Roman's Gold (Underground Heat, Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter 5

Devon stared at the placard next to the door reading, HENRY ADAMS, M.D. He was on the third floor of a medical arts building. His lips thinned to a hard line. He hated doctors, and avoided them whenever possible, but it was the only way to get in to see a surrogate. As it was, it had taken him nearly a week to secure an appointment. He wondered what people did who were truly ill. Devon yanked the door open. He expected more tension and caught it before it banged against the stops. He trod heavily to the front desk and tapped on frosted glass.

“Your business, please,” a disembodied voice came from a speaker. The glass panel—probably bulletproof—didn’t budge.

“Devon Heartshorn. I have an appointment.”

“Did you bring your paperwork?”

“Yes. Downloaded it from the vid feed like you said.”

“Place it in the tray in front of you. Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Devon fidgeted in the hard plastic chair. “Shortly” turned out to be just over an hour.

“Mr. Heartshorn,” blared from the speaker.
So much for patient privacy,
he thought wryly, glancing around the overflowing waiting room. “Proceed to the green door and place your palm on the pad.”

After weight, height, blood pressure, and a nurse asking questions—most of which he didn’t answer—Devon was stuffed in an exam room the size of a large closet. Tired of sitting after his stint in the waiting room, he paced, two steps one direction, then back again.

Half an hour later a tall, thin, harried-looking man in his fifties pushed the door open, walked to the sink, and washed his hands. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Heartshorn,” he said without looking at Devon. “What can I do for you today? My nurse said you were evasive when she asked you questions.”

“I can wait until you finish with your hands.”

Breath rattled through the doctor’s teeth. He grabbed a paper towel and turned to face Devon. Tired brown eyes gazed out of a deeply lined face. Brown hair, turning gray, was cut short. “Okay. You have my undivided attention.”

“Um, it’s a little embarrassing…” Devon dropped his gaze. Even though he’d practiced at home in front of his bathroom mirror, he felt heat rise from the open neck of his shirt.

“Sex, eh?” Dr. Adams nodded knowingly. “I’ve pretty much heard it all, son. What is it? Do you think you caught something?”

Devon snorted. “Wish I could. See, I can’t seem to…” He let his voice trail off.

“How long haven’t you been able to have sex?” Dr. Adams was all business. “And is it that you can’t get erections, or that you don’t last long enough.”

Devon felt his face get even warmer. “Uh, both. And it’s always been this way, but I screwed up one marriage. I’d like to find a wife, and—”

The doctor waved him to silence. “Think I’ve got the picture. Just let me do a brief exam, here.” He snapped on a pair of gloves. “Want to be sure you don’t have prostate problems. If that checks out, I think a few surrogate sessions would fix you right up.”

“Huh? What’s that?” Devon tried to sound naïve and clueless.

“Drop your pants and bend over.” The doctor inserted a finger into Devon’s anus and felt around. “Okay. Everything’s good there.” He dropped the gloves in a waste can and put on a fresh pair. “Now lay on the table for me.” He bent over Devon and poked and prodded. “A surrogate is a woman who helps you with sexual problems.” The doctor flashed a lascivious grin. “Sort of like a prostitute, but with a college degree in what makes men tick.”

“Oh.” Devon looked away. “How much does it cost?”

Dr. Adams shrugged. “They all have their own fee scale. Insurance won’t cover it, even with a prescription from me. Best bet is to call around. The nurse will give you a list. Okay, Mr. Heartshorn. You’re all done here. Don’t think you need any labs today. Get dressed. Nurse will be in with an authorization from me and that list.”

“Um, you won’t have to tell my employer about this, will you?”

Dr. Adams looked human for the first time since he’d come into the exam room. “No. And I won’t. Can’t see where it would interfere with your job. Those are the only things I have to report. You’re a cop. Your fellow officers would never let you live this down. No worries.”

The door whooshed shut. Devon scrambled into his Levis and shoes and buttoned his shirt. The nurse showed up quickly. Minutes later, he ran down the building’s steps three at a time, jubilant his ploy had worked. He had a way to see Kate. As soon as he could find an electronics store, he’d buy a nice, anonymous, throwaway wrist computer and call her.

Devon’s gaze searched both sides of the street in a seedy neighborhood. Being a cop had some perks, since he had a general idea who sold what to whom. He ducked into a shop, looked over the electronic merchandise, and plunked down black market cash for a black market wrist computer preloaded with two hundred minutes, seventy-five texts, and fifty searches.

Devon punched numbers into the computer from an alleyway next to the shop. Bums lined its sides, but they never gave him any problems. His size and obviously superb physical condition were quite a deterrent.

She answered on the second ring. “Kate Roman.” It surprised him. He’d been expecting a recording.

“Uh, hi. My name is Heartshorn. I got a referral from Dr. Adams to see you. I, um, wanted to make an appointment. And I guess I need to know how much you charge.”

Laughter tinkled against his ear. “Sure. I know Dr. Adams. Let’s see. I had a cancellation this afternoon at five. Or there’s three tomorrow. Would either of those work for you?”

“Your fees?” Devon tried desperately to act like a normal client.

“Sure. First visit is seven hundred fifty credits. It includes a full assessment and a report back to your referring doctor. Subsequent visits are six hundred fifty credits.”

Devon whistled. Steep. He thought about the hundred fifty credits Huong had charged. It didn’t matter; he would have paid any amount to get to Kate with her clothes off. She dogged his dreams every night. He wasn’t sure how the hell he’d be able to fake erectile dysfunction, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

“If that’s too much,” she said, her voice kind, “I can give you the names of some women who charge less.”

“No,” he blurted. “It’s fine. You said you had a cancellation at five?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. I’ll take it. Bye.”

“Wait. Don’t you need my address and directions?”

“Aren’t they on the sheet the doctor gave me?” It wouldn’t do to tell her he knew exactly where her office was.

“I don’t think so. They shouldn’t be. Do me a favor and check. You can tell me when I see you. I’m in a pale blue Victorian. The address is…”

Devon floated down the street. This was working out better than he’d hoped. He was off work today and traveling on foot. Since he was new and trying to earn his chops, he would have stopped in at the station house anyway, but he couldn’t risk getting snared in an emergency. Besides, it was only about two hours until his appointment.

Devon decided to splurge; he walked into a sit-down restaurant. No self-serve cafes for him today. Obviously successful businessmen dressed in suits and ties were scattered through the establishment in small groups. They looked askance at his worn jeans, pressed linen shirt, and the leather vest he rarely left home without, before quickly averting their gazes.

A waitress wearing an über-short shirt and tiny top hurried over to him on ridiculously high heels. Bleached blonde hair frizzed around her face. Breasts spilled over the top of her low neckline. He caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke mixed with sweat and cheap cologne.
Damn.
Those IV infusions really amped up his senses.

“Did you have a reservation, sir?” she purred.

“No, but I see lots of empty tables.” Sensing she was about to tell him to leave, he flashed his cop creds.

“Oh, I see,” she breathed. “I’m sure I can find you something.”

“I want that table.” He pointed to a choice spot near a window.

“Certainly. I’ll have someone set it.”

“Great. Bring a menu while you’re at it.” Devon loped to the table and settled his oversized frame into a carved wooden chair. After a few moments, the low drone of conversation picked up again. He figured folk would ignore him, and they did.

He lingered over a salad, steak, bottle of red wine, coffee, and desert until it was nearly time for his appointment. His eyes widened at the bill and he shook his head. It had been an exceptional meal, but scarcely worth five hundred credits. San Bernardino didn’t have such a sharp demarcation between haves and have-nots. He tapped a few keys on his wrist computer and wrote the code on the bill. He assumed a tip was added in to the total. He didn’t want to risk leaving black market cash on the table.

He pushed to his feet and snorted. Didn’t matter if he pissed off the waitress. It was unlikely he’d be back. He made good money, but it wasn’t good enough to indulge at places like this, at least not very often.

His blood thrummed as he walked briskly toward Kate’s office. Anticipation zipped through him. His cock surged against the front of his pants. He moved it so his zipper wasn’t rubbing against him and told it to calm down. It wouldn’t do to show up at her door with a raging hard-on. With her enhanced senses, she’d be sure to smell his arousal, never mind the front of his pants being tented like he was smuggling a boomerang.

He tried counting backward. Next he tried solving complex equations. Neither worked. His cock was insistent. It wanted Kate and it wanted her bad. He mentally rehearsed a slightly different story, using premature ejaculation as his presenting issue. That would let him sidestep having an erection on her front stoop. His heart thudded. His mouth was dry. He walked up her steps and rang the bell.

*

Kate smiled to herself. Her newest client was right on time. She appreciated punctuality. Kate padded to her front door, flipped the safety viewer, and froze. It was him. Holy Christ! Her nipples peaked. Her breathing quickened. She dreamed about him almost every night. Hot, graphic dreams of them doing just about everything two people could do to one another. Quite different from the quiet, controlled sex in her surrogate studio. She’d added twice-daily masturbation sessions since he’d sat at her table in the café.

Calm down. If he wanted to arrest me, I’d be gone by now.

I don’t know that. Not for sure,
another voice posited dryly. It was the only dry thing about her. Liquid slicked her thighs.

“Oooooh,”
her cat purred.
“Looks like he found us. What are you waiting for? Get him in here.”

He rang the bell again. Kate felt trapped, but more than trapped, she was hotter than she’d been in years. She rubbed her thighs against one another and almost came. Her cat’s opinion aside, common sense told her to make a run for the back door. It would take her down an interior staircase and out into the alleyway. That part of her mind screamed
no
when her hand snaked out to disengage the locks.

The man smiled at her. Warm, dark eyes crinkled at the corners. He held out a hand. “I’m Devon Heartshorn. For a minute there, I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong date or time or address. Say—” his brows drew together, “—you’re the one I ran into the other day at the restaurant. What a coincidence.”

Like hell it is.
The lie pinged sourly against her magic. Kate stood with her mouth hanging open. She finally shook his hand. Words were beyond her; they stuck in her throat.

Devon’s smile faded. “Um, look, if you’re not feeling well or something, maybe we could reschedule.”

Disgust with herself roiled through her. When had she turned into such an insipid coward? Her style had always been to meet things head on. She sucked in a steadying breath, followed by another. “No. I’m fine. I was just, uh, surprised. Come in. Follow me right over here. I have a terminal where you can enter your information.” She pointed to the corner desk.

Kate usually gave her new clients space, but she stood right behind Devon’s ramrod straight back once he settled in the chair and watched him enter data. “There.” She tapped the screen with the nail of her index finger. “It asked for your occupation. You left it blank. Why?” She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

“Didn’t it say at the top of the form I could leave things blank?”

Damn!
“Yes, it did say that, but most men are proud of what they do. Part of your first visit is me deciding if I’ll accept you as a client.” She hurried on. “A lot of men think visiting me is like hiring a prostitute. It’s not. Trust between us is essential or the relationship won’t work for you and you’ll just be wasting your money. If you don’t even trust me enough to tell me how you earn a living, well, I’m not terribly hopeful.”

He turned the chair around so he faced her and spread his hands. “How about if you pull up a chair?” His face looked earnest, not threatening. She saw pleading in the depths of his eyes.

“Okay.” Something with nasty claws walked up her back. Was it paranoia, or a genuine warning? For once, her cat was silent. Kate sensed it within her, watchful and waiting.

She reached out with her magic and settled a chair across from him. Not too close. She was edgy, ready to fight for her life if she had to. She was surprised her lust hadn’t abated. Not one whit. Her body craved him. It didn’t care if he was out to get her.

“Let’s start with this.” She locked gazes with him. “About a week ago, you followed me when I walked to work. Why?” Before he could answer, she hurried on. “And I’ll be a blue monkey if you showing up at the café where I eat lunch every day was accidental.”

His jaw set in a hard line. A muscle danced beneath one eye. “Guess I need to tell you. You’ll find out soon enough once my clothes are off and you see the duty tattoos. I’m a cop. Just started working for the city, but I’ve been a cop for a long time. I’m part of the task force that’s supposed to hunt down shif—, er, people like you.”

She leaped to her feet and backed away, intent on putting as much distance as she could between her and Devon Heartshorn.