Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “A lot,” Camille said, “starting with a description. Angel has dark eyes and dark hair, shaved short.”

  “Or he did six months ago. What else?”

  Jackson indicating that Angel could have changed his hair was logical, but having his hair shaved short was a popular gang thing, so Drago figured chances were their killer hadn’t grown it out. “Angel is a gangbanger.” The words tasted like sand in his mouth. He’d been fighting the gangs since he was a kid, when they’d started trying to recruit him. The last time he’d seen Tomas Huerta, the leader of the Humboldt Lords and the reason he’d been locked up for six months, two teardrops had decorated his face. “Angel wears the tats—open teardrops. Three kills by the time he took Noreen.”

  Camille filled Jackson in about how the victim had escaped using the broken beer bottle. There was a quiver in her voice that worried Drago. She was taking this all too personally, and doing so was taking its toll on her again.

  “So now Angel is hiding more than tats under that makeup,” she said. “He must have a pretty ugly scar from the broken glass.”

  “That might be of the most help,” Jackson said. “So this Noreen just ran? To where?”

  “Humboldt Park.” Drago detailed how he’d figured she’d been held in a conversion loft a mile or so west of the beach in the park. “She couldn’t be sure how far she’d run, but that ballpark narrows it down.”

  A smaller area he could more easily work with. Titus’s network extended throughout the surrounding neighborhoods, so the biker’s contacts might be able to build on that information. Drago would call him first chance he got. There had to be some way Titus could use the knowledge.

  “Can you call someone in the Gang Unit?” Camille asked Jackson.

  “Already made a mental note to do that. Now that we have a description, we might be able to get a match.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “You did good work. Great work. Both of you.” Jackson then gave Camille a look of regret. “A shame the vic got away. The lieutenant isn’t going to be happy about that part. You know I had to tell him you made the call.”

  “I understand.” Camille’s voice was flat, lacking all emotion. “He’ll have to do what he has to do about me, but I’m not stopping until we nail the bastard and bring Sandy home.”

  Jackson nodded.

  Drago tried to add a positive spin. “At least the chances of that happening just went up by light-years.”

  —

  It was late by the time they arrived back at her place. Drago had picked up some fast food and ate as he drove, but Camille had no appetite. She felt like her stomach was in a big fat knot. He didn’t ask if she wanted company, just followed her inside. She didn’t utter a word of protest. For the moment, she was out of fight. Once inside, she threw herself onto the couch and brooded—only then remembering Drago’s threat to sleep on it.

  Though she should be in a more hopeful mood now that they had a description of Angel and an idea of where to look for him, Noreen’s disappearing felt like another failure on her part.

  Her fault…all her fault…

  The guilt was burned into her like a brand. First Emily, her childhood best friend. Then Leanne. Then Sandy.

  Now Noreen.

  What if something really bad happened to Noreen with her on the run again? The young woman had escaped Angel once. Had made a new secret life for herself. What if she decided to go home to her mother? Angel could be waiting for her to show up there.

  Whatever happened to Noreen, Camille couldn’t help but feel responsible for that, too.

  Turning and twisting to get comfortable, she rested the side of her head against the couch back and pulled up her knees, tucking her feet on the couch cushion. She wished she had Max to comfort her. Bad her, she let the dog sit on the couch to keep her company. Her arms around his big, warm body would feel really great right now. He would whine and lick her face and bump his head under her chin as if he was trying to get inside her skin. That dog loved her like no one other than her family ever had. Max had so quickly become part of her life…maybe because she had no real life to speak of. The job was it. And if she lost the job because she refused to sit on the sidelines on her own case, what then?

  “Here, drink this.”

  She started. Drago was standing over her, offering her a glass of red wine. He held another in his hand. She’d forgotten he was there, hadn’t even been aware of him moving around her apartment. He’d obviously found her stash of wine in the small cabinet near the fireplace.

  “How long did you have to snoop around before you found this?” She straightened and took the glass.

  “Not long.” He sat on the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between them. “I thought you needed something to help you unwind.”

  “I’m not wound up.”

  “Of course not.” But the look he gave her put the lie to her words. “Just enjoy your wine.” He held up his glass. “To a great partnership.”

  “Great?”

  “Great.” He took a sip. “And to a better day tomorrow.”

  A better day. Was that even possible? Today had been a success until the moment she’d realized Noreen was gone. “I can drink to that. To a day when we put a stop to Angel and return Sandy to her home.” But she had to admit that being positive was getting harder by the hour.

  They sat drinking in companionable quiet for a few minutes, Camille’s stomach gradually unknotting. As one type of tension abated, another took hold of her when she realized Drago was focused on her. In the low light of a single lamp, his blue eyes pierced her, as if he was trying to find her vulnerable spot. One he could use to get closer to her. His silent appraisal sent a flush of warmth from her belly outward.

  She remembered it had been like this four years ago, from the moment they set eyes on each other. There had been no doubt they would leave the bar together.

  A sip of wine for courage and she asked, “Do you remember the night we met?”

  “How could I forget it?”

  “You came in the bar, looking for Justus—”

  “And found you, instead.” He saluted her with his wineglass. “Lucky me.”

  “Did you ever tell him?”

  He slowly shook his head. “You?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Why the ‘of course’?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t discuss my personal life with my colleagues.”

  “Did you have a personal life back then?”

  Realizing he knew she didn’t have one now, she reached a leg out and gave him a soft kick in the side of the thigh. Surprisingly, he didn’t react.

  “That’s your answer? How should I take that?” he asked.

  “That I think you’re a smart ass.” Which he could be. He could also be smooth and seductive. And, as she’d found, a pretty scary ass, too.

  “That’s it? Nothing more?”

  “More? As in…?”

  “Was it a request?” he asked.

  They were navigating uncharted territory. It wasn’t like him to be so subtle. “I’m confused.”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, not nothing.” Camille tried to shake off the prickly feeling but failed. “What did you mean?”

  “Drink your wine or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or do what you really want to do.”

  “That’s clear as mud.”

  “You want me to touch you back. But remember I said next time you’d have to ask. So why don’t you?”

  Why didn’t she? The truth was, she wanted him. Truthful with herself, at least. And realistic. Having him was impossible.

  She finally said, “I can’t trust you, Drago Nance.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m a cop and you consort with criminals.”

  “You mean other criminals, don’t you? Since in your eyes, I’m one, as well.”

  Of course he was correct. He might have made a “time served” deal
by pleading to a misdemeanor, but striking an official of the court was a felony. She knew Lucas Anderson, had worked with him on more than one case. He was a decent guy, aggressive and obsessed, but still not the kind of prosecutor people disliked. Apparently something had gone down that had roused Drago’s temper, and as she’d seen for herself, he really could be dangerous when left unchecked.

  But, right now, mellowed by the glass of wine, she wanted to give Drago the benefit of the doubt. Working with him had been quite an emotional experience, but for the most part, she had to give him credit for being as focused on the outcome as she was. Maybe having him, at least for one night, wasn’t so impossible.

  “What? No answer?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “That in some ways, we aren’t so very different.”

  He moved closer. Close enough to make her pulse speed up a little. And when he used that low, sexy tone to say, “Tell me more,” she felt her chest tighten more than a little.

  “We both have good investigative skills.”

  “Great skills.” He slid a little closer, making it difficult for her to concentrate. “What else?”

  “We both want justice for the victims.” Of course, the way they went after that justice was the demarcation line, one she didn’t want to cross.

  Drago was so close she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t push him away. But he wasn’t making so much as a move on her.

  Camille narrowed her gaze on him. “What are you up to?”

  “Just waiting for you to ask.”

  Seconds ticked by. He didn’t move a muscle. They were close without touching. And still her body responded. Her nipples hardened as if waiting for his mouth to suckle them, and she felt a gush of wet warmth fill her vulva as if inviting his entry.

  “You want me to move back where I was?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  This was it. The moment of truth. “I want you to touch me.” She wanted more than that. She wanted him to fill her, to make love to her, to put her out of her self-imposed misery.

  He whispered, “I thought you would never ask,” as his mouth covered hers and he pulled her onto him between spread thighs.

  His erection against her hip left her with no doubt as to where this kiss was going to take them if she didn’t change her mind and stop him right now. She vaguely thought she should, but she didn’t do anything but flush with desire at the touch of his hands on her breasts.

  “I’ve dreamed about doing this,” he whispered, cupping their weight, his mouth seeking them out through her shirt and bra.

  “With me?”

  “Of course with you. You’re the only woman who has ever invaded my dreams.”

  She couldn’t fight herself any longer. She couldn’t deny herself what she really wanted. So when he unzipped her slacks and slid a hand inside the front of her panties, she opened to him and nearly came when his fingers parted the slick folds.

  “Not so fast,” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry, there’s more where this came from. Just let yourself go. We have all night.”

  He was seducing her with talk. Fulfilling her with clever fingers that made her push up her hips to give him more access.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered.

  “I am inside you.”

  Just not the part of him she most wanted. She was tearing at his pants to get them open. His readied flesh sprang into her hand. She drew her fingers along his hard length to the head of soft, wet flesh.

  “I want this.”

  “You’ll have it. But first…”

  He thumbed her clit gently. Her hips rose without her thinking. She thrust wet flesh at him until he slipped a finger inside her the way he had that first time they were together. She remembered everything about that night, how he’d seen to her needs before his own, how they’d matched each other perfectly. The pressure built so that she lost her words, lost her mind, passion pushing her harder and faster against his hand, until the power of his touch made her explode from the inside out.

  Then, while she was still seeing stars, he pulled off her pants. As he slid over her, she pulled his jeans over his hips, tugged his length free, then rubbed his swollen tip along her clit until he took over.

  She gasped as he drove into her, then raised her legs and hooked them together behind his back. His mouth found hers, his tongue thrusting in the same rhythm as his body. Grasping his buttocks, she urged him faster and deeper, and when he finally came, she came with him.

  They held each other, panting, finished undressing each other, somehow landing on the floor, laughing and kissing and touching. He licked her stomach up through the valley between her breasts. Then he nipped at her already hardened tips.

  Raising his head, he locked gazes with her as he took her hand and guided it down between her thighs. “You do it. I want to watch.”

  Heat seared her through and through as she began to pleasure herself, the pleasure coming mostly from his expression as he watched. Ready to come again, she made mewling sounds and reached for him.

  “Not yet. Come for me first. Make it really good and really long and really loud.”

  It didn’t take much doing. His urging her sent her over the edge. She cried out and arched as she came long and hard, wailing from the pleasure, then came again the moment he slid inside her. He rolled and she landed on top and started the dance all over again. He took her hand and pulled it to his mouth, where he licked her juices from the fleshy tips, one finger at a time.

  “Delicious,” he murmured. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  Then, as she slowly tortured him, he slid his hand between them and made her come again.

  —

  Angel parked in the alley, up against her garage with the garbage cans shielding him. Just in case. It was the middle of the night, but this was a big, restless city and someone might be around to see if he double-parked in front of her place. No street parking tonight. No surprise.

  And no lock on the back gate.

  Good. He let himself into the yard and took a thorough look around. A deck spanned the width of the house. There was a door and a couple of windows on either side. A big tree whose branches draped over the deck would shelter him from inquisitive eyes. He silently crept across the yard, then eased himself up the stairs without making a noise.

  He checked one of the windows. A kitchen, sink light on. Noises filtered to him. No barking. Voices. Not talking. Making sounds. Familiar grunts and groans. His cock stirred in response as he crossed past the door to the window on the other side.

  Soft light illuminated the room. Illuminated them. He could see her clearly, just as he’d imagined her. On her back naked, red hair spread out around her, mounds of pretty flesh bobbing as she was being fucked. Only he wasn’t the one doing the fucking. Even so, his cock grew hard. Insistent that it needed release.

  Just as he felt all those times he’d watched his mother open herself with one man after another, even with the bastard who hadn’t been fussy about who he fucked or who he beat—mother or son. Didn’t matter to the pervert. And she’d known about it and hadn’t done anything to stop it from happening over and over. She’d said they had to keep him happy, since he was the one paying all the bills.

  One of these days, he was going to catch up to that creep and pay him back for the things he’d done in ways that would make him cry out for mercy.

  But in the meantime, watching the couple writhing with lust, he took the other guy’s measure and decided he wasn’t going to go in and try to replace him.

  Instead, he stood in the shadows and watched.

  He unzipped his pants, took his penis in hand, and pretended he was there, giving Detective Camille Martell what she so obviously wanted. He was breathing hard, and there was a ringing in his ears, but he somehow held on. It was only after she arched and cried out and her partner joined her with a growled shout that he clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t make a s
ound as he let himself ride the pleasure and left his signature on her house and deck.

  Knowing he could go another round in a few minutes, he waited to see what kind of entertainment value they would provide him. But when the man turned toward the windows as he headed for the door leading to the rest of the house, it was shock time.

  First he saw the familiar dragon tattoo covering the man’s back. Then his face.

  What the fuck!

  It was Drago Nance.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was time to wake up.

  Camille checked the clock. Nearly noon. She couldn’t believe she’d let a good part of the day slip by. She couldn’t believe she’d spent the last twelve hours in bed and assorted other places around her house with Drago Nance. They’d even initiated the kitchen after raiding the fridge at four in the morning.

  Starting to get out of bed, she was stopped by a firm grip on her ankle. Her heart thudded as she twisted around.

  “Good morning.” He arched an eyebrow at her and, with a knowing smile, swept his gaze over her nude body.

  “By the time we get out of here, it’ll be afternoon.”

  Avoiding looking at him too closely, she fought her instant physical response and gave her leg a sharp tug. His expression surprised, he let go. Did he actually think she was going to have sex with him again when they needed to be on the case? Now that she had her mind back where it belonged, she slid away from him and the bed, gathered fresh clothing, and headed for the bathroom.

  Her appearance in the mirror shocked her. She appeared disheveled but sated and relaxed, the very picture of a woman who’d been well satisfied. The last time she’d looked like this—the only time she’d ever looked like such a sensual creature—had been the last time she’d been with Drago.

  Camille shook her head and filled the basin. How could she let herself get distracted like that? One night. That’s all it had been. She’d been weakened by emotion at Noreen’s running from them. Now the flood of emotion had dissipated and she could concentrate on the search for Sandy. She splashed her face with warm water and used a scrub on her skin, as if she could wash away the proof of her foolishness.