I don’t know if it was the good night’s sleep from the wine, or the fact that I hadn’t had an orgasm with someone else in the room for far too long, but I leaned up to nip his full bottom lip. “You said something about a g-spot?”
His eyes turned a predatory blue, and he showed his teeth in a slow grin. “Let’s see what we can do.”
His lips dropped to mine. Now, I thought he had kissed me before. I was wrong. Those were mere hints, mere tantalizing peeks at what he could really do.
He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t soft. He was all heat, depth, and fire. I think I heard Gaelic angels singing in the background, but that could’ve been the blood rushing through my veins. His free hand reached up to tangle in my curls, pulling my head to the side, angling my face. He was hard and dominant, and I was surprised by how much I liked it. How much it ignited the already glowing fire within me. I’d have to figure that one out later. Right now, my hands were full.
The hand on my rear moved to slide teasingly across my front; the small silk thong no match for the heat of his hand. His mouth, now on my neck, stilled. “I forgot about the Brazilian.”
I figured he would be familiar with the concept. “I don’t see the big deal.”
He nipped the soft area between my neck and shoulder before his tongue soothed the sizzling skin. “You will.”
He ripped my shirt over my head, and I gasped. His mouth traced a hot, insistent trail from my neck to my breasts. His warm mouth engulfed one nipple as he pulled my aching bud into his mouth, and I pushed up against him, my hands clutching the solid muscles of his shoulders. He chuckled against my skin. I moaned.
He moved further south, kissing and nipping along the way. My thong was quickly ripped in two. In the back of my head, I knew I shouldn’t like that. The good Catholic-girl in there balked, but I forgot all about her when his mouth found me, and my body started singing ‘hallelujah’.
Though I did pray loudly to God at least three more times during the morning.
After playing with Aiden, I was very late for work. I wore a white shirt, black skirt with matching jacket, and muted pumps in preparation for Scot Peterson’s funeral set for that afternoon, even though it was a Friday. My mattress hockey with Aiden had taken longer than any girl had a right to expect, and I had to admit, I was a bit, well, tender. It had been a long time, and Aiden was nothing if not thorough. Very thorough. I can truthfully say that not only did I have a g-spot, but it had never been truly discovered before. I wondered if he had some sort of squatter’s right to it now. I frowned at the thought.
Carefully balancing two lattes while walking down the steps, I found Nick in his war room already taping pictures of the guys who’d chased me up into a tree to the big board. Would he be able to tell I’d had sex with a suspect the night before? I should probably admit it, but I just couldn’t. Then I looked at the big board.
Just seeing their faces made me trip, and the heated liquid splashed over my hand. I winced.
Nick rescued the coffees and set them down. His dark hair was almost long enough to curl around his ears, but not quite. “Meet Bert McLeroy—” he pointed to the guy with the acne scars “—and Chris Mayers.” He tapped the balding blond guy. “Low life thugs with known connections to the Third Street Boys gang out of Portland.”
I wiped the coffee off with my other hand. “How did you identify them?”
“Morons left their prints at Melvin Whitaker’s. We have BOLO’s out on both of them and should have them in custody soon.” Nick said, stepping back to study the board. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. “Holy shit.” Turning, his chin dropped. “Pierce didn’t tell me it was that bad.”
I gingerly poked at the scrape along my cheekbone, which had somehow extended up in a nice purple arc around my eye. So much for the concealer I’d plied on so generously. “Well, I did fall out of a tree,” I said, trying not to sound too defensive. Then I’d had spectacular sex with a bad boy.
Nick leaned back against the table and reached for his coffee, his gaze not leaving my face. “I thought I told you to stop investigating outside of legal theory and online databases?”
I really didn’t like being told what to do. My hackles rose, and I had to shove them back down, considering this was my boss. At least for the moment. “Because I’m a woman?” Yep. I went right there.
To my surprise, he paused as if thinking it over. “No. That’s not it.” He took another deep drink. “It’s a couple of things. One, we have both the DEA and the state police on this investigating, and our jobs don’t come into play yet. Two, you’re green, Anna. Brand new at this. You shouldn’t even be in the deep end of the pool right now.”
When his pause went on for too long, I lifted my chin. “And three?”
“You’re a magnet for trouble.” He handed my coffee back to me. “I’ve been a prosecutor for almost a decade, and not once have I had to climb a tree to escape a guy with a gun.”
Well. Since he put it that way. I took another drink of my coffee, enjoying the extra hit of vanilla flavor Tessa had given me. I hadn’t even told her about my sleeping with Aiden yet. Then I looked at the board, and at Aiden’s picture right in the middle. “Who are Bert, Chris, and the Third Street Boys? Another motorcycle club?”
“No. Street gang with connections up and down the west coast. They run drugs and guns and everything else.” He took a drink of the coffee. “My guess is that they’re competing for Beast, and the best way to do that is to kidnap the chemist. Why they shot at either Randy or Devlin outside the courthouse, I don’t know.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You think they were at Melvin’s to kidnap him because he’s the chemist?”
“Don’t see why else they would’ve been there.”
My face hurt, and I tried not to mess with the bruise. “Melvin is probably in hiding.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Nick asked.
I wanted to be right now. Instead, I squared my shoulders and studied the board. “Have you found a stronger connection or any more proof of criminal activity between the Lordes, Scot Peterson, and Melvin Whitaker?”
Nick gave a low grunt. “No. Closest I’ve gotten is that those two morons shot at Randy Taylor, or at Aiden Devlin, and then they showed up at Melvin’s house to chase you into a tree.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
“We have a possible manufacturer of Beast in Melvin, dealers and money guys in the Lordes and Devlin, and what in Scot Peterson? What’s his connection as the former and now dead prosecutor?” Nick shook his head. “I’ve gone through his finances with everything I have, and there’s nothing amiss.”
“Maybe Scot was innocent,” I said, looking at his picture. “Just because he met with both Melvin Whitaker and Aiden Devlin doesn’t mean he was a co-conspirator in the drug trade.”
“There’s no other explanation,” Nick countered.
Well. If there was one, I hadn’t found it. “Maybe.”
“Do you still think Devlin is innocent?” Nick drawled.
After the revelations of the previous night? That he had been stealing cars as a kid? “I’m not saying he’s a perfect citizen,” I murmured. “But drug dealers are bad, and I can’t see him being bad.” What was it Aiden had said? Nobody was all good or all bad. “I don’t think he could’ve killed anybody.”
Nick shook his head and then glanced at his watch. “I have felony arraignments in ten minutes. You?”
“Misdemeanor first appearances in half an hour.” It seemed odd to be going through the motions of my job when so much more was at stake right now.
Nick turned just as I licked extra syrup off my bottom lip. He blinked. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth, and I swear, my upper lip tingled. What was wrong with me? Aiden’s lips had just been on me.
“I’m your boss,” Nick murmured.
Heat spiraled through me. “Yeah. You’ve told me that quite a few times.”
“I don’t even think I like you,” he said, his eyes a very intrig
uing amber color.
Some of the heat dissipated. “Ditto.” And I meant it. Okay, kind of. He was likable in an intense, ambitious, possibly narcissistic way.
He shook his head and focused on my eyes. “Good ole Detective Grant Pierce asked me if you’re seeing anybody.”
I jerked, my brain spinning. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Seemed really unhappy to be asking the question, but he did it anyway.” Amusement lifted the corners of Nick’s mouth. “He’s way too old for you.”
“Huh,” I said, lacking any other brainpower for a response.
Nick shook his head. “There’s just something about you.”
“What?” I asked, meaning it. What could it possibly be?
“I have no idea,” Nick said thoughtfully.
Amusement grabbed me, and I laughed. That was just funny.
“Maybe it’s the laugh.” Nick grinned. “You have a great one.”
Okay. “Well—”
“You also have the cute girl-next-door thing going on.”
All righty. I didn’t need any more scrutiny from Nick. Plus, no woman wanted to look like somebody’s little sister. We all wanted, at least at my age, to be a bombshell. A dangerous one. “I have no intention of dating anybody in this business. No cops, no lawyers, no judges.”
“Just criminals, huh?” Nick asked, his eyes gleaming.
“Low blow, Basanelli,” I returned, even though it was a great hit. Yeah, I wanted to help out Aiden, and he’d been spectacular in bed. Right now, my only interest in him should be solving my case and putting bad guys in jail. If there was a way to help him turn his life around in the process, I’d take it for old time’s sake, since I really did owe him. Maybe I should forget all of these hot men and just get a cat. “I’m not dating criminals, either.” It wasn’t really a lie. I hadn’t been on a date with Aiden.
“You’ve just listed everyone you’re likely to come across in the next five years,” Nick said.
It was so crappy of him to point that out. “Maybe I’ll join one of those dating apps.” Why was I talking out loud? If all else fails, deflect. “What about you? Don’t you need a silent, pretty, and supportive spouse for your run for office? One who smiles dutifully when you open your mouth, just to hear the brilliance?”
He blanched. “Ouch. You’re cranky in the morning.”
“You started it,” I said, sounding like any kid on the playground.
He snorted. “Yeah, yeah I did. I’ll know better next time.” His smile warmed.
I didn’t have the energy to deal with Basanelli in a charming mood, and he was swiftly heading that way. “Don’t you have to be in court?”
“Yep. I’m going. Also, keep in mind that Detective Pierce is at least a decade and a half older than you. Like I said, he’s way too old for you,” Nick said.
I sighed. Enough about my dating life. “Get going. I’ll study the murder board and then head up to the office.”
“Take a couple of minutes to look at these.” Nick gave a short shake of his head that somehow looked regretful and then pulled out a dark brown file folder from the bottom of the stack. “The DEA finally gave up the rest of Aiden Devlin’s rap sheet, and it’s interesting information.” He glanced down at his watch. “I’ll leave you to your reading.” Giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder, he strode from the room, looking like an upcoming senator in his black suit with black tie.
My gaze glued to the case file. Swallowing, I pulled out a chair and sat. My hand shook as I flipped open the file to see a mugshot of Aiden taken at least ten years ago. One of several mugshots.
I slid the coffee away and read quickly. Through the years, Aiden had been arrested for armed robbery, grand theft auto, drug dealing, and distribution. There were numerous assault charges along with a couple of pretty violent looking batteries, and he’d managed to avoid serious prison time more than once.
That was nothing compared to being a person of interest in several drug-related homicides as an Enforcer for the Diablos—of which he had been three times before being patched over into the Lordes.
I’d slept with him the night before.
I flipped over the last page to a picture of Aiden in his cut, his jaw covered with a beard, his eyes hard and unrecognizable. My stomach cramped. His face swam, and I realized my eyes had filled. I angrily blinked tears away.
Was it too late to save him? More importantly, what had I done?
Chapter 28
I grabbed case files from my office on the way to misdemeanor court, once again not having had time to look them over before arriving. Once there, I met a cute and even greener deputy public defender named Clark Bunne, who had to be around twenty-five and fidgeted nervously. His skin was a warm beige and his head bald, and he had that earnest look that juries would love once he got the hang of the courtroom. Even his smile was sweet. He was the exact opposite of the men I’d been dealing with lately, and I warmed to him immediately, even though we were on opposite sides.
A uniformed officer sat at the back of the courtroom, and I felt a bit better having him there, even though I didn’t know which hearing he was attending.
My mouth almost dropped open when Judge Hallenback swept into the courtroom wearing his judge’s robe, red cowboy boots, and that stupid hat with the tassels. He was sucking a purple popsicle. He nodded at me. “Alberto. Good to see you again.”
“Um, thanks Judge.” I quickly introduced Clark and tried to appear normal.
The judge sighed. “Everyone is getting ready for the funeral, so I said I’d cover these hearings. Haven’t been to misdemeanor court in years. Years and years. Smells funny in here.” He glanced down at his case files. “Let’s do this.” Then he started humming ‘Can’t Touch This’ loudly.
I coughed and read my files, motioning for Clark to do the same. Most of my cases involved either pot or meth, and I guess the news stories about the current drug epidemic were true. We pled most of them out with only two going to trial, and Clark was a quick learner, even though the judge went from talking about the law to I Love Lucy.
Finally, Clark was finished with his files, and he fled the courtroom with an apologetic smile. People had already filtered in for the next hour of civil hearings, which I wasn’t involved in. I only had one case file left when the judge called for Charles Monroe to come up.
I turned as the defendant loped his way to the front. He was in his late seventies with thinning grey hair. Folds of skin down his neck made him look like a hungry chicken.
“Hiya hot stuff,” he whispered in my ear as he sat down at the table Clark had vacated. A large olive trench coat encased Monroe’s skinny body, and furry brown slippers with beaver heads covered his feet. Maybe he and the judge would get along fine.
I lifted an eyebrow and opened his file to read the charges while the judge did the same thing. I tried not to giggle as I read about the charge and the rather hilarious witness statements. Most of them were in support of the guy and asked that he not be charged. I glanced at Monroe. “Do you have an attorney?”
“Don’t need one.” He grinned.
It was his choice. “You were arrested for indecent exposure at the Elk’s Lodge during bingo?”
“Yep.” His chicken neck bobbed up and down. “I wanted to give them Lady Elks something to talk about. You know, not many of them are getting any now.” His small brown eyes gleamed with conviction.
“Is this your first offense?” I whispered back.
“Offense?” His voice rose. “Are you kidding? I gave them a freakin’ gift.” He leaned toward me, across the aisle, and lowered his voice. “I got me some of them blue pills, and boy do they work.”
Oh God.
The judge cleared his throat. “Alberto, is there a plea offer from the state?”
I didn’t have time for this. “The state offers two months’ probation conditioned upon Mr. Monroe keeping his clothes on from now on.”
“Two months?” Charles jumped to his feet befor
e I could respond. “Those old birds should be paying me for the show. Two months? No freakin’ way.”
The judge gave me a firm nod. “Alberto, please control your client.”
“He’s not my client, Judge. I’m the prosecution.” I stood to my feet and leaned toward Charles. “Um, probation is not a big deal. You won’t have to do anything.”
He turned sharp eyes on me. “Maybe you don’t understand what I’m saying! I have blue and white pills. I’m the Beast—it’s all about Beast now. Let me show you.” He reached down and unbuckled the coat, shucking it to the ground. He was suddenly and completely naked.
The Beast? I yelped in surprise at the sight of his shriveled wanker, sunken chest, and bony knees. His skin was as close to waxy chalk as I’d ever seen. I never wanted to get old. Ever. The courtroom erupted into surprised gasps and some laughter as Charles jumped across the aisle and up onto the prosecution table. He turned toward the crowd, shaking his floppy penis and singing, “Lookie here, praise the blue pill, lookie here…”
The judge pounded his gavel on the desk.
I leaned down and grabbed the fallen trench coat before holding it up to Charles and averting my eyes. “Put this back on,” I hissed as the bailiff reached for him from the other side of the table. Charles jumped down to my empty chair, grabbed my shoulder, levered himself to the ground, and quickly dodged behind me. He sure was spry for an old guy.
The bailiff rounded the table and reached over my shoulder to grab at Charles, who used me as a shield. His gnarled hands dug into my shoulders. Please, God, don’t let his penis touch my funeral suit. I’d have to burn it.
With a happy yelp, Charles leapt over the short wooden divider between the gallery and my table. He quickly jumped up and ran along the empty front pew. He stopped for a moment and wiggled his skinny butt my way, treating the gallery to his waving Johnson. The uniform cop sitting in the back stood and stalked down the aisle. The bailiff ran into the row. Between them, they tried to herd Charles toward the aisle. He reached the end of the pew, and the bailiff had him until Charles kicked out and knocked the bailiff into the cop.
Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1) Page 19
