Triple Time (13 page)

His tongue circled hers greedily while his free hand snaked around her waist, drawing her closer. A moan erupted from deep in her throat and she collapsed against his chest, surrendering. Desire coursed through his veins and he wanted to pound his chest and roar like some caveman laying claim to his woman.

His woman.

As a warm tingle spread through his body, his head recognized what his heart had known since their first night together.

He was in love with Devin.

He raised his head to stare at her, longing to tell her but knowing it was way too soon. Pushing her too hard, too fast would only make her bolt. Glassy eyes, drunk with passion, met his and his chest swelled with the knowledge that he'd put that look there.

“Damn you,” she whispered, pulling his head back down for more.

This time the kiss was slower, sweeter, like a welcome home, a promise of things to come.

“See what I mean?” he asked when they broke apart again. “Definitely not the kiss of a man in love with another woman.”

“Point taken.” She tucked her legs under her and shifted so that her face nestled in the crook of his neck.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “As long as we're doing true confessions, there's one more thing I should probably tell you.”

“You didn't propose to anyone else, did you?” She trailed a hand down the buttons on his shirt.

“Hardly.” He chuckled. “I didn't want to get your hopes up, but I asked my inspector to track down some leads on Victor.”

“What kind of leads?” The hand on his chest stilled.

“His last known address. All the hospitals, group homes and residential facilities in the tristate area that take patients with autism.”

She sighed. “Been there, done that.”

“Murphy's got connections you don't. He can cast a wider net. Dig deeper.” And he would. Gabe had made sure of that when he'd called to tell him about Victor's autism.

“Is that legal?” Devin lifted her head and looked at him. “Won't you both get fired for misusing state resources or something?”

“He's doing it off the clock.”

“For free?” Her voice started to rise. “How can I repay him?”

This was the part that was really going to piss her off. Gabe scraped a hand through his hair and charged ahead. “You don't have to. I am.”

She tensed in his arms. “Why would you do that?”

“Because that's what friends do. They help each other out.”

“Is that what we are?” She pursed her lips. “Friends?”

“I'd like to think so.” He kissed her nose. “Isn't that how all good relationships start?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Well, it's about time you found out.” He laid a hand over hers, still on his chest, needing her to feel the erratic beating of his heart, to understand without words how much she meant to him. “Let me do this for you. Please.”

It seemed like a lifetime went by before she answered.

“Okay.” She relaxed almost imperceptibly against him. “But I'm paying you back. I don't know when. I don't know how. But I am.”

“I'll tell you how you can start.” With his free hand he cupped her face, caressing her cheek. “Come to the New York City Ballet fundraiser with me next week. Noelle's performing.”

“That doesn't sound like payback.”

“Have you ever been to one of those things? It can be torture.”

“I thought you liked the ballet.”

“I do. It's the ballet patrons I can't stand.”

“Won't the rest of your family be there? You don't need me.”

“That's where you're wrong, sweetheart.” He slid his hand to her shoulder, one finger toying with the strap on her tank top. “I always need you.”

“I don't have anything to wear...” She tipped her head to one side, all but begging him to explore the elegant column of her neck with his lips.

So he did, starting at the spider web tattoo behind her ear and traveling down to the crest of the phoenix's head on her breast. “Wear whatever you want.”

“But the people at those things...”

“Are just people. Say. You'll. Come.” He punctuated each word with a kiss on her shoulder, her neck and finally her jaw.

“Now who's distracting who with sex?”

“Not distracting. Persuading.” He smiled against her skin. “Is it working?”

She moaned and grabbed his shirt in her fist. “Fuck, yes.”

“And you'll go with me?”

She answered by climbing into his lap, taking his face in her hands and soul-kissing him. And it was a long time before he got around to making dinner.

 

13

“H
EY
, D
EVIN
.” M
ANNY
POKED
his head through the curtain that separated the waiting area of Ink the Heights from the work space. “Some guy's up front with a package for you.”

“Tell him to leave it at the desk.” She didn't look up from the thigh she was tattooing with an intricate, black-and-white maple tree, complete with roots and leaves, that ran from her client's hip to just above her knee. “I'm busy.”

“No can do.” Manny clucked his tongue. “He says you need to sign for it.”

Devin glanced at the clock. Two fifteen.
Shit
. Less than five hours before she was supposed to meet Gabe at Lincoln Center, and she still had no idea what the fuck she was wearing. Leo had promised she could take off as soon as she finished with this client, but she couldn't afford any interruptions if she wanted to be even halfway presentable for Gabe.

And his family.

And all the muckety-mucks who were certain to be at the benefit.

Shit squared. Maybe even cubed.

She must have been on a precoital high when she agreed to this date. She had no business being at a society event—would probably scare off all the potential donors with her tats and piercings. And her general disdain for the upper crust.

Maybe it wasn't too late to back out. She could always use the tried-and-true headache excuse and hide in her apartment with a family-size bag of chips and season four of
The Walking Dead
on Netflix.

Except running and hiding wasn't Devin's style. She was an in-your-face kind of girl. She was also the kind of girl who kept her promises, and she'd promised both Gabe and Holly she'd be there.

“I can't stop now.” She almost laughed out loud at the unintended double meaning of her words. She couldn't stop in the middle of a complex tattoo, and she couldn't stop the wheels that had been set in motion for tonight. She concentrated on outlining a particularly tricky branch. “Sign for me.”

“Tried that. Guy wouldn't budge.”

“Fine.” Devin blew a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “Tell him I'll be out in a minute. I've got to finish this section.”

Manny disappeared, and she worked for another few minutes before laying down her needle on her sterile tray and pressing a gauze pad over the freshly inked area. “Okay, Jazmin. Hold that in place and hang tight. I'll be right back.”

Devin whipped off her gloves and tossed them into the garbage on her way out to the reception room.

“I hope you're going to tell me I won the Publisher's Clearing House grand prize,” she said as she burst through the curtain. “Because nothing short of that is worth the interruption.”

“Sorry, no.” The delivery man set a long, flat box on the counter and held out a tablet and stylus for her to sign. “But the package is from Bergdorf Goodman, if that's any consolation.”

Devin paused midsignature. The super high-end clothing store was definitely not on her shopping radar. Or in her budget. “I didn't order anything from there.”

The delivery dude took the tablet from her hands and checked it while the nosy
buscavidas
scattered around the reception area set aside their magazines to watch the unfolding drama.

“Says right here to deliver to Devin Padilla at Ink the Heights, 1443 St. Nicholas Avenue. That's you, right?”

“Right.”

“Then sign.” He returned the tablet to her.

“But...”

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “There's a note, too. Maybe that'll explain everything.”

She scrawled her signature and fished a couple of ones out of the tip jar and handed them over, making a mental note to replace them later.

“Thanks.” He tucked the tablet under his arm and pocketed the money. With a mock salute for Devin and a nod to the waiting customers, he left.

She stared from the card in her hands to the package on the counter, not sure which to open first.

“Open the card,” a middle-aged woman with a full sleeve of tats on her right arm piped up over the June issue of
Inked
. “See who it's from before you decide whether to accept it.”

“No way, open the box,” another woman disagreed. “Then if you like it you can keep it no matter who gave it to you.”

“I say don't open either one,” a heavyset man on the other side of the room chimed in. “The whole thing's probably a practical joke. Or a bomb. I read last week a guy in Queens got a letter laced with anthrax.”

“Did I ask for opinions from the peanut gallery?” Devin snatched up the box and took it through the curtain back to her work space to a chorus of disappointed groans, punctuated by a few Spanish curse words.

“Oooh, is that the Bergdorf's logo?” Jazmin craned her neck for a peek as Devin tried unsuccessfully to stash the box unnoticed behind her chair. “What's inside?”

“I don't know.” Devin set the box down and fingered the card. Her name was written in a strong, masculine hand on the envelope. “It's a gift. I haven't opened it.”

“Well, come on,
muchacha
.” Jazmin nudged her with one elbow. “What are you waiting for?”

“I should really get back to work on your ink.”

“We can finish up next week. I was starting to get a little sore, anyway.” Jazmin lifted the gauze pad and inspected her new tattoo.

“Keep that covered.” Devin gave her client a fresh pad and threw the used one into the medical waste container.

“Stop changing the subject.” Jazmin pouted. “Open the package.”

“Okay, okay.” First the waiting room crew, now Jazmin. What was with these people? They took meddling to a whole new level.

Devin tore open the card, knowing whose signature she'd find inside.
Can't wait to see you in this at the ballet tonight. And out of it at my place after. Yours, Gabe.

Was he? Hers? And she, his? Was that what all this, surprise museum trips and unexpected presents and life-changing orgasms, was adding up to?

Fat chance.
Devin crumpled up the card in her fist. He'd pushed her further than any man had before. Gotten her to admit that their relationship—God, she hated that word—went beyond the physical. But belonging to each other? Lifetime commitment? His and hers towels? No way. Forever wasn't in her DNA.

“Who's it from?” Jazmin's voice brought her back to the matter at hand.

“A friend.” Devin eyed the box at her feet.

“Must be a good friend if he's shopping for you at Bergdorf's.”

“Who says it's a he?”

“The blush creeping up your face.” Jazmin waggled a finger at her. “Quit stalling. Let's see what your
novio
picked out for you.”

“He's not my...” Devin's denial died in her throat. What was the point? They were seeing each other almost every night. Humping like sex fiends. And now he was sending her expensive gifts. That made Gabe her boyfriend, didn't it? Even if hearing it out loud gave her the willies. “Never mind.”

Devin laid the box flat on the floor, knelt beside it and lifted off the lid. She peeled back the mountains of tissue paper and stood, lifting up a stunning beaded mermaid gown in a deep, rich red, with a sweetheart neckline, wide, gathered shoulder straps and an open back.

“Aye, dios mio,”
Jazmin breathed. “Alexander McQueen.”

“You've seen it for all of two seconds. How can you tell the designer?”

“I watch
Project Runway
. And stalk the fashion blogs. That gown is part of his new collection. It's worth over five thousand dollars.”

“What?” The gown slipped in Devin's shocked hands, and she clutched it to her chest to stop it from falling into a five-thousand-dollar heap on the floor.

“Exquisite.” Leo came up behind her, his voice startling her so she almost dropped the damned thing again. “Your Gabriel has outdone himself.”

Devin grimaced. “Shouldn't you be working?” she snapped.

“I just finished up on Hector.” Leo stood firmly planted, hands on his hips. “And my next client ran next door to get some cash from the ATM.”

Great. A bigger audience.

“Ooh, try it on,” Jazmin purred.

Devin draped the dress over her arm. “Not now.”

“Look, there's more.” Jazmin had gotten down from the chair and was crouched next to the still open box, holding up a pair of matching mesh and suede pumps. “Jimmy Choo.”

“You realize these names mean nothing to me, right?”

“Well, they should.” Jazmin dangled the shoes from her fingertips. “They mean your
novio
has expensive tastes and the
cuartos
to indulge them.”

Devin snatched the shoes in her free hand, tucked the box under her arm and stomped toward the storeroom.

“Square up with Jazmin, and schedule her for a follow-up early next week,” she called over her shoulder. “Someone's got some 'splainin' to do.”

* * *

“H
EY
,
BOSS
. Y
OU
GOT
A
minute?” Murphy stuck his head inside Gabe's office door.

Gabe looked up from his keyboard at his inspector. “I have to file this motion by five. Can it wait?”

“You're going to want to see this.” Murphy waved a DVD. “We got the surveillance tapes from the victim's apartment building.”

Gabe pushed back his chair and followed Murphy down the hall to the video room, whistling as he went.

“What's with you?” Murphy slowed his steps to let Gabe catch up with him. “You take happy pills or something?”

“Just in a good mood, I guess.” Gabe swung open the door marked Video Room. “It's a beautiful day. Birds singing. Flowers blooming. Taxi drivers cutting each other off. What's not to like?”

“Well, I hope this doesn't burst your bubble.” Murphy pushed past him and headed straight for the combination TV/DVD player.

“Not likely.” Taking a seat at the conference table in the center of the room, Gabe fought a smile. It would take an elephant dart to bring him down today. He checked his watch. In about four and a half hours he'd be with Devin, at the ballet.

“Let me get it cued up.” Murphy fiddled with the DVD player. “The interesting part's at around 12:30 p.m.”

“That's almost five hours before the medical examiner's estimated time of death.”

“Exactly.” Murphy's finger hovered over the play button. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Murphy started the DVD. The entrance to the Park Avenue apartment building where the bodies were found popped up on the screen. The angle of the camera caught everyone coming and going. Including a man in jeans, a stained, white T-shirt and a tool belt, swinging a tool box in one arm.

“Pause it.” Gabe leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Was that who I think it was?”

“Yep.” Murphy crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That's our guy, all right. The defendant. On his way out. Five hours before the murder.”

Gabe slumped in his seat
.
No wonder their witness was wavering. She was wrong.

“I take it there's nothing that shows him returning.”

“Nope.”

“And no other way in or out of the building.”

“Negative.”

Gabe tugged at his collar, which all at once seemed to be choking him. “How did we miss this?”

“Problem is—” Murphy cleared his throat “—I don't think we did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember how we thought the security camera wasn't working?”

“Yeah.” Gabe scowled at his inspector, still not following.

“Well, someone from this office watched the video from the day of the murder. He paid off the guard on duty to erase it and say he'd accidentally turned off the camera. But the guard didn't feel right about it, so he saved it onto a USB drive. Just in case.”

“If someone bribed him to erase it, why come forward with it now?”

“Because that someone is no longer working the case.”

Jack.

“Shit.” Gabe slammed his fist on the table. “That unethical little prick. He completely screwed us.”

“You said it.” Murphy took a step toward Gabe and jammed his hands in his pockets. “We have to disclose this to the defense. We're going to look like assholes.”

“Fuck disclosure. We might have to dismiss the whole damn case.” Gabe pushed back his chair and stood, the motion he had to file suddenly the least of his concerns. “I've got to talk to Holcomb. Now.”

“Before you do, there's something else you should see.” Murphy turned back to the DVD player and pressed Fast Forward. The images zoomed past.

“Please tell me it's not more bad news.” Although Gabe didn't know how it could get any worse. Withholding evidence that could prove the defendant's innocence was pretty much the lowest a prosecutor could sink.

And this guy wanted to be district attorney?

Over Gabe's dead body.

“Depends on how you look at it.” Murphy froze the DVD. “Here we are. 5:25 p.m.”

“Right around the time of death.”

Murphy nodded and restarted the video. For a few seconds, there wasn't any movement. Then a grainy figure came into the frame. It was a man of average build, his face obscured by a gray hoodie. He paused briefly to adjust something in his pocket then ducked out the door.

“Our murderer?”

“Possibly.”

“Not much to go on.”

“Forensics is enhancing it and printing up some stills. We're going to recanvass the neighborhood, show them around and see if anyone recognizes him.”

“Great.” Gabe ran a hand through his hair and headed for the door, continuing to speak as he went. “Get Colby and Renwick to help. I'll clean up Kentfield's mess.”