Committed (17 page)

“Tape?”

“Yeah, we’re on a strict budget. Who’d want to mess with the dead, anyways?”

Neil entered the loading dock, swathed in predawn darkness. This was a good gig. If only he could get his wife off his back, maybe find a sweet little piece like Cliff had on the side. Dealer would take care of his supply issue, and all would be well.

An arm wrapped around his neck, jerking him back and cutting off his air supply.

“Her name was Valentina,” Dealer growled.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Neil croaked out.

A sharp pain sliced through his back and he yelled.

“No yelling,” Dealer chided him.

Something pressed against Neil’s neck.

“Look, I won’t tell anyone—”

Neil never had the opportunity to finish the sentence. His lifeless body dropped to the concrete, blood gushing from a jagged, six-inch slice across his neck.

Emilio stepped back, away from the pooling blood, before it could get on his shoes. He lit a cigarette and puffed.

“Her name was Valentina, and she was mine.”

Morgues never sat well with Damien. Maybe it was the presence of so many empty husks, or the imagined voices of innocents calling out from beyond the grave. Whatever the reason, he did not want to be here.

His personal phone beeped and he slid it out enough to see that it was a text from Poppy. He smiled despite the gruesome setting. He’d read it later, but it set his mind at ease that she was keeping those lines of communication with him open.

“Remind me again why you called me?” he asked the detective.

“You said to tell you if anything weird happened. This is weird.” The detective led him into a human meat locker, where bodies were lined up on metal beds.

Damien could feel the unease in his spirit. His grandfather had been a Maori tribesman, and much of his grandfather’s spirituality had transferred to Damien. While he didn’t hold with the tribal belief system, there was something to be said for the weight of a spirit. And sometimes, Damien felt as though they were watching.

Damien paused in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” Matías Govea, the undercover agent who had been with Valdez at the time of his arrest, stood staring at a body,
hand stroking his chin.

Matías glanced up and his brow furrowed, as if confused to see Damien. He shook his head and extended his hand. “We never got the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Matías.”

“Damien Moana. Shouldn’t you be back in Texas?”

“Thought I’d enjoy the scenery a little,” he replied.

The undercover agent appeared to be a whole other person. If Damien hadn’t seen his federal identification papers before the bust, he might not recognize the man in front of him.

Matías had allowed his hair to grow out, but it was now clipped short. His face was clean-shaven instead of covered with permanent stubble. The clothes were no longer thug-like or oversized. He wore jeans and a polo shirt, with a badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

The detective glanced between them. “I called him,” he said, hitching a thumb at Damien. “I didn’t call you. You are?”

“I’m Special Agent Matías Govea, and I believe Moana and I are after the same thing. I just got here after hearing about this at the station. Please, continue.” Matías crossed his arms, gaze dropping to the body not yet in a bag.

“All right then. This here is Neil. He was one of the morgue’s pickup and delivery men.” The detective pulled a sheet back, revealing a middle-aged Caucasian male with telltale skin lesions. “He was found this morning with his throat slashed and almost fifty puncture wounds to the chest cavity and abdomen.”

Both Matías and Damien stepped closer, leaning over the body.

“See these?” Matías pointed to scabs along the man’s neck.

“Meth addict. Picking the bugs under his skin,” Damien muttered.

Finding just one dead drug addict wouldn’t be enough for the detective or Matías to think this homicide was worth notice. He glanced up at the detective.

“What else?” he asked.

“The surveillance system here is ancient. They run on VHS tape.”

Matías whistled. “Not good, homie.” He winced. “Sorry.”

“No problem, man,” Damien replied.

For undercovers, sometimes the hardest part was leaving a case. Matías had been in deep cover, living and breathing the same lifestyle that his marks had. It was bound to leave an imprint on him. Slang could be unlearned, in time, but it was the man’s soul Damien was more concerned about.

“The tapes were paused. The building’s security guy said he went around the corner for a
drink and left old Neil watching over his desk. Came back and found Neil dead, no trace except for some bloody footprints leading out of the docks.”

“Anything missing? Any of the bodies disturbed?” Damien asked.

“It’s Emilio,” Matías said, gaze on the slashed throat of the victim. “That’s Emilio’s style. Why was he here?”

“Because this is where the bodies of his crew and wife are,” the detective said.

“Valentina,” Matías said. “Where is she?”

“Back, left-hand corner,” the detective replied.

The DEA officers converged on the body.

Matías mumbled, “We never told the media she died.”

Poppy pushed open the glass doors and stepped into her haven. The three-story bookstore on the edge of Millennium Park in downtown Chicago was beautiful. New enough that it felt like a treat to come here, and familiar enough that she wanted to spend hours curled up in a corner. She inhaled the scent of books, and the spicy aroma of tea and coffee from the café, and her nerves settled a little. She glanced around, clutching her purse, as her heart continued to pound.

Okay, not so settled after all
.

But then, how could she be?

She was meeting Damien for a date. A real date.

Poppy checked her phone, but he still hadn’t replied to her text that she was almost to the bookstore. Would it seem overeager to text him again?

She meandered into the bookstore, glancing at a sign that pointed toward the different fiction genres. While she knew the shelves of the stores on the north end of town, she’d only been to the downtown store a handful of times. She ambled toward the Young Adult section, eager to see what new releases had come in. Although she had her own calendar of books she was looking forward to, there was always a new author she might want to try out.

The Young Adult section was in the front of the store. She strolled down the shelves, running her fingers along the spines. She smiled as she happened upon the books she’d already read or owned.

“Find anything you like?”

Poppy whirled around, her skirt brushing the tops of her knees.

Damien leaned against the shelf behind her, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. One side of his mouth curled up in a sexy half smile.

“Nothing I don’t already own.” She turned to face him and mirrored his pose, propping an elbow on the opposite shelf, and gazing up at him.

Her reservations about him melted in his presence. All the points she’d jotted down about why seeing him again was a bad idea might never have existed. Reason didn’t begin to explain the way he made her feel.

Damien bent and brushed a quick kiss over her lips, so fast that she blinked and wondered if it had happened at all.

“Been here long?” he asked.

“No, just got here. You?”

“I’ve been here for a few.” He glanced at the shelves. “Looking for anything specific?”

“Not really. I like to browse to see if I can find anything I think my kids will like.”

“Your kids?” One brow arched.

Heat blossomed on her cheeks. “No, not my biological kids. My school kids. Christ, my mother would probably kill me if I had children right now.”

“She’s not a fan of babies?”

“She’s very old-fashioned and religious, despite being a complete hippie. You get married and then have babies, according to her.”

“And what do you think?”

Poppy tilted her head to the side. “My mom was a single mom. Well, kind of. It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

She cringed inwardly. “I grew up in a commune—”

“You grew up in The House?” His smile grew wider.

“Yeah.”

“Man, I’ve been by it and I know of it, but never talked to anyone who lived there. It seems kind of weird from the outside. How did you like it?”

Poppy shrugged. “To me, it’s normal. There are so many things other people are used to that I’m still not really comfortable with.”

“Like?”

“Noncommunal living rooms. I keep expecting my neighbors to come in and ask if they can change the TV channel.”

Damien tossed his head back and laughed. “My grandpa used to do that to me all the time, and I hated it. Just walk in and change it during my cartoons, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Imagine that, but having to share it with, like, fifty people who live on your floor.”

“No. I did it with four people growing up and that was bad enough.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled. “I totally interrupted you. You were telling me about your mom.”

“Oh.” Where did she start? “Well, my mom was practically a single mom. My dad left when I was little. I’ve never been told why, but mom was all we had. Everyone in The House pitches in to help, but it’s not the same as your own parents. If I were going to have a family, I’d
want to have someone with me. You know, like an ultimate parenting team, or whatever.” Poppy bit her lip and her cheeks heated further. She felt foolish saying it out loud.

Damien didn’t respond for a moment. He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing across her cheek. “I get that. My dad died when I was five or six, so my mamma moved us in with his parents. It took the three of them plus my aunt to raise me. I couldn’t imagine someone doing it on their own.”

Despite the sad nature of their similar tales, Poppy felt even more connected to him.

A pair of teen girls scooted down the aisle, whispering to each other and pointing out titles.

“Want to walk and browse some?” she suggested.

“Sure.” He gathered a plastic bag she hadn’t noticed in his other hand around his knuckles. She couldn’t make out what was in it, but he’d purposefully kept it behind him. What was he hiding from her?

They turned and began ambling away from the teens. His hand pressed gently against the small of her back, warmth gathering in the pit of her stomach almost immediately. They turned and headed into another section, and he took her hand in his. The simple gesture set off a flurry of butterflies in her chest.

“Did I ask if you were looking for anything already?” Damien glanced down at her.

“You did, and I’m not.”

“Well, hell. What if I told you to pick something out so I could buy it for you? Think you could find something?”

“Are you kidding?” It was her turn to toss her head back and laugh. She poked his ribs with her free hand. “You’re offering an addict their drug of choice.”

He captured her finger with his other hand and squeezed. His gaze narrowed, as if daring her to poke the dom one more time. It was tempting, but she knew she’d lose.

“What are you going to pick?” He released her naughty finger.

“I don’t know. Do I get to pick anything?” Her to-be-read shelves were crammed full, but she could always find room somewhere for another book.

“Hmm.” He seemed to consider her question for a moment. He slanted his gaze toward her, eyes narrowed. “Pick a title that tells something you want me to do to you.”

Poppy’s breath caught in her throat, and just like that, arousal coursed through her veins. She tore her gaze from his and searched for her favorite section. The romance sign had an arrow pointing upstairs by the escalator.

As they got on, she couldn’t resist asking, “Is it something you’ll do tonight?” Then again, she wasn’t so sure she could handle another play session with him this soon.

“Do you want me to?”

She bit her lip.

Damien patted her hip as they reached the second floor. “Pick a book.”

Poppy headed toward the back of the store, where several aisles of romance books took over a corner. He followed behind as she began to rummage through the shelves, but there wasn’t anything that spoke to her.

About to give up hope, Poppy turned down another aisle and there on the end was a display of books with the perfect title.

Dangerously Bound
.

The cover was simple, a textured black background with a single piece of knotted rope across the cover. It was beautiful, and completely perfect.

It reminded her of when Damien had used the rope to restrain her. The marks he’d left were beautiful. That was what she wanted from him, to experience rope in play.

Poppy picked up the trade paperback and turned toward Damien, displaying the title.

His gaze flicked over the title but his face revealed none of what he thought.

“I’d like more rope,” she said, without hyperventilating. Her heart raced at the idea of going another round with him.

Damien took the book from her and pressed the plastic bag into her hands.

“Here is your other present. Don’t peek. Go into the bathroom while I check out, and meet me by the doors. You’ll figure out what to do.” His tone was stern, brooking no arguments or protest.

Poppy shivered and clutched the plastic bag.

What is it? Wait. Why am I doing exactly what he wants?

“Why do you automatically get to give orders?” Her body screamed at her to obey, while her head couldn’t go down that path. Not blindly. She wouldn’t lose her identity to his more-assertive personality.

He shrugged. “Because I’m the dominant?”

She rolled her eyes. “And I’m a switch, which means I don’t always want to follow orders. What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll buy your book for you, we’ll have dinner, and you can go home.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, invading her space. “If you decide to play along, I promise you
won’t forget tonight.”

Her breath hitched and she swayed toward him. There was no turning back, not now. She couldn’t say no to Damien.

He wrapped his arm around her and tugged on her hair. To any onlooker, he was simply a man toying with her locks, but to her, he was a dominant demanding a response.