Noah wasn’t a patsy, or a liar. He had his entire career ahead of him, and Patrick was near retirement. There was no way he’d sacrifice his shot at working homicide to spare his partner’s feelings.
Patrick gave him a weighted stare. His gray-blue eyes looked like dirty ice, and sweat dotted his ruddy forehead. “How was your date?”
The question was so accusatory, Noah flinched. “None of your business.”
Patrick snorted his derision. “That’s what I thought,” he said, unlocking his truck. “You’re fucking some crew member’s baby mama, but I’m the one who gets sent home for inappropriate conduct.”
Although it was at least ninety degrees on the blacktop where they were standing, Noah felt a chill run down his spine. “What do you mean?”
“Your sexy little girlfriend has some serious gang connections. She didn’t tell you? Maybe her mouth was too busy.”
Noah stifled the urge to grab Patrick by the front of the shirt and busy his mouth—by knocking a few teeth loose. “Who?”
“Raul Hernandez.”
The name hit him like a ton of bricks. April had told him Jenny’s father was in jail, but she’d failed to mention any specific details about her ex. Noah couldn’t believe she was capable of getting involved with a man like Hernandez. The guy was scum.
Noah had been on the gang unit for only two years, so he’d never met “Ruthless” Hernandez in person, but he’d heard about him. The former leader of CVL was currently in a maximum-security penitentiary, doing hard time for armed robbery. He wasn’t just a thief and drug dealer anymore, either.
Now he was a member of the Mexican Mafia.
“No,” he said, refusing to acknowledge the truth. April couldn’t have been mixed up with a guy like that. And she wouldn’t have kept it a secret.
Would she?
Patrick made a sympathetic face. “I hope you didn’t buy that sweet and innocent act. What did I tell you about women?”
“You’re so fucking bitter since your wife left you,” Noah said in a low voice. “Not all women are lying whores.”
Hurt flared in Patrick’s eyes. They’d discussed his home situation only once, when Patrick had been too drunk to self-edit. Noah’s partner had always put his job ahead of his family, and now he was paying the price. He’d be spending his mandatory vacation in an empty house. “Not all women,” he agreed. “Some men are, too.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You sold me out.”
“Did you expect me to take the fall for you? My career is just starting, and yours is—”
“Over?”
Noah looked away, uncomfortable. “I’d rather be bitter—and alive—than green and dead. We’ll see how fucking honest you are after twenty years on the force. If you make it that long.” Mouth twisting, he got into his truck and slammed the door.
Noah didn’t stand around in the parking lot after Patrick left. He went back to his cubicle and looked up Raul Hernandez. His rap sheet wasn’t that impressive. The charges ranged from drug possession to domestic violence—the typical top two.
Hernandez’s mug shot looked familiar. He resembled his brother, Eric, but with jailhouse muscles and a harder edge.
Raul’s gang-affiliation profile included pictures of his tattoos. A large bold 13 covered the side of his neck. The Mexican Mafia had adopted the tag, M being the thirteenth letter of the alphabet. He also had R-U-T-H spelled across the knuckles of his right hand and L-E-S-S written across his left.
Noah’s gut clenched at the thought of him putting those hands on April. Had he abused her? Maybe this was why she never dated and was so “reserved” with men.
The rest of Hernandez’s tattoos were basic gangster fare, an ironic mix of religious symbols, violent images, and sexy ladies. On the side of his rib cage, there was a tribute to Jenny. Her name was written in cursive, over a tiny heart.
Noah closed the screen, covering his eyes with one hand. His own heart was aching, beating hard in his chest.
This was fucked up on so many levels. He was a gang-unit officer, dating Raul Hernandez’s ex, and he didn’t even know it. If word got out in the department, he’d be a laughingstock. He might even face administrative action.
Their relationship was a major conflict of interest.
Even if dating her wasn’t inappropriate, it was still unwise. Did he want to get hung up on someone with this much … baggage? April had mentioned some trouble with her mother, and she’d just had a break-in. Hernandez would get out of prison in a few years, and he might ask for visitation rights.
Noah had never dealt well with girlfriend drama. He tended to choose fun, easygoing women who didn’t cause him any aggravation. There hadn’t been anyone who’d made a lasting impression on him, either, which was probably why he’d found it so easy to move on. With April, everything was different. More challenging, more complicated.
He was so drawn to her.
Could he really walk away?
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Putting April out of his mind, he began to search through the digital files on his computer, uploading the footage of Junior Lopez’s wreck. The pursuing squad car had recorded the accident from a distance, but it was impossible to identify the occupants.
The passenger in the front seat, however, had a bandanna on his wrist.
Although the sight was common, Noah straightened in his chair. He pulled up the older footage of Tony Castillo crossing the border, studying the unidentified occupant. The man was too lean to be Junior Lopez, and his hair was short rather than shaved.
Noah had a pretty good idea who Castillo’s trafficking partner was. He was also a likely candidate for having fled the scene of the accident last night. And he was the last person Noah wanted to arrest.
Eric Hernandez.
Meghan checked all of the locks on the windows and doors—twice.
She’d never felt unsafe in Noah’s house before. The neighborhood was quiet, several blocks from the closest business district. Car break-ins happened often, but more serious crimes were rare. A few nights ago she’d pedaled her bike down the darkened streets, enjoying the city’s mystique.
Tonight she was cowering inside, peeping through the blinds for intruders.
Logically, she knew her fears were unfounded. Jack’s parents hadn’t posted bail, so he was still incarcerated. No one was creeping up the sidewalk, crouching behind the bushes, or plotting a sneak attack.
“Stupid,” she muttered, moving away from the front window.
Noah had encouraged her to get out and exercise. She’d had breakfast with him this morning, but they hadn’t spoken much. He was disappointed in her, she knew. She’d promised not to be any trouble.
Maybe she should have gone back to work. Noah didn’t want her to, because of what happened to Cristina. She also wasn’t sure how Jack’s dad, the owner, would react. Although she didn’t necessarily want to deal with conflicts right now, being cooped up was driving her crazy. And she longed to see Eric.
Noah had some exercise equipment in the garage, so she put on her workout clothes and went to investigate. The weight-lifting bench didn’t interest her. Bypassing it, she found some ten-pound barbells and a jump rope.
Her arms were burning after less than five minutes with the barbells. She frowned, flexing her scrawny biceps. Maybe she should toughen up, in case some asshole like Jack decided to target her as a victim again.
The jump rope was more her style. After fifteen minutes, she was sweating. She realized that she felt better. Not good, but better. For the past two days she’d been wandering around like a zombie, sleeping all the time, groggy when awake. Now her heart was pumping again, making her feel strong. Alive.
Noah’s punching bag beckoned. She’d watched him hit it before, laughing at the sounds he made. Now she studied the piece of equipment more seriously, not sure how to use it. Her hand made a knobby fist. She punched once, in an awkward jab.
No
t satisfying.
The bag looked soft and cushiony when Noah hit it. For her, it felt impenetrable. The stuffing didn’t have any give.
Kicking it, she almost landed on her butt.
Narrowing her eyes, as if the punching bag were her mortal enemy, she continued to attack, hitting it repeatedly, fists flying. A few minutes later she sagged against the bag and rested her cheek on the firm surface, panting.
When she realized someone was knocking on the door, she froze.
The garage was right beside the front walk, but it had no windows. Trapped, she considered her options. Escaping to the backyard seemed appropriate. Or she could run inside and call Noah.
“Meghan?”
The voice was masculine, hesitant. Nonthreatening. “It’s me, Eric.”
Relieved, she went to answer the door. He was standing there on the front step, wearing a dark-gray T-shirt and faded jeans, his forehead wrinkled with concern.
She was so happy to see him, tears sprang to her eyes. “Hi,” she said, breathless.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Hi.”
She’d been worried that he wouldn’t want to talk to her anymore. If she hadn’t acted like such an idiot on Friday night, Cristina might still be alive. Eric couldn’t have enjoyed hearing the news or suffering through the subsequent police interrogation.
He didn’t seem angry, however. His gaze swept down her sports top and jogging pants before returning to her face.
“I was just … exercising,” she said lamely.
“I can see that.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to come in?”
“Okay.”
Once he was inside, she wasn’t sure what to say or where to go. Inviting him up to her bedroom seemed silly. Giving him a tour of the downstairs would take about thirty seconds. Maybe she should offer him a drink or a place to sit.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, suddenly aware of how sweaty and unkempt she was. “My brother has a punching bag in the garage, and I was trying to learn how to, um, hit.”
He nodded, assessing her words. “You want to be able to protect yourself?”
She didn’t have a plan, other than working out some aggressions. But what he said sounded reasonable. “Yes. I guess I do.”
“I can give you some pointers.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
He followed her into the garage, whistling at Noah’s equipment. It was nothing new or expensive, but Eric looked impressed. “What does he bench?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is he home?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Meghan smiled, watching him take a few jabs at the punching bag. His strikes made more of an impact than hers. “Who taught you how to fight?”
“My brother.”
“Are you close?”
“We used to be.”
“Do you still see him?”
“Yeah.”
If she remembered correctly, he’d said his brother was in prison. She was curious about how Eric visited him, but he seemed uncomfortable with the subject, so she didn’t pursue it. “Will you show me how you hit Jack?”
He gave her slender arms a dubious glance. “I could, but it wouldn’t do you much good. You don’t have the upper-body strength to trade punches with a man.”
“What if I bulked up?”
He didn’t laugh at her question. Instead, he walked over to stand next to her, extending his left arm. Motioning for her to do the same, he compared the two. “I’m not that tall, but my reach is much longer than yours. That means you have to come closer to hit me and move farther away to get out of my range. You also have a small frame. No matter how much muscle you put on, you’ll be at a major disadvantage with most men.”
She studied his arm, admiring his excellent muscle tone and dark complexion. Her skin looked very pale next to his. When he made a fist, she followed suit, noting the discrepancy in size. His knuckles took up a lot more space than hers did. They were also covered with marks, fresh scabs and old scars.
“The best thing for you to do is try to get away.”
“How?”
“Any way you can. Hit the eyes, nose, throat, knees. Kick, bite, scream. Pick up a rock. Use your elbows.”
Assaulted by memories of the attack, Meghan dropped her fist. She remembered feeling utterly powerless, clutching the sand. She should have thrown it in Jack’s eyes. Or elbowed him in the mouth. And kneed him in the groin.
With grim determination, she turned her back to Eric, practicing an elbow jab.
“Good,” he said. “You can do that if someone grabs you from behind.”
“Jack … let me roll over.”
“It was easier for him that way. Restricted your movement.”
She nodded, recognizing the truth when he spoke it. “How do you know?”
“From experience.”
Over the next hour, Eric showed her a few dirty fighting techniques and some simple self-defense methods. Then he went ahead and taught her the proper way to throw a punch. Although he recommended that she run away rather than hold her ground, he said it was good for strength training.
When he noticed her slowing down, he cut the lesson short. “Why don’t you rest now and practice your moves again tomorrow?”
“Okay,” she said, stretching her arms. Her muscles burned pleasantly and her head buzzed with fatigue. “Let’s get a drink.”
He followed her into the kitchen, grabbing a chair at the table while she raided the fridge. “Noah has beer.”
“And the ability to arrest us for underage drinking.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
Smiling, she took out two bottles of water. As she handed him one, she noticed an inch-long gash on the top of his head. “What happened to you?”
He touched the spot absently, smoothing a hand over it. “Nothing.”
She set aside her water and put her fingertips on his jaw, tilting his head toward the light. The wound was recent but not serious. “Did you get knocked out?”
“No.”
“You’re lucky.”
When his eyes drifted south, she realized that she was practically cradling his head against her breasts. Although he wasn’t complaining, she let him go and sat down, taking a few gulps of water to cool her embarrassment. They fell silent for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Cristina.”
His gaze held hers. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was. I wore that skimpy top to get your attention.”
“It worked.”
She warmed at the implication but tried not to let it distract her. “When I saw Cristina hanging all over you, I got jealous. That’s why I left with Jack. If I hadn’t been so drunk and desperate and stupid, Cristina would still be alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She went looking for us, Eric.”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But, knowing Cristina, she could just as easily have gone looking for one of those surfers or ditched the party in a huff.”
“Are you saying that to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“She wanted you.”
“I didn’t want her.”
She looked across the table at him, wishing she knew what he was thinking. Even if he’d been attracted to her before the bonfire, he wouldn’t act on it now. Meghan’s hopeless infatuation with Eric had caused a terrible chain reaction of events. Jack’s attack, Cristina’s murder. She should have been drowning in guilt and shame. Instead, she was staring at Eric’s hands, wishing he would touch her.
“I better go,” he said.
“Why?”
He rose from the table. “Just because.”
She walked him to the door, her heart sinking with every step. She
felt raw and broken, like damaged goods. “Do I disgust you?”
He stopped and stared at her, wide-eyed. For a moment he seemed shocked into silence. Then he said, “You could never disgust me. I disgust myself.”
She moistened her lips, nervous. “What do you mean?”
He dragged his gaze from her mouth, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “Do you know what I was thinking about, the entire time in the garage? Fucking you.”
A thrill raced through her. She studied the dark flush over his cheekbones, marveling at his taut expression.
“Really?”
His eyes met hers, stark with need. “On the floor, against the punching bag, over the weight bench.”
“Oh,” she breathed, trying to picture it. “I had no idea—”
“Well, get a clue. You know what I am.”
“A good person?”
He shook his head, impatient. “Maybe I’m no better than Jack.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You shouldn’t have let me in.”
“I trust you.”
“I don’t trust myself.”
“You just spent an hour teaching me self-defense.”
His fist thumped against his chest. “Partly to protect you from me!”
Meghan couldn’t stand to see Eric beat himself up like this. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “I don’t need anyone telling me who to trust or what to believe,” she said, touching his face. “I can make those decisions on my own.”
His jaw tightened beneath her fingertips. “You don’t even know me.”
Moving slowly, she lifted her chin until her lips were almost brushing his. “Describe what you wanted to do to me in the weight room. That was … interesting.”
He held himself rigid, as if struggling to remain aloof. She could feel the tension in his body, smell the heat on his skin. She had the urge to rub against him like a cat. All of her senses were alive, purring with desire.
Mouth hard, he splayed his hand over her bare stomach, pushing her back until her shoulders touched the wall. Once he had her where he wanted her, he just looked at her. Her skin tingled with anticipation, and her sports bra felt too tight.
After what seemed like an eternity, he braced his other hand against the wall beside her head and lowered his mouth to hers. The first kiss was gentle, tentative. His hand was a hot brand on her belly, and she quivered at his touch. She parted her lips, tasting him.
The Edge of Night Page 18
