Now she felt like she was settling.
“Not that I love you any less,” she muttered. “I just realize I need more than a fur person in my life.”
Max licked her face as if in agreement, making her smile.
“Come on, mutt,” she said, getting to her feet and heading for home. “I really do have to go into work today.”
She’d been summoned that morning. She was to report to the Area North offices at two. It was a little after one now.
If she lost her job…then what?
She tried not to think about it as she got ready for what might be her last day with the force.
When she entered the Area North offices a bit before two, her gut was tied in a knot. Everyone looked up, though no one spoke to her. She felt their eyes in the center of her back all the way to the lieutenant’s office where Rodriguez was already talking to Jackson.
She stopped in the doorway. “I’m here, sir.”
“Come in and have a seat, Martell.”
Noting the seriousness of his expression, she did as he ordered. A glance at Jackson didn’t tell her a thing about what would happen to her now. He wasn’t looking directly at her. Uh-oh.
Rodriguez cleared his throat. “You know how I feel about my officers going vigilante.”
Was this it, then? Was he about to fire her? If so, she wouldn’t regret a thing that she’d done on this case, other than leaving that damn computer up without password protection.
“Yes, sir. I know you don’t approve of what I did.”
Sandy was physically unharmed, but no doubt the poor girl would have years of therapy ahead of her after the terror she’d lived through. The most important thing to Camille was that unlike her childhood friend Emily, Sandy was alive.
“I realize that there were extenuating circumstances,” Rodriguez said, “and I’ve made your case as an officer who has such a sense of duty to the victims that she couldn’t let this go. You found the girl, stopped a killer, and gave us a reason to lock up a gang leader.” He opened a drawer and removed her gun and star and set them on the desk near her. “The decision to let you return to active duty was unanimous.”
Camille let go of a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “Thank you, sir!” She gathered her star and gun and felt as if a missing part of her had been returned.
But the lieutenant wasn’t done. “I’m to remind you that from now on, you remember we have rules that apply to everyone, including you.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. Then we’re done here. Jackson will bring you up to speed.”
“Welcome back, Martell.” Jackson held out his hand.
Relieved, Camille shook on it, then followed him to the bull pen, where other detectives welcomed her back, as well.
Which would be the perfect ending to this case, if only Drago wasn’t ignoring her messages.
She and Jackson spent the rest of the afternoon going over details of the case. Jessie Calderon had been released. He might have been responsible for Angel’s killing his mother, but they couldn’t charge him. She looked over the statements that she, Sandy, and Drago had given.
“I assume Drago’s been cleared.” If not, he could be arrested for killing Angel, aka Oscar Ybarra.
“You’ll have to talk to the ASA on that one.”
“Who is…?”
“Lucas Anderson.”
“Wonderful.” Camille’s stomach sank as she wondered if the ASA still held that punch against Drago, or if he’d put the incident behind him. “I’ll call and see what he has to say.”
“No, I’ll make the call, being that it’s my case now.”
Jackson was obviously still in charge, and Camille had to admit she was glad for it. With Drago lurking at the back of her mind every moment, she’d lost focus. Justus believed his brother not only wanted her but needed her. Until she’d gotten into that ambulance and he hadn’t followed her to the hospital, she’d believed that, as well. It seemed impossible to get herself back on track until she settled things with him.
Which is what she decided to do the moment they were done for the day. Leaving the office, she drove straight to Humboldt Park, talking herself into doing whatever it took to have an honest one-on-one with Drago. She had to know if he really cared about her, if there was any hope for the future. All along, she’d been the one avoiding a relationship. Now that she’d changed her mind, had he done so, as well? She simply had to know if there was a chance for them. When she hit Drago’s street, she immediately spotted the Trans Am, but the motorcycle was nowhere in sight.
Great. He must be at the biker bar.
She sat there for a moment, her pulse drilling her, before deciding to find him.
Five minutes later, she identified Drago’s bike in the Hog Heaven Saloon lot, so she parked and went inside. Taking a moment to steady her nerves, she swept her gaze around the room, but even though patrons were sparse this early, she didn’t spot the man. Damn it! Where was he? Why was he making this so difficult for her? She was tempted to turn around and leave.
The bartender was staring at her, so she approached him instead. “I’m looking for Drago Nance.”
His expression closed. “Name’s not familiar.”
Getting irritated, Camille said, “Funny, but you knew him a few days ago. Does this jar your memory?” She pulled out her star identifying her as a cop and flashed it at him.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I don’t want any trouble. He’s having a beer.”
She took another look at the men dotting the bar. “Don’t see him.”
“At a table in back.”
Taking a deep breath, she hesitated. What if Drago really wasn’t interested and she was running a fool’s errand? Only one way to find out. As had happened the first time she came in here alone, Camille felt all eyes follow her as she made her way toward the back where Drago sat alone, nursing a beer. Her heart twisted just a little as she took in the face she’d grown to love, and the hands that had done such a fine job loving her. Unfamiliar emotions filled her. She guessed this is what being in love felt like.
She threw herself into the chair opposite Drago and waited for his reaction.
He met her gaze for a second, then took another sip from his bottle.
“Is this why you’re not answering your messages?” she asked. “Too busy hanging out in the biker bar?” Somehow she kept her voice from shaking.
“Been busy.”
“On a new case?” If so, Justus hadn’t mentioned one.
He didn’t answer.
She clenched her jaw. Was he trying to get to her? To make her shake inside? If so, it was working.
Pulling herself together, she asked, “Don’t you want to know what’s going on with the one you were paid to handle?”
He shrugged.
“You did kill the killer. It’s Lucas Anderson’s case.”
Anderson had cleared him, but she didn’t say so, and again, he had no response other than to tighten his jaw and take another swig of beer. To get his full attention, there was only one thing she could think to do.
Standing tall and ignoring the way her knees went soft, she said, “Drago Nance, you’re under arrest.”
Now she had his attention. He was staring at her, his expression disbelieving, but she was determined they were going to have that talk, one way or another.
“Get to your feet, turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
He stalled for a few seconds, as if waiting for her to change her mind, but in the end, he did as she ordered, and she cuffed him just as Titus came out of his office.
“Hey, what’s going on, Detective?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a formality.”
“Yeah, right!” Drago growled. “Nothing to worry about with Anderson on the case.”
With Drago’s back to her, Camille made a face and shook her head at Titus. Apparently the biker got the message, because his eyebrows shot up into what would hav
e been his hairline…if he’d had any hair.
“Uh, okay. You need help, Drago, you got my number.”
Already pushing Drago toward the entrance, Camille grew aware of the snickers and comments that followed them. And of Drago’s growing anger. Well, too bad. He could have avoided the embarrassment if he would just talk to her without coercion.
She got him in the backseat of her car and took off.
He still wasn’t talking.
Not until she turned onto his street and found a parking spot.
“What the hell, Camille? What are we doing at my place? I thought you were taking me in.”
Her turn not to talk.
She opened the door to let him out. When he refused to move and gave her the evil eye, she said, “Don’t make me drag you out of there.” As if she really could budge his weight if he resisted.
With a grunt, he shifted himself toward her and climbed out of the car. She held on to his arm all the way back to the coach house, not because she feared he would run, but because she simply wanted to touch him. Everything inside her longed for him in a way she’d never felt for anyone else. It was an ache that had nothing to do with the physical. It was as if her soul needed the satisfaction of being joined with his. She didn’t know how else to describe it.
“What are the charges?” he suddenly demanded to know.
“How about being irritating and unresponsive?” She pushed him up the stairs. “Keys?”
He raised an eyebrow in answer.
“All right. I’ll find them.”
She shoved a hand into his pocket and made the most of the situation, brushing his upper thigh through the material. He might not be trying to cooperate, but his body had different ideas. She felt his flesh swell against her hand. He still wanted her. At least physically. She could only pray for more. He was being stubborn and idiotic, but she was certain she could get to him. He’d told her he loved her. She’d been too stubborn and idiotic then to tell him how she felt, but surely his feelings couldn’t have changed in a matter of days, certainly not after the way he’d come to her rescue.
Opening the door, she waited for him to go first, then closed it and leaned back against it. She took a moment to really look at him. His expression was tight. Angry. But his eyes told her another story.
“What is this about, Camille? If you’re not taking me in, then unlock the damn cuffs.”
Stepping away from the door, she pushed him toward the middle of the room. “Not until you talk.”
“About what? About Angel?”
“About me. About us.”
“There is no us.”
The tone was believable. The expression was, too. But something deep in his gaze told her he was trying to hide something from her, as if he was trying to protect himself. She understood that feeling. Hadn’t she protected herself by shutting out people who tried to get close to her most of her life?
She pushed him again, this time maneuvering him toward the couch.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“What do you think?”
“That you’re trying to make me angry.”
Another push and the back of his legs hit the couch cushions.
“You know I can report you for using force on me,” he threatened.
“I haven’t used force…” One more little push, and he fell back onto the cushions. “Yet.”
She followed, splaying her body over his.
“If you wanted sex, why didn’t you just say so?” But his seductive tone held a false ring. “Uncuff me and I’ll be glad to oblige.”
Right, and then he could do anything he wanted, including avoid this conversation.
“It’s not sex that I want.” She brushed her mouth over his. “Well, at least not all that I want.”
“What, then?”
“I want you, Drago Nance.”
She unbuttoned her shirt so that he could see her breasts spilling over her bra. Then she threw it off and stepped out of her shoes and slacks. Wedged between his thighs in nothing but her skimpiest underwear, she sank to her knees and undid his fly and zipper.
“Tell me that you want me, too,” she coaxed.
He seemed a little confused. “I already told you. You ignored me.”
A tug at his briefs and his erection sprang free. “I was scared.”
She surrounded his flesh with her hand and with her mouth, eyes open and watching his intense expression as she seduced him.
“What changed?” he grit out, a bit breathless.
She took him in deeper and he groaned and began to rock. Sliding her mouth up slowly, she lifted herself over him, nipping him through his T-shirt, finding his mouth and kissing him deep and hard as she straddled him.
Coming up for air, she said, “I realized we were more alike than different.”
Kissing him once more, she tugged at the string holding her bikini underwear together until it popped, then threw the skimpy fabric aside. She surrounded his flesh with the entrance to hers and ever so slowly slid down his length until they were locked together.
He tore his mouth free of hers. “But I killed a man. I’m probably going to jail again. I won’t be making any collect calls.”
She shook her head. “Anderson decided your shooting Angel was justified.”
“What about you?”
“You saved my life, and if it had been the other way around, I would have done the same for you.”
She pulled up slowly, pulsing inside along his length so deliciously that he licked his lips. He was trying to say something but apparently couldn’t focus to find the right words.
“I don’t just want sex from you, Drago Nance. I love you, and I won’t stop this until you tell me you still love me and need me in your life.”
His expression softened and he managed a sexy grin. “It might take all night to force that confession from me…Just saying.”
Smiling, Camille licked the shell of his ear and whispered, “Whatever it takes.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Michael A. Black, retired police officer and author, who is my major go-to guy when I have questions about police procedure.
And thanks to Cheryl Jefferson, a member of my critique group, who helped me figure out a key element that made this story work.
PHOTO: FIREFLY NIGHTS PHOTOGRAPHY
With ninety-six novels and more than seven million books in print, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author PATRICIA ROSEMOOR is fascinated with “dangerous love,” combining romance with danger. She has written various forms of romantic and paranormal romantic thrillers, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills to her stories. Patricia was the recipient of a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from RT Book Reviews. In her other life, she teaches popular fiction and suspense-thriller writing, credit courses at Columbia College Chicago.
patriciarosemoor.com
Facebook.com/PatriciaRosemoor
@PRosemoor
The Editor’s Corner
Happy New Year, everyone! Have you made your resolution yet? I have—to read more Loveswept romance—and maybe we can make it your New Year’s resolution too? Take a look at some our fabulous January new releases…
New York Times bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor kicks off the month with a bad boy Loveswept debut, Dangerous, the story of a driven female cop who teams up with an irresistible ex-con to bring a killer to justice—and discovers that breaking the rules is hotter on the wrong side of the law; followed by a Rolling Stones–inspired romance, Can’t Always Get What You Want, a deeply romantic and uplifting debut novel from Chelsey Krause about losing everything you thought you wanted—and getting exactly what you need. Claudia Connor follows up her heartfelt debut, Worth the Fall, with a novel about Matt’s brother, Stephen—and when a McKinney brother falls in love, powerful emotion and overwhelming desire are never far behind. Don’t miss Worth the Risk. Then Cecy Robson’s Once L
oved continues the Shattered Past series—he’s the campus golden boy. She’s picking up the pieces of her broken past. But in this scorching novel of second chances, their differences only make their connection more explosive. Katie Rose’s Boys of Summer series returns for a delicious double-header, with the story of total opposites who are drawn to each other like moths to a flame in Too Hot to Handle. And welcome to the Devil’s Den series, written by a Loveswept debut author, Violetta Rand, who invites us to a Texas strip club where the air is heavy with desire—and sometimes dreams come true: Surrender.
Make Loveswept your 2015 romance resolution and start your New Year off right—you’ll have something new each month to voraciously devour. Yum!
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for a sneak peek at
Control
by Laura Marie Altom
Available now from Loveswept
1
Julie
I’m dead.
Withering at a dead-end job. Hiding from a dead marriage. Suffocating in a dead town.
Maybe that’s why when I studied the scruffy-haired guy who’d just ordered a hot dog from me at the Wal-Mart snack bar, I’d sensed a connection. Because, honestly? As he sat in a far booth messing with his iPhone, waiting for his meal, he looked dead, too. Skin pale—like he’d spent the past year in a cave. Stubble too long to be on purpose. Jawline not quite square enough, nose not quite straight enough. Even his clothes weren’t quite right. His red plaid shirt hung too loose on his rangy frame. His ass could’ve earned bonus points, but even his jeans missed the mark.
But then who am I to talk?
Sporting my blue Wally World vest, two-day-old ponytail and a hairnet, I was hardly a great catch. Besides, I’d already been caught and have been paying for it every day since.
Dangerous Page 23
