Longing and Lies (4 page)

Her musings were interrupted when Nick took the mic and announced to the crowd that Elliot would be joining them for the rest of their set. Whoops and hollers of approval, along with the house spotlight followed Elliot's reluctant progression from his seat to his place on the stage, where Sammy handed him his instrument of choice. “We've been keeping it warm for ya,” Sammy whispered, as Elliot removed his trumpet from the case.

For a moment he looked at it with a mixture of awe and reverence. He'd left it in Nick's care when he took off months ago for Europe. A smile moved slowly across his mouth as the gold valves glistened against the muted light almost like a beacon.

Elliot lifted the trumpet out of the case, reached for a reed and fixed it to the lip of the instrument. Slowly he brought it to his mouth, shut his eyes and blew out several notes to test the quality, range and his rusty skills. Satisfied, he turned to Nick and gave him a short nod of his head.

Nick eased into Miles Davis's “The Man with the Horn,” and Elliot picked up on the melody as if he'd never been away from his trumpet.

Ashley was mesmerized by this
new
Elliot that was on the stage. He was a chameleon, ever changing. The
moment she thought she had him pegged, he'd switch up on her, leaving her to question her instincts.

He finished out the set with the band to jubilant applause before hopping down off stage and returning to his table. Ashley was still applauding, a smile beaming across her face.

“You were fantastic!” she enthused, grabbing his hand before she could stop herself.

The spontaneous moment stunned them both. Elliot's gaze fell to the hand that covered his. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away but not before Elliot caught it. He looked into her eyes as his fingers grazed hers.

“So you liked it?” he said, his voice low and intimate. He ran his thumb across her knuckles.

Ashley's pulse throbbed. “I don't know why you doubted yourself,” she managed to say. “You were right at home up there.”

“Didn't want to make a total fool of myself,” he half joked, “especially with you watching.”

“Can I get you anything else from the bar?” the waitress said, snapping the line of tension between them. She picked up the empty plates and looked from one to the other.

Ashley took the reprieve to ease her hand out of Elliot's warm grasp. “I'm fine, thanks.”

Elliot lifted his half-empty glass. “I'll have another.”

“Right away.”

Elliot leaned back in his chair and appraised Ashley from beneath lowered lashes.

“What?” she finally said, after his stare began to make her uncomfortable.

He gave a slow, short shake of his head. “Can't quite figure you out.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Don't get twisted out of shape. I'm just saying I can't figure you out.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you.”

The corner of his mouth jerked up into a grin. “Really?”

“It wasn't a compliment,” she lightly teased.

He leaned forward. “It's late. I should get you home.”

His sudden change in demeanor caught her off guard. Barely seconds ago he was practically in her lap and now he was ready to dismiss her like the final class of the day. She flicked a brow, and picked up her purse from the table.

“Ready when you are.” She stood.

Elliot got up and took her jacket from the back of her chair. “I don't think so,” he whispered and helped her put it on.

Ashley glanced at him over her shoulder, but his expression was unreadable. She adjusted her jacket and tucked her purse under her arm. The warmth of his hand at the small of her back seeped through the fabric. She walked just far enough ahead of him that he had
no choice but to let go. For a moment she was smugly satisfied. She knew it was a childish little triumph, but she didn't care. How dare he turn off and on like a light and expect her to do the same? Who did he think he was anyway?

She pushed through the door and out into the cool evening. With every step they took in the direction of the car, she grew more annoyed. She stopped in mid-step and swung toward him just as his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush up against him. His dark eyes burned into hers and she could feel her heart banging against her chest.

“I'm not the one to play with,” he said, barely moving his lips.

Her eyes widened in a mixture of alarm and sexual excitement. She could feel the hard lines of his body, the heat that rose from his skin, the danger that radiated from his eyes.

“I would give you the same warning,” she said on a husky breath, “but I know you don't take advice very well.” She pulled away from him and challenged him with a hard gaze of her own.

His mouth moved into a lazy grin and his soft chuckles taunted her. “Come on. I'm tired.” He continued toward the car and she fell into silent step beside him.

Seething as she jammed the seat belt into place, she prayed for a quick end to this torturous assignment.

A
shley awoke the following morning totally exhausted. For the few moments of sleep that she'd been able to catch, she'd been tormented by images of Elliot. He'd chased her throughout the night, turning up around corners, behind doors, at the end of every path she took. Each and every time he had that self-satisfied look on his face. But she'd always been able to slip out of his grasp. Just as he would reach out for her she would dart away. Until the last time. She'd struggled so hard to get out of his hold that she'd nearly fallen out of the bed.

So here she sat bone weary and bleary-eyed. At least it was Saturday and she didn't have to worry about going into the office. Groaning, she eased out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom for her morning rituals.

Feeling moderately better after a hot shower and pampering her skin in shea butter lotion, Ashley went to the kitchen to put on some coffee when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she tightened the belt on her robe and walked barefoot to her intercom.

“Who?”

“Ashley, it's me Bernard. Can I come up?”

Bernard! That was a twist.
She buzzed him in. Moments later there was a light knock at the door.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as she stepped aside to let him in.

“No. I should have called first,” he said, turning toward her. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Slowly she shut the door then led the way to the living area. “Make yourself comfortable. I was making coffee. Want some?”

“Thanks. That would be great.” He sat down on the edge of the love seat after taking off his jacket. He draped it across his lap.

Ashley stood in front of her coffee maker watching the hot liquid percolate and wondering what in the hell Bernard was doing sitting in her living room at ten on a Saturday morning. She took mugs from the cabinet and filled them to just below the rim. She brought his mug and set it down on the coffee table. “I only have soy milk and Sweet'n Low.”

He waved away the offer. “Black is fine.” She nodded and returned to the kitchen to finish fixing her coffee.
Bernard was just getting off his cell phone when she took a seat opposite him on the couch. “So…what's up?” She took a sip from her mug and waited.

“I know that you as well as all the other Cartel members are used to working alone or at the very least, working with each other—”

“Listen, if you came all the way over here to lay down the law—”

He held up his hand. “Whoa, whoa, hear me out.”

She drew in a breath and slowly let it go. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“As I was saying, I know this goes against protocol. And I know that you and Elliot didn't hit it off…”

The mere mention of Elliot's name set off all of her bells and whistles. Coffee sloshed over the top of her mug and dribbled onto her lap. She grabbed a napkin from the table and dabbed at the spot, muttering under her breath.

“…but Elliot is the best at what he does. He always has been. I know he can be rough around the edges. He's been through a great deal. Especially over the past two years.”

Ashley sat up a bit straighter as she listened.

“Before he got sent out on his last assignment overseas, he'd lost his mother to cancer and months later, his younger brother to a drive-by. He internalizes. He blames himself.”

“Why?” she dared to ask.

“He felt that he should have been there for his mother, found her the best doctor, the cure,” he added throwing up his hands and shaking his head in frustration. “And his brother…he was always in trouble. He'd been trying to get his mother to move out of the neighborhood for years, but she'd refused.” Bernard caught Ashley's focused gaze. “He nearly quit after the double whammy. It took more than a year for him to get back in the saddle. And this last year overseas was hard. Lives were lost. But the case was solved. I brought Elliot onto this case not only because he's good, but because he needs to decompress and wind down from a helluva rough two years.”

Ashley swallowed the last of her coffee and slowly set down her cup. She didn't want to feel anything but animosity toward Elliot, but that silent pact she'd made with herself went out the window after listening to Bernard.

“He'd have a fit if he knew I said anything to you, but I thought that if you had a little insight into Elliot, it would help the two of you work together better to solve this case.”

“I appreciate you telling me this. And I promise I'll never say a word to Elliot.”

Bernard lowered his head and nodded then looked across at Ashley. “You two find the bastards that're stealing these kids.” His jaw clenched as he pushed up from his seat. “Thanks for the coffee.” He walked toward the door. With his hand on the knob he turned
to Ashley. “You'll probably be hearing from Jean. She has the apartment and she'll want the two of you to take a look.” He dug in his pocket and placed a gold band in her palm. “You'll be needing that.”

She looked down and the gold sparkled back at her. Her heart thumped. “Thanks,” she mumbled and closed the door behind him.
Wow, it wasn't even noon and her day was off to a flying start.
Her fingers closed around the ring and squeezed.

 

Of course, Ashley heard from Jean sooner rather than later and was informed that she was expected at the apartment at 3:00 p.m. and that she was
Mrs. Morgan
.

At five minutes to three, Ashley eased her Honda into an available parking spot on West 121st Street, walking distance from the Cartel headquarters and the day spa, Pause for Men. She checked her BlackBerry for the address—811. She turned off the car and stepped out, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. She verified the address then headed off toward her right. She stopped in front of a newly renovated, six-story apartment building and checked her watch. Three on the dot. A young woman came out of the front door carrying her Yorkie in her purse and hurried off down the street. Ashley sat down on one of the benches that braced either side of the glass-and-wood front door and waited.

Before she could get herself settled, she glanced down the street and saw Elliot and Jean coming her way. For some inexplicable reason the sight of Elliot caused a
tingle of excitement to shimmy up the inside of her legs and settle into a fluttering pool in her center. Slowly she stood.

“Sorry if we kept you waiting,” Jean said by way of a greeting, but offered no further explanation as she breezed by her. She took a key from her purse and opened the front door.

“Rest well?” Elliot said for only Ashley's ears as he held the door open for her.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder and her gaze landed on the pulsing cords of his neck then slowly rose up to his lips that were set in a mocking grin. She almost rolled her eyes but didn't bother. “Fine,” she said and caught up with Jean who stood in front of the elevator.

“The apartment is on the forth floor. Although the building is six stories, there are only six apartments. Each of them take up the entire floor from front to back. Plenty of room. No reason for either of you to get in the other's way.”

Neither Elliot nor Ashley missed the barb.

The elevator doors slid open and the trio stepped in. Like sentinels they took up positions on either side of Jean and stared straight ahead. The door slid open on the fourth floor and Jean led them down the hallway to the front door.

“I'm sure you'll both be very comfortable,” she said opening the door and stepping aside.

The loftlike apartment was straight out of
Architectural Digest
—low glass-and-chrome tables,
russet leather furnishings drew the eye to the center space. Beyond wooden arches was the dining room with a table that easily sat six. The open entryway veered left and right, set on gleaming hardwood floors with rafters to match in a deep, chocolate brown with a hint of red. Light beamed in from insanely high windows.

“There are bedrooms on either side, with a private bath in each. The kitchen is around this corner.” Jean led the way to a state-of-the-art, stainless-steel heaven for even the most reluctant cook. The island in the center of the kitchen had four jets, a sink and built-in wok. The oven and double-door fridge stood on either side of the deep sink. Counters and cabinets of the same rich wood as the front room ran around the perimeter of the kitchen. “The cabinets and fridge are fully stocked. We tried to anticipate your needs. There's also a laundry room for your use.” Jean pulled open a door that exposed a room nearly the size of a small bedroom that housed a washer and dryer, shelving and racks to hang clothes. Jean swept out of the room and returned to the front. She reached inside her purse, pulled out a thick folder and dropped it on the kitchen counter. “I suggest you stop by your respective apartments, pick up your essentials then get settled down to married life and this case,” she said, lifting her chin toward the folder. “I'll be in touch.” Jean moved toward the front door and walked out.

“I get to keep the crib in the divorce settlement,” Elliot teased.

Ashley turned toward him and couldn't fight back
the smile moving across her mouth. “Don't make me do a Madea on you and saw everything in half,” Ashley tossed back referring to Tyler Perry's
Diary of a Mad Black Woman
.

Elliot tossed his head back and laughed, a deep soul-stirring laugh that warmed Ashley from the inside out, and for a hot minute she imagined what it would be like to hear his robust laughter each day. “Oh, you are dangerous,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “You want me to drop you by your place to pick your stuff up?”

“Thanks for the offer. But I have my car.”

He nodded slowly, his dark gaze rolling over her. “The only place she didn't show us is the bedrooms.”

Her heart knocked in her chest. She looked away from him and walked over to the fridge. She pulled open one of the double doors. “She was right, fully stocked.” She took out an apple from a bowl on the bottom shelf. When she stood and closed the door, Elliot was right there. Her breath caught and stuck in her throat.

“Any more apples?” he said, but she would swear in a court of law that wasn't what he was really asking.

She swallowed and handed him hers. The hint of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth before he took a deep bite. She was mesmerized by the way his lips played with the fruit, the movement of his jaw as he chewed. She could almost taste the succulent juice that exploded in his mouth. Her nostrils flared and she tugged the door open to separate them, gave herself some room to
breathe. She took another apple, slammed the door shut and walked out.

Elliot strolled out behind her his eyes glued on the sway of her hips encased in the form-fitting jeans. Well at least they had what could serve as a small football field to separate their respective bedrooms, he mused. Besides, Ashley Temple came off as a woman who would have a padlock on more than her bedroom door. And his momentary flights of fancy of being locked between those beautiful thighs of hers, and thawing that chilly heart, was a waste of his brain cells. The last thing he was ready for was a tryst with his partner in the middle of a case.

“Plan on wearing your wedding band, Mrs. Morgan?” he asked coming into the living room. “Or are you one of those modern women who doesn't need the shackle of a ring?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder and was two seconds away from rolling her eyes, when she saw what he held in front of his face. His hand was covering those dangerous eyes, palm facing inward. The sparkle of gold from the third finger of his left hand completely caught her off guard. Seeing him with a wedding band on his finger—even if it was fake—unsettled her in a way that she couldn't find the words to explain. She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out the band that Bernard had given her earlier. For drama's sake she took her time sliding it on her finger. She held up her hand for inspection. “Looks like we're stuck with each other.”

There was nothing he loved more than a challenge. A slow grin moved across his mouth. He watched Ashley walk away. Touché, Ms. Temple. Touché. Let's see if you're up for the ride.