There was a cop standing there.
“What can I do for you, Detective Hyde?”
The petite woman, her blond hair a little stringy around her face, looked up at him, her eyes just as dark with exhaustion as his own.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said softly. “I was driving by and saw the light on and thought . . . I was going to say I had questions, but I can’t think of any right now.”
“This is harassment,” he told her, aware that she knew it.
“I can leave.”
But when she turned, he realized how desperately he didn’t want to be alone. Durango grabbed her arm and tugged her back into the apartment, anger and hatred and frustration overcoming him as he shoved her up against the door, slamming it with the weight of her body. And then he was kissing her, tearing at her clothes with almost the same determination with which she tore at his.
It wasn’t planned and wasn’t something he would have done under other circumstances. But he was grieving and what better affirmation of life than a good fuck?
He lifted her up, brought her hips to his, and thrust inside of her, loving that she was a silent lover, that she didn’t make a single sound even as he plowed inside of her, as he callously worked out his needs, not caring about hers. But he knew she wasn’t hating it. Her hips moved against his, her hands stroked his neck, his jaw, even as she sought his mouth for more of his touch. He turned, kicking his pants away, probably looking quite comical walking around the condo with his hairy ass sticking out in the wind. He carried her to the couch, falling on top of her to the sound of air rushing from her lungs.
They rolled around there for a long time, the last of their clothing finding its way to the floor as exhaustion finally took their stamina. She reached for the bottle of tequila on the floor and held it up to the light.
“You got one with some still in it?”
He tripped over her blouse on the way to the kitchen. He snatched it off the floor and tossed it to her, disappearing only long enough to grab the bottle. She was sitting up when he returned, her blouse lying on the back of the couch and his shirt over her perky little breasts.
“What’d you do that for? I like looking at them.”
“Do you? I’ve always thought they were too small.”
“Small is in the eye of the beholder. I personally think breasts of any size are beautiful.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my ex-husband. He married a woman half my age with a rack that’s big enough to require special order bras.”
“His loss.”
Detective Hyde—Donna—smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He took a swig from the tequila bottle and handed it to her, impressed with the long swallow she took. Then she studied him, her eyes moving slowly over the length of his body.
“I kind of thought you and that human resources lady had a thing going.”
“Who? Gracie?”
“The way she kept looking at you the other day in your office. It sort of looked like it.”
“No. Not on my part, anyway.”
She smiled, lifting the bottle to her lips for another slug. “I circled the block four times trying to tell if you had anyone in here with you. Glad you didn’t.”
“Me too.”
She handed the bottle back and sighed. “I could get fired for this, you know.”
“Sleeping with a suspect? That is pretty dangerous stuff.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think you did it. But Fedor . . . he’s fucking determined.” She brushed the hair from her face. “I went back and read your file. The investigation into your fiancée’s case. You’re right about the coroner.”
“Yeah?”
“How come it went to trial?”
“Because the detective on the case was like Fedor. He decided I was guilty before her body was even cold.”
“Sucks. Not a good way to do this job.”
“No. But it’s the way too many do it these days.”
She nodded. “The only thing that’s kept you out of jail is the testimony of that girl who was here that morning. The one from the bar? And the bartender at that place downtown.”
“Thank God for drinking problems.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank as much as he could take before the gag reflex kicked in. “Thanks to my father.”
“What’s he got to do with it?”
Durango smiled. “He’s a famous alcoholic. Don’t you know?”
“Who is he? Someone local?”
“Nope. My father is Jackson Chamberlain.”
“As in the famous Hollywood producer? The guy who made that whole series of action films with that actor, Bodhi Archer?”
“That’s him.”
She sat up a little straighter. “You’re fucking shitting me! Why didn’t that come out in the trial?”
“Because he killed my mother, so I’d rather he keep his distance.”
“How’d he do that?”
Durango shrugged. It was a story he didn’t tell often, but he might just be drunk enough to do it now.
“She was an actress, one of those who comes to Hollywood and ends up working as a waitress until her big break. My dad was her big break. He married her after putting her in one of his movies, turned her into the next Audrey Hepburn. But then she got pregnant with me and wanted the real deal family life thing, the husband and the perfect wife and mother. My dad was never really into that sort of thing. He wanted to party, wanted to be the life of Hollywood. He got a vasectomy and started sleeping around with any chick who’d look twice his way. And the drinking . . . my mom tried to keep up with him, tried to be the good wife despite everything, but she couldn’t do it.”
“She left him?”
“In a way, I suppose. They were fighting one night. She threatened to kill herself and he mocked her, told her she wasn’t strong enough to do something like that. She took the pills right in front of him and he just encouraged her, berated her, laughed at her when she threw them up. So, she took more. Then he woke the next morning and she didn’t.”
Donna’s face registered the same horror that always washed through Durango whenever he thought about it.
“That sucks!”
He nodded. “You think I’m an ass, you should meet my father.”
“It doesn’t seem like I’d want to.”
Durango drank more of the tequila. “He married half a dozen times more after that, even took in one of his wives’ kid after she abandoned him. The world thinks he’s this great guy, this cinematic genius. But he’s just an alcoholic who destroyed the best thing to ever happen to him.”
Donna moved into his lap and took the tequila from him, chugging down a huge swallow before leaning back to set it on the coffee table. Then she reached between their bodies and began to stroke him back to life.
“Fuck the world. Fuck guilt and shame and everything else that exists outside these walls.”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing matters right now but this.”
She drew him to her, guiding him inside. He closed his eyes and sighed as her body clenched around him, holding him tightly in place. When he opened them, she was watching him closely, curiosity and compassion in her pretty eyes.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I set eyes on you,” she said.
He wanted to say he had to, but he hadn’t.
But a warm body is a warm body, isn’t it?
Chapter 40
Springfield, Illinois
Mastiff Security
Durango stared at the computer, trying to remember what the hell he’d just been reading. Axel walked in, clicking his tongue softly as he took in his boss.
“How much did you have to drink last night?”
“Too much.” He sat back and looked at Axel. “You look too damn happy.”
“I am. I can’t help myself. Abigail . . . she’s fucking amazing!”
Durango, reminded by the mention of her name, reached into a d
rawer of his desk and held out a file to Axel. “Harvard sent that over this morning. The device Morty Appleton is accused of selling is patented in both their names, as well as registered with school services—I don’t know exactly what they were saying, but, apparently, the device is legally her property. She can do with it as she pleases.”
“Seriously?”
“The company that purchased it has been ordered to hand over all devices and paperwork that goes along with it. It’ll be delivered to her by the end of the week.”
“That’ll be a relief to her.”
“I figured as much.” Durango looked Axel over for a second. “So, are you moving out to the farm to live with her?”
“We’re not going to make decisions like that just yet. But it’s a possibility.”
Durango nodded, disappointed. That meant he’d have to look for someone else to take the head of operations job. But then Axel cleared his throat.
“I’d like to take you up on your job offer if it’s still on the table.”
Durango’s head jerked up. “Yeah?”
“I think now is a good time for that kind of change.”
“Good,” he said, smiling as he stood and offered his hand to Axel. “Go down and talk to Gracie. She’ll be expecting you.”
Axel nodded his head. “Thanks, Durango.” He turned and headed for the door, but paused before stepping through it. “If I can do anything to help with Kyle . . . I know you’re investigating on your own. I’d like to help.”
“Thank you,” Durango said. “I’ll let you know.”
He sat down and turned to the computer. He was looking for the file he’d been reading earlier and accidentally pulled up the internet. He was about to close it when he saw his own name on one of the blurb headlines.
“Durango Masters has a famous father,” it read.
His heart sank at the same time his anger bolted.
That fucking bitch!
Hyde. It had to have been fucking Hyde!
He was still cursing when a woman dressed quite professionally walked into the room.
“Durango Masters? I’m Quinn Naylor. We had an appointment?”
“We did?”
She blushed, turning to glance at the open doorway. “Your assistant seems to be gone, but I did call this morning and was told to come in at this time.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did. But I’m having issues with my personal assistants.”
“I can see that.”
Durango moved around the desk and gestured for her to take a seat, taking in the obvious injuries to her face and arm.
This was going to be an interesting case.
Book 2
Chapter 1
Springfield, Illinois
Mastiff Security
“That fucking bitch!”
Durango stared at the computer screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. For nearly twenty years, he’d been able to hide the truth about his past, the fact that his father just happened to be one of the most conceited, most selfish, most narcissistic movie producers in Hollywood. But with one conversation, that damn detective spilled the fucking beans to the entire world! The proof was right there in front of him, an article on MSN.
“Durango Masters Son of Famed Producer, Jackson Chamberlain,” the headline read. And when he clicked on it, the whole fucking story was right there, how he blamed his father for his mother’s death, the fight his parents had engaged in on that final night. Everything he told Hyde last night for reasons he still couldn’t figure out.
Why the hell would she go to the press?
He knew her partner believed he was a killer. Did she, too? Was this her way of pissing him off and forcing him to make a mistake? Hell, that was a trick Durango might have used during his days as a homicide detective, too. But . . . it didn’t feel so good being on this end of things, especially since Durango was innocent. He hadn’t killed his partner just like he didn’t kill his fiancée five years ago.
“Durango Masters?”
Durango’s head snapped up. He thought for a second that a reporter had just waltzed into his office, but this woman did not look like a reporter. She was a pretty thing, petite and slight, the kind of woman who looked as though a good wind could push her over. She had short hair that was as red as it was brown and intelligent hazel eyes that were too big for her face, making her appear much more innocent than she probably was. At the moment, she had some greening bruises to her face that took some of that innocence away. But she was still beautiful by anyone’s standards.
“I’m Quinn Naylor. We had an appointment?”
Was it a question or a statement?
“We did?” Durango walked around his desk and snuck a look out into the alcove outside his office, wondering where the hell this assistant had gone off to.
“Your assistant seems to be gone, but I did call this morning and was told to come in at this time,” Ms. Naylor said as he closed the door.
“Oh, I’m sure you did. But I’m having issues with my personal assistants.”
“I can see that.”
He came back around and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs set before his desk. He sat, too, the moment she was settled, tugging the other chair closer to hers. “What can I help you with, Ms. Naylor?”
“Dr. Naylor, actually.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Dr. Naylor.”
“I’m a pediatric surgeon over at Lincoln Medical Center.” She smiled slightly, but her hand shook as she reached up to shove a piece of hair out of her face. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“I would assume not.”
She smiled again, her eyes darting around the room. When they finally settled on Durango, he could see the hurt and fear in those pretty eyes. She pushed her hair back from her face again even though the hair was still tucked behind one ear. She sighed heavily as he waited for her to get her thoughts together.
“I . . . I was arrested a week ago and charged with vehicular manslaughter.”
Durango leaned forward slightly, his thoughts rushing over the criteria for that sort of arrest. “There was an accident?”
“They tell me there was. They say they have video.”
“They tell you? They say?”
A deep blush burned her cheeks. “The thing is, I don’t remember any of it. I woke in my bed, in my house, with these bruises . . .” She waved a hand toward her face. “But I don’t remember any of it.”
Fascinating.
“Can you tell me what you do remember?”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “I was at the hospital. I’d just finished up a case, and I was hanging around, doing some dictation, waiting to make sure the patient didn’t have any immediate complications.” She sighed softly. “A little after midnight, I was finally headed out, exhausted, but okay. This nurse I’ve known since I started my residency came up to me and told me about a party at another coworker’s house. I hadn’t heard about it—but I’m not often invited to these things because I rarely go.”
Durango reached over and touched her leg to offer some comfort. She turned a little, pulling her knee from his reach.
All right then!
She ran the fingers of both hands through her short hair, causing some of it to stand up a little oddly. When her eyes met his, they were filled with sorrow.
“Sorry, I just—”
“Tell me the rest of what you remember.”
She nodded. “I decided to go to the party even though it was so late because the nurse was incredibly insistent, and I was pretty wired from the surgery. Besides, I didn’t have anything early the following morning, just a consultation with a new patient. My residents were capable of caring for my current patients.”
Dr. Naylor grew quiet for a long moment, her eyes on her clasped hands that were once again resting in her lap. “The party was a little wild: there was a lot of booze, a lot of loud music, a lot of dirty dancing. Not my kind of thing.” She blushed, making Durango
want to smile.
If only she knew who she was talking to. Sounds like just my kind of thing!
“I started for the door not ten minutes after I arrived, but a colleague, Dr. Petrov, cornered me to ask about a patient. We talked about five minutes, someone put a drink in my hand, then I was gone. And that’s about the last thing I remember. I got into my car and . . . blank. I can’t remember anything after that.”
“Did you drink from the cup they put in your hands.”
She nodded, her expression announcing that she knew exactly where Durango was going with that question.
“I thought of that, too. Tested my own blood both in the hospital lab and sent it to an independent lab. Neither test showed anything.”
“Nothing that hadn’t already washed out of your system.”
She smiled mirthlessly. “I thought of that, too. It could only be a handful of things.”
Durango sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as his thoughts danced over the details.
“You said they told you there was a video.”
“Yes. The assistant district attorney said that they have traffic camera footage that shows me behind the wheel seconds before the accident.”
“Have you seen the footage?”
“Not yet. They haven’t been very forthcoming.”
Durango nodded. “They wouldn’t be. They don’t want to show their hand before they’ve got a good case built up.”
She ran her fingers through her short hair again, pulling more of it up on end. “They’re saying that I did it intentionally, that they can prove that I sped up in the seconds before the crash. They say I targeted him.”
“Him? The victim?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t just a random driver?”
“He wasn’t driving. He was jogging along the side of the road.”
“After midnight?”
She shrugged a single shoulder. “It was his habit. One I knew about, which is why the DA is saying I knew where to find him.”
Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 22
