by L. A. Witt
I muffled a cough. “I basically thought I was already dead, so I just wanted to speed up the process and maybe go out a little less painfully. And I . . .” I dropped my gaze, gut churning as the memories crashed through my mind.
Darren put his hand on my leg, the warm contact sending a shiver through me. “Tell me.”
I met his eyes again. Was this really the kid who’d been assigned to spy on me? And the guy who’d kissed me this morning, knowing full well I was HIV positive?
This was the first time I’d spoken to someone about all this. I hated thinking about it, never mind talking about it. But I’d been holding on to all of this for four and a half goddamned years, and had never once felt this free to talk about it without fear of someone recoiling in disgust.
I took a deep breath. “I was still in panic mode. Hadn’t done a damn bit of research or asked any questions because I was just . . . I was freaked out. All I could think of was how horribly my girlfriend and I were both going to die, and that I might’ve killed our daughter too. Even if she wasn’t positive, I started wondering who’d take care of her after we were gone.” I pressed my elbow onto the back of the couch and kneaded my stiff neck. “I was afraid to tell anyone at the precinct because I was convinced I’d lose my job, which would mean my kid would lose all my benefits. And I guess . . . I guess I got this idea that if I was killed on the job, no one would know the truth, and the life insurance would take care of my kids. Not just the baby, but my older kids.”
“Wow,” Darren said. “I can’t even imagine what that was like.”
“You don’t want to. Trust me. Fortunately, I got my head out of my ass and started getting some answers from doctors.”
“And the prognosis is a lot better these days, isn’t it?” His eyebrows pulled together. “I’ve heard they expect most people to live almost a normal life span with HIV now.”
I nodded. “Sometimes I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been alone since my ex and I split up. It gets a little demoralizing when you meet people, and the minute you mention HIV, they’re gone. I mean, I get it. And before I was positive, I probably would’ve done the same thing. No, I definitely would have. But being on this end of it can be . . .”
He squeezed my leg, pulling my focus to where he’d been touching me this entire time. “People can be assholes, but times have changed, you know.”
“Have they?”
He held my gaze for a few long seconds. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he moved closer to me. “You know, for a respected detective, you suck at picking up clues.”
And with that, he kissed me.
My heart thundered against my ribs as I slid a hand around his waist. He shifted, straddling me, and nudged my lips apart with his. The tip of his tongue just teased my lower lip before he broke the kiss.
“I made it past your delightful personality,” he murmured. “And I’m completely ignoring that this is a terrible idea when we work together.” He brushed his lips across mine. “A manageable chronic disease isn’t going to scare me off.”
I laughed just before he claimed another kiss, and I cradled the back of his head as if he might pull away. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do that, though—not as he deepened the kiss and reminded me why I’d always loved making out in my past life. His body heat radiated through two layers of clothes, and every time he breathed out through his nose, the cool rush of air across my cheek made me shiver.
I let my uninjured hand drift down to his hip, and when that didn’t scare him off, I slid it into his back pocket. He groaned softly, pressing against me, and the thick erection rubbing across mine made me dizzier than I’d been in a long, long time. I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be naked with someone, and wanted—needed—to be naked with him now. If our body heat didn’t burn off these clothes soon, I was going to tear them off.
I broke the kiss and went for his neck because it had been too long since I’d done that to anyone, and holy fuck, it was as amazing as I remembered. The warmth of his skin against my lips. The vibration of his voice when he moaned. The way he tilted his head so I could kiss anywhere and everywhere.
And right fucking then, my phone came to life in my pocket.
We both froze.
I swore under my breath and dug the damn thing out. The caller ID said it was the captain. My dick said he could wait.
I hit Ignore and tossed the phone onto another cushion.
“Not important?” he asked.
“Not even a little.” I kissed his neck again, and he didn’t ask questions.
But then another muffled sound interrupted us—the “Bad Boys” theme from COPS.
“Motherfucker,” Darren grumbled. He reached for his own pocket.
“The COPS theme? Really?”
“Eh.” He shrugged as he took it out. “Shit. It’s the captain.”
I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my face. Of course it was.
He sat back a little, still straddling me, and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Captain?”
Any other time, I’d have teased him, trailing my thumb around the outline of his very prominent hard-on. Maybe tugging his shirt free from his waistband, or drawing his zipper down.
But I could hear the captain’s voice, and he did not sound happy.
Hamilton, you cockblocking son of a bitch . . .
Darren’s eyes were unfocused. Then he closed them, and his shoulders drooped. In a resigned tone, he said, “We’ll be right there.”
I let my head fall back against the couch. Of course we would.
He hung up and tossed the phone in the same direction I’d thrown mine.
“So where are we going?” I grumbled.
“Back to the precinct.” He sighed as he stood and adjusted the front of his pants. “Detective Morris wants to talk to us about the murder.”
Paula, you’re lucky I like you.
I stood too. “Guess we’ll pick this up later, then.”
Darren smiled apologetically. “Duty calls at the most inconvenient times.”
“It does. Let’s go.”
We got to skip seeing the captain entirely, as it turned out. Detective Morris was waiting for us in the front hall when we arrived, pacing back and forth with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand. Her neat brown ponytail was loose and wilted this late in the day, and her white button-down blouse was untucked. I was surprised that she was still here, honestly. At least now I understood why Andreas had insisted on stopping at Starbucks and ordering something neither of us had any interest in drinking.
“Christ, Paula, don’t drink that break room shit,” he said as he walked up to her. “You’re going to make your ulcers flare up again, and then you’ll have to go without coffee for a month and make everyone else miserable.” He handed her the vanilla soy latte, and the annoyance on her face melted into pleasure as she took her first sip. Andreas and charming weren’t two words I’d ever imagined I’d put together, but he seemed to know how to handle this lady, at least.
“You’re a godsend,” she said with a sigh. “A mysterious, enigmatic godsend.”
Andreas arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“The card, genius. From the body? And then you running off before you could tell me who Jeff was? Is this ringing any bells in that hard head of yours?”
“Paula—”
“Never mind, I think I figured it out.” Her teasing expression was replaced with something much grimmer. “I requisitioned a conference room. I need you guys to look at some stuff.”
“Lead the way, ma’am,” I said.
“Aren’t you friendly?” She glanced between us incredulously. “How long do you think it’ll take you to wear the shine off your new partner, Andreas?”
“Too fucking long,” he said, but he was almost smiling. I took that as a win.
“Well.” Detective Morris pulled me up to walk beside her as we started down the hall
. “First off, don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ it makes me feel old.”
“Didn’t you just turn forty?” Andreas asked with a smirk.
“How about you shut your face, Ruffner?” She kept going without missing a beat. “You can call me Detective Morris if you’re feeling official, but otherwise it’s Paula. Got it?”
I smiled at her. “Got it, Paula. Thanks.”
“You’re a sweet talker. That’s good―Ruffner needs all the help he can get.” She ignored his snort and led us into a conference room. Files were spread out across the table, some flipped open, some partially disassembled. There was an open laptop as well—probably her personal one, it looked too nice to be provided by the department. Paula shut the door and took a deep breath.
“So, Frederic Lee’s house caught on fire today. The fire marshal suspects arson.”
“Was anyone home?” Andreas asked quickly.
“No, his kids were at school and his wife was running errands. The only part of the home to completely burn was his personal office.” She gestured toward the laptop. “Pictures are on there. The techs who found his computer said it was unsalvageable.”
Leaning in, I could make out the charred plastic outline of what might have once been a computer.
“We’re looking into getting warrants for any cloud storage he might have had, but that could take more time than I’m willing to give it. There was no phone on the body, either, so dead end there. I went and got Lee’s personal effects from his office in the Justice Department, and while there wasn’t a computer, there was a copy of his weekly schedule.” She pushed over a piece of paper. “After I read through that, I knew I needed to bring you in to consult.”
Andreas saw it before I did. “Zoe Dugan.”
“She was due in court later this week. Drug possession with intent to sell. How she made bail two months ago, I don’t know, but she didn’t pay for it herself. This would have been her third time in court. She was let off due to lack of evidence twice already. Lee clerked the case both times. Now she’s dead, the same as him.”
Wait, was she saying . . . “Are you suggesting Frederic Lee was dirty?”
Paula sighed. “It’s not what I want to be suggesting, but it’s possible. A few years ago, one of his kids came down with cancer. It was pretty heinous, and their insurance wouldn’t pay for an experimental treatment she needed. Lee put together a funding campaign that went on for weeks—God, he was fucking relentless. I barely knew the guy and I donated a hundred bucks just to get him to leave me alone. He needed almost fifty grand, and he needed it fast. It wasn’t happening, though. Then in the space of one day, he went from less than seven thousand to completely funded by an anonymous donor. He never said where the money came from.
“After that, his work habits changed significantly. He started to float from judge to judge, and looking at the statistics, a much higher percentage of his cases ended in a failure to prosecute.”
“That sounds like a lot of conjecture,” Andreas said. “And it doesn’t explain why you need me.”
“Apart from the fact that you’re working a case in which Zoe Dugan was a person of interest?” Paula shook her head. “We all know about you bringing in Carter—word gets around. I figured you’d be able to shed some light here. More to the point,” she addressed Andreas sternly, “I thought you might tell me about Jeff. Could the card have been referring to Jeff DeLuca?” She pulled over another file. “A known associate of Dugan’s, also never sentenced? He’s a juvenile, that makes things harder, but I figure if anyone in this place can draw a line between them, it’s you. Especially with your card pinned to the chest of Lee, who’s clerked cases where they’ve been defendants.”
“What are you implying?” Andreas didn’t sound nervous, but I was starting to feel that way. Paula was a hell of a detective. I didn’t approve of all of Andreas’s methods, but the last thing I wanted was for him to be accused of something he wasn’t guilty of, especially now. IA would take that as a green light to start railroading him out of the precinct.
Paula rolled her eyes. “Come on, isn’t it obvious? Whoever killed Lee might be the same person who killed Dugan, and if they’re cleaning house, it’s likely that they think you’re a threat! We might not always see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I want you to end up facedown in the damn river.”
Oh. That was . . . unexpected.
Andreas opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut short as his phone chimed. Paula’s went off at almost the same time. I stood there like a bump on a log as they checked their messages.
Andreas looked at me. It was like a switch had been flipped: all the warmth I’d been basking in since I’d brought him to my place gone like it had never been there. “I have to leave.”
“Fuck yes, you do,” Paula said unexpectedly. “That was Joan at the front desk. She says Thibedeau is headed this way. I don’t have time to referee a pissing match between you two, so if Darren can fill in the gaps on the case you’re working right now, get out of here.”
I nodded. “I can do it.” Andreas was already on his way out the door. He glanced back at me for a second just before it closed, an almost unsettling intensity in his gaze, and then he was gone.
“So.”
I blinked, then realized Paula was talking to me. “Yeah?”
“You’re one week in, huh?”
“About that.”
“And you haven’t tried to kill him yet? Because that has to be a record.”
Her humor seemed to bleed away the worst of the tension. I grinned. “He’s not that scary.”
“Oh yes, he is. He’s just not being that scary to you, which must mean he likes you. Welcome to a very small club. We have membership cards and go out for drinks every other month.”
“Why does he like you?” I asked, then backtracked. “Apart from the fact that you’re clearly very likeable, I mean.”
“So smooth, nice save. And actually, he saved my life back when I was a beat cop. Stupid thing with a drug deal gone wrong.” She shook her head. “I was an idiot, went after someone without backup, got pinned. I thought I’d be shot with my own gun. Ruffner got the guy first, though.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, after that he couldn’t quite shake me, not that he hasn’t tried.”
“I hear you.”
The door slammed open. Detective Thibedeau stalked into the conference room, another IA suit behind him. “Where’s Ruffner?” he demanded.
“Gone,” Paula said. “It’s kind of late, or maybe you haven’t noticed?”
He turned to face me. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m the newbie. That means I get the shit work.”
“Hey!”
“Not that your case is shit,” I added for Paula, “just that staying this late is.”
“Where did he go?” Thibedeau asked me.
“He didn’t say. Home, I guess.”
He scowled. “You’re on thin ice with my department, Darren. Your inability to keep track of the simplest things with regards to your partner verges on insubordination, and—”
“Whoa, slow down there.” Paula managed to interject herself without making Thibedeau snap at her, which had to be a minor miracle. “Neither of us is Ruffner’s keeper. He’s had this kid running around all day. My eyes would be crossing if I’d done as much work in less than twenty-four hours as Darren here.”
“Your defense is noted,” Thibedeau said sourly. “Tell me about this case. I want to know about the card you found.”
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing certain aspects of this case with Internal Affairs at this juncture, Detective,” Paula said placidly. “Not until I have more facts. But you can certainly count on me to bring them to you at the earliest possible moment. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got the midnight oil to burn.”
He wanted to shut her down. I could see the urge well up in his eyes, the twist in his lips that meant he was holding back something he really
wanted to let loose. But he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “And Darren? Get yourself together. You look like hell.” He and the other suit stalked out, and I silently acknowledged Paula as my new hero.
“Holy shit, how did you do that?”
“Blank-faced politeness can get you further than assholery most of the time. That’s a lesson Andreas never quite got.” She shrugged. “It helps to have advance warning too. My advice to you? Get the admin staff on your side. Joan and I have an understanding.”
“I’ll buy her a bouquet.”
“She likes orchids,” Paula advised. She sipped at her coffee, then made a face. “Ugh, too cold. I’m going to go warm this up. You want anything?”
“No thanks.” She left the conference room, and I took out my phone. When I dialed Andreas’s number, it went to voice mail. Well, that wasn’t too surprising. I texted instead.
IA is gone. Paula is a boss. You coming back any time soon?
I got no reply.
IA’s timing was impeccable. On my way down to the car to avoid that asshole Thibedeau, I jumped on the opportunity to make contact with yet another one of my informants who’d emerged from the woodwork. Or rather, who’d finally returned my fucking call after a few thinly veiled threats about warrants and shakedowns. By the time I started the engine, I had a meeting set up.
Halfway there, my cell phone came to life. I glanced at the caller ID, and guilt made my heart thump harder—Darren.
In the past, if a partner-slash-babysitter tried to make contact while I was taking care of something like this, I’d have ignored the text and not thought twice about it. It should have been easy to do the same with Darren. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. He wasn’t like the other people Captain Hamilton had assigned to keep an eye on me. I wanted to believe the only difference between Darren and the others was that he was the only one I’d made out with, but I couldn’t quite convince myself.
