by Arlene Webb
Richard’s eyes went wide and that hot light flickered. He smiled, slow and lazy, and oh yeah—Lindy batted her eyelashes and did the hair-toss thing.
Cassi gritted her teeth, prayed the ice hadn’t melted around her heart like it had in her glass, contaminating good alcohol, and downed the triple shot. “Okay, guys. Lindy, love, take my seat. I’m off to arrange a funeral.”
“Funeral?” Lindy didn’t bother looking at her. She seemed to be too busy gauging the height to be at least six-two, what promised to be rock-hard abs, tapered waist, and decent if not exceptional package by the angle of the leg trying to hide the bulge.
“Hopefully Pete’s. More likely my own. Bye.”
“Ah, what’d that asshole do this time?” Lindy reluctantly gave her a glance. “No new bruises. That’s good. But stay and have another and then, well, you know I always say three’s a lucky number.” She ran her fingers through silky hair, tossing her bright smile between them.
“Some other time,” Cassi muttered. “’Tis late. Call me mañana.” The empty smile on her own face felt like it faltered. She didn’t want to go home and risk getting into it with the man who’d been the man of her dreams for three months; he’d morphed into the monster of her nightmares for the past month. She also didn’t want a threesome, unless of course the outnumbered gender was her own, and didn’t involve her current roommate. Her palm flat on the clean counter, she readied to shove to her feet.
Richard’s hand came down on hers. “You going to be okay?”
A bolt of fire shot up her arm. She jerked her hand free. “Always.” She reached for her little purse, hooked on the back of the bar stool. A jerk of the elbow by Mr. Graceful, and Richard’s almost full bottle of beer tipped. She scampered aside before the crappy water, hops, and whatever was disguised as beer drenched her leg.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Her purse had fallen to the floor and in a blink he was off his stool, scooping it up and handing it to her. That large hand brushed hers, and there went the frickin’ electricity again.
“Come on, Cassi. Let’s make a night of it.” Lindy’s glassy gaze could only mean she’d been snorting from her little glass bottle before she’d come into the bar.
“I’m sure you’ll have fun without me.” Cassi tensed to bolt like a gal who finished first in every track meet in high school, and last in every sport that required team cooperation. She really needed better friends. A confidante who wasn’t into swinging with any number of players. At least she assumed that was Lindy’s trip. Cassi respected the fact she, herself, could easily turn into a pumpkin, and always disappeared before the clock struck bring-out-the-lube time.
“Can I at least give you a ride home?” Richard’s low, husky voice wrapped around her, tighter than a condom on a guy with large feet. His black boots were huge. Get out of here.
“Me, too?” Lindy asked him.
“No thanks,” Cassi squeaked, and ran.
In the parking lot, where luckily no evil-doers lurked unless they were invisible, she did her usual tromp ’round, looking for her car.
There. Lindy had parked her white SUV next to Cassi’s small blue car, the make she could never remember even though it was plastered above the rear license, but the thing with four wheels had been voted greenest vehicle of the year by the American Council for an Energy-Efficient Economy.
She fumbled with her keys, opened the door, and dropped her purse on the seat. A deep breath, a brisk slap to each side of her face, and she was good to go.
Five miles. Not far. No dummy, she kept carefully below the speed limit, came to a complete stop at each light that happened to be red of course, and no problem not tailgating the speeders in front of her.
A block from the home she shared with her soon-to-be-ex, she flinched. Why hadn’t the car behind passed her like all the others? The guy wasn’t right on top of her, but if she was paranoid, she’d think he was following. At least, she assumed it was a guy. Hard to see at midnight with tired vision, but women were excellent drivers and rarely stalkers. She sighed with relief as the car, truck, whatever, passed on after she’d pulled into the apartment complex.
Dammit. And the night got even better. A familiar truck—Pete’s—was parked out front, in the handicapped spot, because some jerks thought people in wheelchairs needed the exercise and knew no one bothered ticketing. She’d hoped the it’s-not-you-it’s-me conversation could wait until morning. For some reason, she always felt braver when the sun shone.
***
Ray, undercover code-name of Richard, floored it around the block. In a speeding minute, he entered the back of the complex, slowed to avoid sparks flying as he took the speed bumps, and drove round for a tense five minutes until he spotted the blue Mitsubishi. He parked down a ways from it, and a Ford pickup in the handicap space. He adjusted the clip in his ear, listening to the sound of someone unlocking a door. Hopefully she wouldn’t toss her purse aside, and he’d continue to have clear reception.
He’d taken a huge risk with regards to keeping his job. He was supposed to watch this Cassi Jones without her becoming suspicious, not try and pick her up and find the closest bed. But that cute little ass, her obsessive need to clean the counter, and he’d pounced right at her. It didn’t seem fair his damn blood couldn’t manage to flow north and south at the same time. An alert brain, rather than his throbbing dick, might help him stay employed by the state of Colorado.
“Where the fuck you been?”
The male voice rang out slightly tinny through the listening device, but the guy’s irritation was quite clear. Ray scowled. He whacked the glove box open. He shoved his badge into his front pocket, his Glock with full clip into the holster, and shifted back against the seat. Be good if he knew which apartment, but the FBI-quality, audio-microchip spy gadget would clue him in by the noises becoming louder as he approached.
“You could have told me you were back,” Cassi’s soft voice whispered. “I stopped for one drink with Lindy.”
“You know I don’t like that whore.” The male’s voice volume sounded as if the guy had closed in on Cassi and her purse.
“Pete—what’s your problem this time?”
“Nothing, honey. Just…those assholes at work. And I got home hours ago. I thought you’d have dinner ready. Why didn’t you call me to join you?”
“Um, you could have called me as well.”
“I did. Your cell keeps going to voice message. You’ve been avoiding me. Why’s that?”
“You know why.”
“You’re still pissed about the distiller.” Pete’s tones grew harsher and Ray tensed. “Christ. That was over a week ago. Why don’t you just admit it was your fault? If you hadn’t left it out for that…Ricky’s girl to screw around with, none of that would have happened. I told you, it wasn’t me that broke it.”
“I’m supposed to hide my stuff, who I am, every time your asshole friends come over to trash the place? Pete…we have to talk.”
“No, honey, we have to get past this. I’m trying to forgive you for constantly nagging about something I didn’t do and so what if I had? Stop pissing me off, before I give you something worth complaining about.”
A pause and the sharp inhale could only be Cassi gasping. Ray opened his door and exited the vehicle.
“Pete…please. I don’t want to play games.”
“And I’m damn hungry. Make me something to eat. Then we can talk about how a girlfriend shouldn’t come home drunk and reeking of sex. You wouldn’t do a guy in the bathroom. You go to his place? And where is that?”
Ray bounded up the stairs, in dire need of anger management himself.
“Club 45 on Fifth.” Cassi sounded winded. Did the prick have his hand on her throat? “Ask the bartender. I had one drink and left. Pete…please. Let go. I’m trying to tell you good news.”
“Good news?”
“You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry. Tell you what, unzip me while you talk. Let’s take this into th
e bedroom, little Cas. Use your mouth for something other than whining.”
“I won at Lotto the other day.”
“Seriously?”
“Three hundred. In my purse. Why don’t you go grab something to eat, let off some steam, and let me clean up this mess? Okay?”
“If you insist. It’s only fair.” The voice was distinct, along with the sound of a hand rustling beside the microchip stuck to the inside flap of Cassi’s purse. “Sweet…look at all the green stuff. Honey, this almost pays me back for handing over my winnings last week, thanks to the damn distiller incident. You coming with me?”
“You know I don’t like to hang on to your arm while you play poker.”
“Ahh, please. You’re my good luck charm.”
“Tired. Headache. Have to wash my hair.”
“That time of the month?”
“You’re a pig. Just take it and let me get some sleep.”
“I’m sorry. The thought of you sucking off another guy makes me crazy. I just love you so much and sometimes…you’ll be in a better mood, not such a bitch when I get home?”
“Absolutely.”
A loud smack—no cry from Cassi. Had the guy kissed her? Ray halted beside the staircase and swallowed his groan. He’d love to burst into that apartment and beat the bastard to a bloody pulp. Almost be worth blowing his cover.
“Sorry about the broken bottle, honey. But hey, make-up sex is always better when you have everything put away and aren’t so uptight and…you do love me, don’t you?”
“Always.”
Ha. That’s what she’d said earlier at the bar, when Ray had asked if she’d be okay. She must hate this guy. Good for her…although, what was Cassi planning to do with that hate?
“I’ll be at that new club. Come…text me first and then come join me if you change your mind.”
Ray snorted. A text to warn him so he could ditch the stripper he had on his lap. Pete was a real tool. And that tool would be coming out of one of six apartment doors any second. He knew he should backtrack for the car, but he wanted a look at the man. Cassi didn’t fit the criminal profile he was investigating. She seemed a sweet woman who’d fallen for the wrong guy. Maybe this Pete, who’d just emptied her wallet, had also helped himself to a credit card in her name. On the other hand, maybe not.
Much as he’d taken an instant dislike to the guy, he’d also sworn to uphold the law, and killing a boyfriend for being a mean jackass still got serious jail time. His gut clenched. Maybe he should come out of the shadows, regardless of it being only a matter of a few nights he’d been checking this Cassi Smith out. Stop a premeditated felony in the making.
“Hey, honey? I almost forgot.” Pete’s voice sounded farther away and then closer. “There’s four boxes that came. Hope you didn’t max out your card.”
Dammit. Those boxes were the reason Ray stood where he did, and suspicion had just shifted squarely onto Cassi. Some actress. He could have sworn, his dick still did swear, she was a girl tangling with an abusive guy, not a willing participant in a spider web of some terrorist cell.
“Four boxes?”
“In the kitchen. Heavy. I love you so I carried them in there for you. Wear that blue thong, honey. Back soon.”
A muffled slam of the door, the sound of Cassi drawing a deep breath, and then silence. The chip only picked up audio within six to ten feet. She’d taken the purse off her shoulder. Ray ducked and huddled under the stairwell.
A man without a weight problem, but hefty enough to easily knock a woman against a wall, closed door number three. The guy didn’t notice his observer as he hummed a jazzy tune, walking briskly down the stairs and into the parking lot, and Ray got a good look in the well-lit complex.
He sure hoped he’d be picking the face out of a lineup, not identifying him in the morgue. He’d best go back to the car and settle in for a long night.
A couple hours later, he straightened. A figure—Cassi—came slowly down those steps, a large box balanced awkwardly in both arms, one hand fumbling with keys.
The trunk of her car popped open. Ray regained his slump. He hunkered low, peering out the edge of the window.
She didn’t look his way. She struggled to put the box in the trunk and left it open.
He ached to jump out and help, but he sat like the lump of dedicated cop he was as she fought with three more boxes, which took up the trunk and most of the back seat, except for a small laundry basket of clothes. He couldn’t help his smile as she unloaded a large sack of what looked like a rock collection, tucking them in the cracks between the boxes and under the seat. Why’d the ones with personality have to be criminals?
A laptop, briefcase, a lot of books, and she carried the box of kitchen stuff back up to the apartment. The car was filled, except for the passenger seat.
She took the steps as if the five-gallon clear storage bottle was empty but heavy, cluing him in to the fact it was glass, not that blue plastic stuff. It and a plush dog crammed into the passenger seat as did her purse, a small grocery sack and a large Thermos.
She stood at the apartment door long enough he knew she’d locked it. It was 2:55 a.m. when she started her car up, turned left out of the complex, and picked up the pace to cruise a good ten-fifteen over the speed limit. As he followed onto the interstate to head north, he glanced at his gas gauge and groaned.
Classical music and then soft rock came through the listening device in the purse beside her. Cassi didn’t talk to herself to stay alert like he sometimes did, but she did start singing her version of the tune when an oldie came on.
“These boots are made for walking, and that’s what they won’t do. I’d rather wear sneakers and run away from you….”
A low soprano, her voice filtering into his ear made his dick as uncomfortable as possible in the confinement of his jeans. He had a thing for voices. Some women, ones without that high-pitched or shrill tone, could make him come regardless of what ignorance or nastiness poured out their mouths. With those women, he didn’t need physical or visual contact. It happened almost without his hand stroking along in time with their words.
Dammit. I’m in love at first sight and sound of you. Sure hope you’re a naughty girl, Cassi Smith, but not an evil sociopath.
As they left Evans, the suburb of Denver where Cassi lived, or used to live, he sighed and pulled out his cell phone. It took jabbering to three different officers before the authority at the precinct down the road understood what he wanted.
Ten minutes later, the music in Cassi’s car stopped and she groaned. “Jesus H. Christ. What did I do in a past life to deserve this?” The flashing lights and siren went around Ray to zero in on her.
She pulled over, mumbling, “Yes, sir, no, sir, bite me, sir. I swear, one of these days I’m just gonna start shooting.”
Holy crap, not serious, right? His stomach in knots, he drove on by. She’d stopped talking. The device in his ear told him she didn’t even speak to the officer, but handed over license and registration, most likely fuming in silence as he took Ray’s requested fifteen minutes or more to make out the ticket.
He spun down the next exit, filled up at the closest service station, and waited at the end of the on-ramp. The moment he saw the blue Mitsubishi driving at the exact speed limit, he sped up to follow, a car behind.
But not for long. Ten miles later, 4:05 a.m., she took the next exit and he sighed. If she’d done that a ticket ago, he’d not have stalled her to fill his tank.
Three blocks down the thruway access road, she pulled into a motel with a vacancy sign. He drove past, U-turned, and entered at the other side of the building.
He waited five and then circled to the front. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gone inside to get a room. Instead, she got out of her car, glanced inside to make sure the clerk saw her clearly, and marched up to his vehicle. He flinched at the can of mace in her hand.
Busted. He opened the door, got out, and braced himself.
Her jaw dropped. “Richard?
What the…why are you following me?”
He held his hands up, palms out. “Sorry. I’m an ass. But I have legitimate reason.” He lowered his hands and attempted his best crack at an aw-shucks smile. “Don’t spray me until I explain…er…don’t spray me at all would be good.”
She just gaped at him.
“I’m reaching into my front pocket. I have a badge. See the gun on my hip? I’ve a license for it.” He slowly pulled out his shield and thrust it toward her.
She hesitantly inched forward to peer at it. “Detective Raymond Harris?”
“Yep. I’m not a dick. Really.”
“But why? What’d I do?”
Seize the moment. Opportunity knocks. You’re going to get fired. She’s worth it. She’s a probable criminal. Is there any blood left in my frickin’ head?
“Er…it’s more than I care to explain in this parking lot. We’ve both been up all night. Let me pay for a room—double beds of course, and know that I need to examine those boxes in your car.”
Chapter Two
Cassi sat on the edge of the motel room bed, wondering if her life could get much stranger. Detective Raymond Harris had enough courtesy to blush when she’d asked why he didn’t strip search and handcuff her to the bed before he—the bastard—effortlessly carried boxes that weighed a zillion tons, one by one, into the room. After the last was stacked on the floor beside the other bed, he straightened and faced her.
“What? You’re not worried about the other stuff in my car getting stolen?” Great, not even crossing her feet at the ankles dampened her urge to jump up and caress away the beads of sweat on his brow.
“Sorry. Thanks for not making me chase you down. Could you sit tight for another fast load?”
“Whatever.” She hunched her shoulders, her fingers so tightly cramped around the can of mace she doubted she could let go of it if she wanted to.
He eyeballed her doubtfully, and then showed her that yummy backside yet again as he hurried out the door. She pushed to her feet and debated escape.
