Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (7 page)

Penny stands when I approach. As always, she kisses my cheek and makes it seem natural. I, on the other hand, have no idea what to do every time she does this.

“You’re a godsend, honey. Harry cried all night. I had to give him painkillers and alcohol to calm him down. He was too afraid to go to the doctor and worried the goons who attacked him would come to the house and find him. As soon as the pills and booze did their job, I told him I was leaving and taking my fair share for the eight years of hell he put me through. He was fairly out of it by then, but he did mention during his foul rambling that you’re a bitch and he’s coming after us both.”

This thankfully has my new case fading into the background. “Why did you even stay the night? You should have let him suffer.”

Penny’s smile only grows. “You’re right, but for some reason, seeing his five broken fingers made me feel magnanimous. I loaded him into my car this morning and dumped him at the hospital. If he wants to talk to me after this, he can go through my attorney.”

Penny’s different than I am. I’d have kicked Harry and then stomped on him while he was down. “So what did he tell you about his, umm, accident?”

“Between crying, he said he was mugged in the underground garage after you took the pictures. He cried that you did nothing to stop the attack.”

“Did he offer an explanation for the prostitute hanging off his dick?”

She sweeps her styled blonde hair behind her shoulder. Penny is beautiful and always perfectly attired. She’s a trophy wife, and I make no judgments. Even though she married for money, no one should be stuck with Harry Dandridge for eight years.

“He told me he had a lapse in judgment. Of course, he was sniveling so much I had trouble understanding most of what he said.” She rolls her eyes.

I hand over the thumb drive. “Be sure to stay safe,” I tell her. She offers my check. I take it without glancing at the payment amount. “I hope you find someone who treats you like you deserve.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t plan on having a man in my life for a long time. Harry’s money will keep me square for years. I want a home on the beach somewhere and out of this infernal heat.”

“Go for it,” I say as we both stand up. Another cheek kiss later and I’m walking back to Sally. I turn her on to get the air flowing. It’s wonderful to actually have cold air, but I refuse to thank Moon for the luxury. I glance at Penny’s check before placing it in my wallet. She added a $1,000 tip. I haven’t been this flush… well ever. Most of my jobs come from referrals, and I have a feeling Penny won’t mind giving out my name.

I head to the bank and deposit both checks using the drive-thru. It’s been a profitable and eventful day. I’ll work out before heading out for the evening.

I don’t plan to be home for Moon’s seven o’clock pickup. He’s off limits for me, and even though I feel that bad boy pull, it’s not enough to change my mind.

Chapter Eight

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 know will spot me straight up—they’ll check out everyone in the place before taking a seat. It’s a cop safety thing. This booth is prime real estate and that’s exactly why I wanted it.

I don’t recognize my waitress. She gives her name as Lex and takes my order. She appears to be a typical badge bunny—poufy hair, big boobs, and long legs. Quite a few of them work off and on at Fiddlers because they know cops hang here. The other badge bunnies are usually dispatchers. I tried very hard to love the dispatchers who kept me safe during my shift, but you always knew who the bunnies were.

I order a Corona in a bottle, which comes with a lime wedge. I sit back and bide my time.

Al Jansen is the first cop to enter. It’s a relief, he’s a good guy. He’s also an old-timer who’s not overly fond of me being a PI, but he’ll be pleasant. I get a head nod from him as he makes his way to the bar and places an order. He drinks hard. The guys give him a ride home if he goes over the line. Tonight will depend on where he is in his shift. If he’s on his Friday, he won’t stop until he’s slurring his words and stumbling around. If I’m here late enough, giving him that ride might be worth it. If Kennedy is in the shit, Jansen will know. Doesn’t mean, even drunk, he’ll spill the info, but it’s worth a try.

He eventually walks over with drink in hand. Before he can say hello, my drink is delivered. Lex barely gives him the time of day. She’s looking for someone younger. Al knows it and so do I. He gives me a half smile and watches her hips sway as she walks away.

When he turns back, his smile is gone. “How’s it hangin’, Mak?”

I pick up my beer and motion with it so he’ll take the seat across from me. He stares for a moment before I give him what he wants. “I’m carrying and have your back, but I understand if you don’t want to sit with a private dick.”

He laughs and slides into the booth. “You always were one of the guys, Mak.”

I correct him, which probably doesn’t help my cause. “One of the officers, Al. I was never one of the guys.”

He belts out another laugh. He’s a large man. Not as in overweight, just large. His hair is old-regulation buzz-cut and the lines of working a stressful job show clearly on his face. He’s seen too much and lived to tell the tale, so far. I always liked his stories; the bloodier the better. Cops, especially young ones, live for blood and gore. He lifts his chin a bit. “You understand my meaning, Mak. So how’s the shoulder?”

I rotate it a bit out of habit. “It’s good. Still a bitch sometimes, but I keep it limber knowing it’ll be worse when I’m older.”

“Knee’s like that. What brings you into the blue den?” he responds, going straight to the point.

I give him the same. “Bad rumors about cops.”

His eyes change. The warmth falls away in one blink. He takes a drink and I take a pull from my beer. He sits the drink down and drills me with an icy tone. “Best to leave rumors alone.”

That answers the question, and my gut clenches. I just hope Al’s not involved. I shouldn’t be thinking that way because knowing and doing nothing about it means he’s involved.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Al.” It’s all I can think to say.

His tone remains like ice. “It wasn’t a heads-up, it was a threat.” With that, he picks up his drink and removes himself from the booth. He walks to the bar without looking back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I would bury my head in my arms if it wouldn’t make me look weak. I take another pull off my beer. A few minutes later, two more familiar cops walk in. They spot me, but Al calls them over. He’s in this shit deep and of all the people I’d suspect, it would never have been him. He’s counting down to his thirty and said a few years back that he planned to pack up his wife and retire to Florida. Thirty years in means he’ll retire at eighty-five percent of his three highest years of pay. It’s a sweet deal if you can handle things that long.

I stop thinking about Terry’s sweet deal. I’ve played my hand to the wrong person. Fuck. I’m done here. I place a few dollars on the table, leave half a beer behind, and walk out. The blue-crew with Al gives me not so much as a head nod.

I walk around the building to the side lot and spot one of Moon’s Caddies across the street. Not that there aren’t other black Caddies in Phoenix, I just sense the crime lord’s presence. Over-dramatic, that’s me. I’m not dealing with this shit right now. I turn the key and start Sally’s engine. I drive toward my apartment thinking about what just happened. Sure enough, the Caddy follows.

In twenty-four hours, my life has gone from putting some much needed money in the bank to shit on a stick. Al’s into something with Kennedy and that something isn’t good. And to top it off, I have a stalker. Not just any stalker. This one makes Al and Kennedy and whatever they’re up to look like chicken scratch.

It’s a twenty minute drive home. I pay more attention to the black vehicle behind me than I should. I’ve got to park in my spot and hightail it into my apartment before the car stops and Moon gets out. This doesn’t make me happy. I decide to drive a tad evasively five minutes from my apartment and buy myself some time. They don’t know where I’m heading and it just might work. If I receive a traffic ticket, I’ll send the bill to Moon.

I slide through a mostly red light, though it did have a flash of yellow. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I give a sigh of relief when I squeal Sally into her assigned spot, crank the parking brake, and throw open the door. I’m across the parking lot and almost to the building when the Caddy rolls in as calm as you please. Too damn bad. I’m not opening my door after I’m inside. If Moon insists, I’ll call the police. Well, that’s not true, but I’ll threaten it through my locked door.

I’m breathing heavily by the time I close the door behind me. My apartment’s mostly dark with only the overhead stove light on which is about ten feet away. Facing the door, I secure the deadbolt and chain and then rest my forehead against the wood. My heart is racing like I ran a marathon. Nothing alerts me to a presence in my apartment until my hips are grabbed by two large hands. A scream bursts from my throat as I slam my head back into whoever’s behind me. I connect and hear a slight grunt. I use my hands to push off the door. I bend at the waist so my ass pushes the person back. He’s big and I need room to maneuver. I’m off balance now and reaching for my gun. I spin and kick out at the person’s knee. This time, I don’t connect. I’m slammed backward against the door and it’s Moon’s body that presses against mine. He jerks his head back when I try to head-butt him in the nose. I can just make out his bloody mouth caused from my head-butt. His eyes are laughing and that’s reinforced when he grins. Now, after all I went through when I woke up in his house, I get a grin. Fuck him.

I struggle. It does no good and he manages to grab my wrists. I use everything I have to fight, but he easily lifts my hands above my head and presses them against the door.

“Is this how you always greet your dates?” he asks with a husky drawl.

I am so damned pissed. “You’ve committed burglary and assault and stalking. Nothing about you being here comes close to a date.”

He dips his head and his nose touches mine. This is the first time we’ve stood toe to toe; I realize he’s got to be six one or two. I’m five foot five inches with an inch heel on my boots and I’m craning my head to look up at him. I’m breathing hard and I swear if he kisses me, I’ll bite him. He holds me like this for a minute. A very… long… minute. He moves back slightly, and lowers my hand to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles without taking his eyes from mine. Somehow it’s more intimate than kissing my lips. I glance down at my hand and see his blood smeared on the back of my fingers. When I look up, Moon’s eyes are locked on my mouth.

I shove him. His body is like a fucking rock and he doesn’t budge for three seconds. Then, he takes one step back and the pressure on my chest eases. He releases my hands and I feel ridiculously stupid because I don’t jerk the one above my head immediately down.

I stare at him. Jeans and a blue T-shirt that matches his eyes are not what I’d ever expect to see him in. The muscles of his arms are no longer hidden beneath a dress shirt. He’s ripped and so fucking hot.

I mentally slap myself. This thug broke into my apartment, physically assaulted me, and I’m thinking with my damned sex organs again. I need to pull my gun and shoot his ass. With this thought, my hand goes to my waistband. He smiles again and I squeeze my thighs tightly against the effect this has on me.

“You need to leave,” I say breathlessly.

His eyes slowly travel back to my lips and he whispers, “I want to stay.”

Chapter Nine