Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

  “I’m not a child.”

  “Wouldn’t be in my bed, if you were. It’s an … endearment. An expression.”

  “Oh. So I should call you ‘little boy’?”

  Accompanied by an arch of his eyebrow, he gave her a gentle inward prod. “Seriously?”

  Her cheeks reddened, and then her glance fell away. “I shall call you ‘my warrior.’”

  “Call me what you like. Right now, conversation’s gonna get tough.” Juste dipped his head and kissed her shoulder. Then he pushed up on his arms and began short, tentative strokes, gauging her comfort and then her growing desire from the expressions that chased across of her face. First, surprised, then swiftly unraveled, her jaw slackening and eyes rolling when he gave her a particularly well-targeted thrust. He didn’t need to wonder whether she enjoyed it—her nails bit into his skin, her walls clenched spasmodically around him, her hips lifted, meeting his thrusts awkwardly at first, but then with growing fervor.

  “Juste, oh Juste,” she whimpered.

  “I’m here, baby. Right here. Let go.” For the first time, her pleasure rather than a mutual fulfillment became his priority. He tamped down his own excitement, reciting police codes, thinking of Maines and his scrawny neck, anything not to acknowledge the tension winding tighter and tighter inside him.

  Juste went to one elbow and slipped his free hand between them, gliding down her tense belly until his middle finger touched her engorged clit.

  Khepri gave a hoarse cry then mewled, her head thrashing side to side.

  Gathering her moisture, he gently rubbed her while he continued driving into her, holding back, waiting until she shouted and grew rigid, her back arching hard, her hips bucking. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Sweet God, so sweet,” he murmured, pressing kisses against her cheek, her mouth, her chin.

  At last, the movement of her hips began to slow, her breaths deepening into ragged sobs. Pushing up on both hands, he let loose a salvo of quick, targeted thrusts, giving into the sweet oblivion that engulfed him as he emptied himself inside her.

  With the first scalding jet of cum, light burst behind his tightly clenched lids. Images flashed—more of Khepri nude and opening her arms to accept him … Khepri wearing a thin sand-colored dress, a dark chin-length wig covering her hair, kohl-lined eyes … Khepri on her knees, bending to rest her head on the floor while a glistening bird separated from her shoulders and flew upward … and finally, Khepri with balls of fire in each palm, drawing back to hurl them at a something lurking in the shadows of a warehouse.

  His eyes shot open. He must have slept. Her hands were soothing him and she was making soft crooning sounds, words in a guttural language humming from her. He pushed off her chest. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “For what?” A smile stretched her mouth. Her skin glowed, golden-brown eyes warming every place her gaze touched.

  Those images … He realized he was still embedded deep inside her, his erection still waning. He couldn’t have passed out for very long. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m better than okay.”

  He clenched his jaw, then began to pull free from her body.

  “Do you have to leave me?”

  “I gotta get rid of the condom.”

  “Oh.” Her arms dropped away.

  Damn if he didn’t immediately miss the contact. “Be right back.” Juste rolled off the bed and fled to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as he disposed of the condom and washed up. All the while, he couldn’t meet his own gaze in the glass, afraid of what he might see.

  The man he’d been, perfectly miserable on his own, disdainful of the idea of being with one woman for the rest of his life, had found the one he couldn’t imagine leaving.

  He didn’t know her real name. Didn’t know if she was a criminal or crazy. And he didn’t fucking care. All he knew for sure was he couldn’t let her go. Not ever.

  Reluctantly, he lifted his head and met his gaze in the mirror. His face looked different. Shell-shocked, maybe. Wrung out, for sure. Not since he’d held Bobby in his arms while he’d bled out had Juste felt anything this intense.

  If this wasn’t love, it was damn close. And it scared the living shit out of him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seated at a table in a museum conference room, Juste stiffened as Mikey’s gaze went from Khepri’s carefully closed expression to his own tight jaw.

  On the ride to the museum, Juste had blown it, warning Khepri that what had happened between them the night before needed to remain strictly their business.

  “Are you ashamed of having been with me?” she’d asked, her voice quiet.

  As he had so many times before, he failed to correctly read the source of tension in her suddenly quiet voice.

  “I’m not ashamed,” he said, but grimaced, because he actually was. Once had been bad enough. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to keep his hands, or other parts, away from her sweet little body until the early morning light. He’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, but suspected she hadn’t closed her eyes at all. Dark circles looking like faint bruises rimmed her bottom eyelids. He worried she was still afraid to sleep. In that regard, he’d done nothing to comfort her.

  But then comforting anyone was a foreign concept. Sure, he’d held a frightened child or distraught woman in the aftermath of a bust. But on those occasions, he hadn’t been emotionally involved, simply serving as a strong shoulder to lean against. He’d held Bobby, but more to comfort himself because his buddy faded quickly and he’d been left cradling a heavy husk, familiar but alien and without the spark of the life that had been Bobby Guidry.

  “Look, what we did,” he said, unwilling to give their actions a name in the daylight; instead, he moved his hand between them in the car, “was against the rules. Mikey won’t like it. Neither will the other folks I work with or the people at the museum. I’m supposed to keep objective.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You aren’t supposed to feel?”

  “Sure I can, but I’m supposed to keep uninvolved so I can remain unbiased.”

  “You should remain unbiased even though you know something is right or wrong?”

  “Who am I to judge? The law and a jury decide that.”

  “I have never heard of such a need, to hold oneself apart from life.” Her body stiffened. “To feel, to experience, those things require judgments all the time. You take a side to stand in the light or the darkness. No one has to tell you which is best for you.”

  She sounded so New-Agey he nearly rolled his eyes, but a glance her way had him straightening. Anger firmed her mouth.

  In some way, he’d let her down. Given her a reason to rethink her trust in him. Maybe the change was for the best. “Look, pretend you barely know me—”

  “I will not have to pretend.”

  At that terse sentence, he’d clamped his jaw tight, afraid he’d only dig himself a deeper hole if he continued the conversation.

  So they’d arrived, walking past a policeman stationed at the cargo door. Now that a guard connected to their investigation had been killed, and under very strange circumstances, extra attention had been afforded. Mikey had informed him as he handed him a cup of coffee that Maines was paying them a visit and they might get tossed off the case since it was no longer simply a robbery, but a homicide investigation now.

  “Consider looking contrite when he shows. He might let us stick around. Don’t think you want anyone else digging too deep into your business,” he murmured, lifting his chin toward Khepri, who sat across the table and several seats down, her face carefully averted.

  Despite the fact she looked tired, she looked lovely in a pair of white pants that hit her mid-calf and a billowy golden top with delicate sleeves that looked like a hangnail would rip them apart. The gold warmed her tawny skin and made her eyes look like well-polished bronze. So gorgeous.

  Mikey cleared his throat.

  Caught staring again, Justin felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. “Anything new I nee
d to know?”

  Mikey shook his head. “Gave the ME the scorpion. Said he should know soon whether its venom is responsible for that guard’s death.”

  The conference door opened. Haddara stepped inside. He offered a silent nod to Juste, and then his gaze swung toward Khepri. His gaze raked her quickly and began to move away, but then snagged on the turquoise ring she wore.

  Juste cursed under his breath and began to rise. He’d forgotten about the amulets and the fact they’d been seen in X-rays. But he hesitated at the sight of Khepri lifting her chin to return Haddara’s stare.

  Gooseflesh prickled as Haddara’s anger quickly bled away and he moved slowly, circling around the table to stand in front of Khepri.

  Juste couldn’t be entirely sure, but he didn’t think they’d ever met, not by the way Haddara studied her features.

  Haddara said something in his own language.

  Khepri’s head canted and she wore that expression, the one that put him to mind of someone listening to a distant tune, before she responded in kind.

  He hadn’t a clue what was said, but Haddara’s chest rose swiftly and his eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “In English, protector,” she murmured.

  “Guess he introduced himself,” Mikey said, sucking coffee from the spout of his coffee cup.

  Haddara tapped a clenched hand against his heart, then took a seat beside her, his gaze never leaving her form.

  A slight frown dug a line between Khepri’s eyes, and her gaze darted to Juste.

  Juste fidgeted in his chair and couldn’t help but scowl right back. He didn’t like how close the other man sat beside her.

  Her lips turned up at the corners, but she remained still and quiet.

  The door opened again and Dorman entered the room, Lieutenant Maines following on his heels.

  Mikey shot up from his chair. Juste was tempted to ignore the man, but remembered Mikey’s cautionary suggestion. He’d already assaulted the guy. Most likely, he’d be out the door inside a minute anyway. For the moment, Juste was more concerned about Dorman’s reaction to the unexpected guest in the conference room.

  However, Dorman’s glance swept the room, his thin lips tightening when he spotted Juste and Mikey, but easing a fraction as he nodded at Haddara. His gaze skated right over Khepri.

  That question answered, Juste reluctantly turned his attention back to his old boss. As always, the lieutenant wore a full suit, likely to hide the slight pudge at his waist, but mainly to impress anyone he met that he might need to brownnose along the way. Juste’s gut tightened when Maine’s reddened face swung his way.

  Beady brown eyes narrowed. “I think we can handle it from here.”

  At the scornful tone, he tensed. His hand clenched around his paper cup, sending the coffee up the spout to splash on his hand.

  Down the table, he heard Khepri whispering with Haddara.

  Haddara rose, glancing at Khepri then frowning openly at Juste. “As the representative of Sheikh Khaled Fathy, I respectfully request your detectives remain on this case.”

  Dorman cleared his throat. “Yes, the sheikh is well-connected within diplomatic circles. Haddara has his ear. We should do what we can to keep them happy with the investigation. Continuing as we were would be much more convenient.”

  “Besides,” Haddara said, smiling cryptically, “your Detective Boucher has considerable experience handling homicide investigations, does he not?”

  Maines’ face turned a purplish red, and his nostrils flared wide.

  Juste’s face hardened like stone. How the hell had Haddara known that?

  Staring at Juste, Maines raised two fingers and curled them. “A second of your time, detective.”

  Chest tight, Juste pushed away from the table and followed his ex-boss out the door.

  In the hallway, he came to a halt, his hands clasped behind his back as though in formation, his face pointed straight ahead. He didn’t care what the LT said. He wasn’t blowing his chance of staying on this case. Not because he wanted the asshole dead.

  Maines stepped so close Juste could smell the LT’s breakfast on his breath.

  “If I’d had my way, you’d be writing parking tickets.”

  Juste tightened his jaw and kept his own glare steady.

  “Bobby Guidry was a good cop. What happened was a tragedy, but just as much yours and his fault as mine.”

  Juste felt heat storm up his neck and bleed across his cheeks. His gut churned.

  Maines grunted. “You know how to work this kind of investigation, but I want daily reports. Not from you,” he said, pointing his finger at his chest. “Have that snot-nosed partner of yours email me the details. I don’t wanna hear a single word about you. You step out of line even once, you’re done. The Captain won’t be able to save your ass a second time.”

  Juste held still as a statue, knowing Maines wanted him to argue, to break his pose and take a swing, anything he could bust him down for. Unwilling, today anyway, to give him a reason, Juste stood still as Maines gave him another steely glare and then turned on his heel.

  The conference door opened. “That went well,” Mikey said, flashing Juste a grin.

  Juste blew out a breath. “You have to keep him informed—”

  “I heard. Good thing he was so fixated on you he didn’t even see your girlfriend. Haddara’s still stuck to her side like glue.”

  “Doesn’t look like they knew each other before this, but he seemed to recognize her. Even seems impressed. Think she really is someone important?”

  “Yeah, I saw that too, but I don’t know.” Juste shrugged.

  “You compromise more than the case?”

  Juste shot him a glare.

  Mikey held up his hands. “I’m not judgin’ you. She’s hot. I get it. But you do know she’s our biggest piece of evidence. Did you make this case a hundred times worse than it already is?”

  “Yeah. But from the look on Haddara’s face, he won’t be any more eager to see her dragged through a dirty investigation.”

  Mikey shook his head, but turned the doorknob and pulled open the door for Juste to enter first. “Can’t believe I wanna tell you to keep it zipped.”

  “Then don’t.” His jaw was tight from holding back a stronger response.

  “We were most sorry to hear about the death of the night guard,” Haddara said before Juste took his seat. His tone was even, deep, but anger lit his eyes.

  Dorman tapped the table. “The other two guards are waiting to speak with you. They’ve been put on administrative leave until we know what happened. I’m using temp hires and rearranging security schedules to make sure we have the exhibit sufficiently covered from here on out.”

  Haddara nodded. “Paramount is finding the artifacts.”

  “Of course,” Mikey said. “The university crew? Are they coming in today as well?”

  Dorman blew out and exasperated breath. “They’re helping mount the exhibit. Many of the pieces are ones they found during their summer digs on the sheik’s property. Different graduate students of course, but Professor Wheaton and his assistant have been supervising the digs for six years.”

  Juste was already bored and irritated with Haddara, who couldn’t keep his gaze from Khepri’s face. “We should start the interviews,” he said, angling his body toward Mikey. “We’ll have to do them together,” he said, cutting his glance toward his partner to remind him they were looking for anyone who betrayed they might know her.

  Haddara nodded and settled back in his chair, pulling on the lapels of his jacket.

  Juste leaned on his forearms. “Since we can’t entirely exclude you from the list of suspects, you won’t be able to remain for the interviews.”

  Haddara blinked and then turned to Khepri. He bent toward her, whispering.

  Khepri nodded solemnly, her gaze locking with Juste’s. “I’d be happy to take my noontime meal with you. Mr. Haddara.”

  What the hell? Juste nearly snapped in two the mechanical pe
ncil he’d pulled from his pocket. He forced his gaze and his attention to the task at hand, opening his spiral notepad to run through the list of names they had to interview today.

  Without looking up, he muttered, “We finish in time, your lunch date shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The interviews with the guards netted exactly the same answers. Neither man had seen a thing the night the museum had been robbed, and neither was close friends with the guard who died.

  Khepri sighed as Juste and Mikey paused to reflect on what they’d learned, then quickly noted questions to add to their growing list for the university crew. Time passed so slowly, she felt her eyelids dip, lowering as she swayed in her chair, only to snap open as crisply as her back straightened each time she caught herself drifting off.

  Sleep terrified her. Even though she knew it was silly. She’d been spared, resurrected for a purpose. Surely, she wouldn’t be yanked back into the Duat before she’d served that purpose. If only she knew what it was.

  What would happen after that should have frightened her more, but her gaze kept sliding toward Juste, resting on his large frame, so clearly uncomfortable folded into a hard chair for so long. In her mind, she relived the intimate moments they’d shared. His relentless passion, her boundless wonder. She’d waited by his side while he’d slept perhaps an hour before the jarring ringing of his cell phone—his alarm telling him what time to rise as though the sun was no longer relevant.

  The moment his eyes had opened to find her there beside him, she’d felt her quiet joy slowly fade, replaced by an ugly, painful knot settling in her belly. By his expression, he didn’t feel the same as she did. He wasn’t eager to continue their journey together, partners in a sacred quest.

  And why should he be? He didn’t believe in what he couldn’t see for himself. Didn’t have a relationship with any god, so far as she could tell. That fact saddened her. While she’d thought having someone who walked in this brash new world, who could navigate its hidden undercurrents, would be an advantage, she needed someone who could ease his disbelief just a little bit to follow wherever the gods might lead.