OnlyatTheCavern (2 page)

“Damn,” he whistled. “Makes sense though. If I had a guy
with super powers after me, I’d be as paranoid as hell.”

Marco grunted in agreement and began to snap photos of the
documents with his smartphone.

Smithwick wasn’t the only one who was paranoid. The crime
boss had his long, evil fingers in a lot of pots and it wouldn’t surprise Marco
one bit if those grimy digits extended into the police force, especially after
the way his team had been called off the case the previous month. It was only
after he had presented new evidence, compliments of the Chameleon, and had
solved the vigilante case, that he had been permitted to resume investigating
Smithwick. If there was the slightest chance someone would fuck with his
evidence, he was going to keep a backup.

Coulter took a left onto First Avenue. “Sanchez called. ATF
wants in on the case.”

“I hope Sanchez told them to fuck off. In as nice a way as
possible, of course.” He added with a grin.

“He did.” Coulter chuckled. “We won’t be able to hold them
off. Asswipe would hand the case off to the feds in two seconds if he had the
opportunity.”

“Well, they can wait until I’m done. And the commander is
well aware I will not give up this case again. I am not going to risk one of
them screwing up and destroying everything I’ve worked on. Anyway, I don’t
think Smithwick will be doing business for much longer. Damn, this is good
shit.” He snapped another photo and shook his head. “If only Cam wasn’t such a
goddamn choir boy. This case would be closed.”

Coulter hummed in agreement. “So…” he said a few blocks down
the road. “Did he do anything cool?”

“Did who do what?”

“You know. The Chameleon. During your meeting. Did he run
really fast or pick up a car with his bare hands?”

He looked at his lieutenant as if he had smoked crack. “Why
the hell would he pick up a car for no reason? And where would he find one in
the middle of the park?”

“Because he can. I don’t get to attend your secret meetings,
and the only time I’ve seen him use his super powers was when we almost
captured Smithwick last year, and then I was too busy dodging bullets to see
anything.”

Marco shook his head as he returned the documents to their
envelope then slid them inside his jacket pocket. “Our boy doesn’t roll like
that. He’s not a showoff.”

“Man, wouldn’t it be cool to have super powers?”

“I don’t know.” He recalled the haunted look in Lucian’s
eyes when he talked about his family. “I think sometimes that power is a
burden.”

“Says those that have it to those who don’t.”

“True that. True that.” A figure to his right caught his
attention. “Hold up, Coulter. Pull over.”

Well, what did we have here?

They had left the swankier part of town and were traveling
through the darker, more sinister neighborhood that consisted of the waterfront
area and shipyard. Dive bar after dive bar lined both sides of the street,
offering a refuge for those looking to get wasted or for human companionship,
or both if one had enough cash.

Under the tattered awning of a pizzeria stood a tall, lanky
man with shoulder-length brown hair. He wore the typical northwest uniform of a
flannel shirt and torn jeans. In the light of the lone street lamp, his fancy
gold watch flashed with his arm movements as he chatted up a small group of
men, and his cherry-red Doc Martens shined with a high gloss.

Son of a bitch. Trevor Konkle was out on the streets.

The last time Marco had seen the petty crook was during his
arraignment for his part in the kidnapping of Fiona Corrione the year before.
At the time, she was the girlfriend of Lucian’s cousin who had then been the
bearer of the Chameleon mask. The kidnapping had been arranged by Smithwick to
use as leverage against the superhero who was interfering in his drug-dealing
business. Since she had been taken into the city, Marco and his team had been
called in to facilitate her rescue. The mission culminated in an eye-opening
turn of events that had him witness the power of the Chameleon and his first
look at the crime lord, who until then had been hidden behind the logos of
dummy corporations and hired thugs.

Smithwick might have slipped through his fingers that night,
but the war was long from over. And now one of his associates was strolling
through town, acting as if he were king of the world.

“Hey,” said Coulter as he followed Marco’s line of sight.
“Isn’t that Trevor Konkle? I thought he was serving a nickel for the Corrione
kidnapping.”

“He was.” Marco pulled out the laptop located underneath the
dash and logged into the inmate database. “Look at that. Time off for good
behavior. He was released last Wednesday.”

“How thoughtful of parole to let us know.”

Marco grunted in agreement. “Wait here. I’m going to
congratulate our friend and see what he’s up to.”

“I don’t know, Cap. Konkle wasn’t the brightest bulb on the
chandelier, and he’s looking way too cocky for a man who was involved in that
clusterfuck last year. Most of Smithwick’s men who were involved that night are
either dead or have gone missing.”

“All the more reason to have a chat. He must have been given
some encouragement to show his face.”

“Or he really is as stupid as we thought he was.”

Marco wouldn’t say that. The man had kept his trap shut
during the entire trial, and Smithwick valued loyalty.

“I know that you know that if you confront him, he’s going
to go crazy on you.”

“I’m not going to confront him. I’m just going to say
hello.” Marco stuck his gum in a stray piece of paper and dropped it in the cup
holder, then flashed his lieutenant a big smile. “And ask what his plans are
for the future.”

“Captain.”

Despite Coulter’s protests, Marco jumped out of the car and
maintained a healthy distance as he followed Konkle down the street. The
parolee nodded to those he passed, handing out what looked like a business card
to anyone who would take it. The action reminded Marco of the men who stood on
the sidewalk in Vegas and handed out calling cards for strippers.

As they approached the corner, Konkle turned to glance over
his shoulder before he stepped off the curb. He caught Marco’s gaze and his
eyes widened in shock, then he took off as if he were trying out for the
Olympic sprinting team.

“Here we go,” Marco grumbled, then gave chase without a
second thought.

Down the street and through the back alleys they ran, and
damn, the boy could fly, keeping at least a block or two between them. Marco
was in no way a fitness slouch, but this definitely was not his normal workout
on the treadmill.

Konkle took a right between two phó restaurants and ran out
into the middle of the street. The wail of screeching tires made him jump back
as a SUV stopped scant inches from taking him out at the knees. Coulter jumped
out from the driver’s side, and Konkle turned, ducking into the alley next to
the X-rated movie theater.

Marco kept right on his heels, following him into the
shadowed enclave only to draw up short as he found the dead-end road empty. He
tried to slow his breathing to be able to hear for any telltale sounds and
pressed his palm against the fire raging behind his sternum.

There. A squeak from overhead. Marco looked up and spotted
Konkle’s red Doc Martens disappearing over the roof line at the top of the fire
escape.

Marco immediately went after him and climbed up the metal
ladder. He paused before his head cleared the top rung at the top of the third
story. Ever so slowly, he peeked over the one-foot-tall retaining wall. After
several tense seconds, he completed the ascent.

The roof was blocked off to the left and before him by
neighboring buildings. Their fire escapes were empty and all of the windows
closed up tight. Unless the kid had sprouted wings and knew how to fly, he had
to be close by.

Ten-foot-tall neon letters ran across the length of the roof
like Las Vegas showgirls. Marco laid his hand on his gun and crept closer to
the letters. From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow come at him and jumped
back as an icy burn burst across his chest. A quick glance down confirmed a
torn shirt. The fabric fluttered with his movements.

Konkle jumped from his position behind the closest letter
and swung his arm. The knife in his hand glinted in the light like a pink wand
as he feinted and slashed through the air like a deranged wizard.

“Fuck,” Marco spat as a backhanded swish caught him in the
forearm. “Knock it off. I just want to talk to you.”

“Fuck off,” Konkle screeched and swung again.

This time Marco blocked the attack, latching on to Konkle’s
wrist as he turned his body into the slighter man’s torso. Konkle responded by
going batshit crazy, flailing and jerking his limbs in a thousand directions.
The only defensive move the academy taught to fend off this style of fighting
was to get low and avoid being stabbed in a critical location.

Marco hooked his ankle around Konkle’s leg and kicked,
knocking them both to the asphalt. Konkle landed first with a loud grunt. The
knife skittered to the side with a ting before he twisted, rolling them over
and over across the sticky blackness. The short lip of the roof scraped up
Marco’s back as he went airborne over the side as Konkle jammed his shoulder
into the corner where the lip met the roof, stopping their momentum. Only his
grip on Konkle’s sleeves kept him from tumbling the three stories to the street
below.

The tips of his shoes scraped against the brick as he tried
to scramble up the side while staring into Konkle’s wild eyes. The man’s
beer-scented breath washed over his face in hot, misty puffs that made his eyes
water. Above the sound of their ragged breathing he heard the sickening sound
of seams popping.

“No, no, no, no,” Marco groaned as the shirt gave way.

His gaze zoomed in on the moon, hanging high in the sky like
a giant light bulb that grew smaller and smaller as he fell. He threw out his
arms, clutching at nothing but air until his hand hit the ladder to the fire
escape. His fingers curled around a bar. A grunt burst past his lips as his
shoulder burned with the sudden weight of his entire body coming to a quick
stop and his legs flailed in the air.

To his horror, gravity bitch-slapped his body mass, causing
his grip to slip as if his hand was slathered in butter. Boom! Yes, he screamed
like a little girl as he fell the last story and landed on the roof of
Coulter’s SUV. The pain that radiated up his legs only made him shout three
soul-wrenching curses as opposed to a million. His knees buckled and he tumbled
down the windshield, across the hood then down to the wet pavement with a solid
thwack to the head for good measure.

Flashing lights sparked in his vision, making it appear as
if the stars were winking at him in appreciation for putting on a dazzling
show.

“Captain.” Coulter’s muffled shout sounded as if his head
were stuffed inside a pillow. “Captain, speak to me.”

“Fuuuuck,” he might have said. At least, that’s the shape he
felt his lips make.

“Stay still, Cap. Don’t move anything.”

Sure. No problem. At the moment he didn’t think he could
even make his eyelids blink.

Since memories from his past weren’t flashing before his
eyes, he figured he wasn’t dying. At least not yet. From the neck down to his
feet, he felt as if he were submerged in a vat of stick pins, and his vision
blurred in and out like a camera lens trying to focus.

Shit. Was he paralyzed? Was he going to spend the rest of his
life as a lump of flesh in a bed? Was Smithwick going to walk as he lost his
ability to do so?

Fuck that. Even if he had to crawl across the ground with
only his teeth for leverage, he was going to take that rat bastard down, and
that shithead Trevor.

Over the pounding in his head, he heard the wail of sirens,
and the flashing lights turned from yellow to red.

“Jesus, Coulter,” he slurred. “You called in the goddamn
hose draggers? Do me a favor, run the car over me. I don’t want them to see me
like this.”

“You fell off a roof,” he shouted. “Of course I called them.
Stop moving. Put your arms down. You might make things worse.”

His limbs functioned? Hey. Great.

A dark shadow fell across him. “Lieutenant, what’da we
have?”

“Nothing,” Marco growled. “I’m good.”

“That’s why there’s so much blood, right, Cap?”

Blood? Ah fuck.

“Coulter,” he gasped as his vision dimmed. He battled
against the need to close his eyes. Death was not going to take him without a
fight. He had too much unfinished business. Too many people to protect. Which
reminded him… “Coulter.”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“If I—if something happens. My house. Bedroom closet. Black
box. Blow it up before my sister finds it.”

“Anything good in there?”

“Does the trick.”

And with his thoughts lingering on his pitiful porn
collection, the darkness sucked him under.

Marco lifted his eyelids, which felt as if they were stuck
together with glue, and instantly regretted the action. Damn it. It wasn’t like
him to leave the blinds open to the morning sun.

Wait a minute. Those weren’t his blinds. And this wasn’t his
bedroom.

“Sorry, Cap. I’ll get the light.” A blurry blob that
resembled Coulter crossed to the window and lowered the blinds.

“Where am I?” he croaked.

“The hospital. Don’t you remember last night?”

Last night… “Fucking Konkle.”

“You do remember,” Coulter exclaimed in delight.

Yeah, he did. Well, most of it anyway. The biggest standout
was the inability to feel his limbs.

Well, he was definitely feeling something now, if one
counted the sensation of having their entire body feel as if they’d been
starched and pressed to death. Man, an eighteen-year-old on Viagra never felt
this stiff. However, if he was able to feel discomfort, that must mean he
wasn’t severely jacked-up. Right? Dear Lord, let that be right.

Fear threatened to choke him as he drew in a breath and
focused on his hands tucked under the thin blanket. He concentrated on wiggling
his fingers and almost shouted for joy when he felt the over-bleached sheet
scratch against his palm. He carefully tested the muscles of his back and
flexed each section all the way down his legs to his toes. Despite the fact
that his mouth felt as if he’d been sucking on cotton, his head swam and there
was a ringing in his ears, seeing the fabric at the foot of the bed roll with
the movement of his feet more than made up for the hit by a shit-ton of bricks
sensation.

“Captain DeWinter. I have questions for you.”

And just like that, all of his goodwill went right into the
crapper.

“Commander,” Marco addressed the diminutive man who came to
stand to the right of his bed. “You came to see me? I didn’t know you cared.”

The twitch of his mustached mouth suggested that the
statement was correct. “When one of my officers is injured on the job, I care
very much.”

Of course, Labor and Industry rules took precedence over
common decency and care for your fellow man.

The commander adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket as he
puffed out his chest. Here it comes. “Captain, explain to me how you came to be
in this condition.”

Sure. He was going to divulge all of the details like a
choir boy confessing his sins in church. Even if he did remember them all.

“Honestly, Commander, it’s all a little hazy. I’m sure
Coulter filled you in on what happened.”

“Lieutenant Coulter told me his version. I want to hear
yours.”

“Well…” he didn’t dare look to Coulter for assistance,
especially when the truth was there had been very little, okay, absolutely no
reason to have given chase in the first place. He wasn’t ashamed to admit to
himself that it had only been his pride and overzealousness that had driven him
up to the roof. An offense the commander wouldn’t hesitate to use to rip him a
new asshole. Coulter was good at keeping his mouth shut, but what scenario had
the lieutenant come up with?

“Well, what?” the commander snapped.

“I’m trying to remember,” he growled. “These drugs they have
me on make it hard to think. I—uh, we—were driving down First and I spotted a
known drug dealer roaming the street and appearing as if he was off to make a
sale. I followed in order to observe his activities better, and the second he
saw me, he ran.”

“Why did you pursue him?”

“He dropped a dime bag as he ran.”

“Drugs were not found at the scene, nor on your person. Did
you leave it on the street?”

“I picked it up on the run. It was in my pocket. He must
have stolen it back. I remember him coming at me with a knife.”

“Was this before or after you followed him onto the roof?”

“Roof?” He blinked with as much innocence as a guy like him
could muster. “I don’t remember a roof.”

The commander’s eyes rounded. “You don’t remember falling
three stories?”

“Is that what happened? No wonder I feel like shit.”

“Captain—”

“Excuse me. Why are you causing my patient distress?”

The sultry voice drew Marco’s gaze to the door. What little
energy he had evaporated like water on a hot griddle as heat thickened his
blood and raised his temperature.

Dr. Jasmine Jovanovich appeared every inch like the
professional she was with her long brown hair plaited down her back and green
scrubs and white lab coat hiding her killer curves. But in his mind’s eye Marco
envisioned her looking as she had the last time he had seen her walking the
halls of The Cavern as Mistress Jasmina. Then she had been dressed all in black
from her neck to her toes. A corset had cinched in her waist, emphasizing her
plumped-up breasts that had been covered in a sheer mesh fabric that had done
nothing to hide her pretty nipples.

“Distress?” The commander arched an imperious brow. “The
captain is not distressed. Are you, Captain?”

Marco blinked the kinky vision away and subtly shifted his
hands underneath the blanket to cover his growing erection. “Nope. Not at all.”

Dr. Jovanovich strode into the room with a grace that
immediately put Marco on edge. Her eyes danced with amusement as they narrowed
with purpose. The woman was up to something.

“And you are?” she asked the commander.

“I am Commander Asante,” he answered with an extra little
shimmy to his shoulders. Did he actually pop up on tiptoe to appear taller?

“Lovely to meet you, sir. I’m Dr. Jovanovich. Now if you
will excuse us, I need to examine my patient. You may wait out in the lobby.”

“I’ll be fine right here, Doctor. Go right ahead.”

“No.”

It was a simple word, softly spoken, yet Asante started as
if she had shouted at the top of her lungs.

“No?” he sputtered. “What do you mean no?”

“You may wait in the lobby or anywhere else you please. Not
here.”

“But he’s my officer.”

“And he’s my patient.”

Ooo, Marco liked the touch of possessiveness in her voice
when she said the word “my”. He liked it a lot.

Dr. Jovanovich lifted her chin. “Commander Asante, I
understand that he is your employee and was injured while on the job, but I
will be giving Captain DeWinter a thorough examination, and I cannot have you
hovering over my shoulder. When I have more definitive answers to his
condition, I will inform you immediately. I am sure you understand my need for
space, Commander Asante.”

Each time she said his name, a tic flinched near the
commander’s left eye and his hands fluttered by his sides. The man swallowed
hard with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Marco’s eyes widened and his cock leapt beneath his palm. He
risked a quick glance around and breathed a slight sigh of relief that he
wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor that would reveal his accelerated heart
rate. Damn, the woman was sexy when she put the commander in his place in that
butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth tone of voice. Even Coulter had the look of a
besotted man that softened his smile.

She fluttered her lashes. “Leave now, Commander.”

“Yes. Yes.” He walked out of the room without a backward
glance.

She turned that superior stare toward Coulter who jumped.
“Oh, um, I’ll be right outside if you need me, Cap.”

Coulter’s departure was at a more leisurely pace than the
commander’s. When the door swung shut, the doctor sighed and turned toward him
with a satisfied smile. “Was that the Commander Asswipe I hear you guys talk
about?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled then fell silent as she stepped closer.
Right. Examination. Just how thorough was this examination going to be? “So,
Doc. How you doing?”

Fuck, he winced. Could that sound even more like a pick-up
line?

Her smile widened. “Better than you at the moment, I’d say.
Chasing criminals up on rooftops. I thought your last name was DeWinter, not
America.”

“I’m just doing my best to protect the public. I live to
serve.”

The soft hitch of her breath sent another lick of heat to
his groin. The sound was so slight, but he heard it, saw the way her body
stilled for the space of a heartbeat at his choice of words.

Part of him wanted to stammer out a retraction, but he held
his tongue. He did live to serve and had given his life to his community.
However, lately the only person he wanted to serve was her, and he was more
than aware of what it took to satisfy the good doctor.

The idea was ridiculous, for certain. He was a man. A cop.
An alpha who was comfortable telling others what to do. But for the last month,
in the dark of night when he wasn’t staring at police work until his eyes
crossed, his imagination began to spin fantasies of what it would be like to
serve Mistress Jasmina. To kneel at her feet, naked, braced for her command and
to follow as she wished.

Between chasing Smithwick and entertaining lascivious
thoughts of Dr. Jovanovich, his mind had been going nonstop. It was a wonder he
hadn’t dropped from sheer exhaustion.

“Well.” She tapped her pen against the clipboard before
setting it on the side table, breaking the spell of possibility her little
catch of breath had evoked. She reached toward the control panel on the bed and
raised the back to a sitting position. “Let’s begin. The lacerations you
sustained on your chest and arm are superficial and only required a few stitches.
When I admitted you last night, your partner said you landed feet first on the
roof of his car before tumbling to the ground.”

“You were here last night?” he interrupted.

“You don’t remember?”

“Obviously not.”

Her brow furrowed as she answered, “Yes, I was here last
night. If I want to keep my job, I do have to show up to work.”

“Oh. I—uh. I thought you might have been out last night. You
know.” He lowered his voice. “Out.”

She dropped her gaze and her tongue flicked out to wet her
lips. “I’m in the middle of an eighteen-hour shift.”

The knowledge that she had been at the hospital and not
playing at The Cavern perked him up like a shot of caffeine. “That’s a long
day. You look great. Fresh. Pretty, like you’re just starting your day. What’s
your secret?”

Her lips twitched as she fought a grin. “Frequent moments of
amusement from charmers such as yourself. As I was saying, we took X-rays of
both legs and your hips, and fortunately for you, nothing is broken. I’m going
to check your ankles and feet again. Now that the pain medication has burned
off some, I want to see how you’re really feeling. Please place your hands on
top of the blanket.”

“What?” his voice cracked with alarm. “Why?”

“I have my reasons. Place them on top of the blanket.
Please.” The words were polite, but her tone suggested he’d better do as she
said or else she’d find a way to make him.

He gulped hard and carefully slid his hands out from beneath
the blanket, taking care to make sure his erection was properly hidden.

“Thank you,” she murmured then moved to the foot of the bed.

She pulled the bedding back to expose the lower half of his
legs. Bruises marked his skin, and his ankles appeared to be twice the normal
size. Her fingers were gentle as she prodded the tissue around one foot.

“Do your legs ache?” she asked.

Nooo, it wasn’t his legs that were aching at the moment.
“No. Not really,” he choked out.

“Any pain when I do this?” She pressed against his right
ankle, making him wince but he forced the sensation away.

“Nope.”

“What about this?”

Agh! “Nope.”

“By the way your fingers are flinching, I beg to differ.
Stop trying to be a tough guy. I can’t determine the extent of damage if you
are not being truthful with me. Do you want to leave this hospital tonight or
next week?”

Was she going to be around the entire time? He mentally
kicked his ass. “Sorry, Doc. I thought you’d be impressed by a guy who isn’t a
wimp.”

“I’m impressed by a man who can follow orders.”

“I’ve noticed that,” he muttered before conceding, “The
second time you pressed hurt worse than the first.”

“Thank you.” She rewarded him with a caress up his shin then
continued asking him questions as she smoothed her hands over his feet,
tickling in places and digging in deep with her thumbs in others as she gauged
the extent of his injuries.

The mixture of pleasure and pain sent a heat through his
body that soon had sweat beading across his forehead. It took all of his
efforts to keep his hips still and not rub his hard-on against the bedding for
some measure of relief. It didn’t help matters that as she bent over, the front
of her scrubs gaped just enough he was able to see the top of the lacy white
bra cupping her full breasts. With each move of her body he silently prayed the
entire garment would miraculously melt away and reveal all of her creamy skin
to his gaze.

“Good.” She stood upright and tugged the blanket back into
the place. The action tightened the bedding over his lap, revealing the outline
of his erection.

As she circled the bed, he tried to press his hips as deep
into the mattress as possible to minimize the pup tent and prayed she didn’t
notice.

“I’m going to check your lacerations now.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her face as she peeled away
the bandage on his arm. How many times in the past had he spoken to Dr. Jovanovich
when he had come to question a victim or suspect for one of his cases? Not once
had he stopped to notice just how beautiful she was. Details of his job had
made him only see the professional, cut-to-the-chase woman who neither stood
out nor faded into the background.

Funny how a chance meeting in the dark highlighted the woman
underneath the green scrubs. The bit of sunshine that filtered through the
drawn blinds highlighted the auburn shades in her brunette braid and matched
the color of her eyes. The tinge of pink blush on her cheeks complemented her
olive complexion and the roundness of her features. When she was in full
concentration mode, her lips softened into plump little pillows he wanted to
stroke with the tip of his tongue. Damn. Why hadn’t he noticed her sooner? He
could have…