Dangerous to Touch (8 page)

Stokes didn’t even glance at it. “As a high-ranking police official, you were in the position of power.”

He had no comeback for that.

“You used incredibly poor judgment and allowed yourself to be photographed in the process. It’s inexcusable.”

“They won’t run it,” he said with certainty. “This is-” he gestured at the photos “-a mistake. A very stupid, very careless mistake. But it’s not a story.”

“They won’t print the explicit ones, no. As long as she makes no complaints.”

“She won’t.”

She quelled him with a look. “Are you psychic now, too?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he’d had more than three hours’ sleep the past two nights combined. “Chief, I apologize for my unacceptable behavior. To tell you the truth, I really don’t know what came over me.” He felt his jaw tighten, and had to force himself to relax. “But I assure you, this stays here. I will not end up in court, or the papers, just because I kissed a woman in public.”

“You kissed a suspect while on duty. At a crime scene.”

He conceded that these were very sound points.

“What they will run is this-Oceanside Police Department Consults Psychic.”

“They’ve done that before. So what?”

“I won’t let you make this department a joke. And having her name in the paper, when we’re in the middle of undercover surveillance, will hardly work in our favor.”

He cleared his throat. Now was not the time to tell her they’d already been made. “She’s not a suspect,” he asserted.

“Oh, really? I don’t need you making decisions for me, Cruz. Especially when you’re letting your dick think for you.”

He winced at the well-deserved insult. “My instincts say Sidney Morrow is not involved. Most homicidal criminals are loners. They don’t recruit women.”

“It’s not unprecedented,” she said. “Women can be used as a lure, to draw in victims, to gain confidences. She’s good with dogs, and we don’t know how the killer managed to get past them. She’s the perfect accomplice. Perhaps she’s pulled the wool over your eyes, too.”

“Bring Lacy in here,” he requested.

Sighing, Stokes buzzed her in. They both listened to his account of Sidney’s “vision” in the bathroom, Stokes with her arms crossed over her chest, expression closed.

“Do you believe this?” she asked Lacy.

Lacy darted a glance at Marc. “No, Chief,” she lied, throwing him right under the bus.

Stokes studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “You’ve always been a loose cannon, Cruz. Yesterday you went Rambo in a homeless camp. Today you’re Romeo on a picnic table. Your personal issues are interfering with your police work. Not all women are damsels in distress or targets for seduction.”

That hit him where it hurt. He struggled not to let it show.

“I can’t have a wild card on my team right now,” she decided. “You know that vacation you’ve been putting off? As of right now, you’re on it. Two weeks. Now get out of my sight.”

Refusing to meet Lacy’s apologetic gaze, or Stokes’s assessing one, he pushed himself away from the seat and strode out of her office.

Marc was more pissed off at himself than at Stokes or Lacy, but having his boss tell him he had “issues” was humiliating. If his problems with the opposite sex were so pronounced, why was he the only officer on homicide with a female partner?

“I’m sorry,” Lacy said, hurrying to catch up with him. “I was afraid she was going to take me off the case, too.”

He grabbed his keys off the top of his desk. “Any luck with the door-to-doors?”

“No. The park is popular with joggers and strollers, that’s about it. No one noticed a shady character. There are vehicle records I could pull. It’s a two-dollar charge to park inside, at a pay box, but it’s infrequently monitored. Some people don’t fill out the ticket, or bother to pay. Of course, there are places to park along the street, too.”

“He also could’ve walked from home, if he lives nearby.”

“It’s a residential area,” she said, nodding.

And a needle in the haystack.

She followed him out to his car. “I feel really bad, Marc. Stokes doesn’t have to know everything. I’ll keep you informed.”

“You’re goddamned right you will,” he muttered, getting in and slamming the door. If Stokes thought he wouldn’t continue investigating on his own, she’d completely underestimated his psychological flaws.

She thought he had problems with women? They were nothing compared to his control issues.

P
acific Pet Hotel had been open for business less than five minutes when Crystal Dunn burst through the front doors, microphone in hand, a pair of bulky cameramen behind her.

The pint-size reporter’s heels clicked self-importantly on the tile flooring as she approached. Her tailored black suit hugged her trim figure, and the ruffled blouse beneath showed only a tasteful hint of cleavage, but she still managed to look more like Barbie than Barbara Walters. Her makeup was flawless: pale skin translucent, hair a golden halo.

“Miss Morrow, is it true that you’ve been employed as a psychic by the Oceanside Police Department?”

Sidney’s throat went dry. She couldn’t help but feel awkward standing next to Crystal Dunn, staring at the flashing red light on the video camera. Even with Crystal’s big hair and high heels, Sidney towered over her. “No, it’s not,” she said, forcing herself not to slouch. “And I don’t want to be interviewed. Please leave.”

Undaunted, Crystal continued her questioning, her baby-blue eyes wide with excitement. “Have you revealed the identity of the serial killer?”

“I’m calling my lawyer,” Sidney decided. Maybe she wasn’t the type of woman who commanded instant respect, but Greg, in a professional capacity, was a bone-crusher.

Making a cutting motion, Crystal handed the microphone off to one of her beefcake assistants and sent them both outside with a brusque dismissal. As Sidney picked up the phone to dial, Crystal shoved a full-color photo under her nose.

Sidney’s jaw dropped.

The photograph was a stunner. Marc was carrying her away from the public rest rooms. Her eyes were closed, head cradled against his chest. He looked every inch the hero, concern clear on his chiseled features, the muscles in his arms delineated under the strain of her weight.

“Nice shot,” she said quietly.

“You like it? I’ve got some even better ones.”

She blanched, knowing Crystal had her. The photo had been taken several moments
before
their very public make-out session. It was the reason he’d stopped, she realized. He’d spotted Crystal’s camera crew and wanted to spare her the humiliation of knowing they’d been caught on tape. Why?

“This could ruin his career, you know.”

Sidney worried her lower lip with her teeth.

“You give me a sit-down interview, and I promise to keep the most incriminating pictures out of the news.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No way.”

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Morrow. I have proof of sexual misconduct.”

“Why do you think I care about his career?” she bluffed.

“Oh, please. You’re so soft you probably cry watching
Bambi.
”

Her temper flared. “Living in the slums has toughened me up.”

Crystal looked her up and down, reassessing her as a competitor.

“I apologize for the lowbrow remark. You’re-” she swept her eyes over Sidney, arching a brow at her attire “-not his type. Perhaps I was jealous.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He broke my heart.”

Sidney believed her, and resented her for being honest. Marc might think Crystal had wronged him, but she apparently felt it was the other way around. “Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn’t,” Sidney said, feeling depressed and confused. “I don’t know anything.”

Crystal made her last play. “Sign the release for this photo,” she said, handing her a pen and paper, “and I won’t destroy him in the papers.”

After a moment of indecision, Sidney signed the form, knowing from the smug look on Crystal’s pretty face that she’d just been manipulated.

The interior of his house was stifling.

Marc turned on the A/C as soon as he came through the door. He tore off his shirt, shoulder holster and sweat-dampened undershirt, wondering when the weather would break. The shady motel room he’d been living out of for the past two days was more comfortable than this. Along the coast, the air was cooled by refreshing ocean breezes. Ten miles inland, where he lived, it was muggy as hell.

Tossing his discarded items on the living room couch, he strode into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, popped off the top and took a long pull. He desperately needed something to take the edge off.

He’d never felt so keyed-up.

Staring out the window above the kitchen sink, he noted that his backyard needed attention. The grass was dry and sunburned, the plants slowly dying. Groaning, he rubbed a hand over his weary face. His fatigue went bone deep.

“Hell with it,” he said aloud, abandoning the kitchen in favor of sprawling out in front of the TV on his leather couch. 10:00, the blinking red numbers on the DVD player read.

“Christ,” he muttered, taking another fortifying swig. Only losers drank beer by themselves on a weekday morning.

Instead of finding something more productive to do with his time, Marc indulged himself further by replaying every moment of his kiss with Sidney in slow motion. It was the reason for his “vacation,” after all. Why not reflect upon it?

Hell, why not embellish, while he was at it?

This time, as he explored her wet, hot mouth with his tongue, he gave his hands, and his imagination, free rein. He didn’t just reach underneath her T-shirt, he made it disappear, along with her bra, and feasted his eyes on her luscious breasts. He didn’t just brush his thumb across her tight little nipples, he flicked his tongue over them, enjoying the soft gasp of pleasure she made while he tasted her.

His cock stretched and swelled, pushing against the fly of his pants the same way it had pushed against the cleft of her thighs.

Groaning, he lifted the bottle to his lips, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat as he considered his options. There were women he knew-skillful, enthusiastic women-who would come over and take care of him if he asked. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d called a woman just for sex.

More often than not, when he was between girlfriends, like now, he went without. Sometimes, even when he had one, he took matters into his own hands, so to speak. Calling another woman to slake his lust for Sidney didn’t appeal to him in the least.

He didn’t want to touch another woman. He didn’t want to look at another woman. He didn’t want to think about another woman.

He wanted to think about Sidney touching herself.

With his free hand, he released the buttons on his pants, picturing her lying naked on her wrought-iron bed. He saw her as he thought she’d been, eyes closed, head thrown back, breasts jiggling slightly as her hand worked feverishly between her sleek, open thighs.

While he watched, and enjoyed, her brow puckered in concentration and her slick fingers moved faster. Moaning, she arched her back, thrusting her dusky-tipped breasts forward as she shuddered her exquisite release.

God, what he would have given to really have been there. To watch her come.

He stroked himself slowly, extending the fantasy until he was in the room with her. Leaning over her, he brushed the damp hair off her forehead, touched his lips to the fluttering pulse point at the base of her throat, lapped a drop of perspiration from between her breasts. When she smoothed her fingers over his hair, he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, tasting her, inhaling her scent.

Needing more, he lowered his head to the silky black curls between her legs and tasted her there, too, savoring the sweet aftermath of her orgasm.

In her, he found his own release, and it was so intensely satisfying he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pleasure of it. With his head pounding, and dark flashes pulsing across his eyelids, he wondered if the reality of touching her could ever live up to the fantasy.

Too bad he’d never find out.

Greg called during her lunch break. “Where are Samantha and the girls?”

Sidney pressed her fingertips to her aching temple. “Still at my house, I suppose.” If he was really worried, why hadn’t he called earlier? “She came in late.”

He cleared his throat. “Did you two, uh, get a chance to talk?”

“No.”

His relief was almost palpable. “Listen, Sid, I’m sorry about last night. I don’t really remember what happened, but I do have the vague notion that I made a total ass of myself. Forgive me?”

She didn’t, and his insincere apology, in which he couldn’t even own up to what he’d done, let alone take responsibility for his actions, only salted the wound. “Since you called, I need help,” she said, refusing to pardon his behavior. “You know my…boyfriend-” she felt her cheeks heat, even though no one could see her “-the investigator?”

“Yeah. I don’t like him.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“He threatened to beat me up. I think. Details are a little fuzzy.”

Sidney was absurdly pleased Marc had bothered to defend her.

“Well, he’s been, um, videotaping me. And recording me. Is that legal?”

“Not if you don’t agree to it, baby.”

She frowned into the phone before she caught up with his dirty mind. “Oh! No, not like that. I mean I’m under police surveillance.”

“What the hell for?”

Sidney told him about finding Candace Hegel’s dog and falling under suspicion. Like most of her family members, Greg knew about Sidney’s “special abilities” and dismissed them as hysterical female silliness, so she didn’t go into too much detail.

She never should have given Blue that first, comforting pat, she thought with a sigh. Her need to touch and be touched, despite its inherent dangers, was so often her undoing.

Greg’s mind was elsewhere. “Last night, when your boyfriend came over, it was because he heard me?”

“Yes,” she said, wondering how many other private moments and personal conversations Marc had been privy to.

“That son of a bitch,” Greg said, terribly concerned for his own welfare.

Every cloud had its silver lining, she supposed. Apparently Greg remembered more than he let on. Making him feel accountable, after he knew he’d been taped, was better than nothing.

“So is it legal?”

“Yeah, it is. A judge has to sign an order first, but it’s just a formality.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “What can I do?”

“Let me get this straight-a homicide cop is dating his suspect? You can sue his pants off, and the department, for gross misconduct.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay. Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”

That sounded even worse. Her brother-in-law had always been protective of her, in a way that was disturbingly unfamilial. “No, Greg. Just drop it. You have enough to worry about with Samantha.” She paused for a moment, dreading what she was about to do. “She says you want full custody.”

“Stay out of this, Sidney,” he warned. “It’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business last night. On tape,” she reminded.

Greg was wise enough to bite back his anger, and his response.

“Don’t drag her through the mud, Greg. If you can’t come to an agreement with her, fine, use your lawyers. But don’t try to get the girls on grounds of infidelity. Don’t make Dakota and Taylor pay for Samantha’s mistakes.”

“She’s a drug addict, Sid,” he said softly.

Tears flooded her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. This was an incredibly ugly thing to face, and she didn’t want to. God, she hated getting involved in Samantha and Greg’s problems, being pushed and pulled between them, stuck in the same role she’d been forced to play with her own parents. “Let’s do something about it,” she urged. “Put off the divorce, and convince her to go to rehab.”

“My girlfriend wants to get married,” he said. “I’ve been trying to convince Samantha to kick the habit for years. I can’t do it anymore, Sid. I need to get on with my life.”

After Sidney hung up the phone, she stared at it for a long time, wondering why she was so worried about everyone else’s life when she couldn’t begin to manage her own.

Marc drank himself into a mild stupor, slept it off all afternoon, and woke up feeling refreshed instead of hung over. He showered, raided the refrigerator and went for an early evening jog even though it was still hot.

On impulse, he stopped by his next door neighbor’s house on the way home. Tony Barreras was the kind of friend he never knew he wanted and wasn’t sure why he had. Whatever the reason, they’d been close for years, and he was always there when Marc needed him.

Tony answered the door shirtless, barefoot, clad in ragged fatigue shorts. A colorful hand-woven bandana held his dark, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes, giving him the look of a bohemian vigilante. At his feet, an ancient white pit bull thumped his tail against the ground.

“Hey,” Tony said in greeting. “Where’ve you been?”

Marc shrugged. “Around. Working. You know.”

He walked away from the door, leaving it open in welcome. The dog, having known Marc too long to expect any kind of attention, returned to his lounging area beneath the front window. “You want a beer?” Tony asked, looking over his shoulder. “Water?”

“Yeah. Water.”

He grabbed a plastic bottle out of the refrigerator and chucked it at Marc, then plunked himself back down on the couch in front of the tube. “So what’s up?” Tony asked, his eyes on his favorite video game, Doom or Duel or Death-whatever the name of it was. His focus was on the screen, but Marc knew the way his friend’s mind worked. He could hold a conversation, wield the video controls and listen with another ear for the phone or the doorbell, one of which was always ringing.

Tony had some warped kind of ADD. He multitasked like a whiz, but couldn’t concentrate on one thing at a time. Trying to talk to him when he wasn’t also listening to music or playing video games was actually more difficult.

“Hard day?” he continued when Marc didn’t respond. Tony didn’t need to look at his face to know his mood.

“You know homicide,” he said vaguely, watching a soldier bloody everything in his wake on screen. Having first met Tony in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War, Marc had always found his taste in entertainment strange. “It’s always hard.”

“Another body? A woman?”