He took her hand in his own. His long, slender fingers wrapped warmly around hers. "Peter Swanson."
Their hands remained pressed together several seconds longer than they should, and Erica was again captivated by him. She finally had a name to go with the image of him. Peter Swanson. A flicker of energy passed through their palms, and their eyes connected once again. It was a look full of meaning, proving that neither went unaffected by the touch.
Peter blinked quickly and was the first to pull away. "Well, I should really be getting back. Thanks for the coffee," he saluted with his cup. "Take care of that hand."
"Thank you. I will." She watched him leave and had to shake her head, to clear the fog his mere presence had elicited in her mind. Her heart was still racing, and she felt the flush in her face spread to her chest. And she knew the rise of temperature had nothing to do with the burning in her hand. What was that? When had eye contact or a simple handshake with a good-looking guy ever affected her so? Sure, she dated plenty of guys in the last couple of years, but this feeling – this feeling of complete and utter bewilderment was new and foreign to her.
Erica busied her shaking hands by tightening the scarf around her hair, straightening her apron, wiping the counter, anything to keep them moving so no one would notice their tremble. She caught Azura watching her carefully, an amused expression on her face. "What?"
"What was that?" Azura giggled. Her dark blue eyes twinkled with amusement. She echoed the very question Erica had asked herself.
"What are you talking about?" Erica feigned ignorance under her friend's scrutiny.
Azura laughed, shaking her head, her blond ponytail waving with the movement. "That guy," she started, pointing at the door he’d just left. Her mouth opened and her eyes gleamed with realization. "Is that the guy from yesterday? Juliana told me about him. He was definitely cuter than I pictured though," she mused, while attending to pouring out older coffee and filling the empty carafes with a fresh brew.
“Forget it,” Erica told her.
"I think he was definitely crushing on you though,” she told Erica, with a quick look over her shoulder. “You know I've got a sixth sense about these things. And don’t think for a second that I couldn’t feel the lightning bolts coming from you guys when you shook his hand. How is your hand, by the way?" she asked with concern.
"Oh, it's fine. We've both been at this long enough to know that pouring a little bit of coffee on yourself is no big deal," she laughed, waving a hand, dismissively.
"Yeah, between coffee burns and calluses from my guitar, I've got no nerve endings left.” Azura held up her hands and wiggled her fingers with a smile. “Hello, hands of leather over here."
"Exactly. Nobody cares when you burn yourself,” Erica laughed at the common joke shared amongst the three of them who worked at Brewed Moon. She looked at her own nicked and scarred digits. Being a barista was generally a pretty fun job, but it was definitely hard on the hands, as the marks she wore on hers would attest. She looked at Azura with interest, and her thoughts turned back to Peter Swanson. “And what do you mean, he was crushing on me?"
"It was so obvious, just by the way he looked at you. You didn’t see it?” Azura asked her, surprised. “You’re normally more observant than that. And I might add, he was sending out some real sexy vibes in your direction." She smiled, leaning in. "He was so quick to check on you. He's got that real protective instinct, did you notice?” Azura continued, lecturing on as if she were a lawyer, presenting her closing arguments in a courtroom and not a barista-cum-musician discussing a member of the opposite sex. “Not to mention your atypical reaction to him. You spilled coffee all over yourself just because he looked at you, for God’s sake," she went on emphatically. "Nice guy, too,” she concluded, nodding. “Good tipper. Not too bad to look at, either."
Erica kept her eyes on the door, as if she could still see him in his old jeans and leather jacket, just outside, and thought about the moment her hand and eyes connected with his. Her pulse started to race at the memory. "Yeah, he was pretty cute, wasn’t he?” Understatement of the century. More like dangerous, sexy, gorgeous, mouthwatering… Erica ran through all of the synonyms that fit Peter Swanson better than just “cute.” Maybe this man was just the little taste of adventure that she was looking for.
Azura’s voice broke through Erica’s daydream about Peter. “Are you meeting us tonight after your class?”
“Yeah, I should be done at around eight-thirty. I’ll meet you guys there,” she said, referring to their weekly date for cocktails at a downtown bar. Erica, Azura, and Juliana always tried to get together whenever their busy schedules would allow. It wasn’t always easy to manage, but their girls’ nights were so important to them.
“Sounds good. I’m closing here tonight. I might see if Jules will let me shut ‘er down a little bit early though.”
Erica laughed. “We are actually the worst employees. She should really hire some better people to work here.”
Peter walked back to his car. His thoughts were of Erica, and to say that this morning’s trip to Brewed Moon had been interesting would definitely be an understatement. He hadn’t seen Dylan O’Connell, but fuck, he very well could have been naked and tap-dancing on a table for all that Peter had noticed on the scouting trip. He knew that that was already a dangerous sign. The minute that he had walked in and saw Erica, she was the only thing that interested him. Just seeing her behind the counter had made him completely forget about the task at hand.
Then she’d gone and burned herself with the coffee that still sat hot on his tongue, and like an idiot he’d reached out and touched her. Held her hand. Felt her soft skin under his. The burn must have hurt like a bitch, but she’d just shrugged it off. He admired a strong woman, with a strong mind, and it seemed like she had strength to spare, especially when coupled with devilish red hair and curves that drove him to distraction.
He started his car and pulled away from the curb. Yup. He wanted her. There was no way he could deny that, but there is officially nothing that he could do about it. No way that he would ever be able to kiss her red lips, run his hands over her curves, thread her long, red hair through his fingers, feel her legs wrap around his hips…
Woah! Peter had to slam on his brakes to narrowly avoid ramming into the back of the car in front of him at the red light. A near-miss, of course, but he should have been more careful. He’d been trained to be more careful.
No matter the things he wanted to do with – and to - Erica, Peter forced himself to agree that she was completely, one hundred percent off-limits. As far as I know, she is a part of Dylan O’Connell’s organization. There was no way that he could let his feelings get in the way of an investigation ever again. He put down his coffee cup to rub the sharp pain in his chest that came about whenever when he remembered how that went the last time…
Keeping is eyes on the road, he took another sip of his coffee, and it was just as delicious as last time.
Great body.
This coffee has a great body.
Erica Hardin has a great body.
Stop it!
He finally arrived at the precinct, thankful that he was no longer an easily-distracted menace on the road, and found his way into the war room. He consulted his watch. 3 pm. He and the rest of the team had been up too late the night before doing surveillance on some Irish mafia lieutenants; the end result of which had been a big fat nothing.
He knew that this would be another late night, but tonight the plan was to tail the women of Brewed Moon. Mitch had been skeptical at first, but with their leads quickly drying up, they were left with no other choice. Maybe something would come of a night of watching three beautiful women, maybe they would lead them right to some dastardly deeds being committed by the O’Connell’s, maybe they would learn that the café is a revenue stream under the umbrella of the mafia. But then again, maybe not.
The plan was simple, the team would be splitting up: Mitch would tail Juliana, Steve had
Azura, and Peter had insisted he follow Erica, all the while Joe would keep an eye on the area around the café to monitor any unusual activity, stay connected to their recording devices and provide backup in case any of them ran into trouble.
Sitting at his desk, Peter once again pulled the file they had on Dylan O’Connell. He had gone over this file dozens of times, and memorized most of the information they’d been able to collect on him. He stared into the snake eyes of the mugshot he held in his fingers and he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk ocean-chilled wind that he could hear wracking against the building.
Dylan O’Connell’s story began when he was just thirteen, when after the deaths of their parents in an auto accident, he and his younger brother, Colin made the trip across the ocean from Ireland to Newfoundland to live with their aunt. Only a year later, the aunt was also dead, from a propane leak and subsequent explosion in her home.
The O’Connell brothers were then returned to Ireland, and were not heard from for several years. At least not until they began to form connections to a high-level Irish mob family. Peter’s eyes roamed over several arrest records dating back to the 1980s when the brothers were arrested on mostly petty charges – theft, mischief, vandalism, and uttering threats. Then the arrests stopped, indicating that they were not committing the crimes for which mob foot soldiers were often arrested; those tasks were often delegated to the bottom rung of any organization. The next time anyone had heard of them, years later, Dylan had returned to Newfoundland and began making waves in St. John’s as the area’s new head honcho, while his brothers stayed in Ireland and climbed the ranks on their own side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Curious, Peter thought, that at the time, no one had found a connection between the deaths of their parents in Ireland and that of their aunt in Newfoundland. He strongly believed that if they looked hard enough he could tie them and put O’Connell in jail for the three counts of murder.
But by the time Peter and the team were done with him, those murder charges would only be a drop in the bucket of what they would put him away for. The man in the mugshot with the light, thinning hair and the cold, unremorseful eyes was responsible for violence and misery, peddling drugs and skin on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. O’Connell had no problem with killing or maiming anyone who dare get in his way of dominating the underworld of organized crime.
Which was a problem, because besides being a criminal mastermind, he was also quite good at covering his tracks. While every law enforcement agent from Dublin to St. John’s knew the man was a snake, guilty of more heinous acts than can be named, he looked squeaky clean on paper, and he kept a formidable team of lawyers on retainer who were able to argue away any charge that had been brought against him.
O’Connell was also quite an entrepreneur, who was lauded by the business community for his many successes, and charitable donations. He owned many legitimate businesses, but Peter knew they were only a way for him to launder money and to shield and support his illegal ventures.
Peter furrowed his eyebrows. Dylan O’Connell didn’t own any coffee shops though. Based on Steve’s research, Brewed Moon was on the books as belonging to Juliana Lark. But why, with so many coffee shops situated between downtown St. John’s and any of O’Connell’s known properties, did he select Brewed Moon? Coincidence? Would he frequent a shop just because he owned the building? Maybe he’d had business with Juliana that morning, and he’d stayed for a coffee. Somehow, Peter didn’t think so. Where did the café fit into any of this? Did it at all?
Peter prepared for the night’s surveillance in the same way he would for any other case. He checked and rechecked his equipment, reviewed his files, and cleaned his gun, and made sure it was in working order - not that he intended to use it. He was only tailing a woman. But this woman… he trailed off as he looked at the picture that he had printed from the DMV database. The one he had pinned to a small cork board which was near his desk. In it, her long, red hair was down but pushed behind her shoulders. It was a shame that she had to keep her hair tied back at work. It looked so soft and thick. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run his fingers through it, brush it from her shoulders, or wrap it around his fist while she kneeled before him…
Goddammit, focus man!
Peter widened his eyes, and exhaled. He wasn’t sure what had brought on that last image, but he knew for certain that he needed to pull himself together and get his head back in the game. He had a job to do. But as much as he tried to tell himself that the night ahead of him would be a regular night of surveillance, he knew in his heart that it would be anything but ordinary.
Chapter 3
Peter sat in his car, outside of the dance studio where Erica had spent the past several hours. He impatiently drummed on the steering wheel with his thumbs as he waited for her to emerge. He shifted uncomfortably. The transmission wire and recording device that he wore in the waistband of his jeans dug slightly into his skin.
“Got anything, Peter?” Mitch’s voice came through the ear piece that he was wearing. Each of the four men were each connected with a transmission system which allowed them to communicate discreetly and unencumbered. The ear piece was small and fit snugly inside Peter’s ear, and was nearly invisible.
“Nothing so far,” he responded. “She’s still in the dance studio, unless she used one of the fire exits in the back and escaped through the alley, which isn’t too likely, How about you? Have anything?”
Mitch sighed. “No. Juliana went up to her apartment after she left work, and she hasn’t come out, and nobody’s gone in. Looks like the place is dark. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in bed.”
“She’s a real wild child, eh?” Peter laughed.
It was Mitch’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, apparently. I do know that this is turning out to be the easiest stake-out of my career.”
“Steve, What about the blond?” Peter asked Steve, hoping he had some information.
Steve’s voice came over the radio. “Nothing so far. She just closed up the café. And I haven’t seen anything from the Irish since I’ve been here. Oh, wait, she’s leaving right now. She’s walking west. I’m going to follow her on foot.”
Peter put down the receiver and continued to watch the door of the studio. When it opened, he leaned closer and watched Erica emerge from the building. It felt like he had already memorized her body and the way she moved, like he could pick her out in a crowd of thousands. She looked incredible - flushed, tired, but rejuvenated. In a low-cut black dress. She had obviously had some kind of work out and he was curious about the type of dance she was interested in.
She held the door for another woman and they said their goodbyes. But when Erica turned to walk down the street, she looked directly at his car. He saw her tilt her head to the side, as if trying to make out who was behind the wheel. His car was parked, across the street, a little further down, but it sure as hell felt like she was looking right at him. Oh shit! Peter sat lower in his seat, and pulled the brim of his baseball hat lower over his sunglasses. He’d worked undercover for years, and had never been found out. If he’d been made by a barista, he would never hear the end of it.
“I’ve got Erica,” Peter told his team, as Erica turned away from him and started down the street. “She just left the studio. She’s walking too.”
“And here we go,” Mitch’s voice filled the interior of Peter’s car. “Juliana’s leaving too. I guess she might be a wild child after all.”
“What’s your twenty?” Peter asked, wondering where his team members were.
“Juliana just got in her car. Heading west, toward downtown.”
“I’m downtown too,” Peter confirmed. “Heading westward, she just turned up on Duckworth Street. I’m going on foot, too.” He jogged across the street and his quick gait easily caught up with Erica. He could still see her, even though he hung back. He watched Erica until she stopped outside of a lounge called Magnum & Steins. Peter had been there before. She opened the d
oor, but didn’t go inside. Peter watched her face completely light up with a smile and she waved. Looking further up the street, he saw Azura wave back and pick up her pace until she was almost running. But past Azura he saw Steve approaching quickly, although completely unbeknownst to either of the women at the moment.
“Steve,” Peter cautioned.
“What?” Replied his teammate, still following Azura.
“I can see you. Looks like the girls are meeting here. Hold back in case they change directions.”
“Copy that.”
“I can see you too,” Mitch piped in, and before Peter could look around he saw Juliana join the women at the door of the lounge and head inside.
Peter saw Mitch’s car. Peter pulled open the passenger side door of his car and got in. Steve walked past the club where the women were had gone, and came to the car as well. He sat in the back.
“Now what?” Steve asked them.
“Where are you guys?” Joe asked through the communication system. “I’m watching the monitor and all of your beacons are showing up in the same four foot area. What’s the deal? Did it glitch out?”
“No, it’s working properly,” Mitch assured Joe. “We’re outside of Magnum & Steins on Duckworth. The girls were all meeting each other and they just went inside. We’re in my car, devising a new plan.”
“So, we go in right?” Peter asked. “Get a table, go undercover out in the open?”
Mitch watched the door, they’d gone in. “I don’t know.”
“How do we know what’s going on in there?” Steve reasoned. “Or if they’re meeting anyone else?”
“The man raises some interesting questions,” Peter’s grin earned him a derisive look from Mitch, but Peter ignored him. He looked back at Steve, and laughed. “Hey Joe,” he said to their teammate over the radio. “You’d better get over here. It looks like we’re going clubbing.”
Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1) Page 3
