by Rebecca York
“Shit.”
“Don’t stay on the line. We see your location from your phone. Turn it off. You can pick up the car that’s parked near the Visionary Arts Museum.”
“Thanks.”
When he clicked off, he saw Leah staring at him.
“It looks like you got some bad news.”
“Yeah. That was Frank Decorah, my boss. He says the cops came there looking for us, which means that we can’t go to a Decorah safe house because I can’t implicate them in this.”
“I understand,” she said in a thin voice. “Warren was pretty clever—the way he cut me off from help.”
“Yeah. But you have me. And there’s a Decorah car in the area.”
“Why?”
“One of Frank’s contingency plans. It’s across the harbor. But before we go over there, you probably want to buy a hat and maybe a different shirt from one of the shops on Broadway.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I could use a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”
“You think the cops know we’re here?” she asked.
“I hope not, but I’m not taking any chances.”
Steve made a quick call to Jerry to tell him where the boat was moored. From the dock, they walked over to a funky apparel shop where Leah bought a loose-fitting gauze shirt and a wide-brimmed sun hat and Steve picked up an Orioles cap and a dark tee shirt. There was a dollar store a few doors down where he bought a cheap carry bag, underwear, and a toothbrush. After changing in the rest rooms, they took the water taxi across the harbor to the street below Federal Hill where the Decorah car was parked.
Steve stooped down to get the keys from the right front wheel well. Once he’d opened the car, he reached into the glove compartment where he found an envelope with a thousand dollars in small bills.
Leah eyed the money
“Decorah leaves that kind of cash lying around?”
“Yeah, they figure that if you need to pick up a car, you might not be able to use your credit card either.”
“What would we have done without a car?”
“Maybe stolen one.”
“Seriously?”
“If it was my only option.”
“And the money? Were you going to rob someone?”
He laughed. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“Let’s be glad Decorah came through for us.”
“It sounds like you hooked up with an interesting outfit.”
“I thank my lucky stars that Frank Decorah found me.”
“How?”
He laughed. “In a bar. He started a conversation with me, and I realized it wasn’t just a coincidence.”
“Are you going to tell me more about that?”
“When we’ve got the time.”
As he drove away from the parking spot, she asked, “What now?”
“We need to get off the street.”
Steve had been a cop in this city, much of the time patrolling Pig Town, a working class area in the southwest section of the city. It had gotten its name in the second half of the nineteenth century when it was filled with butcher shops and slaughterhouses.
Now it was a mixed neighborhood of condos, apartments and typical Baltimore row houses, some with original brick facades and others modernized with the artificial mica-specked stone that was popular in the fifties and sixties.
Steve headed for the older section of town and cruised slowly down a street of row houses. He slowed when he saw The Hot Spot bar.
“It’s a little rough in there,” he told Leah. “But they have rooms upstairs for rent.”
As he spoke, the door of the Hot Spot opened and two guys came out, swinging at each other. One turned and fled. The other took off after him.
Chapter Seven
“You’re sure this is where you want to stay?” Leah asked.
“Yeah. The high-class atmosphere makes it less likely that anyone would look for us here.”
“High class. Right.”
When she started to get out of the car, Steve put a hand on her arm. “Stay here until I set things up. And pull your hat down so nobody can see your face.”
“Okay.”
He walked toward the door of the bar and turned back to her. She looked like she’d rather be somewhere else, but this was the better choice. He gave her a reassuring smile before disappearing inside, where he stood taking in the familiar atmosphere. He hadn’t told Leah that most of the upstairs rooms were rented to prostitutes. He could see some of the women sitting at a couple of tables. Most of the establishment’s clientele were working-class men, though.
A guy he didn’t recognize was behind the bar, which was good. The man wasn’t going to ask why Steve Outlaw was back in town and needing a cheap flop.
He made his way through wooden tables.
“I understand you rent rooms,” he said to the bartender.
“Yeah.”
“Me and my girl would like one.”
“We charge by the hour.”
“I heard. I want to pay for the night.”
The guy looked him up and down, probably deciding what he was willing to pay. “That will be a hundred bucks. In advance.”
An outrageous fee, Steve thought, but he quickly agreed and forked over the money.
The guy ducked in the back and returned with a room key attached to a wooden paddle with the number three stamped into the surface. “Where’s your date?”
“My gal’s kind of shy. She’s waiting in the car.”
“Married?”
He shrugged. “I’ll get her.”
“Sure.”
He went out, returned to the car and motioned to Leah. “All set.”
After he’d retrieved their carry bags from the backseat, he slung his arm around her shoulder. “I told him you were shy.”
“Under these circumstances, yeah.”
In the vestibule, there was a set of stairs that they climbed to a dimly lit hallway on the second floor.
Steve found room three and inserted the key in the lock. Behind the door was a space about eleven by twelve with a fake brass bed, a wooden chair in one corner, a scarred dresser, and a small private bath with a metal shower in the corner.
Leah sat down on the chair, her arms hugging her shoulders.
“It could be worse,” Steve said.
“How?”
“You might have to go down the hall to the bathroom.”
“True.” She swallowed hard. “Do . . . prostitutes use these rooms?”
“Sometimes.”
She went to the window and he followed, looking out on an alley lined with backyard fences. The bar had a one-story extension at the rear. If they had to make a strategic getaway from the room, they could climb out the window to the lower roof—then to the ground.
Leah kept her gaze fixed on the view. “I should get out of here.”
“Because working girls come here?”
“No. Because I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of that.”
“The cops are looking for you.”
“Like I said, maybe that’s a ruse.”
When he’d brought her here, he’d been thinking they had to hide out. Now he was pretty sure it hadn’t been his only consideration.
His gaze locked with hers, and he could feel electricity crackling in the small room. He’d told himself all the reasons why he shouldn’t make love with her. But when she stood, crossed the worn floorboards, and circled his shoulders with her arms, he surrendered to the heat that had been simmering between them and covered her lips with his.
Yet he was still struggling for restraint—until she sighed. That small sound was like a jolt of arousal. He went from gentle to hot and hungry in a heartbeat, and she responded as she had the night before.
When he lifted his mouth a fraction, her heated gaze questioned his.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he forced himself
to say.
“Why?”
“For all the same reasons as the last time I kissed you.”
“Let’s forget about reason and logic,” she answered.
Maybe she was right. Discarding sanity and caution, he gathered her close.
He had craved more of her all night. Now he opened his mouth to savor her taste more completely. And in his mind, she tasted of all the sweet and female things that had been missing from his life since forever.
His hands moved restlessly up and down her back, pressing her against the hard wall of his chest, so that she could feel the pounding of his heart. He wanted to be with this woman—more than he had wanted anything in a long long time.
And it wasn’t just last night that reminded him of what had been missing in his life. All the old memories of her surged to the fore while his mouth sipped and nibbled at hers. It felt like a homecoming as his tongue played with the serrated line of her teeth before teasing more sensitive tissue beyond.
Her tongue met his, stroking and inciting until they were both breathing in jagged gasps.
He angled her body away from his so that his hand could slip between them and cup one of her breasts. She murmured her approval, then made a low sound of pleasure as he found her hardened nipple and brushed back and forth.
He reversed their positions, leaning back against the wall, splaying his legs to equalize their height and bringing her center against his. When she felt the hard shaft of his erection, she moved against it.
He dragged in a sharp breath before his mouth came down greedily on hers again.
The bed was only a few feet away, yet he had to make himself say, “You want to do this?”
“Yes. Stop trying to do the honorable thing,” she murmured as she traced the line of his cheekbone, scraping against the sandpaper of his day’s growth of beard.
Her finger returned to his lips, retracing territory she had claimed with her mouth.
He bent to kiss her brows, the tender place where her hair met her cheek. His lips brushed her eyelashes before coming gently back to her mouth.
Slowly, then more quickly, she pulled his tee shirt up and off, then bent to press her cheek against his chest before giving him an openmouthed kiss there.
He heard his own gasp.
His hands came up to tenderly clasp her, marveling that she was with him like this again. He had dreamed of making love to her so many times. Now she was in his arms.
He reached for the buttons of her shirt, easing them open before freeing her arms from the sleeves and reaching to unhook her bra.
She stood before him, naked to the waist, and her body was as he remembered it, perfect with her high breasts, creamy skin and coral crests, beaded to tight points.
He reached to cup one soft mound in his hand before doing what she’d asked, squeezing and twisting her hardened nipples.
Her back arched. “That’s so good.”
“Oh yeah.”
Desperate for the feel of her breasts against his chest, he pulled her close, unable to hold back a shuddering sigh.
The only thought in his mind was that he needed to get closer to her—as close as he could get. When he eased away so that he could reach for the button at the top of her slacks, she let him do what he wanted—and followed his example, her hands fumbling with his belt.
As she slid his zipper down, he went very still, the sensation of her palm pressing against his cock taking his breath away.
She kicked away her slacks. He did the same.
Before he lost the ability to stand, he swept back the bedspread, blanket and top sheet, then brought her down to the horizontal surface.
She clasped the back of his head as he swirled his tongue around one tight nipple, lapping up the taste of her, then sucking strongly. When she cried out, he felt a wave of gratification that almost overwhelmed him.
He slid his hand down her body, stroking over her abdomen and lower—into the hot, wet folds of her sex. She responded with a breathy sound of pleasure.
She rocked against him, then took his hand away. ‘You’ll make me come.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But I want you inside me for that. I want to feel my muscles clamp around your cock.”
He groaned. “God, yes.”
She lay on her back, completely open to him. Shifting above her, he moved between her legs—then took her in one sure, possessive stroke, burying himself in her tight, wet warmth.
She clasped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly as she tilted her hips and took him deeper inside her.
In the long years since they had been together, he had remembered the physical pleasure, but now the power of the moment stunned him.
He raised his head, looking down at her, seeing the passion and the wonder on her face. When he pulled back and then surged forward in a deep, claiming stroke, she smiled up at him.
He wanted this physical reunion to last. But the need of his body was too great. Quickly the pace became more urgent, more demanding.
An overwhelming tide of pleasure flowed through him, and he called her name.
“I’m . . . with you. . . all the way,” she gasped out between broken breaths, meeting each thrust and retreat with the motion of her hips.
He felt himself spin out of control as the tide carried him beyond urgent need. A crest of fulfilment slammed through him. At the same time, he felt her nails digging into the slick flesh of his shoulders, felt her body convulsing under him, around him.
When the storm had swept past, he shifted his weight off of her, taking her with him, holding her in his arms.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“Thank you.”
He held on to her, unable to break the connection.
And when she snuggled down against him, he felt himself drifting off to sleep, still inside her.
Chapter Eight
An hour later, when Leah eased away and slipped out of bed, she felt Steve tense.
“Bathroom,” she murmured.
He nodded, and she found her underwear and blouse on the floor. Snatching them up, she exited the bedroom, feeling his eyes on her. Quietly she closed the door, used the facilities, washed and dressed again.
It was mind-blowing to think she and Steve had made love again. He was on the other side of the door, lying in the bed where they’d renewed their passion.
She’d never forgotten him, and as things had gotten worse with Warren, she wished she’d had her head screwed on straight all those years ago. Back when they’d been teenagers, sex with Steve had been wonderful, and she hadn’t realized it would be any different with someone else. She’d found out with Warren that wasn’t true. He was always focused on what would be best for him. But today she’d gotten a glimpse into what a good relationship would be like. It was a long time since she’d made love rather than had sex. But this was definitely the former. She’d known that Steve wanted her badly, but he’d been as concerned about her pleasure as his own. Still, she couldn’t discount the circumstances or the surroundings. She’d gotten him in bad trouble just by showing up at his mom’s house, and she hadn’t even realized how bad until those cops had woken them up in the morning. Suppose she got him arrested?
She glanced toward the little bathroom window, thinking it would be best for Steve if she could walk away from him. But then what?
A knock on the door made her jump. “What?”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Um . . .”
“Are you thinking about running out on me?” he asked in a taut voice.
She opened the door and saw that he’d pulled his clothing back on. “You’re a mind reader, too?”
“Not in the psychic sense. But I do remember how your thought processes work.”
Well, at least he wasn’t focusing on the usual conversation two people might have after making love—when they hadn’t been together in years and one of them was married.
She raised her chin. “I’ve put you in a difficult situation.”
“We’ll get out of it.” To punctuate the statement, he reached for her and folded her close. She clung to him, wishing they could have gotten back together some more normal way. But what would that have been? If they’d bumped into each other in a restaurant or something, would they have just made polite small talk before going their separate ways? Maybe it had taken something dramatic like this for them to admit how they really felt. Or at any rate, she knew how she felt. She was afraid to probe his emotions too deeply.
That uncertainty made her catch a shaky breath.
“What?”
Scrambling for a reason for her reaction, she said, “You’re cut off from the people who usually help you.”
He shrugged. “They can still help me do some research.”
“It flitted through my mind to sneak out, but I know that would be dumb. I’ve got a better idea.”
He tipped his head to the side, waiting.
“You remember I told you that Candy and I stayed friends?”
“And?”
“I think she’d help us.”
“Like how.”
“Starting with a better place to stay. She’s got a beach house on the Jersey shore.”
“But if Warren knows you and she are friends, he might look there—like he sent the cops to my mom’s house.”
“She’s got a lot of connections. We wouldn’t have to stay at her place. She could ask around.”
He nodded slowly, and she could see he was at least considering the idea. Finally he said, “You can call her. Tell her you’ve run away from Warren, and you need help. Don’t let her know that you’re with me.”
“Why not?”
“I want to keep our options open. We should call from a pay phone. That will make it look more authentic.”
She nodded and exited the bathroom.
“Are we coming back here?”
“I don’t know. But to be on the safe side, we’ll put our stuff in the car.”
When she finished dressing, Steve led her back down the stairs, where she was glad she wasn’t right in the line of sight of bar patrons. Probably guys who glanced their way thought Steve had paid for a few hours of her time, but perhaps that was better. If anyone asked, they’d say the couple were simple normal patrons of the upstairs rooms.
