I’m startled when his rough fingers slide across my neck and over my jaw. Talk about electrical currents. I’m frozen by his touch and yet I want to jump up and run from the room screaming. His fingers stop at the source of my pain and I flinch.
An “Awwwe” escapes me. He lifts his hand away and gently lets me rest back against the pillows.
“Do you know what day it is?” he asks.
A bit of my apprehension recedes. You don’t make a cement pillar out of someone after asking them questions that determine the extent of brain trauma.
“Wednesday?” It comes out as a question.
“The date?”
I need to think about it for a moment. Fourth of July was last Saturday. “July eighth.” This time it’s not a question. I’m gaining my bearings. My eyes are also adjusting to the shadows and I can make out more of Moon’s features.
No pictures do him justice. He looks like a dark version of an Italian mob boss. I can’t help but remember the bits and pieces that came through about him while I was an officer. He’s of mixed heritage—African American and Mexican National. Seeing him up close and personal makes me wonder more about his heritage because he’s fucking gorgeous.
I took notice of him while I was a cop due to the way he leads his life. His criminal empire encompasses all of Arizona and extends to the border towns within Mexico. His list of criminal activities is extensive. He’s also accepted within the echelon of the rich and famous. From athletes to movie stars to musicians, he’s part of their world. It’s his money and good looks. Of that, I have no doubt.
He intrigued me from the first time I heard the rumored stories about him. His private life is very private so I’ve never been sure what to believe and what to throw in the trash. The story told is that Moon’s American father was a plastic surgeon who died in South America while providing facial reconstruction to children in need. It’s also rumored that Moon’s criminal career began after he sought revenge against the rebels who killed his father. Somehow Moon manages to stay ten steps in front of the feds. Mix in his philanthropy with the poor and you have a modern-day Robin Hood who kills, sells female flesh, keeps the illegal drug and gun supply-train running, and also takes excellent care of the people who support his criminal activity. Law enforcement hates him, and I’ve never been exactly fond of the legend he’s created.
So why is my body responding to his touch, his voice, and his damn scent? My headache should keep these thoughts at bay, but the rush of heat that has flooded my veins, the flutter low in my belly, and the sudden awareness between my legs are not a good sign.
“Why am I here?” I ask while trying to control my rapid breathing. It’s most likely not the best question. With my throbbing head and over-active libido, intelligence is a luxury.
His fingers twine in my hair without the slightest pull on my scalp. We both stare at his fingers as my hair slides across his skin. “My men weren’t sure what to do with you. They went for Dandridge and apparently you stepped in the way.” He speaks offhandedly like he’s unaccustomed to being questioned.
Shit, Dandridge. “Is he alive?”
“Dandridge?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t answer that so once I’m able to walk, you’ll be more amiable to allowing me to leave.” My words are rushed. My nervousness skyrockets. I hope he thinks I’m joking.
His gaze moves back to mine and he doesn’t ease my mind with so much as a grin.
“Gomez will drive you home as soon as I’m assured your concussion doesn’t require a physician.” He continues holding my hair, which I find very odd. “Dandridge is in a bit of pain, but he’ll survive.”
I’m not sure what to make of this. “Will he be leaving with me?”
Moon’s intensity increases and his fingers tug a bit on my hair. I don’t breathe. “He’s been dropped at his car, and if he can’t drive himself home, he’ll call a cab.”
“You hurt him?” I need tape over my mouth. I’m asking too many questions.
Moon’s voice turns hard. “Dandridge hurt one of the girls. He got off lucky.”
Dandridge’s wife, Penny, told me to be careful because her husband gets a little heavy-handed when mad. If Harry’s still breathing, I can live with him getting his ass beat. I think.
“My camera?”
He takes his time answering each question. He’s so focused on me that it makes me very uncomfortable. “On the dresser,” he says as he nods across the room. “Your pictures of Dandridge are worth a small fortune.” Without giving me time to stop him, he releases my hair, leans over, and turns on the light.
It blinds me. I bury my head into the pillows. “Why did you do that?” I whine, my fear entirely forgotten.
He doesn’t speak. His fingers thread into my hair again after he moves the pillow away from my face. His thumb slides over my temple in a slow circle that feels heavenly. The soothing touch makes me want to purr. My sexual awareness increases tenfold. It’s a moment or two before I’m willing to risk opening my eyes. When I do, Moon’s sinful gaze is locked on mine.
Holy fuck.
He has deep, intense blue eyes with shards of silver that are accented by his mocha skin. He’s literally Dwayne Johnson gorgeous with a tumbler of blue eyes thrown in to make a woman’s panties combust. I don’t know how to explain what happens as I fall into his eyes. Not fall—dive. My insides turn to slush. It’s like I’ve inhaled a narcotic that causes psychosis. I can’t seem to stop staring or get my bearings. With a solid blink, I jerk myself from the blue sea and absorb the rest of him.
He’s wearing a white, button-down shirt with the cuffs hanging loose. The top three buttons at his neck are undone displaying a bit of his chest and flawless skin. The material of the shirt stretches over his heavily muscled biceps and forearms and across his equally defined torso. He untangles his fingers from my hair and rests his hand beside my hip. His other hand is on his knee. His fingers are long and powerful. A heavy gold ring with a large black stone is on the ring finger of his right hand. A simple gold band circles his thumb. His left hand is bare. I’ve never been fond of men wearing jewelry, but on Moon, it makes a statement. I’m just not sure what that statement actually is.
He allows my appraisal and I still don’t get a smile or even a leer that says, I know you like what you see. My gaze moves to his lips. They’re full and lush—totally kissable lips, and there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t want those lips on her. A small scar about a half-inch long is at the corner of his lower lip. It does nothing to diminish his attractiveness. It actually does the opposite and adds a dangerous, bad boy, all-man quality.
“Have dinner with me,” he murmurs. The question startles me.
The Moon-induced fog clears slightly from my brain. “I’m a cop,” I say, and immediately I know I should have said retired or former. “Retired,” I add on stupidly.
His lips press a little more firmly together, subtly changing his expression. “I know exactly who you are, Miss Kinlock.” My name on his lips sounds incredible which is stupid and somehow I must gain control of myself.
How does he know my name? My identification was in my back pocket. I slide my hand beneath the sheet to see if it’s still there. My heart rate jacks up ten notches. Not only is my wallet missing, so are my pants.
“Where are my clothes?” I demand in rising panic. He’s too damn close for me to be lying here with no pants.
He moves in closer and he’s way in my personal space. “Settle down. They’re on the dresser.” His warm breath fans my face and it’s all about his lips again. What the hell is happening to me? All I want to do is slide my tongue across his mouth and taste him. Instead, I glance up and meet his gaze. Death, my brain says. Irresistible, my heart snaps back. I would swear all the blood in my body has settled between my thighs. He raises his hand and trails his fingers down my cheek and farther. His thumb and forefinger close around my chin and his head dips lower.
He’s going to kiss me.
“Stay as long as you need. Press zero on the house phone and Gomez will drive you home.” His lips briefly touch my forehead. “Hasta que nos encontramos de nuevo,” he whispers.
The door closes and I begin trembling. I’m not sure if it’s caused by Moon, the overload of adrenaline, or the hit to my head. I remind myself who he is—all the horrible things I know about him. He’s the embodiment of every criminal who has crossed my path. He has multiple deaths credited to his organization. There’s never been enough evidence to pin them on Moon, but law enforcement knows he’s responsible. And even with all these thoughts, my damn body doesn’t care. I inhale slowly and try to gain my composure. This isn’t me, it’s a momentary lapse. I’m not controlled by raging sex hormones switched on by a hot, magnetic body. “I’m not,” I mutter aloud. Thank God he took my stupid remark about being a cop for a “no” to his dinner invitation. I can’t imagine being seen anywhere with him. Or going anywhere with him. My gaze moves to my BDUs and camera on the dresser. I do a quick sweep of the room, wondering if Moon has hidden cameras. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m assuming that I’
Gomez steps back and gestures for me to precede him. It’s stupid to not want him at my back. If they wanted to hurt me, it would have happened by now. I walk out with my head held high. We’re on the second floor at the end of a long walkway that has black metal decorative railing on one side and overlooks the room below. The floors are polished red Spanish tile, the walls painted different earth tones with alcoves accented by recessed lights to display the art. Not just paintings, but statues and pottery too. Way out of my blue-collar league. There are six doors along the hallway, and I glance back noticing the double doors behind me at the end farthest from the stairs. I have no doubt whose room that is. I need to get out of here quickly. The staircase is long and winding—something you see in old movies about the Deep South. The wall along the staircase contains more eclectic art. I’ve never been an artsy person, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s expensive. I try not t
My apartment is in the northwest valley by an old high school that once had two acres of rolling grass where students sat and ate lunch. A few years ago, the grass was changed to the customary desert landscaping—rocks—and now high fences separate the school from the road. Passing through a metal detector is also required to enter the building. I never worked this district as a cop. In Phoenix, you don’t live where you work. You travel as far as possible. The last thing you want is to run into someone undesirable when off duty. Home should be your sanctuary. I, like most city officers, varied my route when leaving the department and heading home. You always check to be sure you aren’t followed. It’s the life of a cop and these lessons begin at the academy.Gomez pulls into my apartment complex, which is kitty-corner from the school. He travels toward the back and I wonder if he helped return my car. The clock on the dash shows it’s been more than five hours since I took dick pics of Mr
It doesn’t matter that Moon woke me every hour; I’m a new person in the morning. All his texts but the last were on point and only asked if I was okay. The last one is making me grit my teeth, and this time it doesn’t hurt. aka Criminal Tonight, dinner. My reply is again short and to the point. No. aka Criminal I’ll pick you up at seven. My growl is louder than the one Gomez gave me. If Moon thinks I’ll be here at seven, he’s insane. Am I running away? Damn straight and that pisses me off even more. I don’t run away from trouble, I run toward it. But this trouble is of an entirely different nature. It’s colossal trouble with a capital T. I hit the shower again. This is what we do in the Valley of the Sun. We cool down in a shower at least twice a day and sometimes more. Hitting the pool counts too. Practically everyone has their own swimming pool or access to one. I plan to work out this afternoon after I’ve finished the business with Penny Dandridge, and I’ll shower again bef
Terry’s office door is closed, which offers another clue. “Spill it, lady,” I say to Brenda. “He’s in there with his attorney.” She points toward Terry’s door. I’m stunned. “Attorney at Law Terry the Fairy has an attorney?” Her grin widens at the use of Terry’s nickname. She has worked for Terry for more than ten years. I like her, even though she carries true affection for Terry. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve her. This, however, does not mean she lacks a sense of humor. “Apparently, he took the wrong woman for a ride and she’s filed a lawsuit and made a complaint to the state bar.” I don’t like Terry, but I’ve never heard that he forces women. A lawsuit means she wants money. Now, I get the humor. Filing a lawsuit for something outrageous is something Terry would do. Today, he’s getting back some of his own medicine. “I’m dying to ask what he did, but I’m almost afraid.” She bites her lip before releasing it and replies, “I’m horrible for even smiling.” She laughs into her
“Exactly.” Terry steeples his fingers on the desk. “You know there’s a good chance this isn’t bullshit, Mak.” So many things whirl through my head. I do not like Craig Kennedy, never have. He has his own code as far as street ethics are concerned. I was warned early in my police career to stay clear of him. That was before he made my life a nightmare whenever he was around. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, I wouldn’t go out with him. No, I wouldn’t let him cop a feel, and no, I wouldn’t fuck him. I refused to date the cops I worked with is what I told him. And especially not married cops like Kennedy. Just no! When I finally threatened to go to a supervisor, he backed off and gave me the stare-down whenever he could. I’d just roll my eyes. I heard rumors from other officers that Kennedy walked a thinner blue line than the rest of us or that he often straddled it. Most of these rumors related to him getting aggressive during arrests. I stayed out of the gossip and away from Ken
I blast through my workout in record time and head back to my apartment for a quick shower. After washing my hair, lathering all my body parts, and drying myself, I take an hour to style my hair, apply makeup, and doll myself up for Fiddlers Bar and Grill. It’s located outside Sunnyslope’s Wendell district and outside the Cactus police district. It’s also where both groups of cops gather in plain clothes to unwind. I want to look my best and get a feel for what’s happening in the blue world. I park Sally in the side lot with five other vehicles and enter the dark and cool interior of the bar. After completely ignoring the sign on the door that reads: No Guns Permitted, I take a booth in the back corner. I guarantee everyone in here is carrying and not just the cops. I scout out the crowd and see only a few vaguely familiar faces. The majority of the police crowd will start drifting in shortly. I came a bit early so I could take the back booth and see who enters the bar. The cops I k
He’s certifiably crazy. Through gritted teeth, I warn, “I don’t like repeating myself and I won’t press charges if you leave. Now.” His smile disappears. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun.” I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I’ve done and open them again. My gun isn’t the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon’s. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he’s found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I’m having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I’m unwilling to stand and point a damn gun at him now, and that pisses me off. He removes his cell from his pocket, backs a couple of feet away, and speaks to whoever’s on the other end. “Order for two from El Tiempo and pick