Triple Time

by Regina Kyle

  “Thanks for trying.” She took the towel from her shoulder and scrubbed at an imaginary spot on the gleaming oak bar, mentally calculating how long it would take to scrape together enough money to hire another private investigator. One who wasn’t a lowlife, scum-sucking crook. Maybe Gabe could recommend someone.

  He threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a resigned thud. “I wish I had something more. I know how important finding your brother is to you.”

  No. He didn’t. No one did, really. Finding Victor wasn’t just some silly quest so she could fulfill an idiotic childhood fantasy that they’d be reunited and live happily ever after. It was a matter of life and death. Or at least of Victor’s safety and wellbeing. Victor was...different. Special. Finding out that he’d been adopted gave her a glimmer of hope, but what if his new parents weren’t in the picture anymore? What if he was alone, in some piece-of-shit institution like the one in the newspaper article? Or, even worse, on the street?

  Devin pressed her lips into a thin line, not wanting to think about the possibilities, each one more horrific than the next. She stopped scrubbing long enough to meet Gabe’s eyes. “So I guess this is goodbye.”

  He caught her arm when she would have spun away. “Why do you say that?”

  “Our bargain. You did what you could to find Victor. I got you ready for the campaign trail. What else is there?”

  Except screwing like rabbits on Viagra.

  His eyes darkened and his grip on her arm turned from possessive to playful, his thumb drawing figure eights on the sensitive skin at the inside of her wrist. “Do you really want me to answer that here?”

  She scanned the guys at the bar. Except for the one who was slumped over with his head on his chest—she made a mental note to call him a cab—everyone was glued to the game on the flat-screen. “Why not? No one in here gives a shit about us. Besides, these guys have heard it all before. And then some.”

  Gabe continued to stroke patterns on her wrist, sending pinpricks of awareness up her arm and into her chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She tried to pull her hand away but he held fast.

  “Are you sure?” He tugged her closer, so close his breath stirred the hair behind her ear. “Because I’m not done with you, sweetheart. Not even close.”

  Promises, promises.

  Devin shrugged off his words and took a step back, doing her best to feign indifference. “I told you, you don’t need my help anymore. You’re good to go for the election.”

  “You’re wrong, but that’s only part of what I need from you.” He crooked a finger and she leaned back in to him, almost as if he was reeling her in on an invisible string, and rested an elbow on the bar. “A small part.”

  “What’s the rest?”

  “The rest?” He closed the remaining distance between them, his lips brushing against her earlobe as he spoke. “The rest is you naked. Those long legs wrapped around my waist. Your nails digging into my back. You screaming my name when you come. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

  “If she can’t, sugar, I sure as hell can.”

  “Hey, Rue.” Devin took a step back, breaking free from Gabe and the strange hold he had on her. She picked up the towel, which had dropped, forgotten, to the floor during their verbal sexfest, and reached for the vodka to make Ruby her usual gimlet. She was half pissed off, half grateful for the interruption. Her hand shook even more than when she’d made Gabe’s Scotch and soda.

  Damn him and his dirty talk. Talk that made her knees weak and her panties moist. Talk that wasn’t supposed to come from straight-arrow district attorneys. Where had he learned to do that, speak so naughtily yet so beautifully?

  Strike that. She didn’t want to know.

  Devin put the bottle back on the shelf behind her, wiped her sweaty palm on her skirt and grabbed the lime juice from the minifridge under the bar. “Off early tonight?”

  “Business is slow.” Ruby hitched up her already short skirt and took a seat on the stool next to Gabe, batting her overly made-up eyes at him. “Unless Mr. GQ here wants to take me up on my offer.”

  “Bad idea.” Devin stirred the drink with a neon orange swizzle stick. “He works for the DA.”

  “Shit.” Ruby started to get up.

  “No worries.” Gabe waved her back down. “I’m not in vice.”

  “I’m almost sorry. I wouldn’t mind having you handcuff me.”

  Ruby gave him her best eye-fuck, a move Devin had seen more times than she could count despite her repeated warnings not to do business in the bar. One of these days the owner was going to catch Ruby midtransaction and toss her spandex-clad ass out the door. Her profession aside, Devin liked Ruby. Hell, if it wasn’t for Leo, Devin could’ve been working the streets alongside her.

  “Plus, he’s a prosecutor. Not a cop.” Devin plunked the glass down in front of Ruby. “They don’t arrest people.”

  “Pity,” Ruby purred, her voice dripping sex appeal.

  “I need a goddamn refill.” A voice, thick and slurred with alcohol, rose from the end of the bar. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some service around here?”

  Crap. Sleeping Beauty had woken up. Thirsty.

  “I’ll take care of him.” Gabe pushed back his stool.

  “Sit down, Dudley Do-Right.” Devin took the cordless phone from the receiver next to the cash register. “I got this. Dealing with asshole drunks is a job requirement. Unfortunately.”

  “What if I like riding to my woman’s rescue?”

  “First, I’m not your woman. And second, I don’t need to be rescued. Remember Central Park? I took care of Freddie, didn’t I?”

  “Have it your way.” Gabe settled back in at the bar. “But when you’re through dealing with our inebriated friend, you might as well pour me another Scotch and soda. I’m staying until your shift’s over.”

  “The bar closes at two. And I’ve got to clean and lock up.”

  “No problem. I’ll walk you home.” Gabe nodded toward his new BFF, sitting beside him holding a compact mirror in one hand and attempting to apply devil-red lipstick. “Give Ruby one of whatever she’s having, too. On me.”

  “Thanks.” Ruby snapped the compact shut, tossed it and the lipstick into her handbag and toasted him with what was left of her gimlet. “You’re all right for a government shyster.”

  “You’re both nuts,” Devin muttered as she dialed the cab company. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

  “Sure you do, sugar.” Ruby’s lips parted in a warped semi-smile. “You put up with me because I’m entertaining. And you put up with him because he’s drop dead gorgeous.”

  * * *

  “YOU DIDN’T HAVE to stick around.” Devin punched in the code for the alarm on the keypad by the door, pulled it shut and tested the knob to make sure it was locked. “It’s only a few blocks. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home.”

  Gabe ushered her up the steps to the sidewalk, a hand at the small of her back. “Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”

  “Why do I feel like we’re going to have it again?” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder.

  “Probably because we will.” He dropped his arm, leaving her back suddenly cool, even in the steamy August heat. “We’re both pretty stubborn.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She gave him a subtle hip check, telling herself the move was a sign of playful aggression and not a desperate ploy to reestablish bodily contact. “I’m nothing if not flexible.”

  “If you’re talking physically, I can vouch for that.” His words conjured images of their Kama Sutra–inspired sex session.

  “I wasn’t, but thanks for the seal of approval.”

  He laughed and reached for her hand. She hesitated a second before taking it. Hand-holding wasn’t part of the protocol with the guys she typically dated. Too intimate. Too personal. But, then again, Gabe was about as far removed from those
guys as Homo sapiens were from single-cell amoeba. It was like dealing with an entirely different species, one that wasn’t scared off by a little PDA.

  His hand engulfed hers, soft but strong, and their fingers instinctively laced together with a familiarity that usually came from years of experience. Devin took a deep breath and exhaled in a slow hiss, the Sturm und Drang of the city that never slept fading away.

  Steady. The word thrummed through her like a dance beat as they walked the rest of the short distance to her apartment, a comfortable silence stretching between them. Not boring. Not predictable. Steady. Gabe’s boss and his ex were idiots if they couldn’t tell the difference.

  “Well.” With a pang of regret, she relinquished his hand to dig her keys out of her bag. “Here we are.”

  “Yes.” He leaned against the doorjamb and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Here we are. Again.”

  He followed her through the foyer and up four flights of stairs to her apartment. She swung open the door, flipped on the light and was halfway to her pathetic excuse for a kitchen before she registered the absence of footsteps behind her. She deposited her purse on the counter and spun, hands on hips, to face him. “What gives? Aren’t you coming in?”

  He shook his head, not moving from the threshold. “Not tonight.”

  “It’s going to be hard for me to wrap my legs around you if you’re way over there.” Using the counter for balance, she took off first one boot, then the other, wiggling her tired toes. “Unless that was all talk back at the bar.”

  “Hell, no.” He gave her a wicked grin that made her privates tingle. “I fully intend to fuck you until neither one of us can stand.”

  “What are you waiting for?” She took a few steps toward him, releasing her hair from its ponytail and shaking it out.

  “Friday.”

  “That’s four fucking days away.” Or fuck-less days. What red-blooded male waited that long to dip his wick into a wet and willing female? “So much for wanting me naked and screaming your name.”

  “Does this feel like I don’t want you?” In three strides, he was in front of her, dragging her against his straining erection. “I want you today, tomorrow and the next day.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is I want more than sex. I want a relationship. Coffee together in the morning. Watching Netflix on my sectional at night. All the everyday, getting-to-know-you stuff couples do. And I’m willing to wait until you do, too.”

  Devin shuddered and pulled away, backing up against the counter. “What if I said that I don’t...can’t...do relationships?”

  “I’d say that’s bullshit. I’ve seen you in action. You can do anything you set your mind to, if you want it bad enough.” He moved in, trapping her between his hot, hard body and the cold, hard counter. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?” She tilted her chin, trying to look more stubborn than sexed up, but the quiver in her voice gave her away.

  He lifted a lock of her hair with one finger and let it fall. “Want it bad enough?”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  “Until you do, we’ll have to settle for this.” He braced a hand against the counter on either side of her and dipped his head for a kiss, fast and furious.

  When he let her up for air, she had to cling to his biceps, bunching and shifting under the lush designer fabric of his suit jacket. He bent and spoke in her ear, soft and sweet and low. “Because when I take you again, it’s going to be all of you, not just your body.”

  He gave her another quick and dirty kiss then released her and headed for the door.

  “It’ll never work.” She collapsed against the counter, grabbing the edge in a white-knuckle grip to stop herself from crumpling into a hot-and-bothered heap. “We’re light-years apart. Like the Bloods and the Crips. Or the Montagues and the Capulets.”

  “I’m going to prove you wrong, fair Juliet.” He stopped at the door and turned, one hand on the knob. “Starting Friday.”

  Her mouth twisted in a scowl. “What’s so special about Friday?”

  “You’ll see.” He winked at her—tease—and his lips curved into a youthful smile that lightened his face. “Are you working?”

  “Not at the bar. But I’m tattooing until eight.”

  “Great. Meet me at the Met at nine.”

  “The opera?”

  “No. The museum.”

  “But it’s closed then.” She ought to know. She’d been there enough, had been anticipating the new Matisse exhibit that was finally opening. The Met was one of her go-to places when she needed to escape. There, in the hushed tones of the galleries, surrounded by masterpieces of Botticelli, Monet and van Gogh, she could be alone with her thoughts, put things in perspective, find inspiration for her own work.

  Or try to.

  “Trust me.” Gabe pulled the door open. “It’s a surprise.”

  Devin wrinkled her nose. “I hate surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one, sweet Juliet.” He made an overexaggerated bow. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good-night till it be morrow.’”

  With a final flourish and one last wink, Romeo righted himself and swept out the door. Devin sank to the floor and watched the door swing shut, cutting off her view of his biteable ass in his impeccably tailored pants.

  Damn. The man even made a suit look good. Which was saying a lot, coming from her. She usually went for the T-shirt and jeans type. Bad boys who rode motorcycles and smoked clove cigarettes. Probably because they never asked for more than a few laughs and some between-the-sheets action.

  Not like Gabe.

  Devin dragged her own sorry ass up off the floor. She had three days to figure out what to do about Mr. All-or-Nothing. But first...

  She gathered up her boots, tossed them into the closet and flopped onto the sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she reached over to the end table and opened the drawer. A ragged stuffed armadillo stared at her with his single, lonely eye, his tail hanging by a thread. She moved it aside and pulled out a spiral notebook with Victor’s name scrawled across the faded green cover. Flipping it open, she ran her finger down the page.

  Alpine Learning Center.

  Institute for Community Living.

  Adult Autism Partnership Program.

  Pages and pages of institutions, group homes and residential facilities, and next to each one a phone number. She’d dialed them all before. Some more than once.

  Nausea churned in her stomach at the thought of starting all over. But Victor needed her. And she was out of options.

  First thing tomorrow morning, it was time to start dialing again.

  10

  “GABE?”

  Gabe stood leaning against the base of one of the Met’s majestic columns. A guy in a dark blue security-guard uniform who matched the description Noelle had given him—midsixties, slim, with Coke-bottle glasses and white-blond hair—jogged up the steps to meet him. “Gabe Nelson?”

  Gabe held out his hand. “You must be Ed. Thanks so much for doing this. It’ll mean a lot to my friend.” He hoped.

  Ed gave the proffered hand a hearty shake. “Well, your sister knows folks in high places. It’s not every day the chairman of the board of trustees calls to tell me to open the doors after hours for a prima ballerina’s brother and his girl.”

  “Yeah.” Gabe tried to ignore the way his heart lurched at the words his girl and focused on the rest of Ed’s statement. Gabe had some powerful friends, for sure, but Noelle was on a whole other level. “I owe her one.” Or ten. “Did you get the stuff she dropped by for me?”

  “It’s all set up in the last gallery, like she requested.” Ed checked his watch. “Where’s your girl? We need to get rolling if you’re going to be out of here before I have to make my rounds.”

  “She should be here any minute.” Gabe scanned the street. Not a raven-haired, long-limbed, tattooed goddess in sight. He’d texted her this morning but hadn’t heard back. Maybe he
should have arranged to pick her up.

  “Tell you what.” Ed took his wallet from his pants pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to Gabe. “Here’s my cell number. When she gets here, go around to the entrance at Eighty-First Street and give me a call.”

  Gabe thanked him again, tucked the card in his shirt pocket and settled back against the column to wait. He was taking a big risk with this stunt, he knew. But great rewards didn’t come without great risk. And he had a feeling getting Devin to open up to him might be the greatest reward of all.

  “Come here often?”

  Devin’s voice sounded strained and breathy, like she’d run all the way from Washington Heights. Which wasn’t likely in her micro-mini dress and skyscraper heels. Damn, the woman knew how to dress for maximum cock-swelling effect.

  He cleared his throat and offered his arm to her, praying she wouldn’t notice the reaction under his zipper. This night wasn’t about sexual gratification. It was about making a different, deeper connection. “Only when I’m waiting on a beautiful woman. Come on. We’re late.”

  She wrapped a hand around his biceps and they descended the grand staircase, her stilettos clacking on the granite. “I’m sorry. The six train was delayed. Some drunken idiot made a scene and the transit cops had to haul him away.”

  “You and your subway,” he joked, rounding the corner at the end of the stairs.

  “You and your cabs,” she shot back, her come-hither smile taking any sting out of her words. “So where are we going?”

  “Patience, grasshopper.” He returned her smile with a grin that he hoped read boyishly charming and not crazed serial killer. “All will soon be revealed.”

  They stopped in front of the Eighty-First Street entrance, and he pulled out his cell phone and Ed’s business card.

  She pursed her lips. “I told you, the museum’s closed.”

  “Trust me.” He dialed Ed’s number, and Ed picked up on the first ring.

  “Ferguson.”

  “It’s Gabe Nelson. We’re at the south entrance.”

  “Great. Be there in five.”

  Gabe ended the call and stashed the card and cell in his pants pocket.