by R. T. Wolfe
Duncan pulled his chin back. "You're not an informant."
James took him by the elbow and led him to the far end of the long bar. This is inconspicuous? Duncan wondered sarcastically. Shrugging, he followed then pulled out his sketch.
It was a rendering of the Asian man at the Vegas casino who spied on them from the end of the hallway. The one who got away. The one who spoke her name.
James was too busy waving down the bartender to notice. He ordered two draft beers. Duncan paid.
"I want you to look at this sketch and tell me what you see."
James took a deep drink before turning his attention to Duncan's sketch. He nearly spit up his swig of beer. Choking down his swallow, he said, "Dude! That's the dude with the picture of the Savage... I mean of Detective Savage. Did you find him, man? Awesome. He gave me the creeps. Hardly said two words. It's not like I couldn't understand the dude." He rolled his eyes and took another long drink.
Duncan had his suspicions. The sketch didn't come up as a positive ID in any database he ran, state or federal. His blood felt hot. He had confirmation on the face of a man looking for his detective. He needed to see her, be with her. Is this the man who tried to blow up her car? Why his aunt?
"You're going to tell me the dates and locations of each time you saw him." Dammit, it was incredibly frustrating to sort through someone's memory that wasn't his.
"What's in it for me, the informant? Where's the Savage?"
Duncan took his arm and twisted inward enough to hear a small crack without making it noticeable. "Let me remind you. Detective Savage isn't here, I'm not a cop and you're not an informant. Tell me what I need to know, or I'll break more than your arm."
In a pitch as high as a little girl, he answered, "Just the one time, man. I only saw him that one time. It was ages ago. I swear, man."
Duncan released his grip. James pushed away from the bar, rubbing his arm. Eyes turned to them now. Tossing a healthy tip on the bar, Duncan headed for the exit.
He would tell her, he told himself as he stomped to his SUV. Of course he would. But he had some digging to do before he served her this bomb.
He'd uncovered inappropriate emails from more than one employee at both the Northridge Police and Fire departments. People could be disgusting. He'd narrowed down his suspicions tied to Nickie to a total of three possible people. The emails were in some sort of code. Not binary or with symbols, but the subject matter didn't fit. Meet at Kiddy Kare at eleven? Bring payment to the same place as last time?
He couldn't, wouldn't break her trust in her colleagues over suspicions. If he'd learned one thing about his detective, it was she didn't do suspicions.
He sat in his car and looked at the starless sky. He'd been buried in his research, dealing with her semi-rejection—the first rejection of his life. And he'd been busy breaking and entering and roughing up her non-informants. He hadn't called in three days. If he were honest with himself, he would admit a connection between all of it.
Before pulling away, he dialed her number. To hell with the time, he had to hear her voice.
"Detective Savage," she croaked.
"I want to see you."
"It's 2 a.m., Duncan. People in hell want ice water."
Frustrations confirmed. He checked his watch. When did he ever lose track of time? "I apologize. In the morning, then? Tomorrow... today is Sunday. I'll pick you up in the morning."
The pause was painful. She could do that to him. He wanted to drive over and throw rocks at her window. It worked for Andy with Rose dozens of times. It wasn't Duncan's style. Pick her pitiful deadbolt?
"Ten a.m. Bring soda."
He felt a smile fill his face and wanted to see hers in his hands.
"A soda, raspberry yogurt and a fruit cup from the bakery."
Retribution. "I'll be there with tokens in hand." He started his SUV.
"You're in your car? Don't answer that. I'm going back to sleep. Ten o'clock."
Chapter 27
Duncan had a large Diet Coke in one hand and a bag with yogurt and fruit in the other. It was the strangest feeling, walking to her dismal doorstep. The blinds were drawn. The lights off, but that was how she generally kept it.
He frowned. She wasn't exactly punctual. He'd known she would have left to go in to work for a few hours, or at the very least went to work out. Was she mad enough to make him wait?
He sounded like Andy at about the age of nineteen. Shaking his head clear, he rang the bell. He should have a key.
No answer. But he didn't feel irritation. He felt worry.
Walking around, he tried to look in the space between the plastic mini-blinds and the window jamb. He swore they matched the ones in her office. He didn't see movement or shadows.
The deadbolt turned. She stuck her head out as he turned.
"So, it's not just your uncle who does that? It's not legal, you know."
Every muscle in his face relaxed. Purposely, he lifted a brow. "Good morning, detective." He meandered to her, pushed the door open with his hip and walked past her. Setting down her breakfast, he waited for her to shut the door before he picked her up and wrapped her legs around his back. He felt her hook the backs of her feet together to hang on. Releasing his hold, he wrapped his hands in her hair. Gently pressing her against the back of her door, he waited to kiss her. He wanted to see her first. Her eyes, her bottom lip.
She must not be too angry with him. "You haven't called."
He felt his brows drop. "I know."
Dipping his mouth to hers, he parted her lips and sunk into a palate of emotions. It was beyond his scope of vision. Clarity, silence, peace. Lust, heat, desire. Complications, the unknown and the strangest need to take her away.
"Good morning," he growled. Her legs released from behind him, and he slowed her decent to the floor with the weight of his body.
Her chest expanded before she let out a long breath. "Good morning back. I'm hungry." Pushing away, she walked to the paper bag and her soda.
* * *
Nickie lounged in the passenger seat of the '72 Barracuda Duncan had been working on months before. It seemed new. Maybe it was his doing. He had a way of doing that to things... and people. He also had a way of leaving. And as far as Nickie's life was concerned, it's all she ever knew.
The wash of relief she'd felt when he'd called her was all wrong. She was setting herself up for a fall, a very ugly fall. Wisely, she'd rejected his offer for closet space. Closet space? What did that even mean? Biting the end of her finger, she stifled her grimace. The feeling of overdrive was irritating, especially since stuffing that feeling was her entire reason for turning him down in the first place.
He'd brought her yogurt, raspberry yogurt and fruit. And Diet Coke in a Styrofoam cup with ice. She had this relationship, this thing they had right back where it should be. Looking over, he must have sensed her gaze, because he looked back and winked. It sent a symphony of feelings through her. The heartbreak was destined. She decided she would worry about it when the time came.
He took her downtown. She almost thought they were going to the station, but instead he pulled into a small parking lot a few blocks before they reached the department. It was a four-story building—one of the taller ones for downtown Northridge. She recognized is as the one that carried Jensen and Bradley, Attorneys at Law and Stronge CPA Accounting.
Lifting her brows, she opened her door before he had a chance and worked to remain coolly interested. But he stuck out his elbow. Sighing, she slid her arm in the crook of his, and they walked arm in arm to the side entrance.
"Breaking and entering." Curiously, he froze when she said the words, but he gathered himself quickly and held up his keys, jingling them.
He had a key to the attorney and accountant building. Shrugging, she stepped through the door as he held it for her. They took the elevator. She didn't argue, but she was surprised when he took it to the top floor.
"This is Sunday, Duncan." Certainly, he would recogniz
e her reference to the empty building.
"Yes. And tomorrow is the Fourth of July. Two days off for you."
"Cops don't have the Fourth of July off."
"I checked with your partner. Yes, you do."
Men. "I'm on call."
The elevator opened and he gestured for her to follow. "You're always on call. It's part of having a cop for a girlfriend."
Girlfriend. It made her shoulders feel heavy.
Then, she stepped forward. In front of her was a wooden door. It had six raised panels, was framed with large molding and had the words Duncan Reed, LLC carved in the center.
She felt dizzy but she spun to him anyway. "You can't have an office." He stood silently, watching her. "How can you have an office? You're leaving."
Every muscle in her face collapsed.
Finally, he moved. Reaching, he lifted a thumb and brushed the single tear that ran quickly down her face.
"You're staying." Trembling, she forced herself to remain upright.
He stepped close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. "I don't want to leave. I'm in love with you."
She blinked. It took her several moments to hear what he had said. Her legs weren't going to hold her. Somehow, he seemed ready for it because he twined his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. Once, twice, before he dove in. He tasted sincere, needy.
She'd been so many things in the course of her life. Neglected, disproved, used, tortured, sold, and saved. In her entire life, she'd never had anyone feel need for her.
The trembling didn't stop and for whatever reason it didn't bother her anymore. They stood in front of his office in a swirl of tongues and teeth, hands and scissored legs. He was in love with her. He was staying. Duncan Reed was going to stay for her. Wanted to stay for her.
Pulling away, his eyes dropped to her mouth as he ran a rough thumb along her bottom lip. Forcing her breaths to slow, she turned to the door. "Are you going to show me?"
He dug two sets of keys out of his pockets. One had a single key attached to a single ring. He held it out to her as he shook the other ring covered with enough keys a stranger would think he was a janitor.
He must have recognized her speechlessness. "It's just a key, Nickie. I'm not asking you to leave your home, just take this. Know you can come and go as you please."
So many scars. Did he know how many scars she carried? Not just the physical ones. Of course he did. He carried enough of his own. A little shaky, she forced herself to look him in his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes and slide the key into her pocket.
He kissed her one more time before opening the door to the largest office space she'd ever seen. "This is for my secretary," he said.
* * *
Meeting the parents, Nickie thought. This feels like meeting the parents. She shook her head as she drove her unmarked to Nathan and Brie Reed's home. Except she'd met them a dozen times before. Next to her was a pitiful metal pan with rows of miniature Stromboli. Never in her life had she before paid attention to the appearance of a 9-by-13 pan.
She'd been to large family gatherings before. She spent two years of her life living with Gloria, for crying out loud. It's not like she wouldn't know anyone. Dave would be there. And Rose, his daughter. She would be there with her baby. Nickie was good with babies. And Andy's baby had held her finger.
For the sixth time, she checked her mirror.
As she pulled up to the Reed home, she noticed the lines of cars. It was enough like pulling up to Gloria's that she felt better. All sorts of cars. Beaters that were clearly those of Duncan's college-aged cousins. Sports cars that surely cost more than her townhouse and one shiny Aston Martin. She parked in the street, scared to spill oil on the drive.
The grounds looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine. Brie Reed and Dave's wife had created them. The trees were enormous but could hardly conceal the size of the house. Tall, dark green bushes stood as pillars at the edges of the home and framed a myriad of color and greens that weaved through to the front door.
The noise from the backyard carried through her closed car windows. He'd warned her there would be a lot of people.
Nathan must have made the porch. No one had porches like that. Huge beams stood guard on either side of the door and at the ends of the structure. She didn't feel better anymore. Stuffing her gun under her seat, she decided to be a big girl and got out of the damned car. Her appetizers in one hand, she locked the door from the outside and placed her keys in her front pocket. The ends of her fingers felt Duncan's small key chain.
She decided on avoiding the front entrance and instead walked around to the back.
Her feet stopped her before she rounded the corner completely. It was like a small city. Volleyball, paddle boats, children running through Black Creek, and older folks in captain chairs. And then, she spotted him. The three oldest Reed men stood around the biggest grill she'd ever seen. Nathan, Duncan and Andy. They were animated in their discussion. They didn't look alike, the three men, but then they did. Maybe their mannerisms? Each held themselves in an obvious confidence, but one without arrogance.
She hadn't moved from her spot, but it seemed Duncan sensed her. He stopped and turned, and they locked eyes.
That smile. Sheesh. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
Holding up a finger to his uncle and brother, he headed her way. He wore a short-sleeved polo that came to the middle of his biceps. It was the first time she could remember him in sandals, leather and dark brown. A few sets of eyes followed his direction. Generally, she didn't like being the center of any kind of attention, but at that moment all she thought about was the look on his face. Serious, determined.
He took her hand and wrapped it around his back. "There you are." The kiss on her cheek felt more intimate than it should have. In a fluid movement, he brushed his lips to her ear. "I haven't seen you naked in six hours." She felt the taught muscles in his back through the polo.
Pulling away, he looked down at her boots. "You wore those to a Fourth of July barbecue?"
That put a stick in her pride. She'd worn her most comfortable leather boots with a pair of slacks and the cutest lacey tank she owned. "I could wear four-inch heels to a barbecue and get around just fine. Bring it."
He took her dish and they made their way to the door that led to her next challenge.
The home was... well... that of a nationally renowned woodworking artist. Just inside the back door, she wiped her feet and leaned over to take off her boots. He stopped her, shaking his head.
"No need. We don't do that here."
She looked around at the floor-to-ceiling kitchen cabinets. They had a reddish tint, smooth with delicate lines framing each. As she noticed the wood-paneled fridge, she wiped her feet once more. The sure sound of anxious nails sliding across hardwood came barreling from the front of the house.
A tall, thin golden retriever bounded toward the new person, which was her, and then jumped. Nickie dodged, but then felt bad as the dog tumbled and rounded for another try. Duncan caught him and held him until he calmed, then praised him. He called him Red. She wondered if that had to do with the color of his hair or the understandable issue they all seemed to have with fire.
Before Duncan barely calmed the dog, three children came running from where he had come. "Wed, Wed, come on, boy!" The dog took off after them.
"He's young yet. He gets excited," Duncan explained. "And the children were a step, a great and a second removed. They are Brie's sibling's children. I'll introduce you. There are too many names. No one expects you to remember them."
Duncan remembered how his uncle referred often to the many hats Brie wore, but Duncan thought of Nickie as more of a chameleon. A chameleon with many colors of skin.
She wasn't a talker and didn't spend her time circulating through the crowd of his relatives, but she did carry his new nephew like she'd carried babies her entire life and held a lengthy conversation with Grandma Reed. She was clearly uncomfort
able around a kitchen. Still, he noticed her occasionally carrying fresh plates of appetizers outside and coming back with empty ones.
Although she brought breaded sausage and cheese, she only ate the fruits and vegetables.
They'd moved outside and he took his spot in the lounge chair closest to the water spigot. He noticed the few strands of hair that stuck to her neck in the heat as she played volleyball. She'd gotten rid of the boots and rolled up her slacks, exposing her bright pink-painted toes that he thought looked sexier in the sand than they did propped on his chest.
He was filling water balloons and sorting them in plastic baskets. The smart ones had already claimed the better water guns. He didn't need any guns. He had the hose.
One by one the folks that didn't want to get wet meandered inside. He always wondered why his grandparents always choose to brave it and never seemed to be in the crossfire.
Grown men turned into junior high boys as they dove and rolled, chucked water balloons and made stealthy stops at Duncan's refilling station. The children taunted him until he tossed a cool spray of water over them.
Naps were taken, more food served, and a highly competitive game of croquet ensued before the crowd seemed to settle for the fireworks. Duncan had been in charge of these long before his stint with explosives in the ordinance branch of the Army.
Not long before dark, Nathan motioned him away from his arsenal and toward the crowd. Odd, but okay. It gave him a chance to touch her once more before he started his show. She was in the grass, watching him walk to her. The lacey tank she wore was out of character just enough to make him insane.
After a long afternoon and evening of outdoor activities, she still smelled like lavender. "You haven't been called away all day."
Rolling her eyes, Nickie slid her hand through the crook of his arm. Using his other hand, he laced their fingers together. "Don't jinx me. The night is young and this is the Fourth of July."
Brie's approach to the front of the crowd was enough to distract him. He thought she was pretty ever since the time he was eight and stood behind Nathan at her doorstep. A flash of her in a lovely jumpsuit on New Year's Eve flashed in his memory.
