Full Body Contact (9 page)

“I look … I look ....”

“Hot.” Callie placed her palms together and bowed. “My job is complete.”

Callie urged her out of the chair, handing Alexis a pair of five-inch black ankle boots. “Don’t forget to get in his face. Don’t back down. Make him come to you.”

Alexis nodded as she hopped on one leg, zipping up the boots. She was just about to step onto the porch when she was jerked back into the hallway.

Callie pointed toward the open door. “Stand there until he gets the hint.” She fluffed Alexis’ hair and shoved her back toward the door. “Now, look slinky.”

Unused to wearing heels, Alexis stumbled through the doorway. Yep, clumsy certainly looked sexy.
Not
.

Slinky. How in the hell did one look slinky? She propped one arm on the doorframe and placed her hand on an extended hip. Alexis was either slinky, or auditioning for a beer commercial. She had to resist the urge to tug her shirt down, as it revealed her stomach.

At the curb, Dekker impatiently tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Alexis hoped he looked up soon, because she felt completely stupid posing like this. What if one of her neighbors came out?

Finally, Dekker leaned over the passenger seat, spotting her through the window. He shook his head when he saw Alexis wasn’t obeying his “honk” command to come to the car.

“He’s getting out of the car,” Alexis whispered to Callie through clenched teeth. Of course, she wasn’t sure if it was to pick her up for their date or kick her ass … or both.

Dekker wore a snug, dark gray T-shirt that molded his pecs. The fabric over his arms stretched tight over his biceps. His military-style boots stomped against the sidewalk as he approached.

Now unsure of her appearance, she looked down at her feet. Maybe it was over the top. Maybe he saw through the illusion and thought of her as a little girl playing dress-up.

Dekker took Alexis’ purse and tossed it through the open door before pulling it closed. “You won’t be needing that.”

“Why?” Alexis asked as he filled her now-empty hand with his warm one. He led her toward his jet-black Mustang. The windows darkened with a limo-grade tint.

“I don’t want any identification left on the body …” Alexis stopped short and let her hand slip from his. Dekker chuckled as he opened his door, smirking at her over the hood. “You’re such a sucker. When are you going to lighten up enough to get my humor, anyway?”

Alexis reached for the passenger door handle and stopped. She could hear Callie’s stern voice in her head.
Make him come to you.

Shocked, Alexis watched Dekker hop in his car, slam the door, and shift into gear, flooring it. The smell of burnt rubber filled the street. Great. She just blew her biggest case because she thought she was some kind of dominatrix. Alexis got ready to turn around and go back inside when Dekker slammed on his brakes. The front end took a nosedive toward the pavement. The Mustang roared in reverse toward her.

Dekker’s door opened, and his muscular frame exited the car. Rounding the front, he pulled open Alexis’ door and bowed, extending his arm for her to enter.

“Princess, your coach has arrived.”

Even when acquiescing, Dekker still managed to keep control of the situation.

Brushing up against him, the smell of his cologne caused her body to tingle. She gazed at him through her heavily mascaraed lashes. “Glad you’ve finally caught on.”

Alexis lowered herself into the car, knowing that she just flashed him a sneak peek at her red and black panties. She glanced up to see if he noticed. His pupils dilated. Oh, yeah. He definitely noticed.

As she glanced at the interior of the car, Alexis smiled. It was decked out in red and black leather. How very ironic, given her choice of undergarments. Callie really did know her bad boys.

Run-down buildings, hookers, and drug dealers flashed by Alexis’ window. Her blood pounded in her ears. This was the part of town that even the cops didn’t like to patrol. How easily he could kill her. She could end up in one of these alleys—just like his model girlfriend. But why did that knowledge quicken her breath rather than frighten her?

She tried to nod casually, but glanced at Dekker’s knuckles. Sure enough, they were scraped up. But he had been teaching all afternoon. Hell, after only a half-hour lesson, and all taped up, her knuckles were torn up.

Dekker brought the Mustang to a stop outside a pawnshop. Steel bars covered the windows. The lighted sign flickered against the brick wall.

“Figured we’d knock a few heads together before the big fight. Get warmed up.”

Alexis tensed. What if he was serious? What if he actually did some enforcing for Grant? She would have to blow her cover. But a cop in this part of town, with no backup? She would be dead in minutes.

Here she was, though. Against Nick’s wishes. Hell, Beck would probably have said no if she’d asked.

She hated it when her decisions had such steep consequences.

* * *

Dekker yanked open the pawnshop door. Sal, an overweight man wearing a sweat-stained shirt sat on a stool reading the handicapping section of the paper. A TV rested on the counter behind him, tuned to a black and white western. Sal looked up at the tinkle of the bell overhead.

Spotting Dekker, the color drained from his face. He jumped off the stool so fast that it tipped over. Probably the most action his body had seen in a long time. Sal pressed his meaty flesh into the counter behind him.

“Dekker. Hi … what are you doing here?”

Dekker strode to the glass counter. Jewelry, cameras, and crystal bowls lined the case. The door chimed again. Dekker didn’t need to turn to know that Lexie had followed him in. He knew the draw that danger had.

Focusing his steely gaze on Sal, he snarled, “Paulie said you bought Grant’s ring?”

Sal walked to the far end of the counter and tapped the glass over a two-carat diamond ring in a platinum setting. “Right here. As pretty as the day I bought it.”

Dekker reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Peeling off five one-hundred- dollar bills, he slammed them down on the glass. Both Sal and Lexie jumped.

Sal eyed the money and shook his head. “This is a fine piece of jewelry, man. That’s less than I gave Paulie for it.”

This fat guy had some big hairy balls to challenge Dekker like that. “That is your problem. That’s how much we’re paying to get it out of hock.”

Sal’s eyes darted before he reached under the counter and hauled out a shotgun. Dekker heard Lexie gasp behind him.

Sweat dripped down Sal’s temple. Dekker could smell his fear just as easily as he could smell the meatball sub that Sal had for dinner. “I don’t want no trouble, Dekker, but I ain’t letting you steal me blind.”

In one quick motion, Dekker grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, ramming the butt of it into Sal’s nose. Dekker heard the crunch of bone, followed by a gush of blood. Sal screamed. Clutching his nose, blood poured through his fingers as he slumped to the floor.

Dekker spun the shotgun, pressing the barrel to Sal’s forehead. Tears streamed down the rolls of fat. “The ring.”

Fumbling, Sal took three tries to get the key in the lock. Hands shaking, Sal slid the glass door open and pulled out a two-carat platinum ring. It
pinged
as he dropped it on the glass.

Dekker picked up the box and handed it to Lexie. Without uttering a word, she accepted it. Her face was ashen, and her fingers were shaking nearly as bad as Sal’s.

The shotgun clicked three times as Dekker pumped it, ejecting three shells onto the counter. He pocketed the rounds and placed the gun down.

Dekker opened the door for her. After all she seemed to want him to act the gentleman tonight. “Grant’s wife had to pawn her engagement ring while he was in the joint. It’s their anniversary tomorrow, and he wanted to get it back for her.”

“Oh … how romantic,” Lexie mumbled, climbing in the passenger seat.

Once she was tucked safely inside, Dekker trotted around the car and got into the driver’s seat. As he revved the motor, Lexie frowned. “Why didn’t Grant just go get it himself?”

“And violate his parole? No way.” A horn blared as Dekker swerved into the street.

“Where are we going now?”

Dekker’s eyes sought Lexie. She sat sideways in her seat. The soft glow of the console illuminated her features. She was attractive before, but now she was smokin’. Her lips stained red. They begged to be kissed. If the altercation in the pawnshop didn’t scare her off, then she just might be the right girl for him.

Giving her a warm smile, Dekker teased, “You’ll see.”

CHAPTER 9

Portable lights flooded the interior of the abandoned warehouse. Hundreds of people, a mixture of suits and leather, crowded around a fight ring. Center stage, two men dragged themselves across the mat. The room vibrated with noise.

“Bull … Bull … Bull …” they chanted, over and over.

Alexis wanted to avert her gaze. Dekker’s star pupil was barely recognizable. The last time she had seen that much blood was during a thirteen-car pileup on the interstate.

But this scene was just like that pileup. You couldn’t look away—even if you wanted to.

The crowd surged forward when the official raised Bull’s arm, declaring him the winner. Alexis reached out, clutching Dekker’s solid arm to keep from falling. The four-inch heels were not such a good idea when you had to fight for balance. A man reeking of malt liquor and drenched in sweat bumped against her. His right eye was a mass of yellow and green bruises. His two front teeth were missing. This guy must have been last week’s main event. Dekker must have sensed her distress as he pulled her in front of him, sheltering her in his arms.

Alexis stiffened within his intimate embrace. Shouts carried from the ring as the loser’s manager spit in the official’s face. The crowd rolled forward like a giant wave, but Dekker stood unmoving.

Dekker had been right. This definitely wasn’t the kind of fight you’d see on ESPN, or for that matter, Pay-Per-View. The crowd seemed as eager to throw as many punches as the fighters in the ring. Yet, she felt no sense of danger. Not leaning up against a solid wall of muscle.

The drunk who had rubbed up against Alexis elbowed the guy next to him. He shouted something, but Alexis couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

The scene was a detective’s dream. Drugs, weapons, and prostitution. It was all here. A criminal’s 7-Eleven. If the circumstances had been different, Alexis would have relished the chance to bust this place wide open. The number of collars she could get? Just the drunk and disorderlies alone would have her doing paperwork for a week.

“Dekker?” another man next to them said. Soon, everyone around them was whispering her date’s name. Then the whispers became a chant.