The Tough Guy and the Toddler

by Diane Pershing

  How had Hal described her? Blond, big boobs, flashy. Maybe she’d done some porn, Dom thought. Possible. A lot of wannabe actresses who came to town went that road. Dom had a snitch, Manny McCabe, in the porn video field, from when he’d worked vice, so he called him up and asked him to find out what he could about Myra Foster, ASAP.

  What else? Frowning, he stared again at the chaos on his desk. Man, oh, man, he did not want to be here.

  At that moment, Steve came down the aisle between the cubicles, whistling. Throwing his sports jacket over his chair, he asked, “How long you been here, my man?”

  “Too long.”

  “So why doesn’t it look any neater than it did yesterday?” Steve was the orderly type and loved to rag Dom about his clutter.

  “That’s because I was thinking about setting fire to the whole pile.”

  The brown-skinned man nodded solemnly. “It’s a solution.”

  A uniformed deputy hurried up to Steve’s desk and dropped a sheaf of papers in his in basket. He plucked them up, read them.

  “What?” Dom asked.

  “Our new assignment. Possible jewelry smuggling ring being run out of a pawnshop on Melrose.”

  Dom nodded, took the papers, checked them over, tossed them back to Steve. His partner sat and studied Dom for a moment, a furrow between his dark brows. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not on the job. Your head is taking trips to some other planet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So? What’s up?”

  Dom rubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head, hoping that might reassemble his scrambled brains into paying attention to his job. “Just some personal stuff. But you’re right,” he agreed, as more disgust heaped itself on top of the previous load. “I’m not present.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Steve didn’t know about the whole Jordan Wally Michael thing. Dom hadn’t told his partner about his romantic involvement with Jordan. Hell, it was so new, had happened so fast, even he wasn’t sure what to call it.

  Besides, Dom figured, it was better to play this one close to the vest. Steve was a little more of a by-the-book type than Dom was, and he didn’t want to jeopardize their working relationship. “Nah,” he said, answering Steve’s question. “I’m just beat, that’s all. My bones ache.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t been yourself for a while now. Know what I think? You need to take a little time off. What do you say? We get sick days—take ’em. Go somewhere. Or get into bed, watch some TV. You’ve been working way too hard.”

  Dom glanced at his partner, who nodded encouragingly. What Steve said was not a bad idea. He could take a couple of days, get this whole Carlisle affair cleaned up, close the file, then get back to what he did best. Nabbing the bad guys.

  “What about the jewelry ring?” he asked Steve.

  “I’ll clear it with the commander, get him to give me Santos. The kid’s ready. It’s no problem. Really.”

  Dom considered some more. The idea was making sense. “Maybe you’re right.”

  The phone rang, and he picked it up. “D’Annunzio,” he said.

  “Hey, this is Manny. I got what you wanted.”

  The porn snitch had hit paydirt. Myra Foster had done a couple of low-level porn flicks a few years back, then had disappeared from that end of show biz. He had an address on her, on Martel in Hollywood.

  A phone call revealed she was no longer living there, and there was no forwarding address, but Dom drove over there anyway, to see what he could find.

  Last night with Dom had been a lovely respite, but today Jordan was back to fretting about Michael. She was so glad to have her job. It kept her hands busy and her mind occupied. Still, when Lisa tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped.

  “He’s here again,” Lisa said.

  Jordan grabbed a size seven blouse that had found its way to the larges and walked it over to the smalls. “Who?” The moment it came out of her mouth, she knew.

  “Your detective. This is getting to be a habit.”

  Jordan turned her head and saw Dom. He was at the front of the shop, one hip leaning against the counter, his elbow resting on the countertop. His gaze was focused in her direction, and even yards away from him, she could swear his eyes were boring into her very soul.

  The sight of him made her breath hitch in her chest. He seemed to have that effect on her all the time, but it was worse today, ten times worse. Because today she had intimate knowledge of him, all of him. In the brief moment before she waved hello, she found herself mentally undressing him. Then she had to bite her bottom lip to suppress the nervous giggle that threatened to erupt.

  He lifted his hand to acknowledge her wave, but she could have sworn he was aware of the picture in her head, because one side of his mouth curved up in a knowing smile.

  “Be right there,” Jordan said, smoothing her sweater over her hips, wondering if she had any lipstick on, experiencing all those self-conscious, preparing-for-a-lover feelings. Her lover. Yes. Dom was, most definitely, her lover.

  Behind her, Lisa said in a low voice, “So, how was it?”

  “Hmm?” Jordan said, distracted, unable to take her eyes off him.

  “Between the sheets. One to ten.”

  Turning, she glared at Lisa, but her friend’s grin was too sweetly impudent to get angry at. In fact, Jordan couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Then she turned and walked toward Dom, tossing words over her shoulder as she did. “None of your business.”

  “Darn.”

  Oh, that face, Jordan thought as she approached Dom. All those hard, tough planes, those heavy-lidded brown eyes that remained steady on hers, that mouth with those full Roman lips that knew every which way to reduce her to a shivering, quaking, needy woman.

  But if, after last night, he knew her all too well, she was onto him also. An outsider would see no expression on Dominic D’Annunzio’s face, but she knew better now—lord, yes, she knew him—and underneath that poker face was the same hunger for her that she felt for him.

  “I keep doing this to you,” he said, straightening as she came toward him. “I should have called first.”

  When she’d been in the blouse section, his impact on her had been formidable. Close to him, it was as though she’d walked into pure hot sun from a fog-enshrouded cave. Heat came off him in waves that soaked into her skin. “No, it’s all right.”

  As she came to a stop in front of him, he reached for her hands, and she placed them in his and squeezed. God, it was good to touch him.

  “Do you have some news?” she asked hopefully.

  “Bits and pieces, yeah.”

  Her heart rate jumped up a notch. She glanced around. She couldn’t leave Lisa to cope on her own, but at present there were only a couple of customers browsing through the merchandise. Jordan led Dom to the rear of the shop, where a pair of folding chairs sat outside the single dressing room. “Tell me,” she said, sitting down and patting the seat next to hers.

  He turned the chair around and straddled it, folding his arms over the chair back. “I got some info on Myra Foster.”

  “Oh, Dom, that’s wonderful.”

  She hung on his every word as he recounted the details of the morning, his phone calls for information, his visit to a courtyard of thirties-era bungalows in Hollywood, the neighbor who remembered Myra and how she’d moved out a couple of years ago, saying something about hooking up with a rich guy. This neighbor had never heard about a brother, nor did she know Myra’s hometown, but she did mention her little boy.

  He’d been nearly a year old when Myra had moved, and his name had been Rory. “Sweetest little boy,” the neighbor lady had told Dom. “Blond, like her. Never cried.”

  As she took in this last bit of news, Jordan’s hand flew to her chest with shock. “Oh, my God,” she said, her mind racing furiously. “Myra had a child, too. Almost the same age as Michael. Could he be the little boy who died? Dom? What do you thin
k?”

  Dom narrowed his eyes. “What I think is that you need to use some logic, Jordan, okay? The picture you saw? It was probably of Rory.”

  “No, it was Michael.”

  “How can you be sure? What if Reynolds was that kid’s father, too? That might explain the resemblance.”

  “Oh,” she said, her spirits plummeting. Weeks of hope plummeted with them. She was wrong, had been wrong all along, had been stupid to think she’d been blessed with a miracle.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said slowly, but then a remembered snippet of conversation came to her that reversed the direction of her hopes once more. “I don’t think so, Dom. From what Hal said, Reynolds hadn’t known Myra more than a few months.”

  “But you don’t know that, do you? Not for sure.”

  “No, of course I don’t. I won’t know, will I, until I see him.” Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and let it out again. Her mind was still whirling, a free-for-all jumble of possibilities and explanations. “This is all so confusing. It makes my head spin.”

  Dom edged his chair closer, unfolded an arm and reached for one of her hands. He stared at their joined hands, rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, nodded. “Yeah, it’s not an open and shut thing, not yet, anyway. But it’ll all come together.” Emitting a brief, humorless chuckle, he added darkly, “I hope.”

  Jordan could sense herself drifting into Dom’s pessimism, so she fought against it. “Tell me, did you find out anything else?”

  “No prints on the letters or pictures, but we got a couple of partials on the money belt. I sent it right through. I’ll be paged when that comes in—later today, I hope.”

  Placing her other hand on top of his, she offered a worried smile. “I feel awful. You’re taking so much time away from your own work.”

  “Right now, my work is this case. I want to get it resolved. I’m taking a couple of days off.” Without releasing her hands, he got up from his chair and pulled her up with him. “I can’t concentrate on anything else, so I might as well be doing this, anyway.”

  He placed her hands around his waist, released them and cupped her face. “Correction,” he said, his voice becoming more intimate, “I’d much rather be doing this.”

  “But Dom,” she began, “you shouldn’t—”

  He stopped her protest by kissing her quickly. “Hey, did you hear me? I want to.” His voice was hoarse, and softer. He moved closer to her, backed her gently against the wall next to the dressing room. “I want you.”

  His back was to the rest of the store, and his broad body shielded her from view, but even so, Jordan felt embarrassed by how public they were. “Dom. I don’t think this is such a great idea—” The hunger in his eyes made her stop talking.

  She watched as his gaze roamed every inch of her face, exploring her, making love to her with his eyes. Finally it settled on her mouth, which he stared at for several breath-robbing moments. “I knew it,” he murmured.

  “What did you know?” she managed to say, then licked her dry mouth.

  She felt his body tense up, tighten against hers, heard him make a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat. “That once we got started I wouldn’t be able to stop. I want you as bad as I did last night.”

  “I’m ..getting the message.” And the feeling was, most definitely, mutual.

  He glanced around, noticed the dressing room and backed her into it, against the single wall mirror. He closed the door behind them, pushed in the lock and hugged her, hard. The bulge of his arousal pressed against her lower stomach, and she felt moist heat pooling between her thighs.

  “Being with you—” He stopped, pulled his head back and stared at her. “You’re like a drug, Jordan. I can’t get you out of my head.”

  “You don’t seem very happy about that.”

  “I’m not I don’t know how to deal with this craving.”

  Her nipples were rock hard as she pressed her body into his. “By giving in to it, I guess.”

  “When? I’d like to take you—” he breathed warmth into her ear “—right here, right now—”

  The distant jangle of the shop’s bell signaled new customers, followed by female laughter. Wincing, Dom pulled his head back and observed her through half-lidded eyes that promised sensual pleasures above and beyond anything she had experienced before.

  “Can you get away?” he asked. “Come home with me?”

  “Not right now. I’m sorry. I’m the only one here to help Lisa.”

  He raised an arm and rested it on the wall next to her head. Leaning in, he sniffed her hair, ran the tip of his tongue around the whorls and crevices of her ear. Her legs trembled. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before her knees gave out, as they nearly had last night.

  “I’m not good with words, Jordan,” he murmured.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  He brought his mouth over hers, insinuated his tongue between her lips and slowly, teasingly stroked and tasted her. With a groan, she felt her knees buckle, and she sank onto the small stool set in the corner.

  Seated, Jordan wound up face-to-face with Dom’s zipper. She glanced at him, saw him watching her, a knowing smile on his face. His nostrils flared as he waited to see what she would do next.

  “Excuse me?” a woman’s voice said from right outside the dressing room door. “Is anyone in there?”

  Jordan’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. In the semidrugged state of arousal that happened in Dom’s presence, she had forgotten where she was, what she was supposed to be doing. She could barely remember her name.

  “One moment,” she called, then struggled to her feet.

  Dom continued to trap her with his body. “I’ll take a rain check on that,” he whispered. “When are you through?”

  “Five o’clock.”

  “I’ll be here. My place or yours?”

  “Yours.” The conversation might have been over, but he continued to mesmerize her with his gaze. The look on his face held such intensity, such erotic heat, promise and, yes, tenderness, that she felt overwhelmed with an emotion she was still hesitant to name. He was amazing, a man of many colors and emotional layers. How had she ever thought him only what he seemed on the surface—a cynical tough guy?

  Finally, Dom nodded, moved away from her, adjusted his crotch, straightened his tie, winked at her and opened the dressing room door.

  A short, plump woman stood there, several dresses draped over her arm. At the sight of Dom, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O. He nodded to her, said, “Hi,” and ambled away, leaving Jordan to deal with the woman.

  Aware that her face had turned beet red, she attempted to smile brightly at the customer while she racked her brain for something casual and offhand to say. But nothing came to mind. Nothing at all.

  At five, Dom hurried into the shop, his pulses racing with excitement. He had news for Jordan that he couldn’t wait to deliver, to see the expression on her face. He spotted her coming out of the back office, her purse tucked under her arm.

  “Got him,” he told her, reaching her with several long strides.

  “Who?”

  “We got a hit on Wally’s prints.” He stood facing her. “The guy’s name is Walter Kaczmarak. His rap sheet says he’s an ex-con, still on parole. He was in for burglary, robbed a video store. Did time in state prison. Last known address was in Chatsworth,” he went on, naming a community in the San Fernando Valley. “I already called the parole officer. Wally does live in Bakersfield like he said, but with a new address, new parole officer. He’s working up there at a hardware store. Reports in regularly. Keeps his nose clean. Model parolee, his new officer said.”

  “Bakersfield.” Jordan gripped his arm, a glow of excitement in her eyes. “Could that be the town up north he was talking about?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where do his parents live—do you have that information?”

  “No, that’s on his original file, which, it turns out, is not o
n computer, so I had to approach it back door. I got a friend in records working on it, but it might take a day or two. Still, we might get lucky in Bakersfield, you never know.” He glanced at his watch. “Anyhow, I have to cancel our date, much as I hate to. I’m taking off for Bakersfield now.”

  She tightened her grip on his arm. “Don’t even think about not taking me along.”

  He paused, stared at her. “Hey, Jordan, no.”

  “Hey, Dom, yes.” Her jaw was stuck out stubbornly, a woman determined to have her way.

  Every instinct screamed against letting her come with him. It was never a good idea to get a civilian involved in law-enforcement matters. Too many potentials for disaster. It wasn’t good for the two of them to be seen together, not when they might come across Wally. No, it was not a good idea for Jordan to come along, and he knew it.

  Knew it and didn’t follow through. This was her kid they were talking about. “Okay,” he said, “but I call the shots.”

  “When we get there,” Dom told Jordan, as he battled rush hour traffic north over the Sepulveda Pass, “you stay in the car, out of sight.”

  “But what if he—?”

  “He won’t find out I have any connection to you,” he said grimly. “I won’t let him.”

  As Jordan watched trucks lumbering by, impatience built inside with each mile. They passed through the valley, past Magic Mountain, climbed up and over the Grapevine, after which green trees and shrubbery gave way to flat, bare, colorless terrain. And all the while, her head was filled with thoughts, plans, hope. Most of all, hope.

  “Tell me something,” she said, turning to face Dom. “Why haven’t you pushed me harder to do this officially? Why haven’t you said, ‘Jordan Carlisle, let’s go in, file charges against Walter Kaczmarak for extortion, let’s get the case of your son’s death reopened, let’s get it taken care of all legal and proper. Let’s do it by the book’?”

  Dom shot her a look, then smiled. “Yeah. Funny, I’ve been thinking about that today—what would have happened if that night, when I came to your place and you showed me the letter, what if I’d told you to do just that.”