by Lacy, Shay
“Good. You’ll be happy to know another department has asked for your help.”
She sat up, electrified. “A case?”
“Yes. It’s rather odd. It’s narcotics.”
She deflated. “You know I have little success finding drugs.”
“Yes, well they don’t need you to find drugs. I’ll let them tell you about it.” He held out a piece of paper, and she took it. “Go to the Fourth Precinct and ask for Detective Montoya in Narcotics.”
“All right.” She frowned. It was odd that her father was being so closed-mouthed. But she rose, stuffing the paper in her purse. She made it to the door before her father spoke again.
“Juliana, there’s a love bite on your neck.”
She couldn’t control her jerk of unwelcome surprise. She dared not look at him or answer because anything she said could incriminate her.
“I know you’re an adult living on your own . . . ” He stuttered to a stop. “I think I’d like to meet the young man.”
Oh, God. She moistened her lips. “Papá, you make young men nervous.”
“Only if they have something they wish to hide. Does this young man have something to hide?”
Only a one-night stand with his daughter. Only the name Charlie Ziffkin. She lifted her chin and turned to face him. She was not a child. “When the time is right, you’ll meet the man who’s important to me.”
Her father tried to stare her into submission, but she’d worked too hard fighting his tight control to back down.
“I hope it’s soon, m’hija.”
Juliana escaped, breathing a great sigh of relief. It wouldn’t be soon.
Detective Joaquin Montoya in Narcotics looked the part—early thirties, dark hair in waves to his shoulders, dressed in black jeans, a loose colorful shirt, and a chunky gold necklace.
His partner, Brian Hunt, was grungy with straight dishwater blond hair. He was thin enough to pass as a teenager, but the hard edge to his gaze revealed he was much older.
They took her to one of the interrogation rooms and closed the door. Montoya gestured for her to take a seat. He fidgeted, so she knew what was coming and braced herself to face a nonbeliever.
“I don’t believe in psychics,” he began.
“Then why am I here?” She’d heard it dozens of times before.
“What we’re looking for is out of the ordinary. We’ve tried regular ways to find it. Nothing has worked so far.” Montoya scowled and glanced at his partner. “If you weren’t Captain Sanchez’s daughter—”
Juliana held up her hand. “Stop right there. I don’t help the department because I’m his daughter, and I don’t listen to requests because he’s a captain. That has nothing to do with this. Facts are facts. I have a high success rate at recovering things that are missing.”
Montoya’s bronze face flushed, but whether in shame or anger, Juliana couldn’t tell.
“We need to find this item.” Detective Hunt’s cold mask had dropped. “It’s very important and will prevent a flood of drugs coming into Miami.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you know,” she suggested.
Hunt looked at Montoya, and then leaned forward on the metal table. “We have a reliable snitch. He says there’s excitement in the drug distribution community. There’s going to be a new pipeline of cocaine established, but who gets to head the pipeline depends on who locates an item the Columbian drug lord wants.”
“What item?” she asked, intrigued.
Montoya shrugged. “Some relic supposed to have special significance to the Columbian.”
“You can’t stop it from being brought into the country?”
“It’s already here. In fact, the snitch is sure it’s in Miami,” Hunt answered.
“And you want me to find it.” Juliana inhaled. “I’m not sure I can help. I need something related to the item to draw me to it.”
The detectives looked at one another. She saw doubt on Montoya’s face. “We don’t have anything related to it.”
“Do you have a photo? Sometimes that works.”
“No.” Montoya scowled.
“Then I’m sorry, detectives, but I can’t help you.” She rose.
“I told you it was a waste of time,” Montoya growled to his partner.
Detective Hunt held out his hand. “I’m sorry we wasted your time.”
Juliana shook it. When he released her, something warm and slippery slid into her palm. She closed her fist to keep the object from falling.
Juliana saw the dead girl, needle tracks stark on her stick-thin arms. Her long, blonde hair was unwashed and unkempt. A necklace hung around her pale neck.
As the vision faded, Juliana asked Hunt, “Who is she?”
“Lila.” His gaze was intent.
Montoya’s head snapped around to stare at his partner.
“You wear her necklace,” Juliana realized. “It’s warm from your body.” She closed her eyes and knew three more things instantly. “Lila was your sister. You became a narc because she OD’d.”
When she opened her eyes, Hunt was nodding. He didn’t look surprised. But Montoya’s mouth hung open. Juliana ignored him and handed the necklace to Hunt. “You wanted your partner to know I was real.”
“Yeah. He can be closed-minded,” Hunt said with smug satisfaction.
“Bite me,” Montoya retorted.
“I still can’t help you without something related to the object. Get me that and I’ll do what I can. You said it was a relic. Do you know where it came from? Are there other items from that same location?”
Montoya shook his head. “We don’t even know what kind of relic it is. We’ll ask our snitch to get more information.”
Juliana gave him her business card. “Contact me directly next time.”
She turned to his partner. “Detective Hunt, will you walk me out?”
Hunt frowned but followed her out of the department. When they were alone in the corridor, he said, “I assume you want to say more about the necklace?”
Juliana swallowed and nodded. “Your lady, Celeste, doesn’t understand why you wear another woman’s chain.”
Detective Hunt was unable to hide his surprise.
“Perhaps you’ve worn it long enough.”
She left it at that and drove home to her apartment. Maybe she should take her own advice. She’d mooned over Charlie for long enough. Now that she’d had him, she could let the dream Charlie go.
Unfortunately, now that she’d had him, she wanted him even more.
CHAPTER 4
Charlie wore the scent of sex all day. It had been a mistake not to shower after leaving Juliana’s bed. It was so strong it overpowered him at every turn, swamping him in carnal memories of Juliana’s breasts, the glistening pink flesh between her legs, and her tight body gloving him as he thrust.
He didn’t know how he had had any coherency to talk to dozens of people and keep his cover story straight. But he had, and he felt elated to have a lead. Rumor said a new major narcotics dealer would soon emerge. The details of how this would happen were murky, but it involved a bidding war and a relic. The reward for having this relic was to operate a new drug pipeline to Columbia. Rumor said the relic was in town. It had to be the sculpture, crazy as that sounded.
The people he’d talked to agreed there were only a few men powerful enough to pit Miami’s drug dealers against one another in a bidding war and live. All Charlie had to do was find out which man it was and steal the sculpture back before the auction began.
Something bothered him about the whole thing, so he stopped in the local library to view their newspaper archives and do a landline Internet search. He didn’t want to risk a wireless search on his laptop.
Charlie’s client, Hollywood promoter Jordan Hessler, had told him the sculpture was the fertility god Hun-apu. Why would a sculpture of a fertility god be of interest to a drug lord?
He did a search for Hun-apu and found the Maya Hero Twins Hunahpu and Xbalanque. The photo of th
e sculpture Jordan had given him and the one on the computer screen matched. What he’d thought was a man and woman was actually twin brothers. The twins had outwitted gods and the lords of the Mayan underworld, defeating their enemies through trickery and great powers. But those powers didn’t include fertility.
He sat back in the chair, exhaling. Someone had the crazy idea this sculpture was mystical or something and thought it valuable enough to trade it for a drug route. It sounded insane. He’d had some superstitions in his acting life and had known other actors who did, too, but they wouldn’t put stock in mystical sculptures.
That thought made him frown. Hessler had said the sculpture increased his libido fourfold and he had to have it back to satisfy his young new girlfriend who’d given it to him. But someone else thought it was more valuable than that . . . or had known it was.
What a bizarre coincidence that someone knew Hessler had the sculpture.
Charlie turned that over in his mind. Maybe Hessler’s girlfriend had told someone she’d smuggled the sculpture into the country. There weren’t a lot of secrets on a movie location. And the drug community seemed to be insidious. It wouldn’t be hard to learn her secret.
But if the sculpture was so valuable to drug dealers, why didn’t the California dealers seize it? Why drag it to Miami? None of this made sense.
It was more likely the sculpture contained contraband of some kind—like diamonds. Charlie shook his head to dispel the images. His imagination was out of control. He started a newspaper archive search on the names of the powerful Miami men he’d been given.
The first, Humberto Estrada, was an import-export mogul, which Charlie thought the perfect front for moving drugs. Estrada had a mansion in Miami Beach, with direct access on the water. He was a ruthless businessman with a growing hold on import-export. He’d increased the size of his empire after the mysterious death of a competitor several months ago. Charlie’s brother, Michael, owned a successful small business in that industry. He felt a pang of regret that he couldn’t ask his brother about Estrada. Later. When he’d proven himself to his family.
The second man, Dalton Montgomery, was new money. He’d been rumored to be part of Stefan Carmana’s crime organization until that man’s death—Charlie suffered a jolt of surprise—after being shot by Detective Richard Ziffkin two months ago. Carmana had been attempting to murder Analise Angelloti when he was killed. That had to be Rick’s wife. Chills ran up Charlie’s spine.
Montgomery seemed to have his hand in a lot of things, including construction, tourism, yachts, and luxury condos. His daughter, recently graduated from Miami University, was engaged to be married to old money . . . this weekend. What a perfect place for drug dealers to mingle and no one would be the wiser. Charlie made a note to get a look at the guest list. It would be easier to slip into Montgomery’s South Beach mansion during the wedding preparations and look around for the sculpture.
The last man on the list, Michael Scarvelis, was in real estate, with property all over Florida. He held numerous social events at his mansion in North Bay.
With all the gala events the three men held, there were plenty of photos of their properties, and it didn’t take Charlie long to find the addresses. Unfortunately, the only one entertaining a large group in the next week was Montgomery.
Charlie printed the articles about the Montgomery wedding. He now knew the names of the florist, the caterer, the photographer, and the wedding planner. And in a few more minutes, he found their addresses and phone numbers. He loved the Internet.
While he was online, Charlie also Googled Juliana. What he found blew him away. The few articles about her called her a psychic who could find lost or stolen things. Stolen things. He couldn’t believe it; after all, they’d played together as children. He’d almost made love to the teenaged Juliana. He had made love to the woman. She wasn’t a psychic.
But there were several newspaper articles where she’d worked with the Miami PD to recover stolen goods. She’d led the cops to a valuable painting, a diamond necklace, and a yacht. She told the interviewer she noticed her ability after the car accident that injured her and killed her mother, that sometimes head injuries precipitated psychic abilities in a person. Hers was named psychometry.
Charlie’s breath sighed out of him. She’d been quieter after the accident, different. He’d thought it was grief. He hadn’t known what to say to her. And then she’d offered him his heart’s desire.
Last night he’d labeled that difference ethereal. But he’d bet it was because she was psychic. He looked up psychometry and found out these psychics could hold an object to learn more about it or a person connected to it. He clicked back to the article about her. He touched her photo. He’d thought her pretty as a teenager. He found her beautiful now.
And she was exactly what he needed. In more ways than one. He tried to crush thoughts of sating himself in her body. He didn’t need more heartache knowing he couldn’t keep her. Now that he knew she was even more special, he knew he wasn’t enough for her. But his lower body had a mind of its own, and his hard-on throbbed with his thoughts of getting laid.
Dammit. There was a phone number for her in the article. Charlie wrote it down. Then he collected his printed sheets and exited the building to make a call.
Juliana being psychic was like fate. But fate would have to wait. Charlie got her voice mail and left a message. Then he drove to his hotel to wash the fading scent of sex off him. He couldn’t help hoping to renew the scent once more.
His cell phone was ringing when he stepped out of the shower. He snatched it and a towel. “Hollywood Investigations.”
“Charlie?”
The sound of his name in her husky voice gave him an immediate hard-on. “Yeah.”
“You need my help finding the object you’re looking for?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know you could do that. I found articles about you when I was researching my case today.”
“Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it.”
His horny self read all kinds of things into her statement. “Sure. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Do you have something related to it or a photo of the item?”
“I’ve got a photo.”
“Bring it and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m coming.” God, he hoped that was prophetic.
• • •
Juliana wiped her palms on her skirt before she opened the front door. Once again Charlie’s sexy looks took her breath away. She hadn’t thought she’d see him again, yet here he was. His midnight blue striped shirt deepened the cerulean of his eyes. He wore dark slacks and dress shoes. He’d shaved, so now the intriguing dimple in his chin showed, but she missed the disreputable stubble. His dark hair curled with the same unruly waves she remembered from childhood. He looked hot.
“Hi.” She felt achy all over. Had it only been a few hours ago that he was riding her and she was begging him to make her come? Moisture pooled between her legs.
“Hi.” A sexy little smile tugged at one side of his mouth, and his eyes gleamed.
She remembered his mouth on hers and on other parts of her body. She licked her lips. His gaze zeroed in on the movement. God, she didn’t know how she was supposed to conduct business with the man who’d given her the greatest pleasure ever.
“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice smoky.
Oh, God, yes. Had she said that aloud? Her body begged to be stripped, mounted, pleasured, and satisfied. Again and again.
Charlie moved forward. She thought he meant to fulfill her hopefully unvoiced desires. But he shepherded her from the doorway and closed the door behind him.
They were alone in private, both consenting adults. Get a grip, girl. “I don’t usually meet my clients here,” she babbled.
“Where do you meet them?”
“Mostly at the police station. Sometimes in my father’s office.”
“Thank God he’s not here,” Charlie said with fervor.
“It’s too late for him to stop us this time.” Juliana felt like clapping a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t planned to discuss what they’d done last night.
“Far too late,” Charlie agreed, his voice husky. His blue eyes were like a swimming pool; she wanted to sink into them. Oh, wait, she wanted him to sink into her.
“Any regrets?” he asked.
“Oh, no. That was long overdue.” Had she said that aloud?
“I agree. You won’t have any trouble working with me, will you?”
“No, not at all.” Not if you discounted carnal fantasies, shortness of breath, and a heartbeat gone haywire. Oh, and throbbing, aching breasts, a tightening deep in her abdomen, and the compulsive desire to strip Charlie naked and have her wanton way with him.
“I really need this,” he said.
“What?” Had he read her mind? She stopped beside the couch.
“Finding the sculpture could open all kinds of doors for me in Hollywood.”
Oh, that need. “Why don’t we get comfortable?” She did not mean anything by that statement.
Charlie’s pupils expanded. “Whatever you want.”
Juliana’s mouth dried. Her body’s moisture rushed south. What she wanted . . . wasn’t realistic. She’d let Charlie test-drive her. It’s what he’d wanted, what they’d both wanted. He wasn’t here for another spin, despite his husky voice and darkened eyes.
But if he touched her, she’d be lost. She’d let him do whatever he wanted with her, as many times as he wanted. She knew she’d deny him nothing. She was his for the taking.
The moment elongated as she waited for Charlie’s move, not daring to breathe.
But when he made it, it was to sit on the couch and pull out a photo. Juliana released her breath and sat beside him. She was not disappointed. Maybe if she told herself that enough times she’d believe it.
Charlie handed her the photo and immediately she felt a tingling sensation. Her hand had brushed his, so she wasn’t sure if it was him or the photo. She scooted further away from him on the cushion and stared at the sculpture.
