Velvet Ropes, Page 6

  Thinking Bingo owed Johnny Rincon a big one for letting him take the fall on that last job they’d pulled, Dermot hoped they might be getting somewhere. “Go on.”

  “But he didn’t have a plan and he only mentioned it that once. I…I just figured he meant you.”

  “You figured wrong.”

  No matter how Dermot approached the question, Bingo had no more answers for him, so Dermot dismissed the man with a stern promise to revisit the subject later if necessary. He’d never seen the big ex-con move so fast as he did to get out of that office.

  Someone who had power over Tony. Johnny? His cousin Marta? Or someone else?

  Throwing himself into the chair behind his desk, Dermot sagged with disappointment. He’d been counting on Bingo knowing more than he had. Hopefully, Stella or Blade was having better luck. Of course, they’d only gotten started, so he couldn’t expect too much.

  Expectations—his life seemed to be full of them. But usually others expected things of him. This was turnabout time and he wasn’t liking it one bit. He found he didn’t care to lean on anyone, especially not on Stella.

  He’d been everything to her once. Savior. Guardian. Advisor. Now what was he but a burden and possible cause for her dismissal from the CPD?

  He could have said no to her offer of help. Could have turned her away. But would she have listened? He guessed that, no matter what, Stella would have put herself in the path of most resistance out of obligation.

  He hated being anyone’s obligation.

  At least this way, in the spirit of cooperation, he had a chance to keep her from sticking her neck out too far for him.

  And, a little voice whispered, this way he could be close to her, at least for a while.

  Chapter Five

  Sixty-eight hours after the estimated time of death and the clock was ticking, Stella thought, as she pushed through the Club Undercover crowd and headed for the bar, where she would rendezvous with Dermot and Blade.

  Tonight the neon lights and pounding music simply added to her headache. The farther they got timewise from the murder, the less likely it would be solved. The reality put a lump in her stomach. She only hoped Blade or Dermot himself had gotten something she could run with.

  Dermot was already waiting for her at the bar, but he and Blade looked all too serious when they spotted her.

  Her spirits fell further. Undoubtedly, they’d had no more luck than she.

  “Aren’t we a cheerful group,” she muttered, sliding onto the stool next to Dermot.

  “Tell us something that’ll put a smile on our faces.”

  “My cousin Frank agreed to see what he could find out about Tony’s activities and associates.”

  Unfortunately, no one else she’d talked to that afternoon had been of any help.

  “So will Leroy,” Blade said. “He’ll keep his ear to the ground to see if Johnny had Tony involved in anything underhanded.”

  Stella knew Leroy—a mechanic who had at one time worked for Frank—and his cousin Carla, who’d been married to Johnny until she’d had enough of his physical abuse. Leroy was nothing if not loyal to family and therefore wanted to see Johnny get what he deserved.

  Remembering that Leroy had not only a wife but five kids to worry about, Stella said, “You did tell him to keep a low profile, right?”

  Who knew what form Johnny’s revenge would take if he suspected the man was working against him.

  “Leroy’s smarter than he seems,” Blade said. “He’ll be careful.”

  How she hated involving civilians, Stella thought. Bad enough that she’d introduced Dermot to Team Undercover. Not that some of them couldn’t handle themselves—Logan and Blade at least had experience with violence. But Cass could become a target. Or Gabe. Or Gideon himself. Both men had that edge that indicated they could be tough when necessary, but she didn’t know that firsthand.

  Trying to shake the negativity, she asked Dermot, “What about you?”

  “I spent some time at the halfway house. Everyone there seems to be deaf, dumb and blind.”

  “So you got nothing?”

  “Next to nothing. Bingo Wollensky said Tony was trying to get out from under someone’s thumb before he landed in jail again.”

  “Back to Johnny Rincon,” Blade said. “If he was planning something big that involved Tony, Leroy will find out.”

  “What about your session notes?” she asked Dermot. “Did you get to them?”

  “I did. Tony complained about a lot of his acquaintances, but no one in particular—other than Marta Ortiz, that is. I looked over all the entries about her more closely. What I got was his cousin wanted him to do something he didn’t. Nothing specific that would help us, of course. He hated the pressure and was afraid that if he caved, he’d end up on the short end of the stick. If that makes sense.”

  Stella said, “That could mean—”

  “That it was Marta’s thumb Tony was trying to get out from under, not Johnny’s.”

  “But he was afraid of jail time,” Blade said. “So that part doesn’t make sense.”

  “Not yet,” Stella said. “But if there’s something there, we’ll get to it.”

  It all had to make sense eventually, or Dermot would end up behind bars for something he didn’t do.

  A HALF HOUR LATER and no lightbulbs turned on for any of them. Now business had picked up and Blade was busy trying to keep up with customer demand.

  Dermot supposed he should call it quits and usher Stella home, then try to get a good night’s sleep himself, but he wasn’t ready to call it a night yet, not when he could spend time in her company.

  “Time to get closer, boys and girls,” the deejay said in a low, sexy voice. “And ‘Say Yes’ with Floetry.”

  The music smoothed out to slow and sexy, and Dermot couldn’t help himself. Sliding off his stool, he held out his hand. “Dance?”

  Stella’s eyes widened slightly as did her lips. Luscious lips, he thought, wanting more than anything to taste them. Well, maybe not more than anything. Each part of her was more tempting than the next, and he wanted to taste every inch of her beautiful body.

  “Why not,” she said softly, giving him her hand.

  His gut tightened as he led her to the dance floor. He’d imagined her in his arms so many times…her in his arms when she wasn’t wounded and hurting, that was.

  Dermot couldn’t believe how right Stella felt pressed up against him. She fit him perfectly, as if they’d been made to go together.

  If only…

  Her hair was soft around her face, loosely clipped up in back. The hairstyle and the wide-necked rust sweater she wore accentuated the length of her neck.

  He moved his head in closer to hers and inhaled her light spicy scent—ginger, maybe—and thought how that suited her personality. Definitely spicy. Though she’d been violated, she’d come back fighting. He’d watched her grow and bloom before his eyes. Considering what had happened to her, she’d seemed a miracle to him.

  If only…

  For a moment he let his mind drift and his body respond to hers. He closed his eyes and he could see them joined together, their movements against each other fiercely passionate. He’d had this fantasy many times before, and now the image seemed as right as the two of them on the dance floor.

  Then the sultry song ended and the deejay’s voice whispered across the floor and Stella’s eyes widened as if she’d just woken up from a dream.

  Exactly how he was feeling.

  “Again?” he asked.

  Though she looked tempted, she shook her head and her voice was a choked whisper. “Once was enough….”

  Once would never be enough for him, but Dermot didn’t know if he could ever tell her that.

  There were other things he couldn’t tell her, as well. Things about the past.

  The seal of the confessional would haunt him always.

  The next set started with J.Lo’s “I’m Glad,” and couples wound in each other’s arms surround
ed them as they made their way off the dance floor. A few were kissing, others were enjoying each other’s bodies a little too intimately for such a public arena.

  More than enough hormones to set the place on fire, Dermot thought….

  His among them.

  This wouldn’t work, he told himself. Much as he might be tempted, he couldn’t be with Stella. So why was he torturing himself?

  When they returned to the bar area, Gideon and the other members of Team Undercover were the only people there. Cass was setting fluted wineglasses in a row, and Blade was filling them with champagne.

  Not wanting anyone here to read his mind, to know what was rolling around in his psyche, Dermot made certain to keep a little distance from Stella.

  “It’s Logan’s last night working here.” Gideon handed a glass to Logan and Gabe, then to Dermot and Stella. “I thought we’d send him off with a toast.” He lifted his glass. “To a dedicated security chief and loyal friend, John Logan. May your return to the Chicago Police Department be the journey you imagine it will be.”

  “Here, here,” the others murmured, all sipping their champagne.

  “And to Gabriel Conner. I know we couldn’t find a better man to take Logan’s place.”

  “I’d pass the baton if I had one,” Logan told Gabe.

  The tiny lines around Gabe’s green eyes crinkled as he lifted his glass. “I just hope I do half the job you’ve done at the club…and otherwise.”

  Dermot figured Gabe meant on Team Undercover. They all took another sip. Then they were laughing and talking. All but Cass. He caught her staring at him, her expression intense. Great. Exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. The blue neon of the bar seemed to surround her like an aura as their gazes locked. Then Cass’s expression smoothed—he swore he recognized empathy before she turned to her friends.

  But Dermot felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Part of him imagined Cass had been rooting around inside his head as if trying to read what was there. Of course, that was ridiculous. An overactive imagination. Even so, his pulse went ragged until he took a deep, calming breath.

  “Should we open another bottle?” Cass asked.

  “No more for me. I’m driving,” Stella said, setting her half-empty glass on the bar.

  Dermot did likewise. “Same here.”

  He felt a little light-headed but not from the champagne. Stella did that to him every time he was around her.

  Gideon leaned in to Dermot and softly said, “We’re doing what we can to help you, but so far we’ve come up with blanks. Maybe that’ll change tomorrow with Logan installed back in Area 4.”

  “If anyone will talk to him.”

  “No one in that office or in the neighborhood knows about his connections. Except maybe Johnny Rincon, since he was involved in our last case. He’s seen us all. But he’s the kind of man who makes a point of not talking to anyone in authority—well, not if he can help it.”

  Dermot nodded. “I appreciate whatever you can do.”

  Really, he didn’t have a whole lot of faith that a bunch of strangers could clear him. But the simple fact that they were on his side, and willing to do what they could, kept him in a more positive frame of mind. He glanced at Cass and wished he could read her mind.

  Suddenly leaning into him, Stella murmured, “I’m ready to call it a night.”

  He was, too, if that meant he could be alone with her. “I’ll see you home.”

  “I have my car.”

  “Then I’ll follow you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I want to.”

  Her lips parted again…and then closed. Either she couldn’t think of another argument or she’d decided to give it up. Maybe she wanted him to follow her…to see her inside…to…

  Dermot stopped himself before he got carried away.

  STELLA COULDN’T SETTLE DOWN on the drive home. All the way, she kept checking her rearview mirror to see the lights behind her that never wavered.

  Why had Dermot insisted on following her home, as though she needed to be protected? She was a cop, better prepared to take care of herself than he was.

  She had mixed feelings about his concern for her. Partly it felt good—like old times without the psychological load. But the other part felt like a mistake, like letting him do for her would send her hurtling back to the past, so she didn’t know what to think as she parked her car in front of her building.

  Dermot pulled up at the curb right behind her.

  They met on the parkway beneath a maple that hadn’t yet given up its leaves. The night air was nippy, yet she felt warm from the inside out.

  “Thanks for seeing me home.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Your pleasure to drive six miles out of your way.” There was an edge to her voice she couldn’t help. “Six miles in each direction.”

  “My pleasure comes from seeing you home safely, no matter the distance.”

  She arched her eyebrows at him and tartly said, “I’m the one carrying the gun.”

  “Excuse me? I don’t believe I came across a weapon on the dance floor.”

  Going tight inside at the reminder of how close they’d gotten, if only for a few minutes on a dance floor—of how deeply that closeness had affected her—Stella said, “Seriously, I’m carrying.”

  Dermot stepped toward her and slid his hands around her waist. “Where?” His thumbs hooked under the edge of her sweater and tracked light lines along her flesh.

  Stella shuddered at the exquisite sensation that spread and quickly multiplied. She knew she ought to stop this before it went any further.

  “Wrong part of the anatomy,” she said, strangely breathless. “Try an ankle holster.”

  Even though she knew she ought to break away and go inside—like right this second!—Stella was caught by the magic of the moment. Her hands rested lightly against Dermot’s chest. Against the tender flesh of her palms, his heartbeat quickened and strengthened as they stood together as one.

  As she’d always wanted them to be, Stella thought. Only, before, together had been unthinkable. But what about now? Now seemed…different…and yes, possible.

  Her heart quickened. “Dermot…”

  “Star…”

  Their murmurs twined together and faded off as their lips met. Stella didn’t know who kissed whom. They were on the same wavelength, acting together.

  Dermot deepened the kiss, twining his tongue with hers. It was a long, hot kiss that had every part of her trembling with need. When it was over, she nipped his lower lip and kissed him again. Then he pulled her hard against him, and she slid her arms up around his neck. His hand found the side of her breast, and the sensation of his touch weakened her knees so that she leaned hard into him.

  They couldn’t be closer, unless…

  The thought of being naked with him, of feeling his skin sliding against hers, of him sliding in and out of her, inspired both desire and fear.

  Freaked more than a little, Stella tore her mouth from Dermot’s. She placed her hands between them and shoved at his chest. He didn’t resist her but stepped back. They stood there, staring at each other, both breathing hard.

  “Star—”

  “I should go upstairs. Now.”

  “I’ll walk you—”

  “No! I mean, I’m fine!” she said, knowing she sounded waspish. “I’ve held you up long enough. You should go home now!”

  His expression closed and his spine straightened. “Fine. Tomorrow, then.”

  “Tomorrow will be a better day,” she muttered, a little embarrassed. “We’ll get a lead on the murder. Gut feeling. Cop thing.”

  Stella didn’t know what else to say, so she backed off. She had to force herself not to run. Her pulse was jagging, but not a good sensation.

  What had she been thinking? she asked herself, taking the front steps two at a time. No matter her affection for Dermot, she couldn’t get too personally involved with him.

  Couldn’t.
Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  Not that she had some reason for not getting involved with a man. Some other man.

  Just not him.

  She slipped her keys from her pocket and made it inside in record time. But then, in the vestibule, she fumbled getting the inside door unlocked.

  Dermot had seen her at her weakest moment. He’d picked her up off the alley pavement and had covered her naked body…had tended to her wounds himself when she wouldn’t go to a hospital…had seen each and every physical mark that bastard Lamey had left on her.

  And she, in turn, had seen the pity in Dermot’s eyes.

  She couldn’t ever stand to see him look at her like that again.

  To her relief, the door finally opened.

  Stella took the inside stairs to her second-floor apartment, thinking about how she’d put her rapist in jail for another crime and had gotten herself past the attack. She’d even been with a few men over the years, not that any of those relationships had been serious. Serious had never tempted her. That would entail total trust. In a way, even though she dated and had become intimate with men, the rape was still with her. Probably always would be.

  Dermot had seen her naked and bloody…he’d witnessed her humiliation. And even though she had feelings for him, every time she was near him, that memory hovered in the back of her mind.

  About to unlock her apartment door, Stella realized a sheet of paper had been wedged between door and jamb.

  How had that gotten there? The door at the foot of the stairs had been locked. Then again, that one wasn’t a dead bolt, and anyone with a credit card and a little knowledge could have opened it. Stomach tightening, she carefully picked the paper from the door by its edge and flicked it open.

  “Bitch,” it read in big square letters cut from newspaper headlines and pasted onto a plain piece of paper. “Haven’t you learned anything? Stay out of what isn’t your concern and stay alive.”

  DERMOT STILLED THE URGE to punch something as he drove north on Halsted.

  Despite the fact that he knew he couldn’t get involved with her, Stella was proving to be too much temptation for him. As if his not being able to keep his lips off hers wasn’t bad enough, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself, either. She’d reacted quickly and had snapped at him, convincing him that she still had issues from the past.