by CP Smith
“Hey, yourself,” I replied back, but it came out breathy like an asthmatic.
“You ready to get out of here?” he kinda rumbled low in his throat.
“Ready, willing, and able,” I answered in return before I realized what I was saying. Which, of course, earned me an even bigger smile and a chuckled to boot.
Hell’s bells kill me now!
Still grinning, Dallas opened his desk drawer and pulled out his weapon, shoving it into his shoulder holster. He looked around the room when he was finished and his eyes stopped on a woman with a badge on her hip.
“I’m heading out with Ms. Royse. Tell Reed I’ll be back in this afternoon,” he called out.
Without warning, he then reached down, grabbed my hand, and started heading for the door.
My breath caught when he grabbed my hand, but I acted as if he held it every day. He let go of my hand before entering the elevator and we rode down to the parking garage in silence since there were other people in it with us. Once in the underground garage, he took my hand again and walked us to a standard police issue, black Crown Victoria. I stood back as he opened the door, but when he turned around to let me in the car, he stopped in front of me and looked down.
“Before we leave, I wanna make it clear you’re to follow my instructions to the letter today,” he dictated. “You’re to observe only and if I tell you to stay in the car I expect you to do it, are we clear?”
“I’m not stupid, Dallas. I don’t plan on getting in your way. But I’ll warn you now, when I conduct research for a book I tend to ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ll answer your questions if you’ll answer mine.”
“What kind of questions?”
“We’ll get to those questions later; right now I need to get to an interview.” Nodding, I got in the car and watched as Dallas rounded the back and climbed in. He ordered, “Buckle up,” and watched while I did, then explained where we were going. “Our first stop is in connection with the murder of a young woman. I have to go to her place of employment and interview her boss and coworkers. I’m allowing you to sit in on the interviews under freedom of the press, but everything you see and hear is off the record, understand?”
“I understand. Just so you know, I’m not looking for plot material, just an understanding of how interviews are conducted, you needn’t worry I’ll repeat anything.”
“Needn’t worry?” he chuckled.
“What?”
“That’s kind of an outdated word.”
“I write historical romance for a living,” I shrugged, “it slips out. Sometimes antiquated words work better.”
Smiling, Dallas turned toward me and his right arm came up and lay across the back of my seat. He seemed to be studying me for some reason. His eyes suddenly softened as he oddly said, “Jesus, you really are Sandra Dee.”
“What?”
“You’re apple pie and baseball.”
“Um, are you saying I’m the-girl-next-door?” I blurted out.
“Sweetheart, if you were any more the-girl-next-door you’d be married with two point five kids. Lucky for me, most men like tits, ass, and attitude.”
Looking down at my chest, I supposed it wasn’t the first thing men saw when they looked at me, but I asked him to clarify anyway. “Did you just say I don’t have tits and ass?”
“No,” Dallas grinned, leaning in closer, “I said, lucky me."
“Oh,” was my highly intelligent reply as he leaned in further, close enough that if I had a mind to, I could have lean forward and capture his lips with mine. I don’t know if he was testing my resolve, but he didn’t close the distance as I expected and, if I was truthful, wanted more than my next breath. He just held my eyes as a slow sexy grin pulled across his mouth. As if he read my mind about kissing me, he mumbled, “Jesus, I don’t wanna know what you’re thinking or we’ll never leave this spot.” I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from telling him exactly what I had been thinking (I’d moved from kissing to foreplay) as he leaned back and started the car.
We drove in silence while I got my hormones under control. I didn’t trust myself not to open my mouth and ask him to take me home and ravage me until we both were spent. Looking out the window so he couldn’t interpret my wicked thoughts, I noticed he’d driven further into downtown instead of away. I expected him to take one of the roads that led to the interstate, but instead, he turned right into the bank parking lot where Angela worked. He parked, but I didn’t move when he got out since I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to follow. When he rounded the car to open my door, I grabbed my bag, stepping out of the car.
Angela’s office faced the parking lot, so she must have seen us get out, because she was waiting in the lobby grinning from ear to ear. Dallas had interviewed all my friends the day before, so he recognized Angela immediately.
“You work here?” he asked.
“I’m the manager. Is there something I can help you with or has she driven you nuts already and you’re dropping her off?”
“Not yet,” Dallas mumbled with a grin, “but it’s early so I’ll let you know. Actually, I need to talk to you in private about a case if you have a minute?”
“Oh, intrigue on a Monday morning, sweet. Do either of you want some coffee; I can grab some from—”
“No,” Dallas jumped in looking back at me, “no coffee. I’d like to get through one day without wearing it.”
Rolling our eyes in unison, Angela chuckled while motioning us down a long hall toward the back of the bank. She entered a boardroom with a large mahogany table set with pens, a pitcher of water, and matching glasses. I could have used a drink of water, but figured Dallas would object so I ignored it and pulled out my notebook. I sat a few chairs away to give them space so wouldn’t intrude. I was curious as to what Dallas would say, but I certainly wasn’t prepared and neither was Angela for the news, because we both reacted with a gasp.
“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but Melissa Webster was murdered Friday evening.”
“What? Are . . . are you serious? Oh, my God,” Angela responded as her hands flew to her mouth.
“Friday? After we had lunch with her?” I blurted out.
“You know the victim?” Dallas asked surprised.
“No, I mean, yes, kind of. I met her on Friday. We all ate lunch together at Gypsy’s.”
“What time did she leave?”
“I don’t know it was after I spilled coffee on you and the girls and I had to discuss the book, I’d say we left close to one. But she didn’t leave with us, she stayed behind.”
“Did she come back from lunch?” Dallas asked Angela.
Shaking her head no, Angela explained about her trip.
“She was going out of town. She took the rest of the day off to pack.”
“Did she ever mention having a boyfriend or a man who might be angry with her, someone who’d have an axe to grind?”
“No, no, she wasn’t, she wasn’t seeing anyone. Her last boyfriend moved to California, but they remained friends. She was a nice person, Dallas. Nobody hated her. I can’t believe this,” she whispered as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Reaching out his hand, Dallas covered hers to give comfort and then in a soft voice he said, “I need you to round up everyone who worked closely with Melissa or anyone you think might know anything about her personal life and send them in one at a time. Can you do that for me?”
Angela was quiet for a moment, nodding in answer to his request. She took a deep breath, looked at me, then stood, and headed out of the room as I sat in utter disbelief. I’d never known someone personally who’d been murdered. It was an odd feeling knowing that we may have been the last people to see her alive.
“I didn’t hear anything about this on the news,” I muttered, still thinking about the vibrant blonde and her red silk blouse. “When I met her I immediately wanted her in my book. She was going to be the prosecuting attorney, I mean she will be.”
“I
s that how you come up with characters?” he asked, obviously trying to distract me.
Before I could answer, however, Angela walked back into the room with an older woman, both of them with red eyes. I stood when the woman sat down and headed toward Angela, determined to do something that would help when she left the room without looking back.
“You okay?” Dallas asked me with concern in his voice before I left the room.
“No,” I answered truthfully, “can I get a rain check? Angela needs me right now.” When he nodded, I went in search of my friend.
I found Angela in her office sitting at her desk with her hands to her forehead. I closed the door, sat down across from her, and waited.
“She was so smart and loved to laugh,” Angela finally said when she looked up at me.
I didn’t know what to say to her so I just listened.
“She wanted a family, a big one. She said if she could only find the right man she would get pregnant immediately and have a house full of kids.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t seeing anyone?”
“Yes,” Angela replied, “she was still looking.”
“Dallas will find who did this, I’m sure of it,” I told her, realizing I meant what I’d said and they weren’t just words to comfort my friend. I may not know him very well, but something told me he was dedicated to justice and would stop at nothing to find Melissa’s killer.
We settled in to wait while Dallas finished interviewing those who worked with Melissa. After an hour of crying that left us both with a headache, he emerged from the closing room and knocked on her door.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked me, but didn’t take his eyes off of Angela. Probably using his cop instincts to assess her state of mind.
I turned to Angela to see if she still needed me, but she nodded that she was fine and then reminded me, “Gypsy’s after work.”
Dallas took my hand and led me back to his car without saying a word. We drove in silence again, but when he headed away from downtown and pulled onto Eleventh Street, I looked at him in confusion. He told me, “Lunch first, then I’ll take you back to the station.”
A few minutes later, he pulled into El Rancho Grande, a Tex-Mex restaurant owned by an old school friend of mine and I smiled. They had the best margaritas in town and I loved their chicken fajita salad. In the same location since the 1950, the old red brick building still had the original neon sign out front beckoning in its customers.
Since we arrived before the lunch crowd, we were instantly shown to a table near the windows. We ordered quickly then were left alone to stare at each other. For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say. I racked my brain, but the only thoughts in my head at that moment I couldn’t ask because it was case related. So, of course, I went with the most embarrassing thing imaginable.
“Why did you pin me against the wall yesterday and kiss me on Friday?”
Dallas was chewing on crispy chips they’d placed on the table when I asked, but that didn’t stop him from smiling. Reaching out, he grabbed his water and took a drink, then placed it back on the table. Well out of my reach, I might add.
“To prove a point,” he chuckled.
“What point would that be?”
“That when I see something I want, I go after it.”
“And you assumed you were so irresistible that I’d swoon on the spot?” I responded, miffed again at his arrogance.
“Sweetheart, I’m a cop. I don’t take anything at face value, nor do I assume. I’d been thinkin’ about the taste of your lips since the first time you spilled coffee on me. Since an opportunity presented itself, I took it,” he answered with a shrug. “As for yesterday, I decided I was done thinkin’ about the taste of your lips and was putting you on notice.”
I didn’t know what to do with all that, but something he said caught my attention more than his thinking he could put me on notice—whatever that meant. And since I clearly liked to embarrass myself, and he was willing to answer, I decided to go for the gusto. Drawing in a deep breath for courage, I leaned forward and asked, “Um, how exactly did I taste?”
I really needed to know the answer to this. I’ve written this scene a hundred times, the one where the hero talks about a woman tasting sweet like honey, and I had to know if it was true.
Dallas’ eyes seemed to turn from a rich honey to a darker amber color, and the air around us hummed with energy as he stared back at me. My heart started beating rapidly when he leaned forward, so only I could hear, and whispered, “Like apple pie and sex.”
“Really?” I whispered back as my gaze moved to his lips, wondering if he would ever kiss me again.
“Nicola.”
“Yeah?” I answered as I thought about nipping his lower lip, then sucking it into my mouth.
“If you don’t stop starin’ at my lips I’m gonna haul you out of that chair and kiss you until your legs give out. Then I’ll carry you to my car and everyone in this place will know exactly what we’re doin’.”
“Does that really happen?” I breathed out as my eyes shot to his.
Clearly, something about this guy brought out my inner hussy since the thought of sex in his car wasn’t exactly the deterrent he thought it was. I was honestly considering testing the truthfulness of his statement.
“Does what really happen?”
“Being kissed so thoroughly your legs go weak.”
“Babe,” was his only reply, as if I’d insulted his ability to kiss me senseless.
“Oh, wow.” I sighed.
His response . . . “You better fuckin’ believe it!”
Nine
Have you ever watched a movie or a TV show where the bad guy got away by running down a crowded street, and the people just watched him run past and they did nothing? In addition, the whole time you thought, “I would so stick my foot out” which would trip the criminal and he’d crash to the ground, giving the cop enough time to nab the bad guy . . .
I used a door.
Picture it . . .
After a delicious lunch, the golden-eyed warlord guided the fair-haired maiden to his car. But not by hand this time. Nay, he’d thrown his arm around her shoulder after her old friend, and owner of the restaurant, came forward for a hello hug. She introduced the warlord to her most handsome friend, who, by the way, was married, and hid a smile when he seemed to grow taller and wider as he shook the man’s hand. She’d bit her lip to keep from smiling when a possessive arm was slung across her shoulders, and felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of his jealousy. After the introductions, he guided her to his car, never once removing his arm. It was then she was sure he would kiss her and she was right. He backed her into the door, placing both hands on the roof, boxing her in. She then watched as his eyes grew heavy as he gazed upon her countenance, and mentally shouted at the warlord to kiss her already. Finally, his tongue swept across his lips as he lowered his head, bit, by agonizing bit. Just as his lips brushed gently across her own, and a pleasant warmth rushed to her loins, the crackle of his police radio broke the magical spell. You see, a murder suspect had just been spotted, one that the warlord had been hunting for his dastardly deed. So, they jumped into his car to catch the man.
He lectured the fair-haired maiden the whole way about how she was to remain in the car until help arrived. She, of course, listened, for she wasn’t a stupid bubbleheaded Miss. That is until an evil looking man came running down the street with his eyes bugged out like he was running from a ghost. He, of course, was being chased by the warlord who was at least a half a block behind him. So, she reacted. The evil doer was headed straight for her, and naturally, after watching so many criminals get away without intervention on TV, she grabbed the handle of her door and used it to stop him in his tracks. Down he went when his face collided with the window and out she jumped shouting, “You have the right to be a douche bag. Anything you say, can, and will be used against you, ‘cause you’re a douche bag.” This is when the warlord arrived, hauled the s
tunned bad guy off the ground, cuffed him, and then turned to the fair-haired maiden and breathed fire like the devil himself.
“I told you to stay in the fuckin’ car,” Dallas roared as he threw the bad guy on the hood of his car.
“He was gonna get away,” I defended.
“He was on foot and I was in pursuit. He had nowhere to go and backup was one minute out,” he growled.
“Oh . . . Well, carry on then,” I replied.
Normally, I don’t take kindly to being yelled at, but he was beyond pissed at that moment so I let it go. He was also amused. I could tell that as well. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but every so often, his lips would twitch when he scowled at me. That being said, and considering he was wrestling with a criminal who was kicking out with his legs, trying to break free, I decided to give him one less thing to worry about and got my ass in the car until the cavalry arrived.
Three patrol cars came to a screeching halt with sirens blaring, as if the suspect hadn’t already been apprehended by, well, me. I watched Dallas shove him into the back of one, then turn to the three officers smiling. There was a discussion of sorts and several grinned, looking my direction. Eventually, Dallas was surrounded by five more policemen, and I could hear laughing. Not long after, the officer who was driving the suspect downtown turned and saluted me right before he got into his car. I smiled, and waved back, but when I looked toward Dallas, he shook his head and scowled.
Guess he wasn’t done being pissed.
Five minutes later, he climbed in the car and off we went back to the station. Dallas drove with his head braced in his left hand that was supported by the door. He kept rubbing his forehead, deep in thought it seemed, then he’d look at me and glared.
I liked him, a lot, but he’d better learn quickly I’m a doer not a watcher. I get involved when something goes wrong and I won’t apologize for it. Therefore, instead of apologizing, which I’m sure he was waiting for me to do, I just smiled.
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or put you over my knee,” he finally replied with a sigh.
