He shook his head. “Not a good subject, Goldilocks. Give the guy a break and leave it alone. Better yet, leave him alone, too.” His voice softened. “Before it goes too far. You’re a good cop, but honey, guys like us are bad news for women like you.” He raised his cup. “Thanks for the coffee. Now be a good girl, go home and get some sleep. You’ve got a rapist to catch.”
Celeste shook her head.
Stryker easily read the emotions crossing her face. “Oh, man,” he groaned. “You’re hooked on the guy. It’s the case that’s doing it to you. Once this case is over you’ll go on with your perfect life and you’ll be grateful you didn’t make any mistakes like sleeping with the guy.”
She acted coy. “Who says I haven’t?”
Stryker shot her a telling look. “Honey, trust me, if you’d been between the sheets with Luc, I’d know it. You don’t want that.” His voice softened a fraction. “You’d only end up hurt. Listen to Uncle Jared. Luc won’t thank you for looking into his past. Do your job. If you want to obsess, obsess about your case. Not a man who isn’t worth your time.”
Celeste shook her head. “Then I’d say this time good ole Uncle Jared is wrong. And I think that’s part of the problem with Luc. No one ever thought he was worth their time—and he most definitely is.”
He didn’t bother putting on any lights when he got home. He knew every inch of the place. Besides, he was blessed with excellent night vision.
He prided himself at never drinking alcohol at work.
Home was a different matter.
He splashed whiskey in a glass and downed the contents in one gulp. It burned a fiery trail down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach. A second drink soon followed.
Carrying a glass that was filled with yet a third drink, Luc walked into the family room and settled in a chair. He stretched his legs out in front of him and morosely stared at the window.
It had started to rain again. He watched rivulets trail down the glass, glittering from the streetlight just outside the building. A faint hum indicated the furnace had just kicked in. Warm air blew gently against the back of his neck.
He had everything he hadn’t had as a kid. He owned a nice apartment with even nicer furniture. He put on quality clothing every day. Ate good food so he never grew hungry. He had money in the bank so he never had to worry from day to day. If he wanted company there were women who would be only too happy to help him keep his bleak loneliness at bay.
So why was he sitting here alone in the dark thinking about a blond detective whose smile lit up his world? Who kissed him as if there were no tomorrow? With her in his arms, he knew he would die a happy man.
The whole situation was ridiculous. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman who came with a practically blue-blooded pedigree, while he had no idea who his father was. She was a woman who spelled long-term in big block letters. Celeste Bradshaw wasn’t dangerous because she carried a gun. She was dangerous because she touched something that he’d hidden deep inside him.
His peace of mind was gone because of her. He didn’t sleep well, because sleeping meant dreaming about her. Wishing she was lying in his bed. Wishing she was touching him the way he wanted to touch her. Wishing for a future he knew he could never have.
He feared if she remained working undercover at Dante’s Cafe for too much longer, she would prove even more dangerous to his soul than she already was to his senses.
She hadn’t backed down when he’d told her he was a son of a bitch. But then, she had no idea just how accurate his statement was.
Chapter 10
C eleste entered the station with the determination of a woman on a mission, and woe to anyone who dared stop her. As she walked in, Stryker was on his way out. He glanced at her and shook his head.
“Did anything I said last night sink in?” he asked.
“Yes. I now know bribing you with coffee does me absolutely no good.” She slapped the door with the flat of her hand and sailed on past him.
“Maybe the two of you do deserve each other,” he called after her. “You’re both too stubborn to listen to the voice of reason.”
“Tell you what, when the voice of reason shows up, I’ll listen,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Dylan was talking on the phone when Celeste dropped into her desk chair. He glanced up and nodded at her.
“That was an extremely expensive cactus,” he said. “What you did could have killed it.” He listened. “I was only told to pay you one hundred dollars a month alimony. It was never stated just how that payment was to be made. I’ve gotta go.” He hung up.
“They say women never get off the phone, yet every time I come in here, I find a guy on the phone, not a woman,” Celeste said, leafing through her messages.
“Your mother called twice,” Dylan said. “She said you’re due for the family dinner and you can even bring me along. She’s afraid I’m not eating right. She also asked if you’re making sure your gun isn’t loaded when you go out. I explained to her that it’s loaded but you’re very careful with it. You know, I love Marina, but you need to sit her down and explain to her that the way we work isn’t like the Humphrey Bogart and Edward G. Robinson movies on cable.”
She glanced at the jelly doughnut on his desk. “Good thing she doesn’t have video phone or she’d be lecturing you on processed sugar, saturated fats and high cholesterol. As for her take on cops, she’s a big fan of NYPD Blue and Law & Order.” She tossed her messages on her desk. “What time is Barbara Miller expecting us?”
“Eleven. We’re meeting her at her studio. I also called Lauren Davis since her shop is in the neighborhood. She was really hesitant about us coming by. She’s not too eager to see us, so I had to do some persuading. She’s pretty upset after hearing about Lori Ritter. She’s afraid if she talks to us again, he might come back and kill her. I explained that Lori’s death was due to her aggravated medical condition. That he didn’t purposely kill her, even if he’s responsible for her death. That’s why I pushed for a meeting today. I was afraid she’d back out if she has too much time to think about it.”
“I don’t blame her. If it were me, I’d be scared, too,” she admitted. “It’s bad enough to worry about being attacked in your home, but to think you could die as a result is frightening. This guy hasn’t been violent and that’s a plus. Now the crimes have been taken to a whole new level. You need to think about this from her perspective. Get in touch with your feminine side,” she advised.
“Since you’d be much better at it, I’ll leave that up to you.”
Celeste picked up one of the message slips. “They set a court date on the Grant case?” She mentioned a child-abuse case she and Dylan had investigated. Firefighters going out to a house fire had discovered an eight-year-old girl and ten-year-old boy locked in a bedroom while their parents were at work.
Dylan nodded. “D.A.’s office says the kids were placed in their maternal grandparents’ custody and going to weekly counseling.”
She nodded. “At least something good will come out of it. Nothing else on the Ritter apartment?”
Dylan shook his head. “So far, nothing new.”
Celeste looked around. “Where’s the boss?”
“Lieu’s in court. Some old case of his is up for appeal.” Dylan picked up three pink rubber balls and began juggling. “He was stomping around here earlier. Asked where you were.”
Celeste felt instant guilt. She never overslept, but after her late-night visit to the station, then keeping watch out her bedroom window for a few hours after she returned to her apartment, she hadn’t gotten much sleep. When she got in, she’d glanced out the window and noticed a shadow across the street again. It was eerily similar to the one she’d seen before. She’d stayed up looking out the window until she dozed off. When she awoke later, she found the shadowy figure gone. She’d gone to bed after that, sure she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, but she was so exhausted that she fell asleep almost immediately and slept through her alarm. She’d
raced through getting ready and skipped breakfast so she wouldn’t be late getting into the station. At the moment she craved coffee more than life itself.
“No one else is as lucky with the Full Moon Pool as you are, Bradshaw,” one of the detectives called out. “You splitting the winnings with Siegfried?”
“If I did, Langdon, he’d come in here wearing clothes,” she told him. “On behalf of the women’s shelter I’d like to thank all of you for choosing the wrong time.”
“What would we do without ole Siegfried for entertainment?” Dylan mused.
“Look for someone else who’s convinced they were bitten by a werewolf?”
“I didn’t realize our esteemed police department hunted down werewolves, too.”
Celeste spun around so fast she almost fell out of her chair.
“What are you doing here?”
Luc looked devastating in black jeans and a black polo shirt topped by a black jacket. What also caught her attention were the two coffee cups he carried.
“I come bearing gifts.” He set one in front of her. “I’ve noticed cops live on coffee, so this seemed to be the appropriate admission price.” He offered her the smile filled with charm she’d seen many times, except now there was something in his eyes that she had only seen twice before. The two times he’d kissed her.
Maybe there was hope for the man after all.
“Definitely.” She grasped the cup almost lovingly.
He perched his hip on the edge of her desk. “And why are you hunting werewolves?”
“Just one. Siegfried,” she replied. “He’s become a monthly fixture.”
“About two years ago, Siegfried was bitten by a dog. He was convinced it was a werewolf,” Dylan explained. “Since then, he comes in here every month, the first night of the full moon, insisting he needs to be caged. Since he comes in stark naked, we accommodate his request. In the morning, someone drives him home.”
“I’m surprised you don’t call in the psychiatrists,” Luc said.
“He’s actually harmless,” Celeste explained. “I think he’s a lonely guy looking for attention. And he only howls a couple times during the night. We started up a pool on the time he’ll show up. It’s a dollar a guess.”
“Bradshaw’s won the past few months,” Dylan said. “But she does it for good,” he intoned. “She gives the money to the women’s shelter. Any month she doesn’t win, she guilts the winner into donating the winnings.”
“That’s why I’m not invited to the weekly poker games.” She finished her coffee, then fastened her greedy gaze on Luc’s cup. He handed it to her. She smiled her thanks. “Once again, what are you doing here?”
“What can you tell me about this case?”
“Nothing,” Dylan said, looking from one to the other.
“You’ve got to understand we can’t tell you any details of the case,” Celeste told him. She could feel the tightening in her stomach. After spending most of the night thinking about him, seeing the man in the flesh was almost more than she could handle. Judging from Dylan’s narrowed gaze, he was reading her mind.
“Even though it involves my restaurant?”
“Especially because it could involve it,” she said softly. She shot Dylan a warning look that he blithely ignored. She stood up and grasped Luc’s arm, pulling him off balance. “Let me walk you to your car.” She pushed and prodded him toward the door.
“I bring you coffee and you show me the door,” he protested.
She didn’t say a word until they reached the parking lot, and ignored the curious looks directed their way.
“You act like the coldest-hearted bastard in the state last night, then you show up this morning with coffee and smiles.” She kept her voice low, vibrating with fury, while her lips were stretched in a smile that equaled his in charm. “Did you think you could give me caffeine and I’d spill details? I don’t think so!”
Luc looked over her head and off into the distance.
“I remembered Lori Ritter,” he murmured. “She had a special diet. We always accommodated special food needs, but she was embarrassed at asking for no butter or cream sauces. She had a very sweet nature. She shouldn’t have died that way.”
“No one should die that way, Luc,” Celeste said.
“I want to do something, anything, but I feel powerless,” he admitted.
Celeste hadn’t expected his stark admission. She thought for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do and let you know tonight.”
His gaze roamed over her. A corner of his mouth curved upward. “Funny, you don’t dress like a cop.”
She looked down at her black tailored pants topped with a fine wool aquamarine turtleneck top, and matching wool and silk sweater jacket with an asymmetrical collar.
“This is Sierra Vista not San Francisco,” she said dryly. “The mayor doesn’t like the cops looking like cops. We’re supposed to blend into the background.”
“Honey, I don’t think, even in uniform, that you blend in anywhere.”
“Does anyone at the cafe know what I really do?”
He nodded. “I concede. You can blend when you want to.”
She felt the hum of danger in her blood. She toyed with the idea of tweaking the dragon’s tail, so to speak.
“So I can do anything I want?” she asked softly, moving closer to him. She inhaled the clean scent of soap and man.
“Bradshaw, phone for you!” Dylan stood just inside the front door.
Celeste waved over her head to show she heard him.
“I will see what I can do,” she promised, backing away.
“Tell me something. Why didn’t you and Parker ever become an item?”
“Who says we haven’t?”
“I’ve seen the two of you together,” he stated, as if that said it all.
She inclined her head to concede his point. “He never made my blood sing,” she said simply.
Luc looked away, then swung his gaze back to her. “What happens when you’re with me?”
Celeste’s smile was pure sunshine. “Let’s just say when I’m around you my blood belts out the Hallelujah Chorus.” She blew him a kiss. “Now I have to go before Parker gets cranky.”
Celeste ran back toward the building, aware of Luc’s dark gaze on her every step of the way.
“Seems you called a Harry Kramer in Juvenile?” Dylan commented.
She mentally cursed. “That’s who’s on the phone?”
“Yep. Now, why would you be calling a retired juvenile officer?”
Celeste continued walking to her desk. She picked up her phone and punched in the button that blinked. “Detective Bradshaw,” she said crisply.
“Bradshaw, this is Kramer. Now, why the hell are you disturbing my retirement to ask me about that old son of a bitch Luc Dante?”
I am a son of a bitch.
“You realize his juvenile record’s sealed,” the man went on. “Whatever he did as a kid can’t be brought up again.”
She pulled her thoughts back. “Yes, I realize that. Actually, I’m only trying to find out about the man himself. Not his record.” She could hear a faint wheeze on the line.
“Why?”
She glared at Dylan, who was openly listening in on the conversation. He merely settled back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his flat stomach.
“Some things have come up in a case I’m investigating in which Mr. Dante is involved. Not as a suspect, but as a consultant. I’m trying to get a handle on the man himself and I thought finding out something about his past would help,” she said. “Naturally, with his juvenile record sealed, my best bet is to speak to anyone who dealt with him back then. I understand you worked that division at the time.”
Harry Kramer barked out a laugh. “Okay, honey, in a nutshell, Luc Dante was the kid from hell who knew how to charm a penny out of a miser. I wouldn’t have given you a plugged nickel for that little bastard. I kept telling him he’d end up dead or in prison. There’s more than one unsolved cri
me from years ago that I’m convinced he was behind. Now the mayor’s calling him by name and acting as if Dante grew up normal. Trust me, honey, he didn’t. He was no good then and he’s no good now, no matter how much he pretends to be a so-called businessman. Him and his friends are nothing more than street rats all grown up. I’d still like to see them in a cell where they belong.”
She felt a chill inside. If this was what Luc had heard as a boy, no wonder he didn’t like cops.
“As I said, he’s not a suspect in this case. In fact, he’s been instrumental in assisting us,” she explained.
“The only one he assists is his own self,” he said flatly. “I get the picture now. Honey, you’re not the first broad he’s humped and dumped and you won’t be the last. Do yourself a favor and move on.” He hung up.
“Harry Kramer worked Juvie for almost thirty years. A real hard-ass, too.” Dylan leaned toward her to whisper, “So why are you calling him about Luc Dante?”
“Maybe I want to know about the man we’re working with,” she replied. She glanced at her watch. It was still much too early to go to see Barbara Miller. “He told me that Lori Ritter had been at the restaurant not all that long before the rape.”
Dylan pushed aside papers until he found his notebook. “Did he give an exact date when she was there?”
“He didn’t say.” Celeste paused. “He wants to be involved with the case.”
Dylan’s head whipped back and forth. “No, no, no. There is no way we can allow that. You didn’t tell him yes, did you?”
“Give me credit, Parker,” she snapped.
“I’m beginning to wonder. He shows up with coffee for you. You’re trying to find out about his juvenile record. Come on, Leste, what’s going on?” he asked.
“What do you think is going on? I’m trying to solve a case that’s barely given us a break!” she snapped. The last thing she wanted was for him to figure out her feelings for Luc. “If you’d concentrate more on your work and less on interrogating me, maybe we’d get somewhere.”
Dylan reared back. “Fine.” He returned to his desk and dropped into the chair.
Roses After Midnight Page 14
