Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  She rushed to his side. “What are you doing on your feet?”

  Gazing at her, his expression intent but unreadable, he indicated the door. “Let’s get going.”

  “Drago Nance, you shouldn’t be going anywhere! What was the doctor thinking? Why didn’t he check you in?”

  “Because the bullet passed straight through me, and she patched me up as good as new.”

  “You need medical care,” Camille insisted.

  He started for the exit. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we find Sandy.”

  She had to hurry to catch up with him. “That’s not going to happen tonight. Not unless Jackson breaks Huerta.”

  “Let me at him,” Drago said, his voice shifting into something scary. “I’ll break the bastard if I have to!”

  Exactly what she was afraid of.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Of course Huerta was going to deny he knew anything about the murders, Sandy, or some Internet predator who called himself Angel. Drago was certain of it. More than anything, he wanted a chance at the bastard to get him to talk. Of course that was never going to happen, since Jackson was just sitting down in the interrogation room with the gang leader after taking Camille’s and his statements.

  Along with Rodriguez and a few others, they were relegated to watch in a darkened room through the one-way mirror. Though Camille was responsible for nailing a killer, her lieutenant hadn’t said a word to her, and he was keeping his distance from her now. Drago felt the strain between them like a tangible thing. If Rodriguez didn’t end the administrative leave in her favor…well, that would just be one more thing Drago would hold against the authorities.

  Despite the drugs he’d been given at the hospital, his side throbbed like hell. The doctor had said that she’d wanted him under observation at least for the night, but no way was Drago going to duck out on Camille now, not when they were winding up the case and so close to finding the kid he could taste it. Camille would have gone full bore, with or without him. He preferred with. She was feisty and strong, probably the bravest woman he’d ever known—all qualities that he loved about her—but she was also the most reckless. He couldn’t let anything happen to her, not when he’d just found her again. Though what that meant for their future wasn’t clear. He just knew he had to keep her safe regardless.

  So, against medical advice, he’d signed himself out. The doc had warned him that the stitches could reopen, that he needed to rest for several days until his body could heal itself.

  Sandy couldn’t wait several days.

  Who knew how Huerta had left her, whether the girl had water or food or even the means to get to them?

  Who knew where Huerta had left her?

  Who knew if Jackson could make Huerta cave?

  What he did know was that Camille wouldn’t rest until she found the girl, dead or alive. He preferred alive, both for the girl’s sake and for Camille’s. If Sandy wasn’t rescued in time, Camille would never forgive herself. A huge burden to carry, and, he suspected, not the first. Another thing to admire about Camille. She took what happened to victims personally. He knew all about how that felt.

  Hearing his name, he turned his attention to the interview that had begun on the other side of the glass.

  “You should have arrested Drago Nance, not me,” Huerta was telling Jackson. “That fuck tried to kill me!”

  “What were you and your boys doing in that alley tonight?”

  “Just walking through our own neighborhood. Drago and his puta attacked us. She shot one of my amigos. Arrest her, too!”

  Drago had spent half his life hating the gang leader. Fighting him. And here they were at odds once more, this perhaps the most serious altercation of all, and there was nothing he could do but watch.

  “Detective Camille Martell has a different story. Apparently you sent your boys after Drago, and then you personally went after her.”

  “Bitch is lying.”

  Drago’s gut clenched. After the way Huerta had treated Camille, the bastard was lucky he could talk. His fury at seeing the gang leader trying to hurt a woman he cared about yet again—no, a woman he loved, this time!—had made him burn with anger. Only Camille and the need to find Sandy had brought him out of the rage that had taken him over.

  “Where did you get that scar on your face?” Jackson asked.

  Huerta appeared stunned at the question, and for a moment, it seemed he couldn’t speak. “What does my scar have to do with anything?”

  “It adds to the description of the killer we’ve been after. You fit it perfectly, Huerta. The shaved short hair, the H. L. brand on your arm, the teardrop tattoos and—”

  “Hey, you blind? Most of my amigos fit that description.”

  “Do most of your gang members have a scar on their cheek like yours?”

  Huerta went silent again.

  “What? You can’t make up another answer fast enough?” Jackson asked.

  “How’s this for an answer—I want my lawyer.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Jackson leaned back in his chair and waited a beat before continuing. “Once you bring in a lawyer, we may not be able to make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “One that starts with you telling us where you stashed the girl. Giving her up would go a long way to making things easier on you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Drago fisted his hands in frustration. He wasn’t past beating the truth out of the scourge of his neighborhood. Tit for tat. He couldn’t forget the past. The way Huerta had gotten away with his crimes.

  “I’m talking about Sandy Kawecki.” Jackson sat forward so that his face was nearly in the gang leader’s. “You can’t get at her again, so just tell us where she is. Don’t let her die. Don’t add another murder to the charges against you.”

  “I don’t know any Sandy Kawecki. And you can’t prove otherwise. I want my lawyer.”

  A murmur swept through the darkened room, and the hallway door opened. Rodriguez and the other cops stepped out, leaving Drago and Camille alone.

  “I should have known he would lawyer up.” Her voice was ragged with disappointment.

  “At least the authorities have Huerta in custody. They’ll keep him off the street and away from Sandy until we can rescue her. At least you know the kid is safe.”

  “For the moment. We can hope she’s still alive. The question is, how are we going to find her?”

  “Now that we know the identity of the killer, that might give us an edge.” He turned to her too fast. The searing pain in his side made him wince and take a deep breath. “We’ll get the word out about Huerta being Angel. Someone should be able to find out where he lives. I’ll call Titus on the way home.”

  “You want to go home now?” Then she took a good look at the pain-filled expression he couldn’t quite hide, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. Yes, of course, I’ll take you home.”

  “Good thing I won’t be alone tonight.”

  He could take care of himself, but he chose to play on her sympathies so that she would stay at his place despite the fact that Angel had been taken out of the equation. From her expression, he could see it was working. Good. He could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t go out on her own and put herself in danger.

  More important, he didn’t want to be without her.

  Not even for a night, especially knowing this might be their last night together. A sense of loss already started to fill him.

  Which meant he was in big, big trouble.

  He had to face what he’d been avoiding. No matter how their past had ended, Camille meant more to him than a weekend. More to him than a bed partner. Despite their coming at life from very different directions, he had real feelings for her. He was madly, truly, deeply in love with her. She was smart and brave and caring. Everything he could want in a woman. In a life partner.

  It killed him that he couldn’t be that for her.

 
That she didn’t really trust him.

  That if she measured him against her own high standards, he would inevitably come up short.

  —

  It was the middle of the night by the time they arrived at his place. They’d gone to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy to get Drago’s prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers filled. He hadn’t wanted to bother with the meds because it took him off edge, but she’d insisted after realizing how much he needed them. Worry plagued her. He shouldn’t even be out of the hospital. No way was she going to let him be so macho that he could suffer or maybe get even worse. And since taking painkillers meant Drago also needed food in his system so they didn’t tear up his stomach, she’d stopped at an all-night drive through for burgers and fries. He’d scarfed his down along with his meds.

  Camille didn’t have an appetite.

  She was feeling sick inside, and for once it had nothing to do with Sandy. She had high hopes now that Drago had been correct about their finding the girl the next day. But then what? Their time together would be over. They would go back to their own worlds, to their own lives.

  She would go back to being alone.

  That might be the biggest surprise of all for her, learning that she needed someone. Always having been independent her entire adult life, never having wanted to take a chance on caring too much for anyone she could lose the way she had Emily, she’d thrown her whole being into protecting people who didn’t personally matter to her.

  But maybe there could be something more in her life. Something she would treasure.

  Was she ready to take that chance?

  Putting on a wonky smile for Drago’s sake, she followed him into the apartment, saying, “I think you should get into bed now.”

  “I think we should, too. After you eat.”

  She didn’t miss the “we” part. She took her uneaten food to his kitchen area where she put it in the fridge, then realized Drago stood there watching her. “Not hungry,” she said in answer to his disapproving stare.

  “Which means you’re troubled.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You have a pattern. When the case is bothering you, you have trouble sleeping. You don’t want to eat. And you certainly don’t open up easily.”

  “Open up? What do you imagine I’m hiding?”

  “I don’t know. Something. I could see how obsessed you were with Angel. I realize you feel responsible for Sandy, because of the way she was taken. But I think there’s more to it.”

  Immediately uncomfortable, she said, “Two other murdered women,” and tried to get past him into the living area. He refused to move and she found herself practically on top of him, which stirred all kinds of feelings she wasn’t prepared to face.

  “But that wasn’t personal,” Drago said. “That’s not enough for you to get so emotional that Rodriguez took you off the case. What happened?”

  “I should have stopped Angel before he killed Leanne Grant. I felt like I failed her.”

  “But why? You weren’t responsible for her being taken.”

  “No, not her.”

  “Who, then?”

  Camille felt tears well in her eyes. “Emily,” she choked out. She could hardly believe she was telling him this. “Her name was Emily Canfield. She died because of me.”

  He tilted her chin up to look directly into her eyes. “Tell me.”

  She hesitated. She hadn’t spoken of the tragedy in nearly two decades. Knowing how devastated she’d been, her parents had protected her by never mentioning what had happened once she quit therapy. But there was something about Drago, the sincere sound of his words, the intent way he was staring into her eyes as if he was reaching for her soul.

  “We were eleven, and Emily looked older. We were into some silly role-playing game. Fantasy. I had this great staff my dad had made for me from a tree branch that he found in the woods. Emily wanted to borrow it, and I said no. She said she just wanted to try it, but I wouldn’t let her.”

  Camille choked up at the memory. Drago didn’t say anything, but cupped a gentle hand against the side of her face. She pressed her cheek into his palm, as if she could gather strength from him. She couldn’t believe how easily she could share something with him that she’d kept to herself all these years.

  “Emily told me I was being selfish, and she shoved me away from her. My best friend hurt my feelings, and I was angry. So I told her I didn’t want her as my friend anymore, and that she should just get lost. And that’s exactly what she did. She ran off into the woods behind the house and never came out.”

  “So Emily had some kind of accident in the woods?”

  A broken laugh escaped her. “No, not exactly. They found her body two weeks later. She’d only been dead for a day or so, but she’d been sexually abused, probably all that time she’d been missing.” And then the tears spilled over. “My fault…all my fault.”

  Drago slipped an arm around her back and pulled her into his chest. “So that’s what’s been haunting you. And, I imagine, the reason you became a cop.”

  The reason she didn’t want to care too much for anyone. Fear that she would lose whomever she cared for. No matter that she had tried to make up for what had happened to Emily, she’d never been able to shake the guilt. And if she wasn’t able to save Sandy…

  Drago kissed her forehead. “It isn’t your fault, you know. Kids have fights and get mad and storm off. Hell, adults do, too. You didn’t send her killer after her. It was a horrible coincidence that he was around to take her. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

  “I thought I could by getting justice for the dead.” Camille swiped the tears away. “And for a while, I almost succeeded. Until the Susan Halloran case. Before we even had a real lead, Leanne Grant disappeared. I kept thinking about Emily, about what must have happened to her in those weeks before her body was found. I thought I could save Leanne—as if that would make up for Emily—but I was wrong.”

  “No wonder you were an emotional wreck.” He hugged her harder. “I’m so sorry. But it’s time you forgave yourself.”

  She was an emotional wreck now with Drago’s arms around her, with his lips brushing her forehead. And when she lifted her face to his, he kissed her softly at first, deepening the connection gradually until she felt like she was drowning in his kiss.

  In him.

  When he shifted her to his right hip, using his arm to urge her from the doorway, she knew he was taking her to bed. Her body responded to him as it always did, but this time there was more. Something she couldn’t explain. A feeling that made her want to weep.

  Once in the bedroom, they began undressing each other between kisses. When she removed his shirt, her gaze flashed to the bandages covering his left side. For a moment, she’d forgotten. “Drago—”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m good.”

  He definitely was good.

  Not acting like an injured man, he kissed his way down her neck and between her breasts to her stomach. When he didn’t stop there, her legs gave out on her and she fell back against the bedding, a cry of need rising in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. His tongue did wicked things to her. She opened herself wide and, wanting all of him, tried to tug him upward, but he wouldn’t budge, not until her hips arched on their own and she cried out with pleasure.

  Then he laved her belly with his tongue up to one breast, then across to the other. She reached down and guided him inside her, just as his mouth reached her throat. He suckled the flesh between neck and shoulder until she started to squirm under him. Then he stopped long enough to kiss her, really kiss her. Not an all-out assault, but a long, sweet, breathtaking connection that made her throat tighten and brought tears to her eyes again.

  It was too much. She wouldn’t weep. She wouldn’t.

  She shifted the mood of the kiss into something hungry and wicked, dug her nails into his buttocks and began to rock her hips under him until he couldn’t resist following her lead. When he end
ed the kiss to suckle her throat, she gasped for air and let herself enjoy pure sensation. He slipped a hand between them and found her sweet spot, flicking her there until she couldn’t hold on any longer. The cry that escaped them both together was purely primal.

  Drago brushed her mouth with another soft kiss, then fell to his good side. Camille turned so that he was behind her and wrapped around her and twined with her like they were one.

  The tightness in her throat returned and her eyes stung. Clenching her jaw, she closed them. Then forced herself to breathe evenly.

  Wondered what was wrong with her.

  Why she felt so different.

  Feared she knew.

  Maybe she had known all along but had been in denial. Self-protection. The issue wasn’t really trust. She would trust Drago with her life. But that didn’t mean they were right for each other.

  So when sometime later Drago murmured, “You know how much I care for you, don’t you, Camille…how much I love you?” she pretended to be asleep.

  She’d tried to stop herself from loving him, but maybe it had been destined. Maybe she had from the moment they’d met and looked into each other’s souls.

  Though she felt the same—though she could admit to herself that she loved Drago Nance with all her heart—she couldn’t say the words. She was too sealed up in the past and in her belief that they were simply too different. That a real relationship would be a disaster. Considering the things she’d experienced with him in three days, she wasn’t sure they fit together outside of a bed. She feared a relationship between them would, in the end, simply break her heart again. Fear was the nemesis that never slept. Drago had gotten himself shot tonight, and he’d done it because she’d involved him in her mess.

  Her fault…all her fault…

  If he had died, she would never be able to forgive herself.

  If she admitted she returned his love, would she forever live in fear that what she treasured most would be taken from her?

  Squeezing her eyes tight so she wouldn’t cry, Camille mentally retreated to the world she’d long ago created for her own protection. A world without relationships, where she could distance herself from the thing that scared her most.