Eric stiffened, sat up, not sure what he was about to hear.
"What girl?"
"That Leanne girl," she said diffidently, her voice hardly audible. She shifted her eyes downward.
Eric felt himself blinking rapidly. How in the hell had he missed this? Because of course, men talked to their old ladies, bragged even.
"Tell me, Carolyn," he gently prodded her.
He was right. Skeet had laid out the horror for Carolyn, in some ways braggadocio but also to intimidate her, to make her cower.
But Skeet was dead.
Just as dead as he had made Leanne Strauss.
In a few sentences, Carolyn related tales of horror, confirming at least one of his theories. He'd had his suspicions about Skeet but had no evidence to prove it.
And here was Carolyn with evidence, seeking her freedom from the gang. From her life. The defense would argue hearsay but that was up to the prosecutor to get it in. At least he could now go to the Strauss' and give them some closure.
"If I tell you all I know, I want a new identity in exchange. I want to leave California, start over."
He nodded and then proceeded to write down her statement.
She gave him names and dates about the Mojave killings, victims and specific gang members, some of them killed several months ago. Surprisingly, she even provided some more information about some of the Demons' other dealings.
Yes, they would definitely need to hide her…before and after trial.
And she could finally leave this life behind.
Maybe one day that would assuage his guilt about how he had misused her. Maybe, but not likely.
It was going to take more than that to get his life together.
An unbidden memory popped into his head. A memory of a kiss and a promise. He immediately shook it away. It had obviously meant nothing to her, it meant even less to him.
Chapter 18
Nailah moved the vacuum over the edge of the carpet trying to get at a stubborn piece of lint. Despite her concerted efforts, the irritating speck refused to be sucked into the machine. Defeated, she cursed beneath her breath, clicked the vacuum off and stooped to pick it up, cursing again.
She'd been cursing a lot lately. Had been in a sour mood for days. Actually, for weeks.
She refused to think about the reason why. Instead, she walked the lint to the garbage pail in the kitchenette. A bottle of Merlot rested on the kitchen counter and she thought about making a pitcher of sangria then stopped the idea mid-thought.
Damn bad idea. As it were, she considered never making sangria again.
Or buying another order of Ruby's rib tips.
Lord knows that combo had gotten her into more trouble than she could ever have anticipated.
She was trying to get back to normal. To the way things were.
Only a month ago, she would have welcomed an afternoon of indulging in some Sangria, sitting back and relaxing.
But she couldn't seem to relax here. Everything seemed strange; actually she was the one who was strange, a stranger in her own home.
So she'd become a cleaning machine, dusting, mopping, vacuuming, moving furniture around. She'd started projects: painting the walls a cool shade of beige, refurbishing some wood pieces…anything to keep busy and not think too hard.
She'd begun working on putting together a site offering financial counseling and had even gotten some nibbles in the last couple of days.
As for friends, she'd lied and said she'd dropped out of sight on a possible business venture.
There was no way she could tell them the things that had happened to her. Would they even believe her?
She hardly believed it herself, which she preferred.
She had to get back to normal.
And normal didn't include allowing herself to think about certain things, certain…a certain someone.
She'd been able to avoid him even when she'd been called into the police department to relay everything that she knew. And discovered the man whom she had thought to protect hadn't needed her protection after all.
Dele…no, that wasn't his name…and he wasn't a Demon or an informant.
He was a lying piece of shit.
Although she did have him to thank for not being charged with the Roach killing.
Still she wished she could take the sex back. Take back the kisses, the intimacy…all of it. Because it had been nothing but a ruse, a means to an end. And she was nothing but collateral damage.
She'd called the hospital and spoken with staff several times to make sure he had survived, that he was recovering. But anger had kept her from reaching out any more than that. She didn't like being used, didn't like having her feelings manipulated.
Renewed anger made her reach for the vacuum again and she began her cleaning jag in an attempt to exhaust herself, to push thoughts from her mind.
She'd just turned the corner wall between the living room and dining area, ready to change the vacuum's settings for the hardwood flooring in her dinette area when the doorbell rang.
She looked over at the wall clock; it was a little after four. She wasn't expecting anyone and she didn't particularly want any visitors.
She walked to the intercom, hit the button and asked who it was.
The answering voice made her heart jump.
What the hell was he doing here?
She rested her head against the intercom, refusing to answer, suddenly exhausted. He had no right to push his way into her life, not while she was struggling to put it back together.
The buzz of the intercom sounded louder, more insistent. She clicked the button.
"We have nothing to say, so please just go." She heard the desperation in her voice.
Another buzz. Then another. And another.
It was apparent now he wasn't going away until she let him in.
She hit the other buzzer that would allow him into the building. She counted the seconds in her head, the allotment of time for him to call the elevator, wait for it to open, push the button to her floor, get off and walk to her door.
It took less than three minutes.
Even when she heard the knock, she didn't immediately open the door, adding a few seconds to the moment she would actually see him.
She took a breath to steady her emotions and opened the door, all the while telling herself she could get through this.
But no preparation could steady her nerves nor stop her heart from racing. She didn't feel like she was breathing. The nervousness pushed down the anger.
He stood just outside her door. But he wasn't the man she'd seen weeks ago.
The man in front of her was a total stranger, from his face, to his demeanor, to his clothes even. And yet some things were the same. The five o'clock shadow along the jaw line (didn't he ever shave?), the eyes that seemed to bore into her, sensual lips that… She refused to think about those lips. About the feel of his body.
She was used to seeing him in his denim jacket. She had thrown it away weeks ago. Right now, he had on a black windbreaker over black jeans. Rugged, but still not like the man she'd thought she knew.
No, this man wasn't Dele. He wasn't the man she had come to trust nor the man she had made love to.
This man was someone named Eric, a Los Angeles police officer. At least that was what she had been told…but not by him.
"Please let me in so we can talk, Nailah."
She shook her head.
"No. There's nothing you have to say to me, Dele…or whatever you're calling yourself today. I've been through hell and I don't need any reminders of those horrible days. I'm trying to pick up where my life stopped and go on from there. Please let me do that."
He hesitated and for a moment she thought he was going to turn to leave.
She saw the moment when he decided to buckle down. A furrow
of his brow. Something she'd seen him do before. Something familiar.
"I promise that after I've had my say you won't have to see me again. At least give me ten minutes."
Up until that moment, she had blocked his way. Now she stepped back to allow him entry into her condo.
She closed the door behind her and looked at him looking around at her home.
"Very nice," he said as he turned back to her.
"Yeah, well I'm not really one for hotel rooms."
He smiled slightly and this for some reason brought back the anger.
"Oh, you think it was funny dragging me around the city, forcing me to sleep in roach motels, making me act like your whore?"
The smile left. "I would have spared you that if I could have…"
"Well, I hope that it was worth it."
"If you want to really know, many of the gang died during the fight, including Rez. They can't hurt anybody else. Those who weren't killed are going to prison. So yes, in a way, it was worth it. You have to understand, I couldn't come clean to you without risking your life, without undoing months of undercover work. I hate what happened to you, but it didn't have to happen…"
She knew that he was right. If she hadn't reacted so irrationally that day, none of this would have happened.
"OK, part of this is my fault. I can admit that. But…"
"…but what?" he asked, taking a step, closing the space between them.
"You took your undercover duties to the extreme. You didn't have to…pretend that you wanted me. Just use me to get off and…"
He grabbed her by either shoulder, his head shaking.
"No, it was never like that Nailah, never. I wanted you so much and I did overstep boundaries. But I thought I might not ever see you again and I wanted to be with you. And even if you don't want to hear this, I still want to be with you. After everything that's happened, I'm so glad you threw that piece of meat at me otherwise I would have never met you."
His hands had tightened on her shoulders as he spoke. His eyes darkened, like Dele's. And she felt all of the anger, the regret just slip away.
Because she still wanted him too.
She didn't have to say it; he just seemed to know.
"So how are we going to do this?" she asked softly.
"Like this," he said as he pulled her to him and moved in. The kiss was warm, insistent, even desperate. As though he sought to impress to her the truth of his words.
And she let him talk to her with his kiss, with the tongue that sought hers.
When he pulled back, dark brown eyes were almost black and hooded. His bottom lip glistened with her saliva. His breathing was deep, more irregular and she remembered his injuries from weeks ago.
"Are you able…I mean after all you've been through."
Another smile, this one dazzling.
"I've gotten a clean bill of health from the doctor. Almost back to my old self. But be gentle with me, just in case."
She returned the smile as her fingers worked down the zipper of his windbreaker and pushed it off his shoulders revealing a plain white tee beneath. The jacket dropped to the floor.
"So is this standard police garb?"
"You should see me in my police blues," he said teasingly, then bent to nibble an ear lobe. She drew in breath, enjoying the touch. Feeling a warm moisture gather between her thighs.
His mouth moved down the nape of her neck, past the collar of her over shirt that she had thrown on in anticipation of a day of cleaning. Hardly sexy enough but he didn't seem to mind as he pushed down to the edge of her bra, licked flesh where one breast flowed a little over the cup.
She drew in breath as he helped her out of her shirt, out of the bra. As he fastened those warm…no, actually hot…lips over a nipple and licked at it, teased it.
She started to call out his name, but the name didn't belong to this man.
But for some reason, she missed that other man. She would get used to making love to Eric in days to come and after awhile Dele would slowly fade into her memory and become just another someone from her past.
But right now, her new lover Eric was bending, moving his lips down the sensitive flesh of her stomach, down to the edge of her jeans. His nimble fingers unfastened the button, pulled down the zipper. Pulled the material down over her hips; she found it hard to just stand as her legs were now liquid.
When he had exposed her triangle, he simply slipped a tongue between her thighs, touched her clitoris, began tormenting it.
If he didn't stop she was going to come. While standing. She didn't think she had ever done that before.
Just when she thought she couldn't take the sweet pain anymore, he abruptly stood and took her hand.
"C'mon," he said breathlessly as he led her to her sofa.
He sat and pulled her down on his lap. There he undressed her totally, then shifted her to unbuckle and unzip his jeans.
Without any ceremony or further foreplay, he pulled her wet crevice down on his already stiff pole making her gasp with surprise.
A hand worked a breast while another one encircled her waist. He thrust upward, his thighs meeting the back of her own, his penis pushing deeper into her, his motion unrelenting, needful.
This time she did call out his name.
"Eric!"
He responded to his name by shifting her back toward his chest, allowing his mouth to touch her ear.
"I love the way you say my name," he whispered and she had to fight from coming just from the timbre of his voice.
His callused fingers squeezed a nipple, circled it, the motion in time with each thrust. She was wet around him; he was hard in her. A meeting of bodies, a chance to renew their acquaintance.
She closed her eyes and let the various sensations merge, guide her upward on a crest of pleasure, every nerve in her body screaming.
His thrusting was more insistent, more desperate as he sought more than a climax. More like a beginning for the both of them.
He planted a soft kiss on her neck and that small motion pushed her over the edge. The walls spasmed tightly around him, made her draw for breath.
Within seconds, he was calling out her name. She liked the way he said it, put emphasis on both syllables.
It took several minutes for them to recover.
She started to lift up off of him, but he held her fast.
He pulled her back.
"I just want to sit here a moment," he breathed into her ear. "I missed you so much."
She no longer could deny that she missed him too, and she told him so.
As she felt him stiffening again, as her walls began trembling in anticipation, she made a suggestion,
"After this, I can make us a pitcher of sangria. Then maybe we can walk over to this place called Ruby's. She makes the best rib tips."
He laughed seductively, his mouth still at her ear. He nipped at her lobe.
"Umm, I've really come to appreciate rib tips."
And then they started again.
THE END
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