by Ann Gimpel
The truth was, Hector didn’t really need her anymore. Seven visits had cured both his impotence and his problems with premature ejaculation.
“Good thing you asked.” She breezed back into the bedroom, smiling brightly. “We’ve run through your sessions.” He looked so crestfallen, she went to the bed, sat on the edge, and took his hands in hers. “Hector. You got what you needed here. You can make love with anyone now. You don’t need me anymore.”
“But I thought—I mean, I hoped…” Color crept up his chest to his neck and face.
“Aw, honey. Everyone falls in love with me. It’s natural. I’m the first woman you had sex with.” She patted his hand. “I guarantee you I won’t be the last. Try asking that cute brunette you told me about out for coffee.”
“Can I come back if I get into problems?”
“Sure. I’ll square it with your doctor.”
“Really?” He smiled. Hector was decidedly handsome when he did that.
“Really.” She touched a finger to his chin. “You’re quite the hunk when you smile. Try to remember to do it more often.”
He dressed quickly and she ushered him out the door. “Thanks for the flowers. And best of luck, not that you’ll need any. You’ll make some woman very happy.”
She closed the door, locked it, and looked at the time. She needed to call the underground about groceries, change the bed, and take a shower. It would be tight, but she was pretty sure she could work everything in before Todd showed up in half an hour.
Kate glanced at the calendar in her wrist computer. Good. Only the two clients today. Worries about her three houseguests ate at her. It was better when she was home. The shifters in her basement were vulnerable by themselves.
Chapter 2
Devon Heartshorn strode past the pale blue Victorian. He’d watched Kate Roman run up the steps and let herself inside. He was nearly certain she knew she was being followed, but she’d played it very cool. Even though he hadn’t been able to see her once the door was shut, his genetically-enhanced senses told him she’d been just inside watching him.
He surreptitiously rearranged himself. Just following Kate had been immensely arousing. He’d known she worked as a sex surrogate, but he hadn’t counted on her sheer animal magnetism or the hot swing of her hips. She was maybe five-foot eight with curves to spare. Full breasts pushed against the front of her denim jacket. He’d gotten a good look when she’d been at right angles to him running up her office steps. Tight jeans displayed a generous butt. It wasn’t just her lush figure and the bright hair peeking out from under her scarf which heated his blood. The way she walked practically screamed she owned the street. She had presence, an almost regal bearing. Though she hadn’t turned around, he knew from pictures her eyes were amber, shading to golden. Cat eyes. Just like the cat she was.
She was magnificent. He didn’t think he’d be able to capture her. It would be a crime to put something that perfect behind bars. He shook his head. Dark hair fell into his face. He pushed it aside and ducked into a coffee shop. Everything was self-serve. He held his wrist computer up to the auto teller, ordered ten credits worth of food, and scanned his personal ID. The auto teller obligingly gave him a code, which popped up on his screen. Devon marched down the aisle. When he saw something he wanted, he scanned the barcode on his display, a glass door opened, and he took his item.
Coffee and pastry in hand, he sat at a table and raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t pleased about his current assignment, but he didn’t see any way out of it. He’d moved from the Mojave Desert three months ago to take a job as a lieutenant with the City of Berkeley Police Department. He’d even gone through the series of infusions to alter his already-enhanced genetics so he’d be more sensitive to shifters. The last one had been three days ago, and his arm still ached. Something in the IV fluid was a hell of an irritant. He was glad to be done with that part of things.
His jaw tightened. Law enforcement had changed dramatically since he’d finished his criminal justice degree at UCLA. Devon had planned to go to law school, but first he’d needed to figure out a way to pay for it. Half Paiute from his father’s side, he’d applied to the Tribal Consortium for an educational loan. Because he wasn’t a full blood, they’d turned him down. He’d ended up signing on as an officer with the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office. A failed marriage and an underwater mortgage had deep-sixed his law school plans. Fifteen years later, he was still working as a police officer. It wasn’t such a bad life, he thought, until the governmental directive to round up shifters was signed into law two years ago.
A familiar pain knifed through him. His mother had been half-shifter; mixed genetics had cost her life. He’d petitioned the parole board to free her, had promised to keep a close eye on her. His request was denied.
“If we do it for her,” the head of the board had told him, “well, son, we’d have to do it for everybody’s mother. I’m sure you understand.”
Devon hadn’t understood. The push to rid the United States of shifters made no sense to him. There may have been a few who’d used their animal forms to harm humans, but human criminals harmed humans, too. His mother wasn’t a threat to anyone. Not then, not ever. Her health had never been good; she’d died in prison from a lung ailment, probably pneumonia.
Devon had visited her regularly. Even prisoners had rights and couldn’t be denied visitors unless they’d acted out badly. His mother was far too ill to do anything but lay on her thin prison mattress, coughing. She’d told him not to grieve for her, but he couldn’t help it. She’d only been fifty-seven. At the funeral, his two sisters and father hadn’t said two words to him. He was a living, breathing representation of the ruling class, the reason his mother wasn’t with them anymore.
He looked at his half empty cup of coffee and barely touched pastry. His stomach knotted; he didn’t feel hungry anymore. He’d wanted to talk with his family after his mother’s death. After all, it wasn’t like he’d been the one to round her up and stick her in that women’s prison in Chino. But I didn’t do anything to help her, either, an inner voice reminded him. Guilt shriveled his soul. He’d given up after the parole board turned him down.
Devon winced. He’d done his share of trapping shifters and seeing them imprisoned. Once the governmental directive had come down removing their human rights, he’d taken his responsibilities as a sworn law enforcement officer seriously. It didn’t matter how he felt. He was bound by oath to uphold the law.
What about protect? the same inner voice nagged. Aren’t I supposed to protect the innocent? His mother had been one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever known. And now she was dead. Because of her blood. His hands fisted by his sides. He shot to his feet, almost tipping the flimsy table over, and stormed out of the restaurant. He ran into a couple coming in. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Once outside the café, he walked briskly, but it wasn’t enough to assuage his guilt. Devon broke into a run to ease the pain in his guts. He ran until the city limit sign flashed past and kept on going. He was off duty. No one expected him anywhere. If he went back to the station, they’d just grill him about Kate and he’d have to fill out a report. Maybe he’d tell them he hadn’t been able to find her. That might buy her a few more days of freedom. He drew up hard and bent over, hands on his knees, sucking air. He’d never reneged on his duty before. He couldn’t believe he’d even considered such a thing. If his superiors found out, he’d never work in law enforcement again. He might even get tossed in jail. Yeah, just like Mom. Maybe it’s what I deserve…
Devon worked his long hair into a single braid to get it out of his face, and then took off at a fast jog. Maybe if he ran long enough, the remorse sluicing through him would ease. He’d read the official paperwork condemning shifters—all of it. It hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. After all, he had shifter blood, just not enough to change into anything. The rules were quite clear, though. Fifty percent was the dividing line. No one bothered to hide their shif
ter background. It was right on their birth certificates, so hunting them had been easy. Too easy. He’d asked to be reassigned after his mother’s death, but his desk captain laughed and told him to grow a thicker hide.
Shunned by his fellow officers for being soft-hearted, shunned by his family for his mother’s demise, Devon finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to leave the Mojave Desert and its painful memories. It had taken a while to find another job, but the City of Berkeley had finally offered him one. They had a new hush-hush task force. He’d only found out he’d be tracking shifters after he’d accepted the job, moved, and been sworn in.
The slap of his shoes against asphalt was loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his sides. Hovercraft whirred overhead. The sky was thick with them outside the city limits. His throat stung. It didn’t take much to erode the already-marginal air quality. A craft flew too low. Devon was certain it was in violation of the hundred-foot minimum, but didn’t radio in the infraction.
“Hey, handsome. What you running away from? Got an angry woman on your tail?”
His head whipped around. A young Asian, probably Vietnamese from the look of her fair skin and high cheekbones, smiled. He came to a stop, momentarily confused, and then smacked the palm of his hand against his head. Of course. Hookers weren’t allowed inside the city limits, but many women set up shop close enough to Berkeley’s edge to lure clients. Maybe a diversion was just the thing he needed. “Nope. Just running.” He smiled back.
She sashayed over to him, hips swinging. Her sarong gave him a fair view of the tops of her high, firm breasts. “It’s been pretty slow today. You’re quite a cutie. I’d be willing to give you a deal.”
He quirked a brow, heart still pounding from his run. “What kind of deal?”
“Depends what you want.” She tugged the low neck of her dragon patterned red and black dress aside, giving him a quick peek at a brown nipple.
Devon looked hard at her face. She was young. Past eighteen, but not by much. Part of him felt sad. He wanted to ask why she’d ended up selling her body, but didn’t. He already knew the answer. It was more money than she could make at a minimum wage job. Better me than the next stranger she flashes. At least I’ll be kind—and generous. His cock twitched. It was still lost in Kate’s allure.
“Well?” She dropped her gaze. “If you don’t want to, I’ll go back inside.”
He gestured toward a flashing neon sign a few doors down. “Should we get a motel?”
“If you want to. It would save me some laundry.”
“Sure. What’s your name?” He held out a hand.
She took it, her grip firm. “Huong.”
“Vietnamese?”
She nodded. “Yes, how’d you—”
He traced an index finger along her cheek. “Bone structure. And your name. Do you need to lock up?”
“No. My sister’s inside.”
Yes, and likely her mother and father and a few assorted uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Huong was probably supporting all of them. He wondered if her sister turned tricks too. He opened his mouth to ask, and then shut it with a clack. None of his business.
“Come on.” He linked an arm through hers. “Let’s go.”
They walked to the nearby motel. Devon unlocked the door of room seventeen and stood aside for her to enter. Though the motel was well past its prime, the room was clean. He turned the deadbolt and dropped the night lock into its slot, then turned to Huong. “You asked what I wanted. Just straight sex is fine. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to shower first. I’m sweaty from running.” He kicked off his shoes.
“Would you like me to join you?” The corners of her eyes crinkled when she grinned. She tossed a small shoulder bag next to the freestanding computer screen. It had hookups—hard and wireless—to accommodate all types of computers.
“Sure.”
‘I won’t charge any extra.” She drew the window curtain closed, turned on a lamp, then came to his side and tugged his vest off. She unbuttoned his shirt and reached around to unhook the clasp of the leather pouch he wore at his waist. He grabbed it from her and laid it on a table. Huong dropped her gaze. “I do not steal from my johns.”
“Didn’t think you did.” He took a deep breath. “Look, you probably should know I’m a cop—”
She gasped and spun away from him, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.
“Huong. I’m off-duty. I’m not here to bust you. I just thought I should tell you. You’ll see the tattoos once you get my clothes off.”
She stopped, one hand on the night latch chain. “Please don’t arrest me. My family…” Her voice broke.
“Come sit. I promise I won’t arrest you. For one thing, my jurisdiction ended at the city limits. For another, prostitution is legal here.”
She turned slowly and faced him, but made no move to sit. “That’s not what the last city cop said.”
He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. His jaw tensed with anger. He was pretty sure he knew what one of his fellow officers had done. “I’m betting he told you that you had to service him or he’d arrest you.”
Long hair fell over her face as she nodded.
“Well, if that ever happens again, you can tell him to go fuck himself.”
She giggled, tossed her hair back, and looked at him. “You know something, cop, I like you.”
“Good. Want to keep undressing me?” He winked.
Fingers busy again, she murmured, “It’s a hundred fifty credits for an hour. I’ll give you two for that.”
“Do you have a way to transfer credits?” He’d always assumed hookers dealt strictly in cash, all of which was black market. The government had outlawed anything but credits about the time they forced shifters underground.
“Sure.” She pulled his shirt out of his jeans and pushed it up his chest. She leaned close and licked his nipple. An electric shock radiated through his belly to his groin. “You need to pull your shirt off. I’m not tall enough.”
He whipped his shirt over his head and dropped it on a chair.
Huong whistled, and then ran her hands down his chest. “Nice muscles,” she breathed, fingering the tattoos on his upper torso. “This is the cop one. What’s this?”
“It’s from my tribe. I’m half Paiute. The stag is my family symbol.”
She arched a brow. “Indian. Interesting.”
“How so?”
She grinned. “Means you’re a brown-skinned foreigner just like me.”
He laughed. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Just remember, my people were here before any of the rest of you.” He started unbuttoning his jeans. She shoved his hands aside and pushed the well-worn fabric down his legs with practiced ease. He stepped out of them.
“No underwear?” She ran her tongue over her full lips. “Sure you weren’t cruising for a woman?”
“Never wear any.” He considered explaining about Native traditions, but decided not to. Men from his tribe who lived on the reservation avoided things they considered white man’s inventions.
“I can see why. Probably don’t fit so well over this.” She reached for his cock, already half-erect, but he shook his head. “Shower first.”
She untied a knot at her shoulder; her sarong slid to the floor. His eyes widened. She was lovely. Her breasts, tipped by brown nipples, rode high on her ribcage. A flat stomach, flared hips, and a smooth shaven pussy nestled between long shapely legs took his breath away.
His cock sprang to life. It had been months since he’d hired a woman to satisfy him. Devon wanted to toss her onto the bed, spread her legs, and plunge inside. Instead, he strode to the bathroom and flipped the taps. He felt the heat of her body right behind him.
Needle jets from a shower obviously sporting a low-flow showerhead pummeled his body. She pumped the wall-mounted soap holder a few times, rubbed her hands together, and lathered his body, lingering over his erection.
His heart thudded against his chest. He sucked in steamy air an
d backed her against one of the plastic-paneled walls. Her arms went around him and she tilted her face upward. He kissed her. She opened her mouth to him. Her tongue sparred with his. Either she was a consummate actress, or she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He felt her nipples harden where they pressed against him.
She broke away from the kiss. “Clean enough, cop?”
He realized he’d never told her his name, but there was no reason to. “Yeah, probably.” Lust thickened his words. He turned off the jets. By the time he stepped out onto cracked linoleum, she was there with a towel. He didn’t care about being dry. His cock curved along his belly, as hard as it ever got. He wouldn’t last beyond a few strokes.
She knelt in front of him, but he pulled her upright. “I want to be inside you. Condoms?”
Huong scampered into the bedroom and pulled a foil packet from her bag. He grabbed it from her, ripped it open and rolled it over himself. “Been a long time, huh?” She eyed him. One of her hands toyed with her nipples, the other hand dipped between her legs.
Devon couldn’t talk. Her wantonness definitely turned up the heat factor. He tugged the faded bedspread off the bed. She understood and lay down, holding her arms out to him. He sank into them. It felt so good to have a woman close her arms around him. It didn’t matter she was a hooker. For the next few minutes, he could pretend whatever he wanted.
He took her in his arms, pressed his body against her, and kissed her. Huong reached down to guide him home. He sank his full length inside her. Her legs came up and tightened around his lower back.
He groaned at the feel of her, hot and tight around him. She thrust her hips upward. Her mouth opened wider under his. He tried to be still, but his cock had other ideas. It wanted to move, hard and fast, until it emptied inside the woman around it. Her fingers tightened on his back, nails digging in. She tore her mouth away from his. “Move, goddamn it,” she urged, voice raspy with passion. “You got me going the second I saw you run past my door.”
