Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel (9 page)

“I like you,” he mumbles against my temple. “I want to get to know you better. That can take as long as it needs to. Okay?”

I nod, liking the way his stubble catches in my hair and the way his arms feel around me. I like him too. He releases me, but leaves one arm across my shoulders as we walk to my car. I lean back against the driver’s door intending to say something, anything, but he presses his lips to mine, sealing in any words that might’ve tumbled out. He backs away. I can’t see his expression in the darkness, but there’s a reluctance to his movements as he brushes my cheek with his knuckles, then purposefully strides away. I climb in the car and start it. As I drive past his apartment I notice he’s standing on the porch, watching me. He turns to go inside as I pass.

I want to pound my forehead on the steering wheel and burst into tears. Instead I force myself to drive carefully and calmly home.

I have no idea what happened between Lila and me. I keep going over and over it in my head. She was with me right up until it looked like things were really going to go down, and then she sort of shut off. Was it something I did or
didn’t
do? First times can be tricky, but everything between us seemed to just flow. I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience before. Usually it’s a lot of blind groping and getting it wrong until you figure out what works between you. There was none of that with Lila.
Everything
seemed to work between us.

So where did it go wrong?

When she told me to just keep going—that she’d catch up—I had to really control my reaction. I didn’t want her to lie there and endure it and I can’t believe she would think that was what I would want. No guy wants that. Except selfish assholes. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a selfish asshole. I want a woman to be with me. Hell, I
love
it when a woman takes the initiative like Lila did last night. Total turn-on.

I replayed the video of us in my office about eight times trying to figure out where things went wrong, but everything was fine. It was in the bedroom that things got weird and I don’t have a camera in there. Well, that wasn’t the
only
reason I replayed the tape. It was damn hot. And if I used it to relieve myself of some pent-up energy that was okay, totally normal and aboveboard. Especially since I deleted it as soon as I finished. Being able to watch myself with Lila while remembering what she felt like was seriously the most intense thing I’ve ever done. Porn has its place, don’t get me wrong. But that tape of Lila and me? Better than
any
porno
ever.
I was sorry to delete it, but it was the right thing to do.

If Lila ever found out about the video and what I did while watching it I’m pretty sure that would be the last time I’d get to see her naked. And oh man, the thought of never getting to touch her again…torture. Pure torture.

Whatever it was that freaked her out we should probably talk about. I would’ve tested the subject further last night, but I had a feeling that would only make things worse. So I let it slide. I seriously doubt she’ll be the one to broach the subject, so I’ll have to figure out a time and a way to bring it up without making things worse between us.

As I pull up outside the Lucky Inn motel where Carla worked as a prostitute, I wonder what Lila’s doing. We’re supposed to meet up at my apartment after lunch to continue going over the things we found in Martin’s office. I did some digging after Lila left and found out some interesting things about John S. Martin, Esquire. I can’t wait to share them with her. But first I have to try to find a needle in a haystack at the Lucky Inn.

And what an aptly named place it is too. In the five minutes I’ve been sitting out front I counted eight different sets of prostitutes and johns going in and out of the rooms. The rooms seemed to be shared by the girls because two of them had one set of people come out and a completely different set go in not three minutes later. The Lucky Inn is a typical two-story motel with an open second-floor balcony and room doors that face the parking lot, making it really easy to watch people come and go (no pun intended).

A couple of guys stand around outside. Not together, though. One hangs out on the second-floor balcony, and the other leans against the crumbling stucco wall at the bottom of the stairwell on the ground floor near the snack machines. Guards, if I have to guess. Whoever runs their prostitution ring out of here has a slick operation going, that’s for sure. The Lucky Inn is definitely a No-Tell-Motel, and I have a feeling a guy wandering around asking unwanted questions about a former prostitute and her johns would not be welcome. I hate to disappoint Lila but there is no way I’m getting out of my car to start knocking on doors or even go up to the office to make inquiries. I’m pretty sure the goon guards would be on me faster than the people coming and going (pun intended).

I snap a few photos of the motel and the guys standing around. The one on the bottom floor takes notice and heads my direction. I start my car and peel away from the curb.

I like my teeth exactly where they are thank you very much.

I feel like I need something to give Lila so I drive to the crappy apartment complex where Carla lived with her son. It looks a lot like the motel, but with the apartment doors facing a center courtyard instead of the street. Spying the rental office sign, I get out of my car and head toward it. What are the odds that Hector Rodriguez, the asshole landlord who extorted sex for rent from Carla, is still here? I have to try anyway. Maybe the new landlord can tell me where I can find Rodriguez if he’s no longer in charge.

The office smells like coffee, cigarettes, ass, and some kind of air freshener that clearly isn’t working hard enough. An older woman with shoe-polish-black hair sits behind a scarred desk reading a Spanish-language newspaper. For the millionth time I wonder why I took four years of French in high school instead of Spanish. I have yet to even visit France, but in Southern California I’d use Spanish every day if I could speak it. Right now I blend in about as well as the horrible print of the woman’s blouse blends with the shocking wallpaper behind her. Not a good thing for a PI.

She squints up at me as I close the door.
“¿Puedo ayudarle?”

See?
Every
damn day I’d use it.

“No hablo Español,”
I respond.

She sets her paper down and rapid-fires more Spanish at me, no doubt cursing me out. I stand there and take it until she winds down, then picks up her newspaper again, shakes it out, and puts it between us. I’m ignored.

“Do you know where I can find Hector Rodriguez?” I ask.

“No sé.”

I wish I’d brought Lila with me. “I really need to talk to Hector Rodriguez,” I say slower.

She tilts the paper down and rattles off more Spanish. I understand one word,
policía
—police.

I shake my head. “No
policía.
”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here looking for my asshole ex-husband, white boy?”

The switch in her is jarring. Her English has no accent at all.

I produce my business card. For some reason people who don’t like the police don’t seem to mind talking to a private investigator. I hope that’s true of the woman glaring at me.

“My name is Nolan Perry.” I hand her the card. “I work for Nash Security and Investigation. I’m here on behalf of my client Carla Ruiz. I understand your ex-husband was the landlord here when she and her son, Diego, lived here.”

“Pobrecito chico.”
Mumbling some more in Spanish, she closes her eyes and crosses herself, then looks up at me. “Such a tragedy. I’m Margarita Rodriguez. What do you want to know about the
pendejo
who gave me gonorrhea? I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Nosy neighbors and furious exes—a PI’s best friend.

“According to Carla, Hector was ah,
with
her the morning Diego died.”

“You mean screwing her in place of rent. Don’t be delicate. It’s the reason he’s my
ex
-husband. Do you know how much money I lost because he couldn’t keep it in his pants? Tens of thousands. That’s a lot of damn money. He’s supposed to be paying it back, but the
cabrón
hasn’t had a job since I kicked his lazy ass out. Or so he says.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Shacked up with some
flaca
crack whore in Chollas View last I heard. If she was smart she should’ve kicked his ass like I did. Hang on. I’ll get you the address.” She riffles through the things on her desk and then pulls out a scrap of paper. “I’ll make you a copy.” Without leaving her seat she turns to the copier. “Here you go.” She hands me a warm sheet of paper with an address and phone number scrawled on it.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Is that the if-I-need-a-favor-you’d-do-it kind of appreciation?”

“Depends on the favor.”

“I heard Hector’s aunt somebody died and he inherited some money. I want it.”

“I could get you the info faster if you have his Social Security number.”

“As a matter of fact…” She digs around her desk again and comes up with another scratch piece of paper, makes a copy, and gives it to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“If you can find out if he has a job or any other hidden money, will you let me know?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have the contact info for a past resident here, would you?”

“Tit for tat. I like you, white boy. Who are we talking about?”

“Inez Torres. She used to babysit for Carla sometimes.”

“Inez is that worthless
pendejo’s
cousin. We stayed good friends after she found out he was screwing everybody in the complex. She’s loyal that one. Of course I know where she is. Hang on.” She searches her desk again, locates another scrap of paper, copies it, and hands the copy to me.

Never in a million years would I have thought there was anything remotely useful on that mess of a desk of hers. Boy was I wrong.

“Thanks, Margarita. Should I call you here or at another number if I find out any info on Hector?”

She goes through the mess on her desk again, writes something on the business card she finds, then hands it to me. “My cell.” She runs her gaze over me like she’s making some kind of judgment call about me. “You have a wife or girlfriend, white boy?”

The image of Lila’s beautiful face comes into my mind. “Maybe.”

“Huh. I’ve seen that look before. Want but can’t have. She’s lucky, this girl that you want. If she doesn’t come around you call me. I have a daughter in college. Pretty. Smart. You’d make beautiful babies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Margarita.”

“Anytime, white boy. You get me that
cabrón’s
money.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I head out into the midday sun and check the time. Just after twelve. I’m supposed to meet Lila at one. I plug Inez’s address into my phone. It’s not far from here. I debate whether or not I should go on my own or wait to go with Lila. I’d better wait. Inez is a potential witness. This is Lila’s area of expertise. She’ll be glad I was able to find Inez so easily, and it sounds like she might be amenable to helping Carla.

On the way home I think about how it’s going to be to see Lila after last night. I asked her not to make things weird. I just hope
I
can do what I asked of her. I feel like we need to talk about what happened and what almost happened. At the same time I’m freaking out about it. What if she thinks it’s a mistake? What if she’s so embarrassed that she totally shuts down any chance we might have to see where our attraction might lead? What if she pretends
nothing
ever happened?

That last thought is the one that bothers me the most. I can deal with any of the other possibilities, but her pretending there’s nothing between us, that nothing major happened…no can do. If I have to I’ll resurrect the video of us in my office out of my computer trash can and show it to her. No one viewing that tape could ever think there’s no attraction at all between us.

I’m running late…again.

I hate being late, but this time I did it on purpose. I lay awake half the night reliving everything that happened before and after I freaked out.
Before
is definitely my favorite. The after is what made me lose sleep and procrastinate leaving the house. I had to remind myself that Carla needs me. Any embarrassment I might feel is nothing compared with what she went through and is going through. I can deal with Nolan.

I think. Maybe.

What I can’t wrap my head around is what he might say. Is he going to pretend nothing happened, try to pry why I freaked out, or tell me it was all a mistake and nothing should ever happen between us again? I’m not sure which I’m dreading the most and which I really want to happen. And right there is why I was up all night.

I used some of my insomniac time to locate Diego’s grave. It took a while, but I managed to do it. Fortunately it wasn’t far from my house. I stopped along the way and bought several different kinds of Spider-Man balloons. The clerk asked me if they were for my son. I told her they were for my nephew. For some reason, I couldn’t tell her they were for a dead little boy and that I’m taking them to his grave for his mother who is in prison convicted for his murder. There was no reason to ruin her day with that kind of horrific reality. So I lied and said I was in town for a surprise visit with my sister and her family.

I don’t know why I did that. I despise lying. Watching Nolan lie to Debbie Martin as though he did it every day—and maybe he does, I don’t know—showed me a side of him I didn’t particularly like. Is he rubbing off on me? In the short time since I’ve known him, has being around him changed me and not in a good way? Normally it takes months of dating for me to get to the point I reached with Nolan in a matter of days. That can’t be good, right? The people in your life should bring out the best in you, not influence you into behavior you find shocking and abhorrent.

And yet…I
liked
doing bad things with him. What does that say about me as a person that I would throw out all of my principles for a man who lies, breaks into people’s locked file cabinets, shows me porn, and talks dirty in bed? What does it say about
me
that I got off on those things, that I want to watch
more
porn with Nolan while he gets me naked and says nasty things? What does it say about our differences that he went to church this morning and I didn’t? Who’s the degenerate here, him or me?

I pull up in front of his apartment and cut the engine. Here it is. The moment of truth. Should I bring up last night right away and set some boundaries for how things will be going forward? Or should I let
him
bring it up to get a feeling of where he’s at about it?

As I get out of my car and go up the walk, I decide that I’m a coward and that I want to wait to see if he brings it up or not and what he says about it. There. Settled. Except it’s not. Now I’m dreading what he might say.

Pressing the doorbell, I give myself a pep talk.
You can do this. It’s no big deal. These things happen. You’re both adults.

He opens the door wearing jeans and a T-shirt that molds his body. His feet are bare. So dang sexy.

“Hey. Come on in.” He holds the door open for me. “Have you eaten?” He keeps talking without waiting for my response. “I just got back and haven’t had the chance to eat yet. What do you like? I’ve got a stack of take-out menus or I could whip up some sandwiches or something. Unless you’re gluten-intolerant. Oh wait, you ate cheeseburgers so I guess—”

I cut him off by grabbing the back of his head and slamming my lips against his. For some reason his nervousness totally took mine away and replaced it with a boldness I didn’t know was in me. I release him and we stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes blazing. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but I stop him with another kiss. I don’t want to talk. He seems to get the message and the next thing I know I’m backed up against the door with one of his hands on my breast and the other clamped firmly on my behind.

I grind against the growing ridge in his jeans. It’s not enough. Wrapping a leg around him, I open my legs wider. He presses me into the door, practically dry-humping me toward orgasm. This is what I crave from him. Mindlessness. Just need and want and taking and giving. His mouth is driving me crazy. He doesn’t give me any time to think. My shirt is shoved up along with my bra. His hands are magic on my bare flesh. I moan into his mouth. He’s a little rough and I like it.

He replaces a hand with his mouth, sucking on my nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. I grip the back of his head and hold him to me. Hands skate down, bunching up my skirt. He makes a low noise in his throat when he finds me wet. His fingers slip into the waistband of my underwear and he comes at me with everything he’s got, stroking my clit and working my breasts. I’m going to come. Clutching his head tighter, I dig my nails into his shoulder. Almost…almost…

“Oh, God!” I cry out.

He takes me down slowly with little kisses and light strokes. He doesn’t stop touching me. I don’t know how he does it, but he takes me up again. Panting and clutching at him, I want it. I
crave
it. I need him inside me. I reach for him, but he’s already bare and rolling a condom on. He lifts me roughly. The door is hard against my back and he’s hard against my front. I wrap my legs around his waist.

“
Fuck
me,” I gasp against his neck not recognizing my voice.
“Hard.”

“
God,
yes.”

I feel him right there. He thrusts deep, banging me against the door, but I don’t care. I’m full of him and it’s not enough.

“Harder.”

He redoubles his efforts, crashing into me over and over. He sinks his teeth into the side of my neck, making my hand fist in his hair. Oh,
God
it feels
so
good. The harsh sounds of our breathing fill the room along with the heavy scent of sex. He adjusts me slightly and hits some magical spot inside me. Crying out, I clutch him tighter. His thrusts are relentless. Hard.
So hard.
And deep. Lunging at me over and over again, he doesn’t give me time to think. There is only sensation.

My whole body tenses and I come, screaming his name. He grips my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he reaches climax. His hot breath on my neck sends goosebumps throughout my body. He pulses inside me and I can’t think about anything. My mind is an absolute blank. I’m wrapped so tightly around him that I have to force my arms and legs to relax.

He lifts his head and brushes the hair out of my face, giving me a soft smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He kisses me gently, with purpose. It’s not like any of the other kisses he’s given me. There’s something sweet about the way he looks at me and how he lightly strokes my hair. I’m caught by what I see in his eyes. I can’t help but smile shyly back at him. Somehow this moment feels more intimate than what we shared a few seconds ago. I don’t know what to say to him. Maybe if I knew what he was thinking…

He looks down to where we’re still joined. I can’t see his expression. I look too. The sight of him inside me does something strange to me and I reflexively clench around him. His groan is unexpected. He liked it. I make a note to try it again. If there is a next time. I watch in fascination as he grips the base of his shaft and the condom and pulls slowly out like he’s reluctant to leave me. I can’t remember being with a guy who didn’t withdraw right away to get rid of the condom.

He sets me back on my feet and makes an attempt to right my panties and skirt. There’s care and tenderness in his touch. I keep my gaze on his face, hoping it will give me a clue as to what happens next. All the worrying I did was a waste. I should’ve been thinking about this moment. The
after.

He straightens and gives me a kiss. “I’m going to go take care of this.” He gestures toward the condom still wrapped around him. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

I watch him go, thinking this would be a really good time to just take off and not have to deal with what comes next. But I’m kind of curious about it. What does this mean? Should it mean anything? Is this a one-off or are we going to be doing this on a regular basis? I’m not sure of what I want. It feels like I should want
something
from him. Most women would want some kind of commitment, wouldn’t they? Or at least an assurance that they are the only one. It’s funny, but I don’t feel like I need anything from him. Maybe this was just an itch we both needed to scratch.

He comes back all tucked in and heads straight for me. I realize I’m still up against the door, staring blankly at him. Like I’m frozen in place, afraid to move. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?

“Are you all right?” He caresses my face. “You look a little pale. Was I too rough?”

“No,” I manage to croak out. “I’m okay.”

I want to tell him he was
exactly
rough enough and that I’ve never had sex like that before. Now I know what it feels like to be
fucked.
Because that wasn’t plain ordinary sex. It went
way
beyond to something you’d see in a movie or read about in a book. Something fantastical and unachievable. But I can’t say any of that to him without sounding ridiculous. He’s clearly more experienced than me. This was probably just another bout of rigorous sex for him. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I concentrate on fixing my skirt, trying to ignore the delicious ache between my legs. With every moment I get flashes of him pounding into me that mingle with the soreness until I want to grab him and feel him between my legs again.

“You sure?” he asks. “You seem a little wobbly.”

“Are we going to do that again?”

“Well…I don’t know. Do
you
want to do it again?”

“Do you?”

His lips part like he’s going to say something. I fist his shirt and haul him toward me. He claps a hand over my mouth to stop me from kissing him again.

“Yes,” he says in a hurry, laughing. “I want to do it as many times as you’ll let me.” He takes his hand away.

“I’m going to let you as many times as you want to.”

“Well. Okay then. That might be a lot.”

“I’m okay with
a lot.
”

“Okay.” He’s staring at me with a kind of surprised awe. “All right. Good to know.”

“Okay.”

“I’m starving.”

“Me too.”

We order food. While we wait for the delivery, Nolan tells me what he found out this morning about Carla’s neighbor and landlord. I keep expecting things to get awkward, but they don’t. We seem to be back where we were before the sex.

“I’ll call and make an appointment to meet with them,” I tell him. “I’m not sure how forthcoming Hector is going to be or even if he’ll agree to see me.”

“If he does I’ll go with you to meet with him. I don’t want you going alone.”

“Why?”

“He’s a predator. What he did to Carla amounts to rape. I’d prefer it if you didn’t go near him at all.”

“That’s not really your choice to make.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But will you please not see him without me?”

I nod. The truth is I’d feel more comfortable if Nolan went with me. Not because I’m afraid, but because I’m not sure how
I’ll
react. Carla was victimized over and over. Hector is just one of the people who took advantage of her and abused her. Just the thought of being in the same room with that man sets me off.

“Thank you,” he says. “We still have the rest of the stuff from Martin’s office to go through. Do you want me to bring my laptop out here or work in my office?”

“Your office is fine.”

“Go on in. I’ll take care of the trash.”

I wander down the hall, studiously avoiding his bedroom where everything crashed and burned, and go into his office. This room with all its humming machines is somehow soothing to me. Odd. I’ve always thought of computers and other electronics as necessary, but what Nolan’s built here is more than that. It feels alive, like a forest of machines that breathe and think.

A couple of the screens are dark, but there’s one that draws my attention. The views change every few moments, rotating between the front door, living room, kitchen, and this room. I watch Nolan stuff our fast-food containers in the trash, then it cuts to the hallway, then to a view somewhere above me. I raise my gaze, but I don’t see the camera. He’s got his whole place wired except his bedroom and bathroom. Does that mean he has video of us in here last night and of us up against the door earlier?

“Oh, shit.” He brushes past me and switches off the screen. “I have a lot of equipment in here and surveillance is kind of a hobby with me in case you haven’t noticed. I film all the time. Security. I’m kind of a geek about it.” He keeps rambling and I let him. “Sorry,” he finishes a few moments later.

“Are you recording us right now?”

“Yes. It’s always recording.”

“What about us at the front door?”

“That too.”

“And us in here last night?”

“I deleted that.”

“After you watched it.”

A guilty blush stains his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“What did you think when you watched it?”

“I, ah, didn’t really…that is…we weren’t in here that long.”

“How many times did you watch it?”

He hesitates. “Several.”

“Why?”

“I, ah, enjoyed it.”

“You got yourself off to it.”

“Yeah.” If it’s possible he gets even redder.

Nodding, I try to think of what we must’ve looked like. “Was it…hot?”

“Very.”

“Can you undelete it? I want to see it. And the front door too.”

“You’re not pissed?”

I shake my head. Surprisingly, I’m not. I know he didn’t tape us on purpose and I believe him when he said that he deleted the first video. I’m curious to see what we look like, what
I
look like. The feeling of getting caught doing something naughty and dangerous comes over me. I like it.
A lot.
Nolan’s woken a side in me that I didn’t know I had. A side I’m
anxious/scared/curious/excited
to explore.