Dirty Blue

by N. E. Henderson

  The mayor chuckles. “I hope you both enjoy the rest of your evening. And Robert, please feel free to drop some of that money I know you hoard away on something tonight. After all”—he smiles, cutting his eyes over at me—“you have a beautiful daughter here to spend it on and it is a charity after all.”

  “Some of us don’t get rich by blowing it all away.”

  “It was good meeting you, sir,” I tell the mayor as my father pulls me away. He nods before another man walks up, gaining his attention.

  The charity event this year is nestled in the grand ballroom at The Elliott, in Beverly Hills. The mayor has outdone himself this year. It’s never been held somewhere so luxurious in the past years’ events. And with the turnout here tonight it ought to pay off for him I suppose.

  My eight-hundred-dollar dress my father bought looks cheap compared to other women that I watch milling around as I’m escorted to a small round table only feet away from the dance floor. Being closer to music, it’s louder, which I take note of as I sit down.

  “Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?”

  Pleasantries coming from him has my defense mechanisms on full alert. Robert Andrews doesn’t do nice. It’s obvious he’s up to something, but what?

  “I’ll get something in a minute.” I place my hands and forearms on the white linen table, stretching them out toward him. “So, why did you invite me tonight?” That question has been plaguing me since my father asked me to go to this event with him. And I’m curious about his sudden change in tune when he referenced my career to the mayor.

  “Can’t an old man just enjoy the company of his only daughter?”

  I catch my bottom lip, trapping it between my teeth right before a laugh bubbles out.

  “Sure.” I lean back against the chair. “If said father actually liked said daughter.”

  His lips turn down.

  “Goddammit, I love you. How could you ever think I don’t?”

  “I said like, not love. I know you love me, Dad. I’ve never questioned that. But like . . .” I trail off.

  “Why does there have to be so much tension between me and my children?”

  “Because you want to run our lives?” I offer up.

  “Brianna, that’s the last thing I want to do. Whatever gave you that impression?”

  “You hate Alana for one. You wish I weren’t a cop for two.”

  “I don’t hate her. She simply isn’t the right woman for your brother.”

  I have to bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to keep myself from lashing out at him. Jackson and Alana are perfect. They’re high school sweethearts that fell in love at a young age, and through everything—shitty parents, having two kids while they were still in college, stressful and demanding careers, and then a third kid unexpectedly—they’ve made their marriage work and love last. How dare he say she isn’t the right woman for Jackson. She’s the only woman good enough for him.

  “She’s the mother of your three grandchildren. They’ve been together for over twenty years. C’mon, Dad, get over whatever it is you have against her.”

  “If Jackson hadn’t knocked her up in the fir—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I say with venom behind my words.

  “My intent is not to piss you off tonight.”

  “Then what is your intent?”

  “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Alarm bells start going off. “I’m sure he’s already here. I texted him while you were in the restroom earlier to stop by our table.”

  “Is that a joke?” I say, flatly.

  “Why would that be a joke?”

  I shake my head. It’s all I can do not to stand and walk out of here. Taking a cab back to my condo isn’t an expense I can afford. I’m at dear ol’ dad’s mercy tonight, but if he thinks I’m going to be set up or introduced to a man, or whatever, he has another thing coming. I’ll call someone if I have to. Connie is on call this week, but Mike will come get me if I need him to.

  “That’s the reason you asked me to accompany you tonight?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “Alana is all wrong for Jackson, but you have the perfect man picked out for me. Gee, Dad, what were you saying about not wanting to run your kids’ lives?”

  “Is it so damn wrong of me to want a better life for you than you currently have? To want you taken care of?”

  Does he not know me? He does; he just doesn’t give a shit about what I want. Everything has always been about him.

  “I don’t need to be taken care of, Dad. I can put any man in this room on their ass in seconds. And as far as my life goes . . . it’s pretty good. I like my job. You don’t have to like it; I do.”

  “That’s your problem; you want to be the one wearing the pants. You’ll never have a solid relationship with that way of thinking.”

  “Dad, I can get laid just fine.” I laugh internally at the expression forming on his face. “I don’t need your help. But thanks.”

  “Brianna Claire!” he huffs. “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”

  “Nice language.”

  “Well, then don’t say something that’s going to make me lose my shit.”

  “You deserved it for bringing me here under false pretenses.”

  “I did want to spend time with you. We live in the same city and I see Jackson more than I see you.”

  “Can you take me home now since you only wanted to pawn me off on some entitled prick with a bank account you approve of?” I question, feeling a pang of guilt, knowing he’s right. I never make an effort to see him. In fact, I make more of an effort distancing myself from the man than I ought to. Regardless, he is my father; the only one I’ll ever have.

  “I can’t leave this early.” He looks around. “It would be rude.” His hand goes up, flagging down the waiter that’s passing by our table.

  I doubt the mayor or anyone else in his camp would even realize Robert Andrews had left. I should tell him that just to piss the old man off. He’s not as important as he likes to think he is.

  Contemplating just that dissipates at the feel of someone standing behind me. Places like this, where there are multiple entrances all over the room, gives the cop in me anxiety. There’s no place to sit where I’d be able to see all entry and exit points.

  The person is close—too close for my liking—and I’m hoping like hell it isn’t whatever schmuck my father had in mind for me tonight.

  “I didn’t realize police presence was needed at a charity fundraiser.” His voice alone causes goose bumps to pebble on my skin. He moves away from my ear just as quickly as he leaned down, electing a shiver out of me.

  If I hadn’t been looking right at my father when Drago whispered into my ear, I would have missed the icy look he gave him. “Robert,” Drago says, flatly.

  He knows my dad?

  “Why are you here, Acerbi?”

  Drago pulls out the empty chair next to me and proceeds to sit.

  “Same as you I suppose.” A waiter passes by and Drago waves him to stop. The waiter hands him a flute of champagne. Drago holds out his free hand and the waiter gives him a second flute, which he then places in front of me. After he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine, he says, “You look stunning.”

  “I didn’t take you for a champagne kind of man,” I reply and immediately regret my words. He tells me I’m beautiful and I criticize what he’s drinking. Smooth, real smooth, Bri.

  “It’s a champagne ball, I’m pretty limited in my choices, don’t you think?” He smiles, and it makes my pussy pulse. What in the hell is wrong with me? And how does he affect me like this every time I’m close to him? And with my father sitting across from us. That alone should gross me out.

  I shrug, not wanting to open my mouth in fear of what might fall out.

  I do not want to sleep with him again, I silently admit, knowing damn well that’s exactly what my vagina indeed does want. Traitor.

  My father’s cold voice pulls me out of my dirty, wron
g thoughts.

  “Why are you sitting at my table, Acerbi?” he asks. I turn my head to look across the table at my dad. His eyes have gone from icy to murderous.

  “Attempting to engage a beautiful woman in conversation, of course.” I don’t have to see Drago’s face to hear the smirk in his voice.

  “Not here you’re not.” My father lets out a strong huff of air that I feel across my face. Most people may be drinking champagne, but not him. I’ve never witnessed him drink anything but Scotch in all my life. I can remember the smell from when I was a small child. It’s not a particularly inviting smell I would consider enjoyable. Then again, most things associated with him aren’t enjoyable. “My daughter has no interest in your conversation.” I just barely keep my jaw from falling to the table. “Leave.”

  “Oh, I think she quite enjoys it, don’t you, Bri?” My head rolls to the side where I scowl at him. Egging on Robert Andrews isn’t wise for anyone. Not that I’ve ever taken my own advice, because that’s exactly what I tend to do with him myself.

  “Brianna,” my father barks. “Please tell me you of all people do not associate with the likes of an Acerbi?”

  “Dad, in my line of work I associate with all kinds of people. You have no idea.”

  My eyes never leave Drago’s. They can’t. Not because I don’t want to but because he’s captured them somehow. It’s almost as if they’re only meant for him—belong to him even.

  But that thought baffles me. I’m as independent as a woman gets. At least I thought I was.

  How can he make me question myself like this?

  “Ahem.” My father clears his throat rather loudly, successfully dissolving the spell.

  I turn my head, giving my father the attention he’s never deserved.

  I’m about to tell my father to butt out, to mind his own business, when Drago opens his mouth first. “Let’s dance, detective.”

  It’s not a question, but it doesn’t sound like an order either. Again, he baffles me. Isn’t he supposed to be the big bad werewolf? No—a dragon. That’s what he told me last weekend. And as cliché as it is, that is what his name means after all.

  I look right at my dad, into his eyes as I smile triumphantly, as I answer Drago, “I’d love to.”

  My father’s jaw locks, his eyes angry with me. But my champagne flute is plucked from my hands and placed on the table, and then my hand is in his and I’m pulled up from my seat.

  * * *

  I can see my dad from where we’re standing on the dance floor. His face is scowling, but his eyes . . . His eyes are filled with anger. Should I be alarmed?

  “I do believe my father does not like you, Mr. Acerbi.”

  “How about this, when you’re trying to nail me for a crime, you can call me Mr. Acerbi; when you’re off duty, it’s Drago. And yes, Robert hates me.” He laughs, seemingly unaffected by the notion.

  “You just became so much more appealing.” My smile is bigger than I should allow it. The last thing I should be doing right now is speaking to this man about anything other than the case—let alone be so close to him that I can smell the sweet champagne on his breath.

  “Daddy issues?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I just enjoy pissing him off.”

  His smirk turns wicked as he pulls me closer, my chest barely brushing the fabric of his tux. It’s everything I can do not to give away how much he affects me.

  “Sounds like daddy issues to me, Bri.”

  My name on his lips sends shivers down my back, and I’m not sure if they are good shivers or bad. I guess only time will tell—and how the evidence stacks. Evidence I haven’t gathered.

  Fuck me, this is so messed up. I need to stop this.

  Something in my eyes must tell him I’m about to pull away because he unexpectedly takes my hand and swings me away from him before pulling me flush against his chest. My body rushes, pulling in a quick intake of air at the contact I make with him. Heat floods my body, warming me up from the inside out.

  His body dips, closer to my level, as his palm runs over my collarbone electing tickles down my spine. Drago’s fingers wrap gently around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him.

  “Go ahead and tell me about those daddy issues.” Warmth forces its way into my ear like a caress I haven’t felt in God knows how long. His bottom lip skims my ear lobe before pulling back to look at me, that sexy smirk ever present.

  “No daddy issues, D.” Surprise flickers in his eyes, telling me I’ve caught him off guard using a nickname. I didn’t do it on purpose; it wasn’t planned. It just fell out naturally—too naturally for my liking. “He may be a crappy dad, somewhat, but he’s still my flesh and blood and I’d do just about anything for that man. Provided it was legal and morally just.”

  “Such a good girl.” He shakes his head, but there is approval there. I see it. “Legal and morally just,” he mocks.

  “So, why does my father hate you?”

  “I outbid him on two properties this year. I guess he wanted them really bad.”

  “That it?” I ask, confused. My father is in real estate, that sort of thing happens all the time. Well, I assume it does. It’s not like I pay attention to that sort of thing.

  “Robert doesn’t like to lose. To anyone,” Drago’s voice turns firm as if warning me.

  He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I; he simply pulls me to his chest and we dance embraced in each other’s arms.

  Time passes when my dad’s annoyed voice breaks my reverie.

  “Time to leave, Brianna.”

  Being lost in Drago’s arms isn’t something I can deny as being a bad thing. In fact, it feels good, great even. I don’t know the last time I could say that. I haven’t been on a date in I don’t know how long. When I do go out, it’s with Connie, and she’s pretty laid back; not much of a partier.

  Drago tightens his arm around my back and his hand on my hip digs in.

  “I’ll make sure she gets home, Robert.”

  I glance up, looking into Drago’s dark brown eyes. There is something dangerous locked inside them, but I don’t see evil. Not one little stain in his irises suggests he’s a bad man deep down. I can’t see him roughing up a woman like Miss Carlisle claimed he did. I don’t see him wanting to harm an innocent child either.

  There is something not right about her story. I know it. I feel it in my gut.

  My eyes slide over to my father. His jaw is locked, and his eyes are telling me to come even though he isn’t voicing it. He knows if he demands I leave with him now, I won’t go. But taking pity on him and myself, I decide that’s exactly what I need to do. Speaking to Drago outside of the case isn’t ethical on my part, and I did just spout off about legal and morals.

  “I’m going with my dad.” I step back. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I can’t help the small smile that forms on my face. Drago knows I’m referring to the case I’m working, but I’m certain my father thinks I have less than honorable intentions where it comes to the man in front of me. And if I’m honest with myself, I just might.

  “Goodnight, Bri,” is all Drago says before taking a step back, turning, and then walking away from us.

  He stops next to another man, placing his hand on the gentleman’s back, patting him. When the man turns, I see it’s his brother, Luca, also dressed to the nines.

  “C’mon,” my dad groans.

  “What happened to, I can’t leave, it’d be rude?”

  My head rolls to the side, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Instead, he starts walking away.

  Sighing, I follow until we reach the exit where I see my father’s Mercedes pulling up. I guess he’d already informed someone we were leaving.

  The valet exits the driver’s side, quickly rounding the car to open my door, but my father stops him by holding up his hand. Dad opens the door, holding it open for me to get in.

  Rubbing my arms, I step toward him.

  “Are you cold?” He starts t
o unbutton his tuxedo jacket.

  “No, Dad, I’m okay. Thanks though,” I tell him, knowing he was going to give it to me. It’s times like this that reminds me, he does actually love me, even if it’s not easy for him to show.

  After I’m seated and buckled, Dad takes off in the direction of my condo. Traffic is heavy through Beverly Hills at this hour. It’s late on a Thursday night, but it’s not that late. There are still people out and about that I watch from the window as he speeds down the road.

  He’s quiet. I thought for sure he’d have something to say about Drago, or at least the man he had planned on introducing me to. I might just have to thank Drago for thwarting his intentions.

  The silence makes the drive feel longer than it normally would. Eventually, he slows, coming to a stop at the curb. He never comes inside the rare times he comes here, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t make the effort tonight. I can’t exactly blame him for that; it’s not like I ever ask him if he’d like to come in.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Dad.”

  I open the door, sticking my leg out when he places a warm, gentle hand on my arm.

  “He’s a good man, Brianna.”

  “Drago?” I question, pulling back, thinking he can’t possibly be serious after the hostility I witnessed tonight.

  “No.” He scowls confirming I’m right. “Lucas, the man I wanted to introduce you to. He’s a surgeon at Huntington General. I only wanted you to meet him tonight. That was all.”

  “Dad,” I groan.

  “I’m not asking you to marry him.” He shakes his head, annoyed with me.

  “Yet.” I can’t help but let that word slip from my tongue. I pull in a long breath of air not wanting to get into an argument with him. He just needs to let this go; it’s not going to happen. Not tonight, not tomorrow, or ever. “’Night, Dad.”

  He releases me before I pull away. I step out and as I close the door, he says, “’Night, Bri. I love you.”

  “Love you too, old man,” I say, trying to lighten the strained mood that’s settled between us.