Dark Valentine

by Jennifer Fulton

  Living a sane life had become impossible for her in Denver, and when Werner Brigham was released on bail after the preliminary hearing, she had known the protection order would make no difference. He would come after her again, and this time she would not get away.

  “Kate, are you there?”

  Rhianna wondered how her real name would sound from those lips. The thought set off a small warning explosion in the back of her mind. This was why she had to be careful about getting close to people. The first thing she wanted to do was tell them the truth. She hated living a lie, having to pretend to be someone other than herself. But she could not afford to relax. It was too soon. She hadn’t come this far, lost so much that mattered, just to give herself away because she wanted to hear a sexy woman speak her name.

  “I’m here,” she said. “How did you find me?”

  “Actually, I didn’t find you. I cheated. I asked the owners at Casitas to send the bouquet on my behalf.”

  A flood of relief engulfed Rhianna. Jules hadn’t traced her after all. She’d agonized over the registration form when she’d checked into Casitas, wondering how she could avoid providing an address when it was probably required for billing to a credit card. For a few moments, she’d even considered paying for her room in cash, then she realized she was being silly. It didn’t matter if she wrote down an address for Kate on a form at a hotel or a doctor’s office. No one in the world knew that Kate Lambert was Rhianna Lamb.

  “So they didn’t give you my details?” she confirmed.

  “No. Although, since you just called me from your address, I have the landline number now.”

  Rhianna rolled her eyes. She had assumed Jules knew where she was, so it wouldn’t matter if she used the Mosses’ phone to call. Not that it made any difference. She reminded herself yet again that it was okay for people to know where “Kate Lambert” lived. In fact, it would only arouse suspicion if she behaved secretively. She had assumed a new identity, and if she wanted to avoid drawing attention to herself, she needed to act like a normal person.

  Curious, she said, “Why did you want to get in touch with me?”

  “Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.” The answer was almost a cliché, but Jules did not sound flippant.

  Rhianna wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m flattered, but—”

  “Just hear me out. I know you’re not looking for a girlfriend, but does that mean you’ve taken a vow of celibacy?”

  “I guess I’m trying to avoid complications. I don’t want to mislead anyone about what I can offer.”

  “Then we have that in common,” Jules said. “Come on, Kate. Don’t you think if I wanted a regular partner I’d have one? I’m quite a catch.”

  “And modest to a fault.” Rhianna laughed.

  “Just stating the facts. I have a well-paying job, a big house, a nice life. Finding someone to share all that would probably take me a week. If I wasn’t fussy and if I bothered to look.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because I know my limitations. I can’t make long-term relationships work. I’ve tried.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  A short silence followed, then Jules said as if she were measuring each word, “I can recognize damage. It’s not rocket science.”

  Rhianna eased her white-knuckle grip on the phone and flexed her fingers. What was Jules trying to say? Did she think getting tied up was weird? She seemed to be into it at the time. Embarrassed, Rhianna said, “I don’t have to tie someone up to have sex, you know. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  “I’m not talking about that. I like games.”

  “Then what?”

  “It was just a feeling.” Jules’s tone was very casual. “I could be completely off base. So…I have a suggestion. Let’s meet again and prove I’m wrong.” When Rhianna didn’t answer, she teased, “I guess you saw that coming, huh?”

  Rhianna’s heart thudded loudly in her ears. “Okay, let’s meet.”

  “When?”

  Right now. Rhianna let herself imagine Jules naked in her bed, staring up at her with those shadowed eyes, the pupils huge and black. Saying the things she said. Come on. Do me. You know I want it. Tasting the way she tasted—wet honey, bitter almond, and salt. Rhianna could feel the slick aftermath of her, clinging to her mouth and chin. She’d held nothing back. Rhianna had wanted total control and Jules had given it to her. A gift. Rhianna had known it, and yet she’d thrown it back at Jules the next morning, walking away like it meant nothing. Suddenly, she wanted to make up for that rebuff, but she wasn’t sure how. She certainly couldn’t reciprocate in kind. It wouldn’t matter how well she knew someone; she would never be able to surrender herself completely.

  “I wish you were here.” The words were out before she could get a grip on herself.

  “Me, too.” Something changed in the timbre of Jules’s voice. “I want you.”

  “Mmm.” Rhianna’s nipples tightened.

  “God, I could come so easily right now.” Jules sighed. “I’ve been like this all week.”

  Rhianna hesitated. “I can still feel you.”

  A soft groan teased her ear. “Do you know how wet you just made me?”

  “I wish I could touch you,” Rhianna whispered.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “To have you in my mouth. Sucking until you’re hard and swollen and you just have to come.” Rhianna heard a soft groan and a metallic click. Jules had just locked her door. The knowledge swept through her, making her nerves tingle. She got off her bed and did the same. “I’ve been thinking about you, too. Ever since Palm Springs.”

  “Thinking what?”

  “Mostly about you fucking me.”

  A sharp intake of breath made static on the phone. “Jesus.” Jules’s voice fractured slightly. “We can’t have this conversation. I’m at work.”

  “And I’m in my bedroom. Lonely. Dripping wet—”

  “Tease,” Jules said hoarsely. “I can’t wait to have you again.”

  “You could have me right now.” Rhianna wasn’t sure what wicked instinct had possessed her, but she felt incredibly aroused and aware of her own power. Jules was far away, stuck in an office somewhere, trying to look like she was in control. Only she wasn’t.

  “Stop,” Jules gasped out. “I have to be in a meeting in ten minutes. I’m serious.”

  “And I have to come. Really, really soon,” Rhianna said sweetly.

  “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes. Talk to me. Tell me what you feel.”

  Rhianna shuffled farther up the bed and unzipped her shorts. Her panties were soaked. She worked her fingers over the narrow ridge of her clit and along the channels on either side. “My clit is really hard, and I’m slippery and open. All ready for you.”

  “I’m right there, between your legs, waiting. You know what it’s going to feel like when I fuck you, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Rhianna let her fingers glide back and forth, keeping her pressure light, teasing herself. “You’re so good, I want you inside. Deep and hard.”

  “Oh, God.” Short ragged breaths. “You’re making me sweat.”

  For a split second, Rhianna wondered what on earth she was thinking. How could she be doing this? What if Bonnie picked up the phone and overheard? What if she came to the apartment for some reason and found the door locked? That’s your common sense talking, she thought, and proceeded to ignore the voice of reason, pushing her shorts and panties down and kicking them off. She wanted this. She’d been wanting it ever since she got back from Palm Springs. Pretending otherwise was pointless.

  “I wish you could feel how open I am,” she murmured. “Come here. I want my legs around you.”

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  Rhianna gasped. “Yes. Please.”

  “Like this? Spreading y
ou wide and making you take me? Is that what you need, baby?”

  Rhianna closed her eyes and shut out everything but Jules’s voice and the steadily building tension between her legs. Her sense memories of their one night together were still intact, and she plugged into them, recalling every sensation. She tilted her hips, rising against the pressure of her hand.

  Jules kept talking to her, urging her on. She centered the pressure of her fingers where it was unbearable. Transfixed, she groaned, “I’m so close.”

  “Me, too,” Jules moaned.

  “I can’t believe it. I never come so fast.” Rhianna clamped her thighs together on her hand, rocking and bucking.

  She could hear sounds at the other end of the phone. Raw, yearning groans and murmured words she could not make out. The taste and smell of Jules seeped through the thin walls of memory, flooding her with desire. If she’d ever felt this way about one of her few other lovers, she couldn’t remember.

  “Don’t stop. Now!” she cried. “Do it. Come on. Come inside me.” She felt herself spill and pulse, soaking her hand and shivering with pleasure.

  A stifled cry of release held her riveted, clutching the phone like it was a part of Jules she could cling to. They were silent, only breathing. Rhianna felt as close to Jules as if they were locked in a lovers’ embrace, and there was much more between them than words through a telephone.

  “When can I see you?” Rhianna asked.

  “I could be in Palm Springs on Saturday.” Jules’s voice had a rasping edge to it.

  Rhianna caught her breath with some difficulty. “I can’t. I have to go away for a while.” She didn’t want to think about what was ahead. Not now. But she needed to let Jules know she was serious about getting together. Nervously, she offered a partial truth. “I’ll be in Denver visiting family.”

  Jules laughed softly. “There is a God, after all. I’m working in Denver at the moment. We could meet.”

  Rhianna recoiled at the thought. The timing couldn’t be worse. She had no idea how she was going to cope with the stress of being back in Denver, about to give evidence at her attacker’s trial. She couldn’t add another whole dimension to the trip. “I’m not sure if I can,” she said evasively. “I mean, my mom has made plans.”

  Her excuse sounded weak. Like she had cold feet already.

  Jules didn’t seem to notice. “Call me on this number as soon as you get in. My firm has an apartment downtown. You can come stay for a night or two.”

  “I’ll have to see how it goes,” Rhianna said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jules responded slowly and firmly. “Your mom will just have to cope without you.”

  Rhianna rolled onto her side and drew her knees up. She felt flushed and heavy with post-orgasmic lassitude, and the truth was, the thought of seeing Jules made the dreaded prospect of the next week or two almost bearable. “Okay,” she said, “it’s a date.”

  “Don’t plan anything for the next day,” Jules warned her. “I’m going to keep you up all night.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mr. Brigham?”

  Werner hastened to his feet and offered his hand. He felt proud of himself for having sufficient cosmopolitan flair not to hesitate in this courtesy when tall, muscular Gilbert Desjardines loomed before him.

  The man was not what he’d expected for a private investigator, not the modern-day Humphrey Bogart of his imaginings. Desjardines was black, not that Werner had any problem with colored people being in responsible jobs. The Brigham family had always employed black women as housekeepers and nannies, and his mother often said there was no decent fried chicken without a black cook in charge of the kitchen.

  Werner could also call to mind black police officers he’d encountered, and private security personnel. It made complete sense that there would be black private eyes. However, this one was not the clean-cut, suit-and-tie black man he’d seen on television commercials. It appeared that Gilbert Desjardines was drawn, like many of his race, to a more flamboyant look. His suit was pale green and he wore a skintight pink shirt unbuttoned at the neck to reveal not one, but at least four heavy gold chains. His taste for flashy jewelry was equally apparent in the diamond rings on several of his fingers.

  This was, Werner decided, not a look a white man would ever get away with. However, he wanted to assure the investigator that his appearance would not be held against him, so he said, “I’ve heard reports that you are the best there is, Mr. Desjardines. That’s why I’m here.”

  This remark was greeted with a tooth-studded smile, and Desjardines waved him into an office that was the last word in idiosyncratic décor. If someone had asked Werner what the domicile of a pimp might look like, this is what he would have described. The walls were a very dark purple, most of the furnishings bright yellow, and there was even a faux leopard rug on the floor. In the far corner of this startling work environment, a mulatto woman who perfectly fit the setting was doing something to a coffee machine.

  She batted her heavy eyelashes in their direction and said, “Kawfee?”

  Werner might have imagined he was hallucinating if he couldn’t smell the rich aroma of a good brew. He thanked her and tried not to stare as he sat down on the yellow leather sofa near Desjardines’s desk. She was a fake blonde, of course, with a pile of frizzy curls held high on her head with a dramatic pink comb. This accessory matched the shade of an indecent top that clung to improbably large breasts. She completed this shameless outfit with a velvet miniskirt, black lace hosiery, and high heels of the type no respectable female would wear.

  When she bent to serve the coffee, Werner had to lean away for fear of suffocation. Her cleavage was virtually in his face and her perfume was sickeningly sweet. He felt like telling Desjardines that only a certain class of customer would be impressed by a secretary who looked like an exotic dancer. Instead, he said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Brigham, meet Damonique Nova, my business partner.” Desjardines handed Werner a card with the woman’s absurd name on it. “Spousal fidelity testing, she’s da bomb.”

  Whereupon the blonde inquired in her grating accent, “Are you a married man, Mr. Brigham?”

  “Not yet,” Werner said. “But I hope to become engaged shortly.”

  “Congratulations. I sure hope things work out for you.” She wiggled her hips as she crossed to the door. To Desjardines, she said, “I got a skip trace to take care of. You good, baby?”

  He made some kind of hand signal and the door closed, leaving Werner to wonder if he had made a wise choice in coming here. These people did not strike him as seasoned professionals.

  He got to the point quickly. “I’m a client of Salazar, Hagel & Goldblum. I could not help but notice your card among papers on my attorney’s desk recently, and there is a matter I believe you may be able to assist me with. I pay well.”

  Desjardines sat down behind his big desk, the only decent piece of furniture in the room. “I’m listening.”

  Werner lifted his briefcase and laid it on the desk. Feeling pleased with himself for thinking ahead, he unlocked the case and flipped it open. As he had anticipated, the investigator leaned forward with a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Man, what you thinking carrying that much cash around with you?” he asked.

  “This is for you. Fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Put it away,” Desjardines said. “I don’t deal drugs and I don’t launder cash.”

  “I’m not interested in any of that,” Werner said impatiently. “This is for your services. I want to hire you to…er…tail someone for me.”

  “Who?”

  Werner poked around under the neatly stacked bills, pulled out Rhianna’s photograph, and slid it across the desk. “This is my fiancée-to-be. She’s going to be in town very soon because she’s a witness in a court case.”

  “Ah, you want protection? Now we don’t exactly do that, but I got a cousin, Marcel—”

  “No, not protection. I want you to watch her. Fin
d out where she’s staying and who she sees. Then, when she leaves town again, follow her wherever she goes. I have reason to believe she may be living under a false identity.”

  The investigator stared at him. “Now, why would she do that?”

  “She has fragile mental health.”

  Desjardines studied the photograph, then returned it to the case and closed the lid. He pushed the case back across the desk and shook his head. “You talking to the wrong man.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars is nothing to me,” Werner assured him. “I can pay more. Name your fee.”

  “You’re not hearing me.” Desjardines stood up. “You want to make a bad situation worse for yourself?”

  Infuriated, Werner said, “All I want is her new name and address.”

  “I can’t help you.” The investigator crossed his office and flung open the door.

  Werner rose and crossed the room to stand in the doorway. He refused to be intimidated. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “I know who you are.” Desjardines seemed bigger suddenly. “Go talk to your lawyer. Ask her why this is a crazy-ass idea if you don’t believe me.”

  Rattled, Werner slammed out of the office and caught the elevator down to street level. He stood on the pavement with his heart pounding and sweat damping his top lip. Where had he parked his car? As he looked up and down the street, it occurred to him that this was indeed the wrong neighborhood to loiter in with fifty thousand dollars in his briefcase. He could see Mommy’s disappointed face when the police brought him home, mugged and minus the cash.

  At times like this, it was important to look calm and confident and behave like he knew exactly where he was going. You own this street, Werner told himself. Adopting a casual stride, he set off north, aware that he was already attracting a few second looks. The neighborhood was only getting worse. After a block or so, Werner concluded that he must have parked in the other direction. He chose a post to lean against, then took his cell phone from his pocket like he was answering a call. As he pretended to talk, he watched the traffic slowing for the nearest set of lights. A car caught his eye, a late-model SUV lavishly fitted with chrome and a custom paint job. Rap music boomed from its open windows, and an individual had a hand draped over the door tapping away to the tuneless beat. Costly jewelry glittered from his fingers.