The Throwbacks

by Stephanie Queen

  “What has gotten into you?” He took her hand and pulled her to sit back down. Somehow, she ended up sitting on his lap. His thighs were hard under her soft rear end, and her breasts bumped up against the wall of his chest. She was instantly aware of a chemical reaction or electrical shock or something running through her system like she was supercharged and felt every nerve—and every last one of them was attuned to him.

  His face was close, his eyes lidded and glossy. She knew that look and smiled.

  “I’ll show you what’s got into me—this.” She took his face in her hands and smacked her lips onto his. She kissed him long and hard and wet and nibbled and sucked and tasted with the tip of her tongue running along the insides of his lips. That was when she heard a groan, and it was him. He pushed her back and separated his mouth from hers.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You see?” She had no idea what he was saying and didn’t much care. She stared at his mouth.

  “I see what has gotten into you,” he said and cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I understand completely how you feel.” He caressed her cheek, wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her in for another goose bump-raising kiss. The kiss raised all sorts of things. By the time he ended it, she could hardly catch her breath and clung to him, clutching the back of his head, slipping her fingers through his silky fine hair with one hand and clutching the solidness of his shoulder with the other. He was breathing heavy too.

  For a split second she was worried about his breathing. Was he all right? He was older and maybe she should worry.

  She was horrified at her own thoughts. The change must have shown on her face, because the erotic look of his bedroom eyes changed in that moment. They shuttered and closed the door on the glimpse of whatever he felt or thought.

  He released her. His breathing was fine, and he was strong enough to lift her from his lap and plop her unceremoniously next to him on the couch. She needn’t have worried. He was healthy as a horse and got up from the couch with his usual elegance intact.

  “I think we’ll both be in less danger if I leave now for that reconnaissance mission,” he said. He smiled his wry, amused smile with the sadness around the edges and walked to the door. Before leaving he turned.

  “You are quite a package, Grace. You’re as sexy as you are sweet and as smart as you are funny and far too exciting for my old heart. I’ll wait out front until the police detail arrives. I might even have a cigarette while I’m at it.” He arched a brow and left with a smooth move, closing her door with a solid click.

  “Oh. Damn.” There was nothing old or fragile about that man. And she foolishly gave him the opening to use the old man-poor health card.

  On the street, he wished he smoked. He may as well send himself to an early grave with cigarettes as with a sedate—or sedated—life as an old codger. That wasn’t the old age he pictured for himself. He may not be a thirty-year-old family man with the ambition to set up shop in the suburbs and raise a bunch of kids, but he was no old codger either. He had to acknowledge, though, that life with Grace under any circumstances would be a kick.

  No, he wouldn’t be retiring to a country cottage with the likes of Frenchie either. He acknowledged the vision of his likely future as a lone wolf, investigating whatever illicit or mysterious deeds the Boston Police Department assigned him to investigate. He’d skulk around on the job, have some drinks and laughs with friends when he wasn’t working and keep a warm, worldly, witty and understanding lady friend around to keep from being lonely—on the nights he needed her.

  Where the hell would he find a woman like that? She wasn’t Frenchie—too timid. And alas, she wasn’t Grace.

  A police cruiser pulled up in front of him with a wave of acknowledgment. David leaned down to the open window to talk. The cop inside was friendly and well informed—and he had pictures on his dashboard of him and of Grace, among other people he needed to recognize.

  “Lucky man,” the cop said, pointing to the picture of Grace. He smiled back.

  “Strictly professional,” he told the young cop. David had a spike in temp and felt compelled to protect Grace’s reputation. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about behaving professionally.” Though his words were friendly, he bared his teeth a tad more than was usual for a smile. The cop was duly warned and nodded his head. David stood, and slapped the car door dismissing the cop to his duty. The window rolled up.

  He walked to the corner intersecting with Cambridge Street and glanced to the left to see how close he was to police headquarters and City Hall. Thank god for small favors. He hoped that proximity would not be relevant, but it was good to have. Then he hailed a cab and gave the cabbie the address that Oscar had given him. It was a rundown motel in Chelsea, just north of the city. This was a bad place, and a very odd place for a world-class soccer player to be staying unless he was up to no good. David was not surprised when the cabbie refused to wait, but he pulled his necktie from his shirt, stuffed it in his pocket and turned up his collar. The autumn air was camouflaged well by grimy night-time mist and puffs of smoke coming from buses, the meat factory chimney and a nearby waste management plant.

  “Charming place, Chelsea. Exactly as I remember it,” he thought as he walked around the block from the motel. There were three cars in the lot and a few others parked in the vicinity. One dim light shone in the interior of the motel office, and David saw a man who looked to be Hispanic, in his mid-fifties, staring at a small TV in the corner. There was a door that probably went to a back room and washroom, and another to a small grassy area with a rear fence ten feet from the building. He finished circling the perimeter with his eyes and walked back around and in the front door.

  The man at the desk jumped.

  “What you want,” he said in a dead voice. He looked at David as if he were crazy. The man’s suspicion was palpable, and David noticed that the man’s hands weren’t where he could keep an eye on them.

  Since David was obviously not dressed appropriately to be a customer for this particular hotel, he didn’t blame the man for being wary.

  “I’m looking for one of your residents. Mr. Arturo Diego. Can you tell me which room he’s in, please?” David didn’t spare a blink of concern.

  “Why should I?” the man raised his brow and grinned, now convinced that David was either daft or a cop.

  “Because I have money,” David said with enough smugness so the man would believe it. No sense trying to talk tough when he could speak the universal language of dollar signs. The man seemed to understand him perfectly. He stopped grinning and gave him a nod.

  “Room five. Third door. I don’t know if he’s in. He’s not in a lot.” The man went back to scowling at David as he took the money. Then the man turned back to his miniscule TV as David walked back outside without another word.

  He walked toward room five, but predictably the front curtains were drawn. Though he could discern some light filtering through, there was no way to tell if Diego was in, so he went around back. Luckily, there was a bathroom window along the back wall. David couldn’t see the man, but he could hear him taking a shower. That was enough information to walk away with. But before he did, he slipped the phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, pressed number three and waited for Dan to pick up to give him the news. He leaned against the brick wall of the building and listened to the shower running and the voice of the man singing a song in Spanish—with a familiar accent, maybe a familiar voice.

  “Yeah?” Dan answered.

  “He’s here—or according to the motel clerk, a man fitting his description is in unit number five. No visual, but a man is showering and singing in Spanish.”

  “Wait there while I send a detective to pick him up—I’ll send a cruiser to back him up—without the lights or siren. Keep your phone on and let me know if he moves,” Dan ordered before clicking the phone off.

  David tried to identify the elusive familiarity of that voice while he continued to wait, but it sto
pped. The shower water continued. David waited.

  In the next minute or two he heard car doors slamming out front, followed by commotion. The shower was still running. David hefted himself up to see if he could get a look at anything in the window, but there was only a shadowy figure behind the steam. Whoever it had been had gotten out of the shower and left the bathroom. David figured he should go around front to see what was going on and at least report back to Dan. He jogged back around the perimeter, but though it took only a minute, all he saw was the police car pulling away behind an unmarked sedan and the door to unit five closed, the light still on behind the drawn curtains.

  If he’d been less cautious, he’d have knocked on the door. But hell, if he’d been cautious at all, he would hardly have been skulking around behind the building doing reconnaissance. He’d have had a younger, more agile man doing it. He saw the front deskman peek his head out of the door briefly, but the man ducked back in as soon as he saw David. It was time to go. His limited role in this event was over. As hard as it was for him to try and stay in the lines, he knew he had to stay out of trouble. On this first case at least.

  He walked past the motel and cut through the darkened parking lot of Kayem’s Meat Factory and toward the square, where he could catch a cab back to Boston.

  By the time he arrived back at Grace’s tiny studio, it was late, but he wasn’t sure it was late enough. The cruiser out front gave him a wave and then took off while the uniform was on the radio to HQ. David had called Dan’s cell phone, but it was turned off. The chief would call him to let him know about the man they hauled in soon enough. He and his men were probably busy questioning him to get enough to keep him there and charge him, but David’s gut told him it wouldn’t be that easy. They would have Grace ID him in the morning as the burglar, Diego. But the major flaw in his intel was that he’d never actually seen Diego. It was possible that the man they got was not the man from the shower. It was clear now that the singer in the shower was a second man—and he was rapidly coming to a good guess at who owned that vaguely familiar voice.

  He stood in front of Grace’s building and checked his watch. It was only 9:35 p.m. He knew he should take a walk around the block and keep circling until he was certain she was asleep. But he knew she would wait up for him and he’d only succeed in worrying her. That was his excuse for walking up to her third floor studio and knocking on her door. She opened it before he knocked twice.

  Any resignation he might have previously held, where he’d accepted being an old has-been, doomed to the companionship of a comfortable-old-shoe type woman, was crowded from his mind by the overwhelming vision before him. Grace was wearing black lace, but not much of it.

  “You ought to be illegal,” he said.

  She smiled, grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him inside. That ratcheted up his blood pressure in an interesting way. She pushed the door closed behind him. He turned her around so she was leaning against the door, holding the outside world at bay and looking at him—not as if he was some old man, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t feel like the same old man he’d been feeling as of late.

  No, he felt young and vital at this moment, and the proof of the vigor still left in his manhood made itself known in an urgent manner. He stepped forward to press her against the door. She looked up, giving him a view of her long, smooth, creamy neck. He wondered if her pulse was beating as fast and hard as his was. So he bent his head forward and traced his mouth along the skin covering her jugular to find the small insistent throbbing there.

  His throbbing was larger and no less insistent, and he pushed himself against her so they were touching everywhere. She raised her arms, and her hands claimed his hair and caressed the back of his neck. He watched her eyes, hooded as if she were drugged, and whispered against her mouth.

  “You are dangerously beautiful and sexy, Grace. I need to kiss you,” he said. And then he did.

  She moaned. She didn’t think she’d ever moaned before in her life, at least not from a mere kiss. But then, this was no mere kiss, she thought fleetingly, as he nibbled at her swollen lips.

  The buzz she felt on her breast tingled, but it didn’t make any sense. She opened her mouth and darted her tongue to feel the moist softness of the underside of his lip. The chirping noise got louder and he growled.

  “Damn phone,” he said into her mouth in between nibbles on her lips. Now the vibrating against her right nipple made sense, and she leaned in closer.

  “I see you have the vibrate setting turned on,” she whispered. “Feels very interesting.” He pulled away and eyed her. She couldn’t hold back her giggle. Then he separated himself and gave in to the call of duty. It seemed to her that he was always wanted on the phone. He gave her a look of apology as he answered.

  “This better be good,” he said. He still held onto her with one hand at that sweet spot on her lower back, the way he had a habit of doing. She now felt like he owned that piece of her no matter what else ever happened or didn’t happen between them.

  That thought was too wistful, so she paid attention to his call as they moved over to the couch and sat. She snuggled up against him and watched him listen to his call.

  “So you picked him up out front? The guy I saw was still in the shower—that means there was someone else in the hotel. Damn.”

  She had no idea what this all meant, but it sounded like it should be good news except David’s face looked concerned in that important, weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders way. She liked that he felt responsible for stopping all the wrongdoing that he possibly could. He was Batman.

  She was patient until he eventually clicked his phone shut and put it down on the coffee table instead of back in his pocket.

  “They picked up the soccer player and they’re questioning him now. They’ll charge him with as much as they can to try and prevent him from making bail, but he might get back out by tomorrow, even with you making a positive ID. Which you need to do first thing in the morning. It’ll be easy for him to make bail on attempted burglary, especially because of his stature as a professional athlete.” He smiled, but it looked tentative to her. She wasn’t sure if he was troubled by their kiss or by the case, but that could be her being paranoid.

  “Oh. What about the guy in the shower?”

  “You heard that did you?” He stretched his arms across the sofa back and made himself comfortable. His look told her he was thinking about the kiss, but not in a troubled way.

  “Yeah, so what’s that all about?” She couldn’t help her curiosity. It seemed like a loose end to her. Noodles hopped up on her lap and Grace stared back at Batman, waiting for him to answer her. She leaned in to encourage him. To do something.

  “There was a second guy at the location Oscar gave us and we don’t know who it is,” he finally answered. He toyed with a curly tendril of her hair in his fingers. The slight tug sent shivers down her spine. She wanted this man and she wanted him tonight, but she had a terrible feeling she might be rushing things, so she tried to hold back.

  “It’s time we turned in to get a good night’s sleep. You’ll have to get up early to get to the police station to make that ID,” he said and let go of the tendril of hair. She felt an overwhelming sense of abandonment. Her crazy emotions seemed always on the verge of overwhelming her one way or another these days. So she reminded herself that it was good to hold herself back—at least for this night. Then she could look forward to tomorrow.

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Her words were wispy and she cleared her throat. “It’ll be exciting to look at a police line-up—I’ve always wanted to do that. Crazy, huh?” She hoped the sudden brightness in her voice didn’t sound as false as it felt. But it was only partially false, she had to remind herself—she really did think it would be an exciting experience.

  “I’ll sleep in the chair and ottoman over there if you have a spare blanket.”

  If he thought anything was amiss, he didn’t let on to her. He rose from the couch, leavin
g her cold. She bounced up to get him his blanket and hurried through her nighttime routine so she could turn out the lights and get to tomorrow.

  David woke with a start, and at first he thought it was because of the awkward angle of his head and shoulders as he slept in the chair. The chair back wasn’t quite high enough to accommodate his height. The room was still dark, and he glanced around for a clock. Then he heard a metallic clanging noise loud and clear.

  He rose from the chair in a swift but stealthy motion, plastered himself to the wall next to the window and allowed himself a look down from an impossible angle.

  He heard the clanging again and saw someone climbing up the fire escape. In their attempt to be quiet, the ascent was slow, but David knew he had no time to get down to the street and chase him from there. Trying to stop him from this window, he’d get his head blown off. He looked around the moonlit room and cursed the tiny open floor plan. His eyes adjusted and he studied Grace’s sleeping form for a millisecond.

  He moved to the couch, lifted her from it, carried her to the bathroom and deposited her into the shower before she was fully awakened by his action.

  “Don’t make a peep—we have an intruder about to make his entrance in fifteen seconds,” he said. Before he closed the shower curtain on her now-alert face, she reached out to squeeze his arm and mouthed something without a noise. He wished he knew what she was trying to say, but then he was glad he didn’t. He squeezed her hand back before dashing from the room and back to the window where the fire escape rattled louder than before. He grabbed his jacket, found his gun and took his place near the window.

  Then the noise stopped. Noodles climbed up on the lamp table in front of the window and started yapping his brains out.

  “Fine time you picked to be a watch dog,” David said out loud. He crouched low and grabbed the dog from below and petted his head. His excited little body trembled. As David listened to the retreating steps, much quicker and louder than the ascent, he ventured a look and saw the man about to reach the bottom.