mouth. “Stayed here?”
Okay, so, yes, waking up in Ramirez’s bed was heaven. And spending the night in it had been…well, heaven didn’t even begin to describe it. Let’s just say the words multiple and orgasm came into play. But that had been one night. Staying one night with someone and staying a while were two different things. A little snoring might be cute after one night. After a while it made you want to smother the other person with a pillow.
I blinked and realized Ramirez was still talking.
“…and we’ll stop by your place later so you can pick up a few things.”
“You don’t have to do this. I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”
Ramirez’s gaze lingered on the hem of the sheet, flirting with my barely Bs. “No intrusion at all.”
“But what about Tot Trots? I need my drawing table to design. I can’t do that here.”
“I thought you said you finished your last assignment?”
Oh yeah. Right.
“But what about my mother?” I said, grasping. “What will she say if I tell her I’m staying here? You know”—I gestured to the wrinkled sheets—“with you.”
Ramirez’s lips parted in a slow grin. “Honey, your mom offers me condoms every time I see her. I don’t think she’s exactly under the impression that you’re a virgin.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I took another sip of coffee to cover my rising panic. Hearing the G-word last night had been great. Wonderful. Terrific, in fact. But going from girlfriend to cohabiting was a big leap. We’re talking diving-off-the-110-overpass-into-rush-hour-traffic kind of leap.
Again I couldn’t help wondering if it was me or the case he was really interested in. What would happen when this was all over? When Isabel was behind bars and the Magnolia Lane killer was doing time in San Quentin? Would Ramirez still be Mr. Attentive, or was it back to canceling dinner plans and running out on me at the mere chirp of a pager?
I wasn’t certain. But since Horny Chick had had her fun, Neurotic Chick was back, and she decided the only way to know for sure was to call his bluff.
“Okay, ” I heard myself say. “I’ll move in.”
His face broke into a wide grin and he leaned in for a kiss.
“But”—I stopped him, carefully watching his reaction over the rim of my coffee cup—“don’t you think I should have my own key?”
Ramirez paused. “Key?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, bobbing my bed-head up and down. “A key to your place. My own key. You know, since I’ll be living here and all. That way I can come and go anytime I want.”
“I, uh, don’t have a spare copy, ” he hedged.
“No problem. I’ll make myself one.”
I saw him bite the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at me.
I gave him my best wide-eyed-innocent stare.
We sat like that for an agonizing two seconds, until finally he stood and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just leave the front door open.”
Ahnt. Wrong answer, pal.
“But—” I was about to protest.
Only I didn’t get the chance, as Ramirez’s pager came alive on his belt. He looked down, a frown settling between his brows as he read the number.
“Work, ” he
said, slipping his cell out of his back pocket.
I sucked on my lower lip, staring into my now-tepid cup of coffee, and tried to stave off the panic at the fact that my little game of chicken was backfiring miserably.
There was no way I could move in with Ramirez. I was so not ready for him to see the unbuffed, unpolished, drooling-on-her-pillow-at 3-A.M. Maddie who woke up with bed-head to rival Don King’s. And I seriously was not ready to have him see the parade of beauty products it took to keep up appearances. What would he say the first time he saw me putting on my pore-cleansing acne mask? Or antiwrinkle night cream? There were some things a man just should not know about a woman until after he’s married (i.e., legally required to love her despite her jumbo-size box of tampons sitting where his issues of Sports Illustrated used to be).
I had just about worked myself into a state of hysteria the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since the Black Friday sale at Macy’s last Thanksgiving, when Ramirez hung up the phone and turned to me.
The frown between his brows had worked itself into an all-out scowl.
“I have to go, ” he mumbled, standing up and throwing on his leather jacket. “Now.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like that tone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, unconsciously clutching my coffee cup tighter. “What’s going on?”
Ramirez didn’t answer, instead shoving a ring of keys into his pocket and slipping on his holster.
“What? What is it?”
He turned to face me, his Bad Cop look already firmly in place.
“Please?” I asked, really starting to worry now. “You know I’ll find out eventually anyway.”
I’d like to think it was the please that softened him, but more likely it was the fact that he knew I was right. “It was my captain.” He paused, rubbing one hand over his eyes and suddenly looking very tired. “They’ve found another body.”
Chapter 13
I blinked, my mind going blank as I white-knuckled the coffee cup to keep from spilling it all over Ramirez’s sheets.
“Whose body?” I asked.
But it was too late. Ramirez was already out the door. I sprang up from the bed, wrapping the sheet around my middle as I trailed after him into the living room.
“Wait! Whose body?”
Ramirez was at the front door, shoving his wallet in his back pocket. “Look, just stay out of this, okay, Maddie? You’ve already got some psycho pissed off at you. Just stay here and I’ll be back later.”
“Jackson Wyoming Ramirez, don’t you dare walk out that door!”
Ramirez paused, hand hovering over the doorknob, and raised one eyebrow at me.
“Um, please?”
He shook his head at me, and I could swear the corner of Bad Cop’s lips quivered ever so slightly. “Look, I don’t know whose body yet. They just said they found a woman in the Central Park section of the lot. She was strangled, just like Veronika.”
I shivered, suddenly cold beneath my thin makeshift toga. “I’m going with you.” I dropped the sheet and grabbed my discarded sundress, cake stains and all, from the living room floor.
“No!” In one quick movement, Ramirez was across the room, grabbing one end of the dress in a tug-of-war. “No way. You are staying here.”
I tugged back. “Like hell I am.”
“Maddie, I’m warning you…”
“Let go of my dress!”
“Not until you promise to stay put.”
“You’re going to stretch it.”
“Then let go.”
“No, you let go!”
“No, you—”
But he didn’t get to finish that thought as the horrible sound of ripping fabric filled the air and I went flying backward, landing on my bare tush on his hardwood floor. I looked down. I had half a cake-stained sundress in my hands.
“You ripped my dress!” I moaned. “This was a discontinued Betsey Johnson summer-collection baby-doll dress! It’s irreplaceable. And now I have nothing to wear!”
For half a second Ramirez looked like he might have been sorry. But as he stared down at me, that wicked grin stole across his face again.
“Well, I guess you’re staying here then.”
That was it; he was dead meat.
I lunged for him, but thanks to his quick copreflexes, he was out the door before I could even peel myself off the floor.
“I am so not moving in with you!” I yelled to the closed door. But I was pretty sure he didn’t hear me over the sound of his SUV screeching out of the drive.
Great. Now what?
I pulled the sheet back around my middle and plopped down on the sofa. I stuck one fingernail in my mouth as my mind twisted over just whose body Ramirez was racing to view. Could it be Mia’s? Had the killer really been after her this whole time? Or maybe it was another victim of the killer baby-daddy. Maybe Veronika hadn’t been the only one he was fooling around with. Or maybe it was someone who had seen him offing Veronika. A witness? Maybe it was completely unrelated to anything. A copycat?
I grabbed Ramirez’s space-shuttle remote and tried to turn on the news. But since my technical skills ended at being able to program my Mr. Coffee, all I could get was a giant screen full of snow and static. I gave up, instead grabbing Ramirez’s cordless from the end table and dialing the one person I knew who just might know more than the cops.
“Felix Dunn, ” he answered. I could hear sirens and loud voices in the background.
“It’s Maddie. You’ve heard about the body?”
“Yeah, ” he responded, “I’m at the studios now.”
I held my breath. “Who is it?”
“No idea, love. Police aren’t releasing her name yet. But I saw Mia giving a tearful comment to Entertainment Tonight just now, so I know it’s not her.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. I could just imagine what Ramirez’s superiors would say if it had been the show’s star. (Not, mind you, that he wasn’t still on my shit list after the demolition of my Betsey Johnson.)
“Any luck with the PayMate site last night?” I asked.
“Some.” Someone shouted in the background, and I strained to hear what was going on. “I was able to get into their system, but the files are still all encrypted.”
“Can you read them?”
“Not yet. Honestly, I’m thinking the easiest way to find this guy is to catch him in the act when he logs in again. Now that I’m in their system, I can trace back to his address if he stays online long enough.”
“Really? You can do that?”
“You underestimate me, love, ” he said with a hint of humor in his voice. “Problem is, we’d have to know when he’s logging on.”
I chewed my lower lip, an idea brewing. “Hang on; I’m going to put you on speakerphone, Felix.”
After only three tries I found the right button to push on Ramirez’s phone, and the living room filled with the sounds of a Hollywood crime scene.
“Still there?” I yelled.
“Bloody hell, no need to shout, girl.”
“Sorry. Okay, hang on.”
I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Information for Jasmine’s number. Only a 900-number under Jasmine’s Girls, but under her own name, Jasmine Williams, I hit pay dirt.
“Okay, I’m dialing Jasmine, ” I yelled at the speakerphone.
“I’m right here; no need to shout.”
“Sorry.”
I keyed in the number and waited while Jasmine’s phone rang on the other end. She picked up after the third one.
“Yeah?” came her high-pitched Barbie voice.
“Jasmine, it’s Maddie.”
There was a pause. “Who?”
“Maddie Springer.”
Nothing.
I sighed. If I ever got this chick to remember my name, I’d feel it was a life well lived. “The one who popped the boob and is now working with the police.”
I heard Felix snicker from the speaker.
“Oh right. You. Whad
da you want?” she asked. I could hear her popping a wad of gum between her bleached white veneers.
“I have a favor to ask. That guy who logged on to see Veronika—could you call me at this number if he logs in again?”
“And why should I do that?” she asked. Pop, pop.
“Because it may lead us to Veronika’s killer.”
Jasmine snorted. “So?”
Gee, such a loving soul. My eyes roved the apartment as I racked my brain for anything I could barter with. Then they settled on the speakerphone.
“How about a free ad in the L.A. Informer?”
I heard Felix shouting, “No!” from the speaker.
“What was that?” Jasmine asked.
“Television. So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know…”
“Uh…okay, how about two months of free ads? Full-page, ” I added.
“Do you have any idea how bloody expensive that is?” Felix shouted from the speaker.
I covered the mouthpiece of the cell with my hand. “Relax, ” I whispered back at him. “I know you can afford it. Besides, think of the story you’ll get.”
Felix did a pained groan, but didn’t say anything.
“So, ” I said into my cell, “do we have a deal, Jasmine?”
“You promise, full-page?”
“Promise.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll call you the next time he logs on. But I’m warning you, I have no idea when it will be.”
“Thanks, Jasmine!” I said, flipping my Motorola shut.
“We got it, ” I shouted to Felix.
His groan filled the room. “You couldn’t have offered her a free subscription instead?”
I ignored him. “I’ll let you know the second Jasmine calls me. In the meantime, just be ready to track him.”
“This had better be one hell of a story, ” he mumbled. I heard more noises in the background and someone else shouting. “Listen, they’re moving the body. I’ve gotta go if I’m going to get any decent pictures.” Then he paused. “Oh hell.”
“What?” I pulled the sheet up over my shoulders to ward off the sudden chill in the air again. “What is it? What do you see?”
“You’d better get down here, Maddie.”
“Why? Felix, who is it?”
Undercover in High Heels Page 16
