Soul Rest, Page 22

  When he released his hold on the collar, she muttered something about getting dressed again and escaped to the bathroom. Once there, she closed the door, leaned against it. She didn't lock it. No point to that, given how flimsy it was, but beyond that she knew the punch sound of the lock would be a direct insult. It might push him over a line her body and mind were too eager to test. She needed to get out of here.

  Despite that, she stripped off the T-shirt with as much reluctance as he'd demonstrated when he let her leave his bed. She took time to inhale his scent, rub the fabric against her cheek before setting it aside. When she donned her clothes, they felt strange, as if being naked and under his command had been far closer to her natural state.

  She put her hand on the collar. He'd startled her by pointing it out, so it should have been the first thing to go when she went into the bathroom, but she hadn't taken it off even now. She made herself tear her gaze away from the mirror, quelled the desire to run her fingers over the wide strap. She wanted to hook her fingers in the ring as he had, so she could imagine he was tugging on it again. Instead, she finally unbuckled it, coiled it over her knuckles and left the bathroom, returning to the bedroom doorway. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping his coffee.

  Putting the collar on his dresser, she turned and faced him. "You know, I'm damn good at my job," she said. "Nothing pisses me off worse than to be treated like an idiot child by a cop who thinks women belong on their knees and obeying his every whim."

  His gaze sparked. This time, he didn't move at all, but she still instinctively moved a step back into the hallway. His jaw tightened again, but he remained where he was as he took another swallow of the coffee. "Does it make you feel better to boil what happened last night down to that?"

  No. It made her feel like shit. But no one was going to give her crap about her job. It was the only thing she was good at. No one was going to take that away from her.

  As she put her earrings and choker in her purse, she was aware of his gaze on her, his silence. "I belong to myself," she said. "Not to you."

  His eyes flicked over to the collar, back to her bare neck. "Those two things don't have to be in conflict," he said mildly. "I know you're damn good at your job, Celeste. That's why I worry."

  "Got it." She didn't want him to talk anymore. He'd say something like 'you matter' again, knowing how such words could scramble things in her mind. So much of last night had been accomplished without words. Words only ruined things. She wouldn't let them ruin this.

  She straightened, met his gaze with dignity. "I noticed the bus stop is just a few houses up. You don't have to drive me. I don't want you to drive me," she corrected herself. "I need some space to think about last night."

  He gave her his steady look, holding a silence that drew out until it took every ounce of willpower not to fill it with inane words. Like an apology for being such a bitch. It didn't do any good to apologize for something that was unchangeable.

  "All right," he said at last. He rose, setting aside the coffee. She turned and walked to the doorway, knowing he'd follow because he'd have to deactivate the security to let her out. When she reached that door, she wished she could keep staying just a step ahead of him, ahead of what he was making her feeling.

  She felt him behind her. He reached over her shoulder, unhooked the chain and flipped the dead bolt, but before he deactivated the alarm, he turned her toward him, tipped her chin and caught her mouth with his. Easy and brief, though with a lingering feel that made her press her lips together to hold in the tingling response. He kept his face close. "You watch your ass out there."

  There was kindness and concern in his voice, but the look in his eyes added a few extra words, too. Else you'll answer to me, darlin'.

  "You too." She kept her voice steady, reined back her spinning emotions. A whole lot more was simmering between them, waiting to see what direction they'd take it. Right now, the only direction she needed was the exit.

  He deactivated the alarm and let her out. As she strode to the bus stop, she didn't look back, but it didn't matter. She felt his eyes on her. When she arrived at the bus sign, she turned, sure that she was being fanciful. Or paranoid. He'd retrieved his coffee and come out onto the porch, sliding a hip onto his porch rail while he sipped from the mug. He'd stay there until the bus came, to make sure she was safe. Why that tore things up inside her heart, she didn't know. Any more than she could comprehend why she could take the most amazing night she'd ever experienced and drag it back down into the muck of her dysfunctional emotions. He'd probably decide he was better off without the crazy reporter bitch. That was fine. Maybe it was best to leave it that way.

  As the bus approached a few minutes later and she turned her back to him to face it, she put her hand to her throat, laid her palm over where the collar had been.

  Where it still felt like it was.

  SS

  Even without seeing the victim being brought out of the alley in a body bag, she would have known it was a homicide. A homicide always had a larger police presence. More uniforms were needed to corral and keep any witnesses separate, maintain the police barricade, and then there would be the arrival of the detectives and crime scene techs.

  The death would be drug-related, since the spot was a popular one for dealing. It looked like the police had snagged three witnesses for questioning, and that many was a miracle. Unfortunately, they looked like homeless people or hapless junkies who hadn't melted away fast enough when the shooting happened. The detectives wouldn't get much from them, but it had to be done.

  One of the witnesses she recognized. Dirty Harry, a homeless guy who lived in a nearby alley. Having spoken with him in the past, she knew the nickname wasn't a comment on his cleanliness. He had a rasp a lot like the Clint Eastwood character and did passable imitations of him if he was in a good mood. She made a note to visit Harry later when they cut him loose.

  For now, she followed her usual routine. She approached the barrier, razzed a couple of familiar faces enough to get a smile, but she didn't get much from pressing them. So she picked out a strategic spot where the wind direction and location gave her snippets of conversation and a good view of the goings-on. Unfolding her stadium chair, she took up her position to watch and listen.

  Cops had to be detached to a certain extent to do the job, yet she thought the way they related to each other at a crime scene helped them deal with the underlying frustration or affront of the crime. Sure, their demeanor was different when it was "dope dealers killing dope dealers." But even when the victim was a criminal, she knew they weren't as callous about it as people often assumed. Those who thought the police didn't care weren't paying attention. Standing over a body was standing over a waste. Their job was to serve and protect, and a body meant they'd failed.

  When Leland pulled up, she didn't want to be so thrilled to see him. All these months they'd managed not to cross paths, and now she was tripping over him everywhere. The gods must be screwing with her. She told herself she hadn't wanted him to show up on her radar at all today. She needed to pull herself back together after that out-of-body experience he'd given her last night. Out-of-body experiences weren't a good thing to overdo, like indulging in dessert every day. She had to figure out where this could go with them, though she knew the best thing was to make it a one-time shot.

  Even if she did that, though, she'd keep seeing him like this. And unless she backed out of Ben and Marcie's wedding, they'd be seeing one another there as well. Damn it. It was too much to hope the city would be hit by some kind of natural catastrophe, like a hurricane or meteor shower. Just affecting Baton Rouge, keeping all members of the BRPD on duty. She didn't want Marcie's wedding ruined. A lot of planning went into those things, after all.

  As he emerged from his unit, a big man who made the vehicle dip and lift as he stepped out of it, her gaze slid over the line of his shoulder and hip, the way his uniform fit. Had he taken a shower this morning after she left? She was sure he had. She c
ould picture him in the small shower, the water sluicing over all those muscles and golden skin, his hands following the soap's track to cup his balls, rub soap along his cock. Would he have thought of her? Of how he'd had her bound and helpless, calling him Master? Would he have worked his hand up and down himself as he imagined doing it again, as soon as humanly possible?

  She'd certainly had some similar thoughts in her own shower, though she'd kept her hands away from herself. She'd told herself she was testing her control, not obeying that lasting instinct that felt like her climaxes belonged to him. Then his gaze met hers across the police barrier, and she knew that for the pathetic lie it was. She remembered how she'd swept her gaze downward last night, and had a sudden, unwise compulsion to do it as a gibe, exaggerate it. She suppressed the urge. She needed to cut back on her stupid impulses, since her version of flirting with Leland was akin to tossing rocks at a pit bull on a frayed rope.

  She'd only be doing the submissive gaze taunt to cover her weird compulsion to do it for real, anyway. So she kept her expression as inscrutable as his. He gave her a nod, which she returned.

  He was probably measuring how far she was from the crime tape, to determine if it was far enough for his tastes. Since she wanted to watch him too much, the way he walked and moved, or tune into that deep voice as he spoke to the officers on scene, she busied herself with other tasks. She checked her email and then scrolled through the notes she'd made from her interview with Dogboy's foster mother.

  Mavis Roberts had wild bushy hair, a sharp voice and hands quick to slap out at any of the seven rambunctious children currently under her care. She'd verified he'd attended the same high school as Loretta. School records showed they'd been in the same Spanish class, when he chose to show up.

  "No ma'am, we couldn't keep no pets with that one in the house. He hated dogs and they hated him. So his brothers and sisters called him Dogboy to tease him. Took the name and owned it, though." The woman's brow had creased. "He did that about the time the only dog we had left got hit by a car. I thought he did it because he liked that one. It was a male. The others were female. Dogboy, he likes girls, but he doesn't know how to be patient with them. Boy doesn't know how to be patient or kind with nobody. Gonna end up dead, but it won't be my fault. Did the best I could by him. Sometimes they just start out rotten. Know what I mean?"

  Though her hands were quick to fly out, Celeste noticed none of the kids seemed all that afraid of her. They were also well fed and clean, and all of them were girls. When she asked Mavis about that, she shrugged.

  "Girls are just easier, honey. Got tired of dealing with boy shit."

  She needed to try to find some of Loretta's friends, determine if Dogboy had ever come on to her. She'd bet money he had, and Loretta had shut him down, recognizing him for the trouble he was. Celeste had already sent her interview with the foster mother to Detective Marquez. He'd need to follow up and conduct the same interviews, but if Dogboy had killed Loretta Stiles, that was going to be his undoing. A murdered prostitute might regrettably pass under the radar, but a middle-class teenage girl's death enraged a community and galvanized a deeper investigation.

  Leland had disappeared down the alley. Though she was ostensibly paying attention to everything else about the scene, her gaze kept returning to that opening, anticipating his return. When he'd left his car, it might have been her imagination, but she thought the wind had brought her a trace of that peppermint scent he carried on his skin. Olfactory memory was almost as dangerous as hormones in driving a woman's decisions. She thought of the strength of his hand closing over hers, his whisper in her ear, and she closed her eyes, sensation washing through her. He'd been all hers last night, and then she'd spooked this morning.

  But all of it hadn't been cold feet, damn it. He was trying to tell her how to do her job. Typical cop. They saw everything in black-and-white, civilian versus police. She covered stories that required taking risks, but he took risks by putting on that uniform every day.

  She thought of how he'd come down on her about getting in Dogboy's face. Okay, yeah, now that she thought Dogboy had a thing for killing women, she'd be steering clear of him, at least the face-to-face encounters. No woman, no matter how confident she was or how public the meeting place, would be safe attracting the attention of that kind of person. She wasn't a moron, no matter what Sergeant Leland Keller thought.

  But she knew it wasn't that. She'd spent the past few years around cops, so if she stepped away from her personal hang-ups about people fucking with her about her job, she understood he'd have pretty black-and-white lines about keeping her safe. Mike or Billy might react the same way. Mike had come into the cul-de-sac just to check on her, hadn't he? It was the intimate nature of what was happening between her and Leland that had lifted her hackles. He'd said she was good at her job, after all. That's why I worry.

  Sighing, she looked up to find he was emerging from the alley. As he stopped to talk to the officer on that side of the barrier, he was facing her. Though he appeared focused on the officer whose back was to her, she crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue. Warm swirlies kicked up in her stomach as a hint of a smile appeared on his face. The little hop stirred up the effects of last night, sent other desires pulsing through her. Who was she kidding? No matter what she'd resolved earlier, she wasn't going to cut the cord between them yet. The glint in his eyes, suggested he wasn't planning on cutting her loose yet, either.

  The thump-thump of a car stereo with too much pumped up bass disrupted her pleasant imaginings. It was coming out of a black sedan with one tan-colored door, a battered back panel and expensive rims. It wasn't the first car that had cruised past, slowing down to see what was happening in that taped-off area. There was far less rubbernecking, though, since most of the normal traffic would be people coming to score drugs. The police had blocked off the right lane so any traffic had to swerve out, which slowed the vehicles further and gave the barrier cops a good look at the driver. If they thought the occupant was a regular patron, they might stop and question the driver.

  That was the case with this car. Officer Manny Brown, who'd been in District 1 about three years, a slow-talking Texan with a young face but sharp dark eyes, stepped forward, raising his arm to slow the driver down, bring the car to a stop.

  The driver punched the gas.

  Leland had said a reporter was like a cop when it came to noticing details, but one thing they had that Celeste didn't was an impressive level of vigilance. The second the car accelerated, Leland, Manny, and the other two officers on the barrier drew weapons. Suddenly they were all bellowing orders at the car to stop, Leland's baritone roaring over all of them. The back windows came down and one of two figures shadowed there thrust a weapon out toward the barrier side.

  "Down!" It was a thundering command from all the cops. Gunfire cracked through the air. Celeste saw the flare of the discharge, Leland standing in the line of fire. No.

  She'd sprung to her feet and started forward, despite the stupidity of such a knee-jerk reaction. Later, she'd remember she'd screamed his name, but in the next second, she was scrambling for cover as gunfire erupted out the other back window. Bullets struck her stadium chair and knocked it backward like a fly hit by a flyswatter. As she stumbled away, another bullet ricocheted off the light post, a sharp ping, then the concrete, sending up a spray of dust and gravel.

  As she ran for her life, cracks in the curtains of the buildings across from her became smooth lines again as the occupants of the apartments retreated from the vulnerable position. The door of the nail salon slammed as the store owner took cover. She was holding her tablet up to cover the side of her face. The car couldn't stop or the police would catch up, so as she heard glass shatter in the storefront behind her and heard the nail salon employees screech in alarm, she knew the gunman was being carried away from her. She spun around when she was pretty sure she was in the clear and saw the car rocketing toward the end of the street.

  Her gaze shot to Leland.
He was all right. He was helping Manny back to his feet as the other two cops sprinted toward their units, one shouting into his radio.

  She pivoted and ran down the alley behind her. This was why it was critical for Billy and all the others to know the streets inside and out. The car was most likely to turn left so they could shoot down the parallel street. It was the quickest route to a warren of neighborhoods with rabbit holes for a fleeing vehicle. If she could run fast enough, she could see them as they passed by, get a better look at their faces. Rage accompanied the adrenaline now. Bastards. Thinking they could shoot at the police, at Leland. The police hadn't returned fire, no time for it. Plus, a moving target was too great a risk to the civilians behind the windows. She'd been sitting on that same sidewalk herself.

  She'd been on scene at a police shooting a couple years back. She'd known the dead officer. Tom had been twenty-nine years old, with a young son and a five-year marriage. He'd been gunned down on the street. By a stroke of unlucky fate, she'd arrived right before police backup had. 911 had already been called, officer down, but she'd been the one to see the life die out of his eyes while she held his hand impotently. She hadn't been aware of the police arriving, of hands moving her out of the way. Eventually she'd found herself sitting in her car in an empty parking lot, no idea how she'd gotten there, with smears of his blood on her shirt.

  Now she visualized Leland in the same position as Tom, that strong handclasp going limp around hers. Her speed doubled. Son of a bitch wasn't going to get away with shooting at her man without her seeing his face.

  She was glad for every punishing workout as she skidded out of the alley on the other side, right by Jai's place. Triumph surged through her as she saw the black sedan come screaming down the street. The tinted windows in the front were raised, so no chance of identifying the driver, but she saw one of the two in the backseat. Shock froze her as Dogboy's dead eyes pinned her, his lips peeling back. Fast as she could blink, he thrust his gun back out the window.