On My Knees: The Complete Series Box Set

by C. J. Thomas

  She was on her stomach, head turned toward the bedside table. Her arm was outstretched, as though she was reaching for something. What? The phone? The lamp? The bottle of pills, currently on its side, its contents strewn across the table’s surface?

  Her eyes were open. How many times had I seen those eyes on the big screen? They were very blue. They still were, only now they were wide open and unfocused. Her mouth was slightly open, too.

  A sheet covered her bottom half, but it was clear she died with no clothes on.

  “Who’s this remind you of?” Dan asked.

  “Marilyn.” It was a no-brainer. She was set up almost exactly the way Marilyn Monroe’s body was found.

  “Maybe she wanted to achieve that same level of legend,” Dan mused. He scribbled notes on a pad. “She took herself out in a big way.”

  My eyes cut to him but I held my tongue. Always the cynical Hollywood detective, that Dan Pierce. Sexy as hell, fun to spar with, but a little too quick to label a case open-and-shut.

  I looked at the body again. No. This wasn’t suicide. I couldn’t explain why, and I was sure that if I opened my mouth he would laugh me out of the apartment. There was no proof yet that she hadn’t killed herself, and I didn’t know the girl’s personal life. I didn’t believe it, was all. I’d read enough about her, heard enough about her in the press circles to know she was as sincere as it got in our crummy town. Sweet, generous. She thrived in Hollywood but hadn’t let Hollywood change her. She was a unicorn, in other words.

  A dead unicorn, now.

  “Did she have a . . . guest . . . at any point?” I asked, looking at Dan again.

  “We haven’t found any evidence,” he said. “Sheets are clean. Odds are, she liked to sleep naked.”

  “Oh? You’re so sure about that, Detective?” I couldn’t keep the teasing from my voice.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugged, the confident know-it-all.

  “Maybe that closet behind you, with the dozen or so satin nightgowns.” I pointed to the open closet. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to me. One corner of his mouth was raised in a half-smile, half-smirk.

  “Maybe they were what she wore when she had company,” he blithely reasoned. “Nude was her everyday sleep mode.”

  “Or maybe you’re trying to misdirect me so I’ll have a bunch of baseless crap for my article.”

  “What do you sleep in, by the way? Do you have special outfits for guests, others for when you’re all alone?”

  A blush warmed my cheeks. “You’ll just have to rely on your filthy imagination.” I crossed my arms, and no, it wasn’t lost on me that the motion pushed my breasts together. I felt his eyes linger on my cleavage, revealed by the deep V in my t-shirt, before he cleared his throat.

  “Fair enough. How about you let me take you to dinner tonight? We can discuss this in a more . . . intimate setting.” He waved a hand around the room. “I wouldn’t want to keep distracting the forensics team.”

  “We could go to the living room to discuss it.” I motioned toward the open doorway.

  “I like to eat food and drink obscenely expensive wine while I discuss cases.” His steel gray eyes flashed at me from across the bed. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Damn, he was good.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me out, either. I didn’t keep track, but it seemed as though every time we ran into each other in one of these situations he managed to slip a date request in there. He always found some smooth way to do it. I wondered how he had the time to be so good at his job when he spent so much time practicing being smooth.

  I always turned him down. I couldn’t see myself becoming involved with a man like him. Screwing around? Sure, I could do that, and had in the past with other men.

  Somehow, I felt that it would be more than casual sex with Dan. We were both adults, both with our own careers. We knew the way the world worked. I also knew that even casually sleeping with a cop would make me crazy with worry about him whenever he went to work. I happened to like Dan as a person, which would make me worry even more.

  However, if this case got as big as I saw it becoming—world-famous actress, pills, scandal—I could get a lot of work out of it.

  “All right.”

  His eyes widened perceptibly. “Really? Just like that?”

  I headed out of the room. “Just like that. I didn’t know anything could shake you, Detective.”

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  “You know where to find me.” I bit my lip to conceal a smug grin as I left the apartment.

  A date with Dan Pierce. I needed a drink.

  122

  Dan

  “DOES the coffee ever come out of the machine hot?”

  Frank looked over at me from his desk. “It’s your fault for drinking that shit. That’s what Starbucks was invented for.”

  “When we get a Starbucks here at the station, I’ll get my coffee there. I don’t have the time to keep running back and forth the way you do. Some of us work here.” I shot him a grin, but wasn’t grinning when I looked down at the work on my desk. I liked the guy well enough—he was my partner, after all. He could be a real pain in the ass, all the same.

  I flipped through the already thick Emelia Adams file on my desk, chewing the inside of my mouth, trying to piece it all together. It couldn’t have been easier if the girl tried. She killed herself. Plain and simple.

  My brow furrowed. I saw a lot of cases like hers, but I had to admit this one gave me pause. She wasn’t the type. I couldn’t say it out loud to Frank or anybody else on the squad. They’d laugh themselves to death. I just never thought the captain would send me to her place for something like that—or ever.

  “What a shame, huh?” Frank asked, looking over my shoulder. “These people have everything. The whole world on a silver platter. And what do they do? They throw it all away. It’s a waste. But we keep throwin’ money at ‘em, like they deserve it. People like you and me make pennies, and they waste all their cash on what? Drugs. To kill themselves.”

  “Yeah, it’s a crying shame.” I kept my opinion to myself. I had seen enough of that world my partner talked about to know it wasn’t that simple. The people who killed themselves, intentionally or over the period of years, did it for a reason. Maybe not always a good reason, but a reason none the less.

  I looked up at the photos on my screen, from a flash drive the forensics team gave me. The bedroom. Taken at the foot of the bed. Her body was visible. Her outstretched arm pointed toward the table, and the bottle of pills.

  Frank pointed at it. “That pill bottle. When was the script filled?”

  I checked the information in the file. “Three days ago,” I said.

  “Did she have a running history with painkillers?”

  “The team’s looking into it now, with her doctor. I’m expecting a phone call anytime.” If she had an addiction, she would have had more than one doctor writing the scripts, unless hers was the sort of M.D. who wrote without thinking about it. I didn’t recognize the name on the bottle, so odds were, he was above-board. I knew the names of most of the Doctors Feel-good around here.

  “How many pills in the bottle?”

  “It was supposed to be a thirty-count. There were twenty pills on the table, none on the floor, under the bed, under her. So she took ten, at the most.”

  “Would that be enough to kill a person?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it? Especially if she took them all at once.” I looked at the photo on my monitor. The pills strewn out like that. If I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t leave any behind. I would take them all. Why did she only take a handful if she wanted to do herself in? She would risk not dying, just being really sick. Somebody might have found her and taken her to the hospital. It would have been a huge scandal—though a good publicist could always cover up a scandal.

  “It might have been an attempt gone wrong,” I mused, rubbing my hands over my face. I needed to shave. The call
from the captain that morning had gotten me out of bed before I had the chance to groom.

  “You think so?”

  “Would you only take ten out of thirty pills if you were serious?”

  He frowned. “Maybe there was another bottle someplace else and she finished it off beforehand.”

  “We didn’t find anything else. No painkillers in the cabinet, either. Nothing stronger than Tylenol.”

  “There’s gotta be another explanation,” he said. “Maybe she couldn’t swallow them all at once so she took some, then wanted to take more. Only . . . well . . . she ended up dead first.”

  “How did you ever become a detective?” I asked, smirking.

  “I took one of those online certification tests. Like people do when they wanna perform a marriage ceremony.”

  I laughed. My heart wasn’t in it. Something didn’t add up.

  Frank found a way to break up my thoughts. “So, Julia Mabel, huh?”

  I looked up at him, then back down to the file. “And?”

  “Come on. Another few minutes, and you would’ve been humping her on the bed.”

  “I don’t usually do it on top of a dead body,” I said. “Wait—I take that back. There were a few over the years who I thought might be dead at the time.”

  “You know what I mean.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “So you’re finally gonna get some of that, huh? All it took was flirting with a dead body between you. Maybe she’s one of those freaky chicks.”

  “I never said I was going to get some, Frank.”

  “You will, though.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “The way her eyes begged you to take her clothes off.” He burst out laughing, then went back to his desk. I shook my head. He had all the class of a horny teenager, in the body of an overweight grandfather with a perpetual stain on his tie.

  I wouldn’t admit it to Frank, but I wondered what I did to get her to say yes this time. How many years had I been asking her out? The funny part was, I knew that if she said yes the first time, I wouldn’t have asked her out again. She’d be one of the women in my rearview mirror.

  It was the chase. I’d been chasing her. She finally let me catch her. Or . . . had she caught me?

  It didn’t matter how much info she wanted to get from me, and that was probably the reason she accepted.

  “Where’re you takin’ her?”

  I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the list of numbers. There were two, maybe three dozen restaurants in there. I liked going out to eat, and I liked taking women out with me.

  This wasn’t any ordinary woman, though. She had a way of just looking at me that got me hard. And her body . . . Christ. Even though she only ever wore jeans and t-shirts—why would she dress up for work at a sleazy tabloid?—she couldn’t hide the swell of her breasts, her small waist, and round ass. Long, lean legs I was dying to feel wrapped around my waist.

  It wasn’t just that, though. It was the way she kept me moving, thinking. She was always a challenge. Some women saw me, saw the suit or the car, and fell into bed. That was good for a quick one-off when I was horny. She was the type I wanted to lure into bed with me. I had the feeling it would be that much better when she finally gave in.

  Which she would.

  “Got it.” I pulled up the number with a smile. Waterfront, great food, romantic atmosphere. Most men took their women there when they wanted to get laid, or on a special anniversary . . . when they wanted to get laid. I made an eight o’clock reservation.

  “You have her number?” Frank chuckled, then went back to his desk. No, I didn’t. I scowled at him. It wouldn’t take long to get it, though. A simple call to the receptionist at her office, a little flirtation. I dropped my name, she picked it up. Pretty easy.

  Julia sounded surprised when she picked up the phone. “This is my private cell number,” she said. Not a hello, nothing.

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked, keeping my voice low and warm. I imagined we were in bed together when I spoke. The seduction had to start early.

  “It says LA Homicide on my phone.” She sighed.

  “Does it really?” I couldn’t help laughing. “I didn’t know it came up like that.”

  “I guess you’re calling my personal number to discuss something personal.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be a detective,” I murmured. She snorted derisively. “I wanted to let you know that I made a reservation for us at eight o’clock tonight. By The Sea. You know it?”

  “I’ve heard of it, but can’t say I’ve ever been there.”

  I smiled. Perfect. “You’ll love it. The seafood is the freshest you’ll find anywhere.”

  “I’m allergic to seafood.”

  “You are?” My eyes flew open. Why hadn’t I thought to ask?

  “No. I’m not. Jeez, you’re gullible. Maybe I would make the better detective.” She chuckled.

  My eyes narrowed. Oh, I would get her for that. “Then it’s settled. Eight o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there.” She was still chuckling when she hung up.

  My hands were shaking slightly when I hung up. God, she had a way of getting to me. I shook my head, smoothing my hands over my hair just to give them something to do. I wasn’t used to being thrown off by a woman. That was probably why I kept trying with her.

  “So it’s all set?” Frank asked, grinning at me.

  “It’s all set.”

  “I can’t wait to get the full report tomorrow.” He laughed.

  I rolled my eyes and went back to the Adams file. Like I would tell him anything even if things did go the way I wanted them to.

  And they would. I had the feeling that underneath her smart-ass exterior, she was a stick of dynamite ready to explode. I would be there with a lit match when she did.

  123

  Julia

  “IF I KNEW the way this dinner was going to go, I would know what to wear.”

  Mia laughed. “Jules, we’ve been through everything in your closet. You’re going to have to pick something. Unless you want to show up naked. That could send a message.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned against my dresser, hands on my hips.

  “I liked the black dress. What was wrong with the black dress?” She fished around in the pile on the bed, pulling out a slinky number.

  “Speaking of messages. This one practically screams I’m desperate.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Not that desperate. He already thinks he has me wrapped around his little finger. Like I finally gave in after all these years. Wearing a dress that shows off my boobs and most of my legs will make it impossible to get any work talk done.”

  “You really think you’re going out to talk about work?”

  I looked at her in the mirror, where she sat cross-legged behind me. “We’d better. That’s the entire reason I agreed.”

  “Bull.” She laughed, throwing a pillow at me. I turned and threw it back.

  “Don’t tell me why I’m going out with him!”

  “I wouldn’t, if I never saw the man with my own two eyes. Holy cow.” She rolled her eyes, fanning herself. “He’s sex on two legs, girl.”

  “Like I don’t know. He knows, too. That’s the problem. He’s a smug jerk face.”

  “A smug jerk face who you want to bone. Don’t bother denying it.”

  I chewed on my lip. “We’re friends, though. That’s all. We’re friends who flirt.” I sat on the floor, in front of her. “I can’t get involved with a cop. I mean, what would happen if he had a case I was reporting on? Conflict of interest, all over the place.”

  “You wouldn’t have to get involved. You would just sleep together. No biggie.” She shrugged. The eternal optimist, all blonde and glowing and green juice-drinking. My polar opposite. That was probably why we were best friends.

  Mia jumped up from the floor, then pulled me up with her. “Okay. Let’s get serious.” She clapped her hands, then flexed like a boxer about to
go into the ring. “Here’s how I see it. We’ve got a lot of choices, here. Let’s separate them into three piles: Just Friends, Who Knows, and Do Me Here and Now, You Big Hunk o’ Man.”

  “Lord.” I rolled my eyes but did as she asked.

  Once we finished sorting my outfits, there were three distinct piles on the bed. Not surprisingly, the Do Me pile was much bigger than the other two.

  “I used to have an active social life,” I murmured, going through the dresses there. “This pile is out. I really do have to talk the case over with him before the night is over, and if I walk in with half my choo-choo hanging out, he’ll ask for the check early and convince me to talk the case over at his place.”

  “Great. We can eliminate this, and make life a lot easier.” She scooped the pile into her arms and tossed it into the closet.

  “Thanks for that,” I said, drily. Unlike my silver-spoon friend, I didn’t have a team of domestic servants at my beck and call.

  She stood between the other piles with her hands on her hips. “Now, for these two, do you think it’s going to be a Just Friends type of night? I mean, honestly.”

  I ran my hands through my hair—damn, there was another lost cause. What was I supposed to do with it? Then I realized I cared an awful lot about how I’d look at dinner. Much more than I would if this was a friendly get-together.

  There was my answer.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, should it be? Yes. If he has his way, it won’t be.”

  “What about your way? Why does Mr. Wonderful get to do this his way, but you don’t?”

  “Honestly? Because I want it that way, too.” I sighed, hands clasped over my head. It felt good to say it out loud. It also made my knees quake with nerves.

  Mia cheered, fists in the air. “Well hot damn, Julia Mabel. Well done. Going for what you want.”

  I shook my head, ending the excitement. “It’s not that easy. This isn’t just some reporter, or cop, or bartender. This is the one-and-only Daniel Pierce. The million-dollar smile. The custom suits. He’s in another league.”

  “So are you. How many times have I told you that you’re too good for the losers you sleep with?”