Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Camille didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to trust Drago. Trust had to be earned, though, and soliciting two criminals plus the violence he’d shown in the biker bar, all on the first day of their investigation, had made her even more uneasy working with him.

  “Fine. I’ll just sit here doing nothing, then.”

  He grunted.

  Venting her frustration, she said, “So you might want to try a baby name site.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I was going to do. There are all kinds of variations on spellings of similar names. Some of the sites will give you many choices.”

  Another grunt.

  She glanced over at the tablet and bit her lip to keep from saying anything more. He’d just called up a bunch of baby-naming sites. He clicked on one and typed in “Aileen.”

  “Hmm, a couple dozen variations of the name Aileen. Aileene, Ailene, Aleen, Alene, Aline, Alleen, Allene, Alline…”

  He went back to the address directory and typed one of the variations.

  “You’re welcome,” Camille said.

  “Uh, yeah, thanks.”

  Such enthusiasm. She sat back and waited, trying to appear patient when her mind was going a mile a minute, replaying every frustrating second she’d spent with him. Good ones, too, including those in that damn hotel room.

  Why couldn’t Justus have hooked her up with a complete stranger? Like Eva Selano. Despite being put off at first meet, she’d had some time to talk to the new investigator and realized the other woman was sharp and capable as well as aggressive. Then again, maybe Justus simply knew that no matter whom he assigned to the case, she wasn’t going to let that person take the lead. Not easily. Maybe he thought Drago could handle her best.

  “Got one! Found an Alleen Peyton on Augusta Boulevard in Ukrainian Village.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  He was already starting the engine. “Be prepared, though. It might not be Noreen’s mother.”

  “It could be her. You didn’t find any Butlers.”

  Pulling away from the curb, he said, “She could have moved.”

  “Or remarried.”

  She was counting on that.

  The address was that of a 3-flat on a quiet side street. Anticipation made Camille race up the steps and ring the second floor bell marked Peyton.

  No answer.

  She tried again.

  Drago stood behind her, so close she could almost feel him. “One more time.”

  Camille pressed the bell but there was still no response. “No one home.”

  “She’s probably at work.”

  Knowing he was correct—it was halfway through the day—she felt deflated for a moment.

  “Do we wait?” Drago asked.

  Not having a better idea at the moment, Camille agreed. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  They opted for the bench on the porch rather than going back to the car. Maybe a mistake. Their hips bumped together, shooting a frisson of something inappropriate through her. Despite the urgency of their mission, she wasn’t immune to Drago. She feared she never would be. Nor did he seem to be. The way he was looking at her…she swore it was with a familiar hunger.

  He pulled himself together. “How long do we wait?”

  “Until we figure out something else to do. Any ideas?”

  “Lots of ideas.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, his searing stare sending her stomach tumbling.

  “I meant about the case.”

  “I was counting on this lead.”

  So was she. “I feel like I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”

  “You’re hiding it far better than you did yesterday. That sleep did wonders for you.”

  “Sorry you had to use the couch instead of your own bed.”

  “Who said I slept on the couch?”

  Camille started. She’d wondered if he’d been in bed with her. Surely not. Surely she would know. And if he had…Her flesh quivered at the thought.

  “You didn’t sleep with me.”

  “Sure about that? What kind of dreams were you having? You made these sexy little moans that—”

  “Stop! Please.” Her insides churned just thinking about it. “I know you’re trying to distract me.”

  “Is it working?”

  Before she could answer, a woman carrying a cloth bag in each hand approached the steps. Middle-aged with short red hair. Camille guessed this was Noreen’s mother. She and Drago got to their feet at the same time. And the woman stopped short halfway up the steps.

  “Are you Alleen Peyton?” Camille asked.

  Frozen where she stood, the woman looked from her to Drago. “What’s it to you?”

  “We’re looking for your daughter,” he said.

  She shuttered her gaze. “I have no daughter.”

  “Please.” Though her heart was racing, Camille kept her voice even. “We know what happened to Noreen, and that she escaped somehow. Angel took another victim. A fourteen-year-old girl this time.”

  The woman’s eyes met hers. “Who are you?”

  “Private investigators. We’re trying to save the girl before it’s too late,” Drago said. “Check it out with Justus Investigations on Ravenswood if that’ll make you feel better.”

  The woman’s expression broke, revealing her pain. “Feel better? Nothing will make me feel better after what that pig did to my baby.”

  “Then Noreen is your daughter.” Camille swallowed hard, praying for that break they needed.

  Alleen came up the final steps to the porch and set her grocery bags down. “She is and isn’t. Not the same girl I raised. My daughter was fearless and adventurous. Now she’s afraid of her own shadow. Who could blame her? A few weeks after she escaped that devil, she swore she saw him in the neighborhood. She feared he was looking for her, to take her again, so the next day she packed a couple of bags and moved out.”

  “Is she still in the city?” Drago asked.

  “She is, but I don’t even know where she lives. She’s afraid if she tells me he’ll find out somehow.” She shook her head.

  “Do you at least have her phone number?” he asked.

  Her expression guilty, Alleen said, “I-I can’t give that to you. She would never forgive me.”

  “A fourteen-year-old girl’s life may be at stake,” Camille reminded her. “Angel has killed twice before. That we know of. Your daughter saw him and where he was keeping her. She might give us a description that will help us identify him. Or maybe we can figure out where he’s holding Sandy.”

  The woman’s mouth opened like a fish sucking in air. It was obvious that she was torn. “I can call her, see if she’ll talk to you.”

  “What if she says no?” Which Camille thought was more than likely since the young woman was living in fear. “That’ll be the end of that. If we can talk to her face-to-face, we have a better chance of getting her cooperation.”

  Alleen didn’t say anything for the longest time, long enough to make Camille sweat. Finally, she sighed and said, “I’ll tell you where you might be able to find her.”

  —

  “Did you ever think of becoming a cop like your brother?” Camille asked when they left his car parked in front of the Ravenswood office less than an hour later.

  Drago started. “What? Where did that come from?” As if!

  “It’s just that…well, maybe not…but you’re good at this. It’s because of you we found Alleen Peyton.”

  “You’re good at this. You’re the one who convinced her to give up her daughter.”

  The reason he’d taken a step back. A sleep-satiated Camille was pulled together and made a formidable investigator.

  “If she’s psychic and we actually find Noreen at that club. She just had that pack of matches to go on.”

  “Mother’s instinct,” Drago said. Camille didn’t argue the point. “Surprisingly, we make a good team.”

  “Why surprisingly?”

  “Because you are a cop.” He guess
ed she hadn’t yet figured out his aversion to the system. He opened the entry door and indicated she should go in.

  Eva sat at the front desk, using the computer. Where was the receptionist? “You’re doing double duty now?” he asked.

  “Oh, hey, you’re back.” Eva shrugged. “Lois wasn’t feeling well, so Justus told her to go home. I said I’d cover the phones. So what are you two doing back here?”

  “Killing time.” Tension she couldn’t hide laced Camille’s words. “Unless you have a lead for us.”

  “Sorry. I got the word out but no return yet. You?”

  “We got something. Another victim.”

  “One that got away,” Drago clarified.

  “Holy hell! What did she tell you?”

  Drago waited for Camille, but apparently her mind had wandered away from them and back to the case. She’d parked herself in front of one of the windows and was staring out, brooding.

  “We haven’t met this Noreen Butler yet,” he told Eva. “Her own mother doesn’t know where she lives. She did tell us her daughter is using the name Tara Hunter and that we might be able to find her at Night Moves, a dance club in Uptown that doesn’t open for several hours. And she gave us this.” He held out the wallet-size photo of a pretty redhead for her to see. “I’m going to scan it and add it to the electronic file.”

  “Wow. Oh, wow. What a break!”

  “Yeah, wow,” Camille said, her back still toward them. “A real break finding another woman Angel raped and held prisoner for who knows how long. If only she had reported it, two women might still be alive. And Sandy would be home with her mom.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t report it?”

  “Positive.” Camille turned to face Eva. “Two sources. Her friend LaShonda told us Noreen was afraid of the police because she’d been in trouble with the law before. And Justus checked with an old friend in the department and backed it up. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you all about it.”

  “By the time I got back here, he was in a hurry to leave. Said he was meeting a potential new client.” Eva checked her watch, then looked to Drago. “Hm, now that you’re here, I might as well go. If you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. It’s nearly time to lock up anyway.”

  “There’s some leftover pizza in the back office.” Eva gathered up her purse as she made her way to the entry. “If I get anything, I have your cell numbers.”

  “Thanks,” Camille said, turning back to the window.

  Why was she so down? Drago would have thought she would be ecstatic that the lead paid off, that in a matter of a few hours, chances were good that she would be able to talk to the victim who’d gotten away from Angel. Obviously, all the waiting was getting to her.

  And she was getting to him.

  If the need he sometimes recognized in her eyes when she looked at him was any indication, the feeling was mutual. She was fighting it, though. Just as he was fighting wanting her.

  He locked the front door.

  “I thought you said it was nearly time to lock up.”

  “I doubt anyone is going to walk through those doors this late.”

  “So what now? Just sit around and wait?”

  Unable to help himself, he arched one eyebrow. “We could find other ways to pass the time.”

  As if she had a comeback, she opened her mouth, but in the end closed it and walked over to the front desk. “Exactly. I need to check my email.”

  She sat and woke the computer.

  He was directly behind her. His mind was whirling with things he wanted to do to her, but he’d told her she would have to make the first move. How probable was that?

  “What do you think you’re going to find?” he asked. “You’ve checked your cell often enough.”

  “Looking for something from Jackson.”

  As if the detective wouldn’t simply text her if he had something. Drago guessed the computer was a distraction. From having to wait again or from him? He moved behind her and bent over her as if looking at the monitor, when he was really testing her to see what she would do.

  “Don’t you find it’s odd that it’s been so quiet on that front?” he asked, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “Could Jackson be squeezing you out?”

  “That did occur to me.” She twitched as if with discomfort. “I guess I can’t blame him. He has to protect his job.”

  “What about your job?” Drago asked, noting her fingers had frozen on the keys.

  “I don’t know. No regrets, though. I did what I had to.”

  He twirled her chair around so she was facing him. “That doesn’t sound like CPD black-and-white thinking.”

  “Maybe not. I couldn’t just back off. I had to do something.”

  “So what have you got against my sources?” He really wanted to know. “Don’t tell me you’ve never made deals with criminal types to get information.”

  “When I’ve had to, but I don’t consider them personal friends.”

  “Because you’ve never been inside.”

  That was the sticking point between them. They might have some things in common, but in that respect, they were on opposite sides of the court. She didn’t know what it was like to be incarcerated, to have to watch her back every moment, to make deals just to have a chance of getting out of the place in one piece.

  Apparently not wanting to continue the conversation, she twirled away from him and started typing, though she was using the search bar rather than calling up her email.

  Sighing, he gave up for the moment. “I’ll be in the back office if you want me.”

  “Can’t resist cold pizza?”

  “That’s more than I’m getting in here.”

  —

  No Morrigan. Angel signed out of the chat room. He’d been looking for her on and off since taking the kid, but she’d been eluding him. At least he knew where to find her. Her and that damned dog. A problem that could easily be rectified, he reminded himself. And would be later that night.

  But what now?

  On a whim, he typed “Camille Martell” into the search engine. Maybe she had a social media site where he could find out more about her. When the results came up, he simply stared and scanned them with disbelief.

  A cop!

  He focused in on the headline: “Double Murder Case Conviction.” And there, in print: Camille Martell, Area North homicide detective, cracked the three-month-old case, providing enough evidence to put murderer Ron Singer away for 60 years with no chance of parole.

  What the fuck! The woman he’d thought of as Morrigan was a homicide detective!

  Adrenaline sluiced through him as he thought it out. What would a homicide detective be doing on a dating chat site?

  Looking for a date?

  Looking for her next collar?

  Looking for him?

  That had to be it, the reason she’d been so friendly. She’d approached him. More than once. Now he got it. She’d been chasing him down, trying to trap him. But her plan had boomeranged on her.

  He was on fire with a new need.

  Time to teach her a lesson.

  Time for the chase to take a deadly different direction…

  Chapter Ten

  Night Moves proved to be a below-street-level dance club in one of the area’s century-old buildings that housed a couple of restaurants, a coffee shop, and an electronics store on the main level¸ offices of various kinds on three floors above. The club itself was large, taking up the entire footprint of the building, thousands of square feet filled with a sea of bodies in motion. Giant bars filled wall space on three of the four sides of the room. The fourth wall was electronic, the tall, leather-clad female DJ backed by flashing lights and static photos mixed with videos of dancers. Small table areas filled every nook and cranny around the bars, but the crowded dance floor took up more than half the club’s square footage. Though it was still early, hundreds of couples had already begun partying.

  Camille leaned into Drago so he cou
ld hear her above the music and raised-voice racket echoing throughout the room. “So how do we find Noreen Butler?” Thankful they’d gotten the photo from the woman’s mother, Camille gazed around at the sea of bodies on the dance floor but didn’t see anyone with bright red hair. “Assuming she’s here.”

  “Ask?”

  “You don’t think being direct will end up scaring her off?”

  He put his mouth to her ear, making her flesh quiver as he said, “I think I can manage a little workable deception with anyone who might know her.”

  Deception? She steeled herself against her very normal reaction to his being so close. “As in?”

  “My saying I met ‘Tara’ last time I was here, and that I’m looking to hook up with her.”

  “Hmm.”

  “No comment?”

  Again, his breath laved her ear. Again, she refused to let it affect her. Well…at least refused to let him see that it did.

  “I’m good,” she insisted.

  Deception. How good was Drago at it? Four years ago, Camille had convinced herself there was something between them, that Drago would come back for more. Had she allowed him to fool her into believing that? Why was she even wondering anymore? Their time had passed.

  Her body didn’t know that, though, when he slid an arm around her middle and pulled her toward the dance floor. Her flesh went soft. Quivered with need.

  “What are you doing?” she choked out.

  “Getting up close and personal with the patrons.”

  He was getting up close and personal with her.

  On the dance floor now, Drago swung her around and into him. Face to face. Flesh to flesh. The music was hot, their contact steamy. Feeling him against her made her tremble. She tried to control herself. Her body. Her mind. But where he was concerned, she had little control. She quickly felt herself falling into the past…

  He holds her like he owns her, and for the moment, he does. From the oldies radio station, “Hungry Eyes” from Dirty Dancing fills the room. The hunger in his eyes spreads like wildfire. Swaying to the music, he grinds his hips against hers. She reciprocates and feels him stir against her belly. The camisole and panties she’d donned in an attempt to dress and escape this sensual prison are soft and silky against her skin. Each movement seduces her further and further from wanting to leave the room.