The Wolf, page 19
Rio laughed softly. “I can respect that logic. We’re in a dangerous business, aren’t we. Self-protection always has to come first. So, let’s start as we mean to go on, and say three time’s a charm and you won’t have to do the rescue stuff with me again.”
“Deal.”
He extended his hand, and as she clasped his palm, there was a strange look in her eyes. And he felt it, too. That sexual charge.
“So,” she said as she retracted herself from the contact. “Anywho…”
“You want a shower while you use the bathroom? It’s safe right now.”
Her stare returned to his. “It is?”
“Well, -er. It’s safe-er.” He nodded to the bathroom. “I wish I could get you some fresh clothes, but all I have to offer is running water.”
“That’s okay.” Her lids closed and her head fell back a little. “A shower would be amazing.”
Lucan got up first, and when he put his hand down to her, he knew he wasn’t being chivalrous. He wanted to know if—
Yup, there it was again. As she grabbed on to what he offered, the heat he’d felt on that shake went up his arm, through his chest—and right down into his cock.
Fuck.
Ordinarily, he was not the kind of wolf to turn down any opportunity to mate. With Rio, though, he held back—and told himself it was because she was a complication he didn’t need, a human in the midst of vampires.
Not because he was doing a protection number on himself.
Stepping ahead, he opened the door to the bathroom. “I promise not to look.”
“Like I told you, I’m not shy.”
She said that as she walked by him. All casual. Like what was under her clothes was no big deal—even though he could confidently say it was all he’d been thinking about since he’d sat his ass down on the cold concrete outside of where she’d been sleeping.
Lucan glanced at his watch. It was ten in the morning. One good thing about vampires was they did hibernate in the daytime. No one was going to be around for at least another six hours. Hell, even the guards slept at their stations up above, far from this hidden corner within the rabbit warren of subterranean spaces.
Slipping into the loo, he pushed the door closed and locked it. He had the gun the Executioner didn’t know he’d picked up downtown tucked into the small of his back—he had to check the one he was given in and out each night, so this other nine millimeter was a major find.
But he didn’t like the fact that there was no escape in here.
He glanced up and saw a large grate in the ceiling.
Scratch that.
There was not a great escape. A grate one, though, definitely existed.
“I’ll sit here,” he murmured as he went over, put the seat down, and parked it on the toilet.
He turned and faced the wall, and tried not to picture what she was doing as he heard the water begin to fall. She would start with the shirt, he imagined, the loose one he had found in the back of the car he’d stolen and put on her. He’d had a choice between that and a Domino’s polo that was stained with sauce, like the guy who either had owned the car or stolen it had worked there.
And she was taking it off.
“Am I losing my mind, or is this hot water?” she said.
Lucan smiled to himself. “It’s hot.”
“How?”
“Gas line into hot water heaters.”
“I’m just curious, but what is this place? A school that closed down or something?”
“Something like that.” And then he changed the subject. “I’m not going to do anything inappropriate, you know. Just thought I’d throw that out there.”
“Do you think I’d be locked in here with you if I thought there’d be a problem?”
Her voice was easy and calm, and he wasn’t sure whether she was so confident because she had a better opinion of him than she should or because she was very capable of handling herself. More likely the latter.
Had she taken the cut t-shirt off? That fleece? God… if he hadn’t come into that apartment when he had? Well, that just didn’t bear thinking of, did it.
Lucan knew she’d gotten under the water when she sighed and the pattern of rain was interrupted. And he really tried not to imagine what she looked like, naked, glistening… soap dripping off her—
They didn’t have any soap, he realized. No, wait. They did.
Leaning to the side, he took a bar off a divot in the sink’s shoulder and held it out straight without turning his head. “Couldn’t tell you what kind this is, but it’ll have to do.”
“Thanks. I’m not picky.”
As she took the bar from him, his peripheral vision picked up on all kinds of skin, gorgeous skin. And even still, as he re-angled himself so he was staring at the wall by the toilet at a point-blank range, he had an impression of what her spine looked like as it plugged into her—
“This isn’t half bad,” she said with a sigh.
Actually, it was. He shouldn’t be thinking about things involving…
“Will you relax,” she said through the spray. “You would have done something already, if you were going to—and besides, I’m not that special.”
“Huh?” He went to look at her and stopped himself. “What did you say, I mean.”
“That’s why I’m not worried about being in here with you. You had your chances to be a problem—and I was out of it, too. And besides, I’m not a beauty queen. I’m just a woman.”
Lucan didn’t respond to that. How could he tell her that she was so much more than special—
Wait, what was he thinking here?
“How did you end up in the business?” he blurted. So he could get out of his own head.
“How did you,” she countered as the smell of cedar bloomed in the humid air.
“Touché.”
The sound of the water was variable, and he imagined she was running that bar over herself. He’d never particularly loved any kind of soap, but he could get used to the smell of this particular bar in his nose.
“I was drafted into the business,” he muttered.
“How? By who?”
“Long story. Now it’s your turn.”
“What, like this is strip poker, but without the cards and the clothes?” There was a pause. Then she laughed. “Guess I already lost part of that one. The strip part, that is.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
After a moment, she said, “I don’t know. Everyone has to be somewhere doing something.”
There was resignation in her voice. And as the water was cut off, the dripping was loud.
“Here,” he said as he pulled his sweatshirt off. “Use this as a towel.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
Lucan stretched his arm out again. And when she took what he offered, he realized he’d just screwed himself.
Her scent was going to be on the sweatshirt, and he couldn’t afford to have that smell in anyone else’s nose. To vampires, humans were easy to pick up on—and the other species was most definitely unwelcome in the prison camp.
Plus the Executioner liked fresh meat for his trophy wall.
“Let’s get you back in bed,” he heard himself say. “Quickly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
José went back to the trap house as soon as he’d logged enough sleep to be competent to drive without endangering public safety. As his unmarked rolled to a stop, he looked through the foggy car window at the facade of the walk-up. It was so cold that his breath and his hot coffee had sweated everything up, but he couldn’t say that he needed a big visual refresher course on what the place looked like.
He’d been staring at it in his mind all night while he hadn’t been sleeping.
Opening his door, he got out. The air was straight-up November, about thirty-five degrees, with a bite of humidity that in a month would mean snow was coming. As it was, there was a drizzle hovering just below the cloud cover. He didn’t think it was going to turn into a full-on rain, but what the hell did he know.
As he walked across the road, he stopped in the middle and looked down. A compelling sense of loss made it impossible to keep going, and as that headache from the night before came back with a vengeance, he decided it was a good goddamn thing he was retiring.
He was wearing out, the chassis of focus and determination that he’d built his professional life on top of now rickety and unreliable from mental fatigue.
Cursing, he started up with the footwork again, and as he came to the walk-up’s door, he slipped a Rolaids into his mouth. Maybe if he could take some time off and eat better, he’d be able to quit the chalky savior stuff.
Although to be fair, he had sucked back a lot of leftovers at two a.m. last night because he’d had so much to think about. That undercover cop had still not shown up, checked in, or been found, alive or dead. But at least his buddy in CSI had done a great job at Officer Hernandez-Guerrero’s place and documented everything like it was a crime scene.
Because he knew in his gut it was one.
Nothing much to go on, yet. The bloodstains were likely the missing officer’s, and the fingerprints had been hers and hers alone. Although maybe something would turn up. All downtown patrols last night had been on the lookout. They still were. And they would be until they found… whatever they did.
With a yank, he pulled things open—
“What the fuck.”
As his eyes focused on the trail of blood down the stairs, his nose got filled with a crap ton of not-right. The smell was sickeningly sweet and totally overpowering, to the point where he recoiled.
Recovering fast—like he wasn’t used to bad stenches?—he took some booties out of the pocket of his sports coat and slipped them over his shoes. Then he snapped on two gloves. Stepping up to the blood, he looked down the hallway to the back entrance. He guessed whoever had been leaking badly had headed out that way—because why would you come to a place like this if you needed medical help?
José got his phone and put in a call to dispatch as he walked down the corridor, making sure he didn’t step in anything.
Dispatch answered as he opened the back door and leaned out. “This is de la Cruz.” He gave his badge number. “I need backup.”
Nothing unusual in the shallow parking lot other than a couch that had seen way better days, a broken TV, and some typical city litter. No body. No severely wounded person down on their face on the pavement.
As he gave the address, he walked out a little. The blood trail continued off to the left so he followed it to an abrupt end point off to the side of the alley. Like whoever had been leaking plasma had gotten into a car and driven away.
Ending the call with dispatch, he went back to the rear entry and retraced his path to the base of the stairs. Taking out his pocket light, he shined it on the steps and followed the trail up to the second floor. The third floor. When he came to the fourth—
Over to the left, the door that he’d knocked on the night before was open… and the blood went inside the apartment. Or came out of it, was more likely.
Palming up his service weapon, he closed in, and sure enough, his business card had fallen to the floor. Someone had stepped on it and left a partial bloody shoe print—
As the beam flashed inside, he saw the pool of blood immediately. It was off to one corner.
“Detective José de la Cruz, Caldwell Police.”
In his gut, he knew announcing his presence was a waste of time. And when there was no response, he swept his weapon around in a coordinated movement—which was when he saw the stakes that had been driven into the floorboards. There was nylon rope tangled around each, like someone had been tied to them, and there was a major disturbance in the dust.
Evidence of thrashing.
He thought of the missing officer.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered.
Out to the back of the flat, he caught sight of a rotted kitchen. To the front, there were some rooms, at least one of which was a bedroom, going by the stained bare mattress on the floor.
Moving carefully and choosing his foot placement so he didn’t compromise the scene, he went past the bleed-out and peered into the other spaces. Blackout drapes covered the shitty windows, as they did throughout the place. Nothing was on the bed, on the floor… other than some errant trash that, like everything else, had a layer of dust on it.
José went back out to the main room, to the stakes. Lowering down onto his haunches, he inspected the frayed nylon around one of the wooden stabs.
It was bloody.
As his cell phone went off, he checked the screen and answered quick. “Treyvon, I was about to call you—”
The other detective cut him off. “They found undercover officer Leon Roberts in the river. ’Bout an hour ago.”
José frowned. “Leon?”
“Guess my source was wrong. It was a male officer missing.”
No, José thought. It meant there were two of them.
“I know Leon. He was a good kid.” Who was Trey’s age, actually. “I mean, young man. Man. He came up through third district patrol like I did. I met him a couple of times.”
“You remember everyone.” There was a sad note to Trey’s voice. “He was in my class at the academy. He was floating facedown… got caught in a residential dock. Owner called it in and the ID was made by one of the first responders who played against him in softball on Saturdays.”
Closing his eyes, José swept his face with his palm. “Dammit. How’d he die?”
“Gunshot to the back of his head. Very professional. Unlikely there’ll be water in his lungs.” There was a pause. “Look, he’s not married, but I know his parents are still alive. I was thinking maybe you as a senior representative of the department could—”
“Yup, I’m on it.” José glanced at the blood on the stake. “But I can’t leave my location until other officers get here.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s your day off.”
There was a rustling, as if the guy were pulling on clothes. “Address, please.”
Shaking his head, José looked to the ceiling. And then said with resignation, “Right where you left me last night, just one floor down. Watch the blood as you come up the stairs.”
Things on the other end of the connection got quiet. “There was no blood on the—”
“There is now. We have another scene. I just called it in—and I think you should stay home with your wife and kids, but you won’t. So do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
José took a deep breath—and rubbed his nose. The weird sweet smell was enough to make him rethink his pending request. But then his stomach growled anyway, a sign he was in the right profession, he supposed.
At least for the next month.
“Bring me coffee and donuts. I forgot to eat when I left. Thanks,” he said before he ended the call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
There was hot water, yes. But no heat.
When Rio’s showering was done and she’d turned off the spray, she was surprised at how quickly the temperature dropped. Yes, there was warmth and humidity in the bathroom’s tiled confines, but not enough. The only solution she had was getting dry and clothed. Too bad she didn’t have a—
“Here, use this as a towel,” Luke said.
Crossing her arms over her bare breasts, she looked at him… and caught her breath. He was turned away, facing the wall, the sweatshirt held out blindly toward her.
He was also bare chested, the muscles of his torso fanning out along his shoulders, across his back, around his ribs.
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
Taking what he offered, she put his sweatshirt to work, aware that as she passed it over her skin, that cologne of his was getting all over her. And she liked it. Liked the smell of it, but liked even more the fact that it was his.
“Let’s get you back in bed,” he said. “Quickly.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She folded the sweatshirt, turning the soft cotton over in her hands… and then she dried off her wet hair with it. For some reason, as her breasts swayed, they felt heavier—and hey, she wasn’t thinking about the cold anymore, was she. Suddenly, she was as hot as the tropics.
Before she got way ahead of herself—too late—she set her makeshift towel on the side of the sink and put her clothes back on. As she drew her pants up her legs, she remembered when she had put them on.
A lifetime ago.
Meanwhile, Luke was still facing away from her, but had changed his position. His elbow was now plugged into his knee, his chin on his fist, that muscular back of his curved thanks to his height. His pose made her remember a picture she had seen in an art history book of that old sculpture, The Thinker.
And then she didn’t really think of anything.
She had known he was big and strong. She had felt that when she’d been carried by him. But she hadn’t expected him to be so—
“Here’s your sweatshirt back,” she said as she picked it up again.
Put it on, she thought. Please.
And not because he was ugly. Because he was so much the opposite of ugly.
“Don’t worry, I’m decent,” she muttered.
As he turned to her, his eyes stayed on her face. Like she was still naked.
“Thanks.” He took the damp fold. “You ready to go back?”
She should have glanced away as he dressed—what was good for the goose and the gander, or… how did that saying go?—but she didn’t. She watched as he straightened on the toilet seat and pulled on what she had just had all over her naked body.
And when he couldn’t see her for that brief moment, she reeaaaaally watched him. His pecs and abs were worth the look, flexing as he went through the bog-standard movements of putting on clothes, turning the simple work into something… spectacular.
Smoke show, she thought stupidly. That was the vernacular, wasn’t it?
Luke got up on his feet. “Feel better?”
Well, she was not cold in the slightest anymore. And she wasn’t thinking about all her aches and pains, either.
“Yes, I am. Feeling better, that is.”
