Undone by Moonlight (3 page)

He recalled a ride in an ambulance, EMTs snapping orders, the
scream of sirens, flashing lights. His memory also provided a vision of his
purse snatcher’s battered face. Why was that so vivid and yet he only got a
fuzzy image of Calla in her bridesmaid’s dress?

Life isn’t fair, Antonio. You ought to
know that by now.

“I called the ambulance,” he said slowly, sliding off his stool
to pace the living room floor. The pieces were falling into place, and the
picture they formed wasn’t pretty. “When I woke up, my suspect was unconscious
next to me and beat all to hell. We were alone.”

Calla angled her head. “So somebody hit you, then ran him down,
attacked him, dragged him next to you and left you both there bleeding?”

The fact that she hadn’t immediately wondered if
he’d
beaten the suspect was a loyalty he had no idea
how he could have earned. Along with anger and worry, something sweet and pure
shot through him.

Something he had no business enjoying.

“Pretty implausible, right?” he commented.

“It actually seems like the only explanation. Conversely, it
also explains—” She paused, her gaze jumping to his.

“Why I’ve been suspended?”

She bit her lip. “Remembered that, have you?”

“The whole rosy scene is fairly clear now. How do you know?
Another one of your phone calls?”

“I went to see Lieutenant Meyer when you didn’t show up at the
wedding. That’s how I found you at the bar.” She crossed her arms over her
chest, looking like an outraged fairy. “He honestly thinks you beat up a suspect
then knocked yourself out?”

“I’m not sure what he thinks, but since that’s the story my
purse snatcher told the cops, I’ve been suspended pending investigation of his
assault.”

Calla’s jaw dropped. “The thief told them you beat him up?”

“Yep.”

“But you were knocked out, too. Who’s investigating
your
assault?”

He sneered. “I imagine that’s pretty low on the list of
priority cases.”

3

C
ALLA
SLAMMED
THE
skillet in the sink and began to scrub, though she knew it was
ridiculous to dream that Devin’s mess could be so easily cleaned up. “This is
outrageous. Meyer’s taking the word of some two-bit, scummy purse snatcher over
one of his own detectives?”

“Probably not,” Devin said, still pacing, even though he had to
be dizzy by now. “But the incident has to be investigated. You gotta admit the
whole thing is strange. The suspect—who Meyer referred to as a witness, by the
way—says I started chasing him for no reason, then whaled on him once I caught
him in the alley. And nobody found a purse on him. He had his own wallet in his
back pocket, and that was it.”

“Obviously whoever hit both of you took it.”

“That much has occurred to me in the last few minutes. But
unless this mysterious attacker shows up and confesses, the lieutenant has an
investigation to run. I’m a suspect and out of the department until he
does.”

“Heaven forbid he should stand by you.”

“He has to stay impartial. Dirty cops are serious business. I’m
sure Internal Affairs will be knocking on my door very soon.”

Calla plopped the rest of the plates in the dishwasher and
slammed the door. “Maybe the thief had a partner, and he didn’t want to split
the booty, so he clobbered his buddy and took off.”

“The booty?”

She let out a huff as she marched toward him, wondering if it
was possible his head injury had made him even more difficult than normal.
“Loot, plunder, goods, ill-gotten gains. Pick your term. I’ve got a thesaurus on
the bookshelf that’ll help you find dozens more if you like.”

“Seems like a lot of effort for one purse.”

Calla flopped on the sofa. “You’re sure it wasn’t there when
you woke up?”

“I don’t think so, but I was pretty groggy.”

“And yet you managed to call for help.”

“An obvious flaw in the logic of this guy’s story. I’m the one
who called the ambulance. Why would I do that if I’d gone to all the trouble to
kick the crap out of him?”

“None of this makes sense. We need to find you a lawyer.” She
picked up her phone from the coffee table in front of her. “I’ll call Victoria.
Her dad’s bound to know somebody.”

“We?” Devin stopped pacing and shook his head, which he
obviously regretted, because he winced, pressing his fingertips to his temples.
“I appreciate you helping me out last night, but I’ll handle things from
here.”

“Unlike the NYPD, I am standing by you. You need help.”

“I can take care of myself.” He must have realized she’d
debunked that statement pretty soundly over the past twelve hours, since he
added, “Usually. I don’t need your gang.”

She scowled. “We’re not a gang.”

“So you keep saying. Look, I should go.”

As he headed toward the hallway, she stepped in front of him.
“Don’t. Let me help you. It’s the least my friends and I can do after all the
times you’ve rescued us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need rescuing.”

The man was pricklier than a desert cactus. “Stay.”

“No.”

“I’d threaten to hold your pain meds hostage, but you’d
probably dip into the whiskey bottle again.”

“I think I’ll lay off the whiskey for a while.”

“Wise idea. You can’t go home, somebody tried to kill you.”

“A bump on the head isn’t a near-death experience.”

“But whoever hit you and the guy you chased is out there. What
if he comes looking for you?”

Devin laid his hand on his side, where he usually carried his
pistol. By the expression on his face, she could tell he wasn’t happy by its
absence.

“Us regular folks can’t carry a gun in the city,” she reminded
him.

“They took my badge, too.”

There was a world of frustration in those five simple words.
Though he wasn’t big on sharing, she knew he defined himself by his job. The
possibility of losing it was no doubt terrifying.

Counting on rejection, but past caring, she grasped his hand.
“I’m sorry. I’ll help you get it back.”

He looked, not at her, but their joined hands. “I appreciate
the offer, but I have to handle this alone.”

“Why?”

His gaze moved to hers. “It’s my problem.”

“There’s no weakness in accepting help from a friend,” she said
gently, sensing he was on the verge of bolting.

“And we’re friends.”

“Aren’t we?”

His bright green eyes stood out starkly from his tanned skin.
People of Irish and Italian decent really should mate more often if this was the
result. Her friends thought he was gorgeous, but dark and rough. She saw him as
wounded and lonely. He spoke to her on an elemental level, and deeper feelings
were undeniably lurking.

Feelings he seemed determined to ignore or deny.

“I thought so,” she said finally to his question about
friendship.

“Are we more than friends?”

Her heart gave a swift kick to her ribs. “Pardon me?”

“We didn’t...” He trailed off and clearly struggled to
continue. She wondered if he was even aware he was stroking the back of her hand
with his thumb. “I mean, I didn’t...do anything with you last night, did I?”

There’d been some clumsy passes, of course, but they,
unfortunately, meant nothing. Was that what he was talking about? In his case,
thing
could mean something as monumental as
having a conversation for more than two minutes. “Do what kind of thing?”

“I woke up naked.”

Her face turned pink. “I thought you’d be more comfortable out
of your clothes.” He did more for a black T-shirt and jeans than anybody she
knew, but the view beneath the cotton was exponentially better. Not that she’d
looked. For long. She cleared her throat. “I was expecting some kind of
undergarment, actually. Do you always...?”

“No. I need to do laundry.”

“Ah. And the scar on your hip?”

“I got stabbed.”

He gave the explanation with the same casual tone that most
people used for “I think I’ll have fries with my burger,” intriguing and
mystifying her more than ever.

And he was still caressing her hand. She inched toward him.
Yes, he was injured, confused, weak and needy—even if he didn’t want to admit he
was. It would be wrong, very wrong, to take advantage of him in his current
state.

And yet her libido was also needy and it was whispering
seductively about the possibility of this being her one and only opportunity
with him. She’d been crushing on him for six months. Other than the head wound
plus alcohol fiasco of the night before, he seemed determined not to make the
first move.
Any
move, actually.

Yet, somewhere, somewhere way deep down, she sensed he needed
her with the same intensity.

Texans were nothing if not determined and resilient. She
certainly knew how to take control. And she had a much better weapon than a
firearm.

Before her conscience could talk sense into her, or he could
think quickly enough to shove her away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and
pressed her lips to his.

Desperate as the move was, it was worth the reward.

He crushed her against him, bracing his hand at the back of her
head to hold her in place as he drove
his tongue past her lips. Her senses
ignited, and he fanned the flames, consuming her like a man starved for air.

Finally
was all she could think.
Finally he’d let go of the tight rein he held on his control.

She embraced his heat, his aggression and need. Everything
about him enticed her to learn more, to be drawn further into the inferno. Why
was he so determined to be alone? What had made him so cynical and stony? Why
did she want so badly to find out if anything soft lingered beneath?

As the thought occurred, his touch turned gentle. His hand,
braced at the small of her back, slid around her waist, glided down her hip. If
he tugged the ties of her robe, she’d be standing before him in nothing but
panties and a camisole, but he seemed more interested in her mouth.

Dreams she’d had alone in her bed, in the dead of night rushed
back. How often had she woken in a sweat, so sure he’d been with her between the
sheets, positive she smelled his cologne on her skin, only to find herself alone
and aching instead?

Fantasies never lived up to their impossible promises, yet she
continued to hope and wonder. Now she finally had him.

I dream of you day and night.

Had he felt the same? Had he longed for her, too? Would this
disastrous frame-up bring them together in a way their past connections hadn’t
been able to?

He pushed her away roughly and suddenly, and she glimpsed the
fire in his eyes seconds before he spun with a muttered “sorry” before he
stalked down the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Breathing hard, Calla stood rigid where he’d left her. Most of
her questions were still frustratingly unanswered. She knew he wanted her, but
he refused to give into that need. She intended to find out why.

Because friendship was far from the only thing she wanted.

* * *

“O
KAY
,
GIRLS
,” C
ALLA
said to her best buds via her laptop’s video
link. “I’ve got a serious problem here.”

“Let me guess,” Victoria began, then sipped from a coffee mug
while the window at her back exhibited a collection of Manhattan high-rises.
“Antonio’s in a bad mood.”

Shelby, the Swiss Alps at her back, frowned, her normally
golden-hazel eyes dark with concern. “Is he okay, Calla? Why didn’t he come to
the wedding?”

“It’s a big, damn mess.”

Calla told her friends the abbreviated version of assault,
frame-up and suspension. “We’ve got to help him.”

“Certainly we will,” Shelby said immediately.

“Does he want us to help him?” Victoria asked. “Antonio doesn’t
seem like the needy type.”

“He needs us,” Calla insisted, though she knew Victoria was
right. “He’s concussed and suspended.”

“And angry, I’ll bet,” Victoria added.

Calla bit her lip. “Actually, he raced out of here, slamming
the door behind him, about five minutes ago.” She paused, taking care not to
look her friends’ directly in the eye. “Course that might have been because I
kissed him.”

“Well, that would—” Shelby leaned forward. “You kissed
him?”

“It’s about damn time” was Victoria’s dry comment.

“How did it happen?” Shelby asked.

“He was feeling guilty because he couldn’t remember if we’d
slept together or not, and he was holding my hand, which, in retrospect, I don’t
think he realized he was doing, and all these feelings welled up inside me—”

Victoria held up her hand. “Hold it. He couldn’t remember if
you’d had sex?”

“He was pretty out of it last night,” Calla said.

“Apparently,” Victoria remarked.

“So, anyway,” Calla went on, “I laid one on him, and he seemed
really into it, then he suddenly darted out the door.”

Victoria shook her head. “I’ve said it once, I’ll say it
again—that guy has issues.”

“You’re not being helpful, V,” Shelby said before she directed
her gaze to Calla. “He’s not thinking straight. That’s why he pushed you away.
If you want to help him, you’ll have to be persistent. Think of him as an
exclusive interview you absolutely have to get.”

Victoria gestured with her mug. “Gotta agree with you
there.”

Calla made an effort not to pout, but it was tough. “He’s been
doing a pretty good job of avoiding me the last six months.”

“But he
does
want you,” Shelby
said, clearly frustrated. “Anybody can see it. Your timing was just wrong. The
first move has got to be perfect.”

“He made plenty of moves last night,” Calla said. “But since he
was toasted, I don’t think those count.”

“Sure they do,” Shelby insisted. “His inhibitions were down, so
he went with his unvarnished instincts. Be persistent. And when I get home,
we’ll triple-team him.” She paused. “No way will this trumped-up assault charge
last.”

Calla knew she’d made the right move by calling her friends,
even if she had interrupted Shelby’s honeymoon. “I could use the backup. In the
meantime, he’s going to need a good attorney. V, can you call your dad for a
recommendation?”

Victoria nodded. “I’ll ask, and I’m sure he knows somebody, but
he’ll be expensive.”

Calla winced. “I don’t think Devin will have the budget for a
highflier.”

“What about that guy you took to V’s Christmas party last
year?” Shelby asked.

Victoria scowled. “The one who kept drooling on her rhinestone
shoes?”

“That’s him,” Shelby said, undeterred. “Didn’t he leave the
public defender’s office to open his own practice?”

“Howard?” Calla asked. “I don’t know. He asked me to marry him
on our second date. It took a long time to let him down gently.”

“Speaking of proposals...” Shelby grinned. “How are things with
you and Jared, Victoria?”

“Fine,” Victoria said. “No proposals. We agreed.”

Over Labor Day weekend, Victoria had fallen in love with a
Montana adventurer. Though wild about her new man, she was also wildly
independent and seemed to be struggling with the concept of coupledom.

Victoria shrugged, though her eyes were bright with lust. “In
between him dragging me off to Turks and Caicos, we’re—”

“He
drags
you off to Turks and
Caicos?” Shelby interrupted in disbelief.

“Not exactly.” Victoria’s face actually turned pink. “But we
go. In between we’re trying to merge our apartments in the city. No easy task,
as it turns out. He wants to buy the place next door, so we can knock out a
wall, and he can build a man-cave where he can watch football and drink beer.
But I remind him that I should have a chick-den where I can do hair and invite
over gay guys to give me grooming tips.”