Undone by Moonlight

by Wendy Etherington

Reid sighed. “Fine.” He unlocked the cuffs, then opened the interrogation room door. “Five minutes.”

  The whole exchange had happened so fast Devin was alone with Calla and the lawyer he didn’t even recall hiring before remembering he’d specifically told Calla not to call Howard.

  However, he’d also told her he wasn’t under arrest.

  Calla threw her arms around him. “How did this happen? What’s Reid thinking? What are they saying you did? They can’t really think you beat up Forrester. This isn’t right!”

  Devin absorbed her warmth and inhaled the scent of her vanilla-ladened shampoo. Had it only been a few hours ago he’d woken in her bed? Since they’d shared breakfast, sighs and secrets?

  Howard captured her hand and pulled her away from Devin. “It’s okay, Calla. We’ll figure this out. Let the man breathe.”

  Devin tugged her back into his arms. “I like her where she is.”

  For good measure, he tossed a hard look at his lawyer. They might as well be clear from the start—Devin might not deserve Calla, but she belonged to him, and Two-Date Howard wasn’t getting in the middle.

  Calla laid her palm against his cheek. “How possessive of you.”

  “I listen. Mostly, anyway,” he added when recalling she’d been right about needing legal advice sooner than later. “You’re sure about Howard?”

  “Juries like him. They find him nonthreatening.”

  “As long as you don’t find him hot.”

  As an answer, she placed a quick kiss on his lips, then stepped back. “I realize you two know each other, but we should make it official. Howard, this is Detective Devin Antonio. Devin, Howard Bleaker, your attorney.”

  Shaking Howard’s hand, Devin overlooked the detail of him never actually having hired hiring a lawyer. Mostly because, much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. But probably because he couldn’t say no to her. What mortal man could?

  “What are they charging you with?” Howard asked, laying his briefcase on the desk.

  “Assault.” Devin rubbed the back of his head. A headache was coming on. As the doctor warned, they happened with little urging these days, and his current scrape was a guaranteed trigger. “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ll give you the details at my place later,” Calla said. “We’re assembling the team now. Can you get Devin bailed today?”

  Howard blinked. Was he confused by the question, or momentarily dazzled by Calla’s golden splendor? “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said finally, taking a notepad from his briefcase. “It’s early. We can have him home by dinnertime.”

  “Bring him to my apartment. I’ll feed you both.” She paused, smiling slightly. “Correction, Shelby, she’s a professional chef, will feed you.”

  “That’s a better gig than jailhouse grub,” Devin commented.

  “She’s probably pacing outside the door by now, so I’m gonna let you two talk.” Calla laid her hand over Howard’s, then turned and kissed Devin. She lingered longer than anybody ever had in this bleak room. “The gang has your back,” she murmured against his cheek.

  “You’re not a gang,” he said automatically.

  She grinned as she moved away. “We are now.”

  When the door closed behind her, Howard was the first to speak. “You know how amazing she is, right?”

  “I do.”

  “Then we’ll get along fine.”

  8

  The New York Tattletale

  Who Needs Pregnant Pop Stars

  When You’ve Got the NYPD?

  by Peeps Galloway, Gossipmonger

  (And proud of it!)

  Yes, fellow gossip compatriots, it’s true. Maybe it was inevitable. I can now take apparently out of my report on Detective Devin Antonio. Arrested on assault. Charged and arraigned. Released on bail. It’s traumatic, it’s, it’s...

  Delicious.

  I mean, you just can’t make this stuff up. (And, believe me, I’ve tried.) I hear he’s holed up with his lawyer and his pals—at least the ones who aren’t being interrogated—to prepare his defense. In the meantime, the press is going nuts, asking tough questions about dirty cops, protection for average citizens and whether the screening process for the academy ought to be toughened.

  But me? I’m asking the right questions. Did he assault his victim because he’d slipped the bartender a twenty so he could get his pomegranate martini right away, only to have said server rebuff him for a C-list TV star he obviously wanted to get naked with? Or maybe his victim cut the line at a shoe sale at Macy’s? Or at a designer sample sale? (’Cause any and all are more-than-valid defenses in my book.)

  Is he dating that blonde, who must have a celebrity highlight expert on speed dial? And, even more importantly, who got the lucky task of strip-searching the sizzling hot cop?

  All those questions and more will be answered right here, my lovelies, if you’re only patient.

  I’m kidding, of course! I’m on it. In fact, I’m going to get an exclusive....

  And, yet, there’s a hint of melancholy (yes, I know what the word means) in this post. I honestly thought Detective Antonio was one of the good guys.

  —Peeps

  * * *

  “OUR JAILBIRD IS FREE,” Howard said the moment Calla opened her apartment door.

  Calla kissed Howard’s cheek, told him to make himself comfortable in the living room, then, balancing the kitten beneath her arm, grabbed Devin.

  He looked the same, felt the same. But everything had changed. What had they done to him in the past several hours? Even the thought of the humiliation and injustice he’d suffered was beyond anything she could imagine.

  “You’re wearing another dress,” he said.

  She glanced down at the poppy-red swing dress, straight out of the fifties. “I shopped. I got Sharky a proper litter box, some food and a basket to sleep in. Then I saw this in a window. Vintage clothing store plus nervous energy equals charges dismissed.”

  He absently scratched the cat between his ears. “It’s bright.”

  “After that horribly gray interrogation room, plus—you know—jail, I figured you could use the color.”

  “They didn’t keep me in the regular holding cells.”

  “Why?”

  “They like to kill cops in jail.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  He pulled her against him, where his heart beat steady and strong. A small comfort. “That was supposed to make you smile.”

  “Yeah. Dying in prison, you’re a real comedian.”

  “I waited in a conference room.”

  “Oh.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist as they headed down the hall. “How long do we have to hang out with Howard?” he said in a low voice. “I was hoping we could be alone.”

  “I’ve waited all day to hear the evidence against you. We’re due to meet Shelby and Victoria and the guys for dinner.” She glanced at her watch. “In less than an hour.”

  “Then let’s get on with this legal stuff.” He slid his fingertips down her side. “I have other plans for us.”

  “Sex?” she whispered, astonished. “You’re thinking about sex now?”

  “No sympathy? I was in jail.”

  “You were in a conference room.”

  He halted. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  She shifted her body between him and the living room, where Howard waited with reality and evidence. “You want sex for comfort, or because you just do?”

  “I’m a guy. It’s like eggs.” He brushed his lips across her cheek. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

  The emotion in his eyes was like crystal-clear water. “Look how good you are at learning to share.”

  “Do you have to make me sound like a kindergardener who’s learned to use a crayon?”

  “Yes, because then we’ll get to play.”

  By the time Calla and Devin walked into the living room, Howard had set up a grease board with pictures and
a diagram relating to the case against Devin.

  “Is there a slide presentation, too?” Calla asked.

  With a bright blue marker in his hand, Howard turned, his puppy-dog brown eyes blinking behind his overlarge frames. “I could boot up the laptop, but I figured you’d want the raw data first.”

  Calla patted Howard’s shoulder before sitting beside Devin on the sofa and settling the cat in her lap. “I was kidding, Howard.”

  “I’ve developed this new multimedia software for courtroom presentations.” Howard puffed out his skinny chest. “Not every lawyer has the charm I do with juries. I think it’s quite effective. Maybe you could give me some pointers?” He smiled. “You know, from a stunningly hot woman’s perspective?”

  “I haven’t seen a stunningly hot woman on a jury in ten years,” Devin said, casually laying his arm on the back of the couch behind Calla.

  “I’d be glad to give you pointers,” Calla said to Howard after throwing Devin a chill-out stare. Possessiveness was flattering, but she wanted to avoid open hostility. They needed Howard.

  “So, go ahead, counselor,” Devin said, his sarcasm obvious. “Give her the happy news. It’s coming up on cocktail hour, and I have big plans.”

  Calla scowled. “I don’t have whiskey.”

  “I know a liquor store that delivers.”

  “Devin, I don’t think—”

  “Do you want to know the dirty details or not?” he countered.

  Calla scoffed. “This whole deal is a crappy frame. Did they find a crumpled piece of paper on your desk with Forrester’s name on it? How about a signed confession letter?”

  “Not so crappy,” Howard said, putting a series of photos on the board.

  “They found a pipe with my prints on it,” Devin informed her calmly.

  “Don’t forget about the surveillance photos,” Howard added as Calla gasped.

  “B-but,” Calla sputtered. “How? You didn’t hit Forrester. Surely they’re bluffing, hoping you’ll confess.”

  “They’re not,” Howard assured her. “I saw the lab reports.”

  “Still believe I’m gonna get out of this with my badge?” Devin asked.

  Calla slumped against the sofa cushions. “And the photos?”

  Howard pointed to the board. “Here’s a few. They’re basically shots of Jimmie in various low-rent areas of town. All handily saved on a data card in a digital camera obtained via a search on Devin’s apartment.”

  Calla straightened. “They can’t just—”

  “Seized last night by a warrant,” Howard added.

  “While you were here.” Calla sighed. “I suppose your prints were all over that, too.”

  Devin shook his head. “No prints on the camera or data card. Apparently, I had enough sense to wipe them off.”

  “And leave them on the pipe?” Calla asked incredulously.

  “I’m a brilliant cop but a terrible crook.” Devin splayed his hands. “Can’t have everything.”

  Calla rubbed her temples, trying to process this latest disaster. “So whoever hit Jimmie and Devin had the sense to wipe off his prints, or wear gloves, then wrap Devin’s hand around the pipe while he was unconscious. And last night, sometime after nine, which was when Devin got here, either Jimmie or his accomplice broke into Devin’s apartment, planted the camera, then got out again before the NYPD arrived with their search warrant.”

  “The warrant was signed by Judge Cooper at one-twenty a.m.,” Howard said, writing the number on the board and circling it.

  “Let me guess,” Calla began, disgusted by the whole business. “I’m betting this incredibly convenient instinct to search Devin’s apartment was arrived at after the ole standby of an anonymous phone call.”

  “Brilliant and beautiful,” Howard commented, earning a warning glare from Devin. “The NYPD won’t say anything about their hunches, but we can assume an outside tip was involved.”

  “Unless the evidence fairy makes house calls,” Devin said sardonically. “We can also assume my apartment was being watched by Jimmie and/or his pal.”

  “If only we’d stayed at your place,” Calla murmured, gliding her fingers over Devin’s clenched fist.

  “My fault,” he reminded her.

  As he stood and walked away from her, Calla tried not to take his distance personally. The full weight of everything they faced was only now becoming apparent. Someone had planned this attack against Devin very, very, carefully. And with the bad guys several steps ahead, the gang had to anticipate their next moves if they were going to clear Devin’s name and get him reinstated.

  “If they’re watching your apartment, then we should be watching them,” she suggested.

  Devin shook his head. “Fake evidence mission accomplished. Why would they keep up the surveillance?”

  “Any ideas, Howard?” she asked, feeling useless. She was way out of her element here.

  “Nothing concrete. I’d like to go over the time and date stamp in the digital photos and compile a time line. Maybe some of them are old, or we can prove Devin was somewhere else when a certain picture was taken.”

  Devin looked impressed. “That’s good. Send me the images, and I’ll go through them on Calla’s computer.”

  “Dinner, remember?” Calla crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look stern. Easy enough, she copied Devin’s usual expression. “You need to relax and be with friends. After a good night’s sleep, things will look much clearer.”

  Devin’s gaze held hers. Not that they’d gotten much sleep last night....

  Calla cleared her throat as she directed her attention to Howard. “Shelby’s place is in Chelsea, and we can discuss Devin’s case while we eat.”

  Howard crossed to her, captured her hand and brushed his lips over the back. “Not tonight, my lovely. Why don’t I make a slide presentation of the photos in chronological order, then we’ll meet at my office at ten tomorrow and review Devin’s movements during?”

  “Do you two mind if I have a vote in my own life?” Devin asked, clearly annoyed.

  “Yes!” Calla and Howard announced together as Howard helped Calla to her feet.

  Devin pulled Calla’s hand away from the lawyer. “I guess this is good-night, then.”

  They helped Howard with his board and supplies, then fed Sharky and got him settled in his new basket. After Calla gave the cabbie Trevor and Shelby’s address, Devin told her, “We need to make a stop first.”

  “We don’t. Trevor has better booze than either of us could ever afford.” She laid her hand on his thigh. “Don’t you think you should stay sharp so we can brainstorm your defense?”

  “Howard has everything under control. You were right, I need to relax. Tonight that means a good meal, a smooth drink and you.”

  Not too long ago she would have considered a statement like that from him as a delusional fantasy. Maybe he was using her as a crutch to get him through these terrible events, but she was happy to support him regardless.

  “Who knows how many nights of freedom I have left?” Devin added.

  “Don’t kid about stuff like that. You have plenty.” She laid her head on his shoulder as he slipped his arm around her waist. “The gang and I, plus Howard, are all behind you.”

  “My instinct is to be alone, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Tonight, though, I’m happy to be your plus-one. What’s for dinner?”

  “With Shelby in charge, it’s gotta be something good. And you’re not an afterthought of this gathering. You’re the guest of honor.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. There are some rampant pair-ups going on in your gang.”

  “If you’re imagining a shotgun wedding, you’ll have to wait till my dad comes back to town.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Escaping to Texas may be my last option. Think I’d look good in a Stetson?”

  “I’ve never seen you look bad in anything, so, yeah, but I don’t think you’d like Texas.”

  �
��Why’s that?”

  “Because they don’t just kill corrupt cops in Texas, they torture them and bury their bodies in the desert.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Maybe just a little funny.”

  As the cab pulled to the curb in front of Shelby’s luxury high-rise apartment, Devin handed the driver the fare through the window. He didn’t speak again until they’d been cleared through security and were riding up in the elevator. “Why don’t you doubt me? There’ve been moments the last few days that even I’ve wondered if I caught Jimmie in that alley, beat him up then somehow blocked it out. But your belief in me hasn’t wavered. Why not?”

  “It’s not logical,” she said. “You certainly didn’t hit yourself.”

  “Nothing more than common sense?”

  She stroked his cheek with the tip of her finger. “I see the best in you.”

  “Can’t be easy,” he muttered.

  Laughing, Calla linked arms with him as they exited the elevator and headed down the hall. Shelby and Trevor’s apartment was contemporary luxury, with modern decor of steel, glass and marble, and spectacular views of the Manhattan skyline.

  Since Trevor owned a multimillion-dollar transportation company—not to mention his father was an English earl—the address and size of their place was expected. And though Shelby’s upbringing and income were a lot more modest, she’d added love and warmth, so the space suited them both.

  And it was a great clubhouse for the gang.

  Victoria opened the door. “You made the local news.”

  Devin groaned. “And the fun just keeps on comin’.”

  “Trevor’s got a special get-out-of-jail drink waiting for you at the bar,” Victoria said, extending her arm in welcome.

  As Devin headed down the hall, Victoria pulled Calla close for a rare show of physical affection. “How ya holding up, Polly?”

  “I’m still standing.”

  Her light blue gaze scanned Calla’s outfit. “You sort of look like a Stepford wife.”

  “That’s how I’m holding up.”

  By the time she reached the living area, Devin was holding a crystal tumbler in his hand standing in front of the windows with his back to the room.